Questioning the evangelical gospel

The following is an email I sent to some missionary friends a little while ago and while I did get an initial response, I didn't get any answers. They were very busy while they were in Cambodia and my questions were quite detailed so there may be multiple reasons why no answers were given. The point is I asked these folks because I believe their motivation is to help Cambodia and Cambodian people and I want to have answers to the questions I am asking. This is the email I sent them, but I have omitted their names and the names of specific organizations in Cambodia because the point wasn't to single out individuals or organizations, but to ask questions about evangelism in Cambodia that I think are important....

I have some nagging questions and concerns about missionary and/or Christian organizations in Cambodia that I want to ask but I hesitate because I am not sure exactly how to phrase them without seeming offensive. I am asking you because through our limited interactions I get the sense that you and (name omitted) truly care about Cambodia and the Cambodian people and it is the sense of sincerity that comes across when I read your posts or speak to you that makes me bring these questions to you. Please consider that I am asking these questions or noting my observations over a broad spectrum of experience in Cambodia and I don't mean for any of my comments/questions to be offensive or to generalize them as reflective of all Christians. So here they are:

1. The Khmer Rouge destroyed so much of the Khmer cultural history including its rich Buddhist history. Along with 1.4 million (Cambodians have told me it should be 3 million) people killed there was also a near destruction of Buddhism in Cambodia. The monastic population went from something like 70000 before the Khmer Rouge to around 600 after the Khmer Rouge. Cambodia's largest cultural icon to the world is Ankor Wat which while largely Hindu originally has deep historical ties to Theravada and Mahayana Buddhism. The Buddhist religion was literally interwoven with a sense of being Khmer. With so many Christian organizations spreading the message of Christianity in Cambodia, doesn't it in some ways deprive this generation of Cambodians the opportunity to reclaim their Khmer cultural identity and the opportunity to rebuild a central aspect of what was taken from them as individuals and a collective society? One generation removed from the genocide (everyone under 33 was born after Pol Pot lost Phnom Penh and everyone 33 or older lived through the regime) and 15 years removed from the multi-factioned civil war, shouldn't Cambodia have the opportunity to heal their spiritual, psychological, emotional, and physical wounds with the spiritual tradition which is their "religious" home? I mean that it is a known entity and not a foreign conception of spirituality/religion. Isn't the Cambodian culture and psyche uniquely married to Buddhism through its everyday usage of spirit houses, traditional medicine, offering alms to the monks, protective tattoos, making offerings to deceased relatives and ancestors, and rich iconography of Cambodia's Buddhist history? Is the spreading of a "Western" faith in a country that was so recently forcibly robbed of their historic faith a sort of religious/spiritual imperialism that capitalizes on desperation and loss?

2. Some of the NGOs working in Cambodia (organization names omitted) are quite direct in their evangelical message and some are a bit more selective in how they portray themselves. Each of the organizations I mentioned has done anti-trafficking and anti-exploitation work in the field of forced prostitution and each of them has a ministerial religious component to their programs. The vast majority of the young women rescued or assisted in their exit from the sex industry have overwhelmingly expressed a desire to return to their communities and villages in rural Cambodia. Their experience as prostituted women and girls made them "broken" and "unworthy" in the eyes of Cambodian society while they were sex workers. Once they exit with the help of one of these organizations there is an immense pressure to become like the "rescuer." Even when it is not an overt part of the mission statement, though it is a part for most of the orgs I listed, their is an underlying desire to please the individuals and orgs that have helped them out of such hellish conditions. This is understandable. But Christians are a marginal population within rural Cambodia and are often seen as separate and different from their Buddhist counterparts. Doesn't including a Christian mission or even subtle undertones prevent these young women from achieving what they have overwhelmingly expressed is their desire to successfully re-integrate into their communities? Doesn't becoming Christian just place them in another category as different from their larger community as well as their families and friends? Does including the Gospel message in anti-exploitation work actually serve to benefit the young women and girls exiting forced prostitution or rather does it serve to benefit the ngos themselves and increase their international funding appeal?

