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| Phnom Penh graffiti |
I believe it was Donald Rumsfeld (whom, I must say, I'm not typically prone to quoting) who said something like, "We know what we know, and we know what we don't know. It's what we don't know that we don't know that's the problem..." He was, of course, referring to the invasion of Iraq, and it seems now that there were altogether too many things that he didn't know he didn't know.
I'm a reasonably cautious individual. I like to arm myself with a hefty amount of information before I make a big move, and when I left the United States in early 2004, at least partially suspecting that I wouldn't return, I felt that I was acceptably prepared. In the years since then, not surprisingly, I've run into a few of Rumsfeld's follies -- the things I didn't know that I didn't know. Most of them pertain to visas.
In retrospect, my naivete about immigration matters mortifies me. I pretty much figured that I would be able to ask for a residence visa (note, residence, not tourist) in any country and duly receive one. Why not, after all? I have nice manners. I dress decently. Gin is my most pernicious social ill, and really, I've only taken a liking to that after all my wrangling with Immigration officials. Over the past decade, you see, I've come to realise that their job is, for the most part, to keep foreigners out of their respective countries.
Immigration officials generally abide tourists because they come for short visits and drop large sums of money. Getting tourist visas of one to three months is rarely a problem for those travelling on first-world passports, but I was absurdly uninformed about residence permits. Most countries issue visas for work, study, investment and spouses. A few countries issue retirement visas. In 2003, I obtained a one-year residence permit from the Turkish Embassy in NYC simply on the premise that I loved the country and wanted to live there for a year to write and study Turkish. I had no idea at the time how exceptional that was.
Until late 2013, I went in and out of Malaysia on a series of tourist visas, then later a work visa that came with a company I established. When I applied for the Malaysian retirement visa, I figured it was a mere matter of paper-shuffling. To my horror, the Immigration Department had revised the requirements for that visa about a month before I submitted my application, and I was no longer able to meet them. I made three trips to the office, spoke with three officials, tried every angle I could think of, but the answer remained the same: "You do not meet the new requirements. Your application is declined." Until then, I'd been planning to spend the rest of my life in Malaysia.
Many friends, trying to be helpful, started making suggestions. Why don't you move to Spain or Ecuador or Macau or New Zealand or Malta? Because, my dears, those countries do not offer retirement visas or any other sort of residence visa for which I might be eligible. You can't just up and settle in a foreign country because the weather is nice and you like the food. I considered the South American countries that do offer retirement visas (excluding those which require guaranteed pension income, which I don't have). Uruguay seemed like a possibility, as did Nicaragua. The trick was, I would need to do a serious reconnaissance mission before moving myself and the cats to the opposite side of the planet to countries I've never visited before, and there wasn't time for that. Thailand and the Philippines both offer retirement visas; I don't really care for the former, and I've never been to the latter. I'd visited Cambodia ten times in as many years, though, and I liked it very much.
Everything that I'd read on-line about long-term visas in Cambodia said this: Get a 30-day business visa on arrival. Take your passport and $285 to a travel agency, and the staff will extend your visa to a one-year, renewable, multiple-entry visa. And that is precisely what happened. Neither the procedure nor the fee had changed since the 1990s. I was all too painfully aware that governments can change policies and requirements at will, and Immigration Departments have staggering amounts of discretionary power, but I figured I could at least settle here for a while -- the next decade, say -- to catch my breath.
Last month, the expat grapevine went electric. The Labor Ministry announced that "all foreigners in Cambodia" must have a work permit in addition to their Immigration visa. This requirement had been on the books since 1997 but never enforced. Until now. The fear and confusion in the expat community was pronounced, and especially so for those of us who are not working here -- the news articles were ambiguous and conflicting about what the new guidelines meant for us. Would we be able to renew our visas without a work permit? And without a job, how might we get a work permit? Did the government just want the extra $100/year that the permit costs? If so, how would we apply? Who would we pay?
My one year visa expires in March, and I was extremely concerned that the Immigration officials would not renew it in the absence of that elusive work permit. The thought of picking up my life and finding a new country inspired despair and distress in equal measures, making me realise that I still feel very vulnerable about my status. Life feels very tenuous when you constantly fear that the country you've adopted as your home might disown and deport you, especially when other options are rather limited.
Today, this appeared in the Khmer Times. It's the first definitive, unambiguous statement we've seen pertaining to retirees and our visas.
To clarify things, Labor Ministry spokesman Heng Sour told Khmer Times: “Retired foreigners can live in Cambodia without a work permit.”
If a foreign retiree isn’t employed in any capacity in the Kingdom, then only an immigration visa is needed to live in the country lawfully, Mr. Sour said.
“The work permit requirement is only for those foreigners who are employed in Cambodia,” he continued. “Therefore, those retired persons have no need to be concerned – as long as they are not employed.”
