(no subject)
in 2005 i encountered a lot of people whose behavior appalled and disgusted me. i tried to keep an open mind when it came to meeting different kinds of people and hearing their stories, but it seems like more often than not, i let the negativity overwhelm me and push me into self-induced isolation, which i haven't been fully able to come out of. for several months it seemed like every day i witnessed these injustices that i couldn't do anything about, and as a result i spent a lot of time this year feeling powerless, guilty, frustrated, and alienated from my surroundings.
it's important for me to allow myself to be affected by this behavior, because there are far too many people who ignore it altogether, but it is difficult to confront and pass judgement on injustices in countries that are not my own, because where do i draw the line between universal standards and cultural sensitivity? i'm still struggling to determine my role in these situations and how they will shape my future, but one day it dawned on me that i was far more inspired by the people i met who were working hard to affect social change and to educate others than by the guilt that overwhelmed me every time i walked away from some form of abuse.
i was equally affected by others who were, in the simplest terms, survivors: those who shared with me their stories of poverty, war, disease, abuse; those who could continue to smile and embrace life despite the horrors that had all but destroyed their families and themselves. there are so many people who had a profound impact on my life in 2005, who have provided inspiration at a time when i've felt almost entirely discouraged and disillusioned by the state of the world and have forced me to reevaluate my priorities and my dreams, without whom i might nearly have lost my way this year.
in february i sat down beside an old man on the bus between mae sot, a beautiful town on the burmese border, and bangkok. i was returning from my second visa run to myawaddy, a town that had shocked me in its contrast to thailand: dirt roads, shacks lined up like dominoes, a tiny ramshackle school serving over a thousand students, a 'tour guide' who had latched on to me as i crossed the bridge to burma, took me from temple to temple and helped me shop for tea and liquor, and didn't leave my side until i was safely back in thailand, hours later, but never once asked for payment and seemed so grateful when i handed him 200 baht - a measly five dollars.
as the bus left that night for bangkok, we stopped at one of the many border checkpoints set up to ensure that no refugees tried to go illegally to bangkok. the police lingered over two passports - mine, and the man's beside me, which was australian, before finally deeming us harmless and moving on. he and i began to talk, and he gave me his business card. his name was savinus sawin, and he had been born and raised in burma, but upon returning there to visit his family this weekend, he had been forbidden entry to the country. he went on to tell me that he had been a high school principal in myawaddy many years before, but was fired for taking part in the democratic uprisings - not because of his own involvement, but because he held a position of authority in a school where many of his students were also demonstrating against the human rights abuses committed under the military junta, and that was simply unforgiveable. considered a threat but not arrested, he expatriated to australia and set up a non-profit devoted to helping karen (a tribal minority in the region) refugees immigrate and resettle there. he did not speak ill of myanmar's government, nor did he express frustration at the blacklist he has been placed on in his native country, but instead spoke with optimism and hope for those lucky enough to escape the oppressive regime and build a new life for their families.
in april i met sinha, an 11 year old boy living on the streets of phnom penh, when he followed me for half an hour late one night trying to sell me a book. he is one of a group of children who lug these boxes of photocopied english language books - lonely planet guides and khmer rouge survival accounts - strapped to their shoulders, up and down the riverside, selling them to tourists for $2 or $3. i had been warned by local non-profits and NGOs about the adverse affects of "helping" these kids make a living. most of them work for an adult who profits from their sales, and very often the kids double as prostitutes for the western pedophiliacs who come to cambodia for what they envision as lax laws (i met a few tourists who had been propositioned by children - boys and girls - for sex).
that said, i always had mixed feelings about giving these kids money, and this boy was the most persistent one i'd come across. he was so visibly frustrated by my refusals, but didn't lose his temper like many of the kids i encountered, that finally he agreed dejectedly to go home under the condition that i would meet him the following day to buy a book. i decided to make an exception for sinha because there was something about him that seemed more genuine than most of the vendors i'd encountered. the next morning i walked down to our meeting point and he came running toward me elatedly. after our transaction was complete, he invited me to play with he and his friends, who were having a waterfight by the river to celebrate the khmer new year.
i spent the next two hours engaged in this battle with these teenagers whose english far surpassed that of my students in thailand, as they argued over the kind of grammar question most american kids wouldn't be bothered to care about. crates of books forgotten under protective blankets, they became children again, laughing and playing all afternoon.
it would have been easy to forget that they're not just like the kids i grew up with - sweet, able to find hours of entertainment in some plastic baggies filled with river water, and without a care in the world - until that evening when i sat in the balcony of the foreign correspondants club drinking wine alongside foreign journalists and tourists and the cambodian elite, looking out over the riverside where my friends from that afternoon were once again trudging up and down the street with their crates in pursuit of tourists who were doing their best to pretend that sinha and his friends were invisible.
i can't pretend that this image wasn't among the most disturbing i saw in asia, that it hasn't haunted me for the last eight months, but i'm trying to allow sinha to represent not just a class of children who have never known the luxury and priviliges that i was born into, but a group of hard-working students (they do actually go to school, or at least they claim to) who have still managed to cling to some semblance of childhood and can still find pleasure in their days. i can only imagine how dehumanizing it must feel to be a child avoided like the plague by foreigners whose conscience can't bear to acknowledge the realities of a corrupt government in war-torn and impoverished societes. but i swore that day that i wouldn't deny their existence, and that someday i would find a way to help kids like sinha. overly idealistic, maybe, but never impossible.