3. I've spoken to several highly qualified Cambodians working in the development and social work sector and asked them about (name omitted NGO) and various positions within that org. The responses I got were a bit surprising to me. They said that to move up or advance within (name omitted NGO) it was important to be a part of the religious activities within the organization. The folks I am referencing have years of experience and degrees that qualify them for work at (name omitted NGO), but they were all quite resentful at the idea of having to become or appearing to be Christian in order to do what they are are already qualified and capable of doing. Doesn't this place (name omitted NGO) and other likeminded ngos in a position of having lesser qualified staff due to their official/unofficial declaration of promoting Christian workers in a predominantly Buddhist country? Does this internal policy actually place them at odds with the largely Buddhist populace they actually aim to serve? Through efforts such as this is Cambodia producing Christians who are essentially doing little more than changing religious labels in an effort to find gainful and meaningful employment (I know this is not entirely the case as I have met some wonderfully kind Khmer Christians, but they stand out from many of their Christian counterparts)? Is Christianity being used as a means of discrimination towards Cham (Muslim), Buddhist, and largely shamanistic animist ethnic minority groups within Cambodia based on unofficially official policies?

4. These questions have larger implications socially but much of it is based in my own inability to rectify Christianity with my own Buddhist beliefs and my experience of religious intolerance back in Georgia. I feel like letting you know that is pertinent to the questions. How is Christianity able to rectify such practices as feeding hungry ghosts (Pchum Ben holiday), honoring the spirits of ancestors and appeasing local spirits (spirit houses and spirit shrines), and making offerings to monks/nuns/wats as a means of purifying past misdeeds? I know as a convert to Buddhism years ago, having "Christians" tell me that I was going to hell for not being a Christian was hard to take. It was hurtful though I really believe several of these folks really meant it and did not intend it as a personal attack. How is this taught in Cambodian churches? If a young woman or man becomes a Christian out of sincere faith and belief, how do they rectify that with their Buddhist mom, dad, siblings, and grandparents? How are they taught to view the other 98% of the non-Christian population? A sweet Khmer young woman flatly told me that anyone that does not believe in Jesus Christ as God will not go to heaven and it seemed to escape her that she was saying that everyone of her friends, classmates, and coworkers would be denied entrance into the heaven of her conception because they were all Buddhist and Muslim. This point was not missed on her peers however and I wondered if they felt how I felt those years ago; that by following my deepest convictions and beliefs I would somehow always be "condemned" by folks that were a large part of my life. From a Biblical or church perspective I don't know what the answers are. I know what I believe but I would like to know what Christians believe in this regard and more specifically what Cambodian Christian denominations are teaching and preaching in this vein.

To sum all of this up I want to give an example of a conversation that stuck with me that I have been trying to make sense of the past few years. The pastor of a Khmer church also worked a day job as a barber in rural Cambodia. I went to him for my normal haircut ("Cut it short like the monks.") and seeing that I was a white skinned foreigner he asked me if I was Christian. I told him no; I practice Mahayana Buddhism (technically Vajrayana Buddhism but that is splitting hairs here). He said "That is too bad. I am a Christian." I told him that my family is Christian and that I went to Christian schools as a child, but that I became a Buddhist a long time ago. He asked me why I became Buddhist and I did my best to explain what led me to becoming Buddhist. It was in a mixture of Khmer and English and it wasn't an easy conversation. Then I asked him why he became a Christian. Before he could answer, his buddy and fellow barber chimed in "Look at all of the Buddhist countries. Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia everyone is Buddhist and everyone is poor. It is difficult to get food. Most people don't have any money and have difficult lives. Look at Western nations, everyone is Christian and they have big houses, expensive automobiles, lots of food, and money. He got tired of being poor and Buddhist and thought that if he becomes Christian maybe Jesus will give him lots of money, food, and a life that is not so difficult too." My Christian pastor friend then tried to give his answer but to be honest it didn't stick with me and his friend's quick reply has stuck with me for a few years now. Both of these guys were covered in the "protection tattoos" given by monks and "magic" people and they said those tattoos had been a part of their protection during the Khmer Rouge and civil war years (keep in mind I lived in an area that was a Khmer Rouge stronghold until they laid down their arms in the mid-90's). He believed that these tattoos had protected him from bullets from entering his skin and made him invisible to his enemies. Many men in my town were covered in these tattoos, but once he became a Christian he no longer needed these tattoos and saw them as unattractive and part of his past as a soldier. They had lost their magic to him. I can't presume to know his thoughts and I realize that there is already some speculation on my behalf along these lines, but I can't help but wonder if he wouldn't have been better off with his magic tattoos and the shamanistic Theravada Buddhism of Cambodia than he was with his foreign Christian faith in a Jesus that his friend perceived as blessing Western nations with wealth and excess.

