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.

Overdue update and what is weighing on my heart

It has been quite a while since I posted anything on the blog so I figure I am overdue. My lack of entries has been the result of two specific causes. The most recent cause was the fact that the Cambodian government blocked several blog domains due to the criticism of the government from a few select bloggers. This left me unable to access my blog for a while and I didn't realize that I could access it now until about 5 minutes ago. The second reason I haven't posted much was simply because I am not sure what to say and what to keep to myself, so I try to err on the side of caution. This lead to a build up of unpublished drafts and a blog with no recent entries. Today I am throwing the second factor out the window because I just want to rant a little bit about some of the stuff spinning around in my heart and head.

Part of what has grabbed my attention in Cambodia has been the difficult role women are forced to play in Khmer society. There is a Khmer code of conduct for women known as Chbab Srey which specifically states that a woman should not hold herself to be her husbands equal, to always be quiet and shy, to keep herself hidden, not to laugh too loud, not to sleep with her back to her husband, etc. Women and men are often described through this axion "Men are like precious gems, if they are dropped into the dirt or mud they can easy be cleaned and restored to their original nature; women are like fine linen, if they are dropped into the dirt or mud they will forever be tarnished regardless of how hard they try to remove the stain." I remember hearing this when I first arrived in Cambodia and thinking "What a bunch of bullshit." Almost two years later and seeing how Chbab Srey actually functions in society I often find myself disgusted by what is seen as normal behavior by men in Cambodia. Not all men are guilty of this and I can say that I know a handful of men that to all appearances treat their wife as their equal. This is not the norm though. Many of the foreigners who arrive here adopt their own sick versions of Chbab Srey to justify their own exploitative desires, so it is not strictly a phenomenon relegated to Cambodian men. To clarify how this shows up in regular everyday life for young Khmer women, if a girl has a boyfriend before she is married and losses her virginity her prospects of marriage decrease and the stigma placed on her will follow her for years if not for a lifetime. her boyfriend however may be called a playboy or a gangster (a broad term here) but he really won't have any signifigant difficulties. Girls are taught to guard their virginity because without it they have little value and because of this the majority of Cambodian men have their first sexual encounter in a karaoke bar, brothel, or at another location with a sex worker. Others turn to the use of force because they know that having a consenting partner is difficult due to the risk a woman faces if her sexual activity is disclosed openly or even slightly questionable.

Part of what I do in my town is to distribute condoms at local karaoke bars and to provide education about HIV/AIDS and other sexually transmitted infections. Most of the young women that live or work in this places are so socially marginalized that they literally have no other option. They are largely deprived of education, sometimes lacking even the most basic education such as reading and writing Khmer, and have no marriage options because they lost their virginity to a boyfriend or had it taken by a rapist. Others have been tricked into sex work by traffickers that promised their families that the girls would be given jobs in a factory. Some are sold into the brothel or bar by an aunt, uncle, or acquaintance in order to make a few hundred dollars. The girl is expected to have sex with customers in order to pay off the debt that the bar owner took by purchasing her. These young women are at the absolute lowest rung of the social ladder in Cambodia and have very hope of escaping a life filled with violence, rape (usually more than once), and poverty. Other women in the community look down on these women, who are often still more girls than women, because they are no longer "pure" and they can never be made pure again. It is striking to hear a young woman who makes $10 a day (which is decent here) talk about a sex worker of the same age and describe her as "a bad girl who only wants to have a lot of money and likes to be with many men." The truth is that this is a lie the girl must tell herself because there is actually very little social cushioning to prevent her from being in the same situation. Walking in a rice field alone and being discovered by a man or group of men with hurtful intentions can not only leave her emotionally shattered and traumatized, but it can also be the symbolic piece of straw that breaks the camel's back. It goes unsaid but it is important to remember that it isn't any one action that leads to the life of quiet desperation sex workers live, just as it wasn't one piece of straw that broke the camel's back, it is the millions of other pieces of straw underneath it. Not all girls that lose their virginity before marriage end up as sex workers, neither do all the victims of rape. However, listening to the women that work in the sex industry reveals that almost all of them experienced a situation along these lines that left them "impure" or "stained" in the eyes of their society. Most of these young women were born poor to begin with, so they entered the world with a heavy burden to shoulder anyway. In a society where a male child is openly preferred to a female child and without enough money to escape the multiple burdens of poverty, these women are viewed as disposable once they no longer possess the redeeming quality of being a virgin. They have a social stigma, no education or trade, an empty stomach, and very often they are expected to make a financial contribution to their family. Where are they supposed to go in a society that considers it normal for a married man to go out drinking with his friends at a karaoke bar with his friends and sleep with one of the girls there. If his wife were to dress even slightly immodestly, she would "lose face" as well as her husband and she would likely face strong reprimand by her husband. For his infidelity, which is usually an ongoing occurrence, he probably won't hear a word from his wife or from anyone else simply because it was expected. When there exists a social mechanism that demands that a man be able to quench his sexual appetites while simultaneously demanding that women maintain a rigid sense of purity, it gives rise to a market that actively creates a disposable class who no longer have any purity to maintain and that can be used and discarded by men.

So where am I going with this? Where is the silver lining to this grey cloud? At this moment there isn't one. As I go about passing out condoms and talking about HIV, people think that I am quite odd. Even the women in the karaoke bars sometimes seem confused that I'm not there for sex since the man who hasn't had sex with a prostitute here is a rare find. There are organizations putting up a valiant fight to help these young women. Organizations like AFESIP, Action Pour Les Enfants, International Justice Mission, and others are dong all they can but it is only making the smallest of dents in what is a country wide (and region wide) problem. Through no fault of their own they are somewhat limited to trying to help the absolute worst cases of exploitation and due to funding and distance I have never seen them in my town, but I pass multiple karaoke bars filled with young women on a daily basis. The only organization I did run into was a small Cambodian run NGO that had me summoned to the local health center director's office out of concern that I would try to apply for their USAID funding. Once they heard that I am a volunteer and work for free and have no interest in their funding, I never heard from them again. Even when I asked them if I could volunteer for them and help them in any way, they said thanks but no thanks. Maybe they do great work, but I can tell you that when I am talking to karaoke bar owners or trying to teach basic English to the children of the sex workers I have never run into that NGO.

So this is where I am at; these young women need help. They need a future. Every piece of purity they have supposedly lost is totally intact. You can see it in their eyes and hear in their laughter during those moments when they realize that your not there to take anything from them, not there to hurt them, not there for sex, not there to throw another piece of straw on the camel's back. I'm no Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Dr. King or anyone else along those lines and I don't want to pretend to be. I'm not even particularly good at what I'm trying to do, but I can't look away. I can't pretend that I don't know that no one else is going to try to help the young women in the seven karaoke bars within a kilometer of my house. It has broken my heart and I'm glad it has. It is my prayer that this breaks your heart too. I hope it breaks so deeply that you can't look away and that you have to do something even if you don't know what to do. Call your Congressman, write him/her a letter, donate to an NGO fighting the exploitation of women and children, start an NGO for this, just do something.