more later...
it's important for me to allow myself to be affected by this behavior, because there are far too many people who ignore it altogether, but it is difficult to confront and pass judgement on injustices in countries that are not my own, because where do i draw the line between universal standards and cultural sensitivity? i'm still struggling to determine my role in these situations and how they will shape my future, but one day it dawned on me that i was far more inspired by the people i met who were working hard to affect social change and to educate others than by the guilt that overwhelmed me every time i walked away from some form of abuse.
i was equally affected by others who were, in the simplest terms, survivors: those who shared with me their stories of poverty, war, disease, abuse; those who could continue to smile and embrace life despite the horrors that had all but destroyed their families and themselves. there are so many people who had a profound impact on my life in 2005, who have provided inspiration at a time when i've felt almost entirely discouraged and disillusioned by the state of the world and have forced me to reevaluate my priorities and my dreams, without whom i might nearly have lost my way this year.
in february i sat down beside an old man on the bus between mae sot, a beautiful town on the burmese border, and bangkok. i was returning from my second visa run to myawaddy, a town that had shocked me in its contrast to thailand: dirt roads, shacks lined up like dominoes, a tiny ramshackle school serving over a thousand students, a 'tour guide' who had latched on to me as i crossed the bridge to burma, took me from temple to temple and helped me shop for tea and liquor, and didn't leave my side until i was safely back in thailand, hours later, but never once asked for payment and seemed so grateful when i handed him 200 baht - a measly five dollars.
as the bus left that night for bangkok, we stopped at one of the many border checkpoints set up to ensure that no refugees tried to go illegally to bangkok. the police lingered over two passports - mine, and the man's beside me, which was australian, before finally deeming us harmless and moving on. he and i began to talk, and he gave me his business card. his name was savinus sawin, and he had been born and raised in burma, but upon returning there to visit his family this weekend, he had been forbidden entry to the country. he went on to tell me that he had been a high school principal in myawaddy many years before, but was fired for taking part in the democratic uprisings - not because of his own involvement, but because he held a position of authority in a school where many of his students were also demonstrating against the human rights abuses committed under the military junta, and that was simply unforgiveable. considered a threat but not arrested, he expatriated to australia and set up a non-profit devoted to helping karen (a tribal minority in the region) refugees immigrate and resettle there. he did not speak ill of myanmar's government, nor did he express frustration at the blacklist he has been placed on in his native country, but instead spoke with optimism and hope for those lucky enough to escape the oppressive regime and build a new life for their families.
in april i met sinha, an 11 year old boy living on the streets of phnom penh, when he followed me for half an hour late one night trying to sell me a book. he is one of a group of children who lug these boxes of photocopied english language books - lonely planet guides and khmer rouge survival accounts - strapped to their shoulders, up and down the riverside, selling them to tourists for $2 or $3. i had been warned by local non-profits and NGOs about the adverse affects of "helping" these kids make a living. most of them work for an adult who profits from their sales, and very often the kids double as prostitutes for the western pedophiliacs who come to cambodia for what they envision as lax laws (i met a few tourists who had been propositioned by children - boys and girls - for sex).
that said, i always had mixed feelings about giving these kids money, and this boy was the most persistent one i'd come across. he was so visibly frustrated by my refusals, but didn't lose his temper like many of the kids i encountered, that finally he agreed dejectedly to go home under the condition that i would meet him the following day to buy a book. i decided to make an exception for sinha because there was something about him that seemed more genuine than most of the vendors i'd encountered. the next morning i walked down to our meeting point and he came running toward me elatedly. after our transaction was complete, he invited me to play with he and his friends, who were having a waterfight by the river to celebrate the khmer new year.
i spent the next two hours engaged in this battle with these teenagers whose english far surpassed that of my students in thailand, as they argued over the kind of grammar question most american kids wouldn't be bothered to care about. crates of books forgotten under protective blankets, they became children again, laughing and playing all afternoon.
it would have been easy to forget that they're not just like the kids i grew up with - sweet, able to find hours of entertainment in some plastic baggies filled with river water, and without a care in the world - until that evening when i sat in the balcony of the foreign correspondants club drinking wine alongside foreign journalists and tourists and the cambodian elite, looking out over the riverside where my friends from that afternoon were once again trudging up and down the street with their crates in pursuit of tourists who were doing their best to pretend that sinha and his friends were invisible.
i can't pretend that this image wasn't among the most disturbing i saw in asia, that it hasn't haunted me for the last eight months, but i'm trying to allow sinha to represent not just a class of children who have never known the luxury and priviliges that i was born into, but a group of hard-working students (they do actually go to school, or at least they claim to) who have still managed to cling to some semblance of childhood and can still find pleasure in their days. i can only imagine how dehumanizing it must feel to be a child avoided like the plague by foreigners whose conscience can't bear to acknowledge the realities of a corrupt government in war-torn and impoverished societes. but i swore that day that i wouldn't deny their existence, and that someday i would find a way to help kids like sinha. overly idealistic, maybe, but never impossible.
more later...