I hope I haven't overwhelmed you with my questions and observations. As a Buddhist, I realize that I am not necessarily impartial in my perspective and opinion, but I am asking these questions because I really would like to understand some of the motivation and dynamics that are involved in Christian missionary work in Cambodia. Being limited in my understanding of contemporary Christianity and partial to Buddhism, I hope that my questions, observations, and wording is not offensive or rude. Thanks for any insights you can shed on these questions because I have been asking them for a while now and I just am not coming up with any satisfactory answers.

Why I Came Back to Cambodia and What Keeps Me Here

   It has been quite a while since I sat down and wrote anything on this blog. Since my last entry I have finished my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Moung Russey district, Battambang province, Cambodia, returned to America and my wonderful family, missed Cambodia terribly, and hopped on a plane to get back to the Bode as fast as I could having little more than a heartfelt sense that this is where I am supposed to be. The moment I got on the plane to fly back to America, I thought "Why am I going back? What am I doing?" and the only answer I could come up with was because my family was waiting for me to get off the plane and give them a hug after two years overseas. Seeing my family was wonderful; for a Southern man like me there is very little that can compare to sitting around a dinner table eating a home cooked meal and laughing with my mom, sisters, and brother in law. It may sound silly, but my aunt's special fried shrimp recipe, my mom's simple but un-improvable salad, and my sister's pot roast are just dishes of food, but somehow sharing them with my family is one of my most treasured memories. If I live to be an old man, I am certain I will be able to recall my sisters' laughs and my mother's smile from a witty comment made by my brother in law over one of those delicious Southern meals. So why did I move back to Cambodia with nothing promised to me and give up the happiness that comes with being surrounded by family and friends? That is a hard question to answer, but I'm gonna try.

