Clear It and They Will Come
Transforming Minefields into Fields of Hope
Mitzi Perdue, HALO Trust Ambassador
Original article written by Mitzi Perdue for the Association of Foreign Press Correspondents.
For 27 years, Simon Conway has devoted his life to a dangerous job: clearing landmines. His work takes him to some of the most treacherous and remote regions on Earth—the Cambodia-Thailand border, Kosovo, or Papua New Guinea. Every day, he confronts not only the physical dangers of disarming hidden explosives but also the haunting reality of the devastation they leave behind. Yet, despite the risks and hardships, Conway persists. What drives him to continue this perilous work?
Conway is quick to dispel misconceptions about his profession. Statistically, clearing landmines is less perilous than many might assume—logging or commercial fishing are far deadlier. Working for the HALO Trust, a leading landmine clearance charity, Conway relies on its rigorous safety protocols, refined over decades. These measures ensure that as long as he follows them meticulously, his personal risk remains relatively low. But safety statistics aren’t what keep him going.
Princess Diana in an Angolan minefield.
For Conway, it’s about witnessing tangible change—the kind that transforms lives and entire communities. He vividly recalls visiting areas years after they had been cleared of mines and marveling at their transformation.
“In 1997, Princess Diana walked through a minefield in Angola,” he remembers. He wasn’t there to see it himself, but he saw videos of the event. “Today,” he continues, “that same area is a bustling street with shops and homes. Most people there have no idea what the area was once like.”
For Conway, this is the ultimate reward: seeing land once riddled with danger become a place where people can live, work, and thrive.
His work often brings him face-to-face with those living on the edge of survival. One encounter in Cambodia near Samraong stands out in his memory. While mapping dangerous areas near a village, he spotted a woman hand-plowing her field—just yards from where his team was actively clearing mines. Alarmed, he shouted to her across the field: “Please stop doing that! I promise we’ll come to you next.” The woman explained she had no choice; she needed to farm to feed her family but agreed to wait.
Mushroom pickers in Thmor Doun minefield in Cambodia.
True to his word, a few days later Conway and his team cleared her field and the area around her makeshift home. They found several mines that could have killed her. “You did what you said you were going to do,” she told him later, adding, “You came in time.” He knows he came in time to save her life. Moments like these reaffirm Conway’s commitment to his mission.
The impact of landmine clearance goes far beyond safety—it revitalizes entire communities. In Cambodia during the late 1990s, Conway worked in a province where roads were impassable mud tracks, bridges had been destroyed, and basic services like schools and healthcare were nonexistent. Villagers lived in isolation, unrecognized by census records and cut off from opportunities. Years later, after his demining team’s efforts paved the way for development, he returned to find tarmac roads, schools, rice fields, seed banks, agricultural loans, and even mobile phone signals.
The work isn’t just about saving lives—it’s about giving people a future. HALO employs roughly 12,000 people worldwide, 98% of whom come from the local communities where HALO operates. Their wages often go toward educating their children or buying seeds for farming. Cleared land becomes fertile ground for homes, schools, churches, mosques—places where life can flourish again.
From Cambodia (left) to Ukraine (center) to Angola (right), HALO’s demining teams work tirelessly to make communities safe.
Conway also reflects on the evolution of warfare and landmine deployment over time. At the end of the Khmer Rouge era in Cambodia, captives were forced to lay landmines manually—a painstakingly slow and labor-intensive process. Depending on the terrain, the number of mines laid in an hour would be unlikely to be more than a dozen or possibly a couple of dozen.
In contrast, modern conflicts have introduced industrial-scale mine-laying technologies. Rocket launchers can scatter up to 960 landmines across many acres and they can do it in just 54 seconds. The landscape is transformed into a deadly minefield in mere moments.
Despite the challenges and fears—such as a resurgence of Cold War-era proxy conflicts that could lead to new waves of landmine use—Conway remains hopeful. When asked how he sleeps at night given the enormity of the problem, he answers simply: “I’ve seen that you can do something about it. You mitigate the problem; you save lives.” In Cambodia alone, annual casualties from landmines have dropped from thousands each year to fewer than 100—a measurable improvement that fuels his resolve.
For Simon Conway, clearing landmines is far more than just a job; it’s a mission rooted in humanity and hope—a mission to turn deadly fields into thriving communities where life can flourish again.
Simon Conway reunited with friends he met on his first trip to Cambodia 26 years ago.
