By James Tabafunda
NORTHWEST ASIAN WEEKLY
On a sunny May afternoon in Seattle’s Pioneer Square, the scent of incense drifts in the air at Studio 7117. Surrounded by vibrant paintings, Dany Srey-Snow greets neighbors and elders for the monthly Pioneer Square Art Walk. Sina Sam, a consultant at Southeast Asia Resource Action Center, wears a checked scarf daily.
For both women, Cambodian traditions are not relics of a distant homeland but living customs that shape their identities, families, and communities in the Pacific Northwest. As Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month begins, their stories highlight how cultural heritage endures, especially when passed down through generations.
From refugee camps to Seattle
Sina Sam serves as a consultant for the Southeast Asia Resource Action Center, a leading civil rights organization based in Washington, D.C., that advocates nationally for Cambodian, Laotian, and Vietnamese communities.
Sam, a civil rights advocate and daughter of Cambodian refugees, carries memories shaped by both trauma and hope. Born in the Khao-I-Dang Holding Center on the Cambodia-Thailand border, she is part of the “1.5 generation,” those born in refugee camps after the Khmer Rouge era and raised in the United States. Her parents, teenagers during the genocide, survived years of separation, starvation, and uncertainty before meeting each other in the refugee camp.
“My parents were young teenagers during the war, which started in the ’70s,” Sam recalls. “They were separated from their families through four years of really horrific conditions in the country due to the genocide.” After the fall of the Khmer Rouge in 1979, her parents crossed land mines and mountains to reach safety, eventually arriving at the refugee camp. “They assumed all their family members were killed,” she said.
Her parents met in the camp, both identifying as orphans. Her father volunteered as a security patrol, while her mother cooked for Thai soldiers’ families, skills that helped them survive and connect. Resettled under the U.S. Refugee Act of 1980, the family arrived in Seattle in 1983, joining a growing Cambodian American community.
“I knew my family was different. I knew there was a lot of sadness and such a deep depression that I saw my parents in,” Sam said. “Now looking back, there were moments of post-traumatic stress.”
Khmer New Year: A festival of renewal and belonging
For both Sam and Srey-Snow, Khmer New Year, known in Khmer as Choul Chnam Thmey, is the most cherished Cambodian tradition and festival. It marks the end of the harvest season and the beginning of a new year in mid-April, mixing ritual, community, and joy.
Sam’s first memories of the holiday are rooted in the refugee camps, where families gathered to pray, share food, and play.
“There were small ones where folks could do it together. They would put out incense and have monks who would do the traditions and blessings,” she said. As a child in White Center, she watched her parents transform their home for the festival, inviting other families, preparing special dishes, and visiting the temple.
“It was celebratory. I knew it was fun because my parents would let me play with the other kids, we would get a lot of food, there was a lot of prayer,” Sam remembers. Only later did she realize the depth of these rituals: families clean and decorate their homes, make offerings at temples, honor ancestors, and pour water over elders and Buddha statues as acts of renewal and respect. For Srey-Snow, the holiday is both special and personal.
Dany Srey-Snow co-founded Studio 7117, an AAPI-owned creative wellness space in Seattle’s historic Pioneer Square with husband, Devyn Pedrano-Snow.
“It’s a very special time for me because every year the days are different, but it’s always a three-day celebration,” she said. “The story is that an angel descends from the heavens to bless our people with abundance, and there is a different angel for each day of the year.”
This year, Srey-Snow’s celebrations were especially meaningful. After returning to Seattle from training in Long Beach, Calif., she attended temple gatherings, performed classical dance, and hosted the “Khmer Belonging” Golden Era party at Studio 7117, a vibrant, intergenerational event that brought together artists, elders, and youth.
“To see the elders just be in awe and enjoy with the younger folks and dance with the kiddos was something really sweet,” she said. For Srey-Snow, Khmer New Year is “a living tradition, a bridge between past and present, and a source of pride and belonging” for her family and community.