    The life of a Peace Corps Volunteer is fairly simple: move to a foreign country, learn some basic language, move to a rural village (usually), try to be of service as much as possible (or as much as you can stand it), integrate into the community as much as possible, and try do make a sustainable and lasting contribution to the community. Peace Corps has a motto, "The toughest job you'll ever love," and it was true for me. This is not meant as a "poor developing nation, let me help you with my Western knowledge" rant, but living here changed me. Everyday I got to teach a group of little kids (some of whose) families couldn't afford to send them to private classes and who would most likely never have the opportunity to go to high school, much less college. These were children of local farmers or sellers (market vendors) for the most part, with a few kids that lived with a grandparent or aunt because their parents weren't around for a variety of reasons. Five days a week, every week, for two years these kids came to Moung Russey High School to study English with me. At that time I was still learning how to teach and my grasp of the Khmer language was tedious and rudimentary at best. That never stopped them from showing up. If I got sick (as I did many times), they would show up at my house and knock on my door insisting that we have class. When I felt homesick for my family and friends back in Georgia, they would lift my spirits just by being excited and happy to see me when I showed up at school. When I questioned my effectiveness as a volunteer and the sustainability of my projects, hearing them ask me questions in English and watching the friendship that bloomed between the kids who have a little and the kids that have nothing, it showed me that for them I was a part of a sustainable change for the positive. To see over a couple years, a young boy whose 16 year old brother is working illegally in Thailand (one of the many), who knows he is most likely the next to go, whose family has nothing and watch him gain confidence in himself, go from knowing only "hello" to asking a new question in English everyday, and see him share his new found knowledge with 3 other boys who come from eerily similar situations... it is hard to describe how that impacted/impacts me. Knowing that right now, today, he went to school and still has a hope of getting an education and finding a way out of the stifling poverty he was born into, and getting to play a role in that change is amazing.And he is just one kid, a really persistent and incredibly intelligent kid, but just one kid. I was lucky enough to be born with the means, the opportunity, and a family that pushed me towards education. He didn't have any of that. This isn't meant as some "Philip is a good guy" story, but to try to convey how awesome an impression one student has had on my life and he is one of many. The day I left my house in Moung Russey every kid that I had been teaching 5 days a week for 2 years came to my house and hung out while I packed. Some of them cried and told me how much they would miss me. Some told me they had dreams about riding a bike to America to see me. They all told me they didn't want me to go. To tell the truth, I didn't want to go either. Everywhere I went in Moung those kids followed me two to a bike. When I talk about Moung Russey I always end up calling them "my kids" because I feel responsible to make sure they are okay, to try to give them the opportunities I took for granted as a kid, and to make sure they know that I am proud of them. I could rattle off all of their names and try to explain how back in America I missed each and everyone of them, but it wouldn't really give the thought/feeling the significance it deserves. And this is just the kids; there are friends in Moung and older students that impacted me very deeply as well, but I can only write so much.

   My assignment as a PCV was to be a health and education volunteer which means that I was supposed to teach high school English and work with the local health center contributing where I can. That isn't what I did. The Moung Russey health center was fairly well staffed and didn't really need or want a whole lot of help, but my neighborhood did. There were roughly 8 karaoke bars/brothels in my neighborhood filled with young women and girls varying in age from 15 to 28. Each brothel/karaoke bar could have anywhere from 3 to +20 girls/women working and living there at any given time. The HIV/AIDS epidemic hit Cambodia (and Battambang province particularly) ridiculously hard when the UN came in to establish "democratic elections" in the 1990's. When I asked what happened to the women who were infected during that time period I was flatly told "They all died" because there were no anti-retroviral drugs available in Cambodia at that time. Anti-retrovirals are available now and HIV education and prevention has increased dramatically since that time, but everyday as I rode my bike to school to meet my kids I rode past the brothels and bars. When I would ride home around dusk, there would be young women, around 18 or 19 years old if that, standing near a particular brothel close to my home. I wondered what happened to them, how did they get in that position, what was being done to help them, why did I see them everyday and what was being done to protect them? In Moung the answer was largely "Who cares? They are bad girls." I asked around a bit and got some help from a high ranking friend at the health center and a local ngo and set out to go to the brothels and karaoke bars to teach about HIV and STI (sexually transmitted infections) prevention. It met with some success and then was shut down due to an ngo that will remain nameless that was afraid I would apply for and receive their US AID funding. When I asked to volunteer with them, they said "No thanks." Once the PC helped me establish with the local bureaucracy that I was not interested in anyones' funding and that I was there on a purely volunteer basis, I was given the green light to go back. The oddest part of this is that if I had been going to the brothels and bars for sex, no one would have cared or intervened; in fact, men in the community would have and did openly invited me to go with them. It was only because I was not interested in having sex, but wanting to help the young women that were living and working there that a "conflict of interest" arose. Oddly enough as well, I NEVER encountered the ngo that was afraid I would take their funding when I went to the karaoke bars and brothels. I went multiple times a week for two years and I never saw them or heard anyone talk about them visiting. When I resumed my work in the brothels and karaoke bars the folks that had been helping me previously were unable to continue, so I recruited a friend who spoke decent English and proceeded to go back and teach. After a while, I started going alone and just sitting and chatting with the women when they weren't busy. Every week I bought a case or a couple cases of condoms and made the rounds passing them out. I sat and joked with some of the women who by now had become friends. They played cards and I tried to follow the inconsistencies of their bets. I brought fruit and we ate. They cooked their lunch and made me a plate too. Some of the women came to trust me and that means a lot when every other man that comes to the bar is there for one reason. As a rule, sex workers don't trust men because it is men who have raped them, beaten them, lied to them, and continue to do so on a daily basis. One young woman sticks out in my mind more than others because she was so angry. When I first started going to the bars she would ask me if I wanted to sleep with her, when I said no she didn't know what to do. When I kept saying no over a period of weeks she became really angry, but then over a period of months she saw that I really didn't want anything from her except to try to help her if possible. At first she baffled me with her anger, but over time I realized that her anger was absolutely and totally appropriate. From a young age she was told that she was "broken" and not equal to men or even other women. Rape and violence are part and parcel of the sex industry, if someone tells you they aren't believe me when I say that that is total and complete bullshit. Her male contact on a daily basis was dominated largely by men who were there to get drunk and have sex with her, willingly or unwillingly. When I came along and treated her like a normal person, it scared her. It should have because it is nice speaking and seemingly friendly folks that largely control the intake and recruitment of young women into the sex industry. Often it is an aunt, cousin, family friend, boyfriend, etc. that first pushes these young women into forced sex work. There is also no shortage of seeming "do-gooder ngo folks" (both Khmer and foreigner, though in rural Cambodia the amount of foreigners is minuscule)who while seemingly altruistic in their professional lives have no problem taking part in the sexual exploitation of girls and women. I say all of that to say this, gaining the trust of some of these young women was the highest complement I have ever been given and it took a courage I can't begin to imagine. Because of that trust 3 of my friends who had been working at a local karaoke bar/brothel were able to enter a safe house run by an amazing ngo called AFESIP. The young woman who had been so angry before was one of those young women. The day AFESIP came to Moung and gave their presentation in a local brothel and took my friends back to the safe house in Phnom Penh after driving deep into a more out of the way village to get another of my friends out of a brothel/bar, was and remains the happiest day of my life. That is the only time in my life I can remember crying tears of joy. How can I ever walk away from their trust when I know that brothels/karaoke bars/massage parlors/etc. litter the Cambodian landscape from city to village and they are filled with young women and girls just like my friends? 

   Cambodia is complicated and things aren't always what they seem; while I was back in the States all three of my friends left the AFESIP shelter. Without going into how's and why's that are all just a bunch of pointless words unless you have met these women, tried to see their lives through their eyes (and how impossible that is), and made a commitment to a friend to help; it is hard to explain. A week after returning to Cambodia, I found 2 of my friends in the same bar I helped them leave before I went back to America. Where I was once welcomed to teach, pass out condoms, and just sit around and chat, I am now unwelcome. When I went back I sensed violence could happen quickly and it is the only time I have truly felt unwelcome in Cambodia. My friend couldn't speak; when I asked questions someone else answered. They trusted me when every experience in their lives told them not to, how can I break that trust by walking away from a danger that they live inside everyday? I will go back and that scares me, but not going back scares me more.

   Right now I am living and working in Stung Meanchey district, Phnom Penh, Cambodia. I am an English teacher at an ngo that helps disadvantaged folks from the countryside gain experience in the IT field and provides scholarships to four year universities. I am a five hour bus ride from everyone and everything that called me back home to Cambodia as soon as I got on the plane to leave. Though Phnom Penh is drastically different from a farming community of 15000 people, the streets are filled with "my kids" and my friends. Every KTV (karaoke bars and sometimes brothels) and street kid reminds me of the responsibility and the trust that was placed in me back in Moung Russey. I don't know what my next step is, but I know it isn't to walk away. I don't want to confuse anyone with my words; I don't have a "savior complex" and I don't think I have all the answers to any of the problems here, but I do have a responsibility to be a part of the solution.

   And that is part of the reason I won't be eating delicious Southern food with my mom, sisters, and brother in law anytime soon.