The krama: A scarf of memory and identity
For Sam, the krama, a traditional checked scarf, embodies Cambodian resilience and is woven into daily life as both a practical garment and a symbol of heritage.
“My scarf now is such a big part of me that I have one for almost every occasion, fancy or just everyday wear, or it comes with me for business casual, work days,” she said. But her connection to the red krama is one of mixed feelings. The Khmer Rouge appropriated it as part of their uniform during the regime’s brutal rule in the 1970s.
“Unfortunately, my first memory of seeing the Cambodian scarf, which is so integral and beloved and beautiful, is worn by the genocidal regime,” she said.
Over time, Sam reclaimed the krama as a source of pride, collecting scarves in different colors and materials, each one marking a special occasion or memory.
“I have two silk scarves that are very special to me that I only wear on very special occasions. One is white, and that is the one I will bring out for Ancestor Day (in September) and the other one I got in Cambodia, and that was the first time I was ever in Cambodia since I was born in a refugee camp,” she said.
In 2024, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization recognized the krama as an element of Cambodia’s intangible cultural heritage, a validation of its enduring role in Cambodian life.
Dance, healing, and the power of movement
For Srey-Snow, traditional Cambodian ballet and folk dance are more than art forms. They are vessels of healing, storytelling, and cultural transmission. Raised in White Center, she trained in both traditional Cambodian ballet and folk dance at the Khmer Community of Seattle King County. She said, “That’s been a full circle moment for me to have my son also practice at the old organization that I practiced when I was a youth.”
“The reason why I really gravitate towards traditional Cambodian ballet is because of the stories they tell,” Srey-Snow says. The dances, rooted in mythology and spirituality, embody the circle of life, the power of nature, and the protection of ancestors.
Her favorite, Robam Junpo, or the Blessing Dance, features dancers as celestial beings offering blessings to the community.
“There’s prayer that goes into the dance, or before dancing, where you ask your guru, your teacher, to receive their blessing to dance and be an embodiment for our culture,” she said.
The sampeah: Greeting with grace and respect
Both women speak passionately about the sampeah, the traditional Cambodian greeting and prayer-like gesture with the palms pressed together and a bow. The height of the hands signals the level of respect: at the heart for peers, at the mouth for elders, and at the forehead for the divine.
“Growing up, I didn’t quite know how to do it. I didn’t know if I was doing it right, but I was immersed in it,” Sam said. “My parents would tell me when I meet elders or any family member, old or young, we greet each other with the sampeah.”
Srey-Snow teaches her children the nuances of the gesture.
“Determining who you’re greeting or offering your respects to, your prayer mudra is at a different point in front of you,” she said. The prayer mudra is made by pressing your palms together with fingers pointing upwards.
These rituals, she said, are “acts of mindfulness and connection,” a way to honor elders, express gratitude, and maintain a sense of belonging.
Buddhist practice: A living tradition
For Srey-Snow, Buddhist practices in the home are central to daily life, a source of empowerment, healing, and continuity. Each morning and night, she lights incense at her family altar, offering prayers for protection, gratitude, and guidance.
“I always ask my guides, guardians, angels, ancestors to protect me and mine and those who need it. I always express my gratitude. And then I share my wildest dreams,” she said.
Her approach is flexible and personal, inviting her children, husband, and friends to participate. “I like to have divine play with these rituals and not to have it so rigid and not to know that I’m not doing it wrong because I’m doing it in my way and what works for me,” she says.
“If you have not met any Khmer people before, I invite you to come into our living room or eat our food, have a drink with us because we are some really down to earth, fun, beautiful people,” said Srey-Snow. “And we welcome you with open arms.”
That spirit of hospitality and resilience continues in many forms—including The Donut King, screening May 10, followed by a Khmer community discussion led by Sam. Learn more at grandcinema.com/movie/the-donut-king.
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