From LoyarBurok: Two Women, Two Tribes and a Journey of a Lifetime [Part V]

Two Women, Two Tribes, and a Journey of a Lifetime is a 9-part series penned by Lim Ka Eaabout her one year stint in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia where she accompanied her husband on his 9th humanitarian mission. No stranger to travel and humanitarian missions herself, she learned that Ethiopia is not really Africa and Africa is not really all about national parks or long distance-runners. She also learned that being a "tai-tai" is so overrated unless there is another "tai-tai" to get into mischief with. This 9-parter tells the story of how two "tai-tais" explored Ethiopia and discovered their life as both an individual and a woman. This weekly series started with Part I: My first encounter with Africa, Part II: The faces, sounds and smell of Addis Ababa, Part III: The gift of a kindred spirit and Part IV: Getting in synch with nature.

Part V – Hardships and friendship

I’ve never really told Irada how I felt about this because at some level, I understand that a photographer has to take certain risks in order to capture that rare moment. Jalalem, on the other hand, was not as understanding. He was very much annoyed by our behaviour and possibly perceived them as parsimonious.  In the beginning, Jalalem would often ignore Irada’s urgent signal to stop the car when she saw something photo-worthy. We didn’t know whether it was his lack of urgency, understanding of English or he simply established that if we were not going to pay, he was not going to bother stopping.

My own frustration was of a completely different nature. It was extremely challenging for me to try to understand things in order to document our journey. Despite the fact that talking is free of charge here, it was difficult to communicate with some of the people we met since we did not have a translator. I am sceptical as to the accuracy of what had been translated to me by Jalalem and other local people who speak very little English.

In addition to this, the local women are often shy, possibly exacerbated by very low level of education and exposure to the outside world. They hardly spoke a word to us which made it even more difficult to interview them. If this was not the case, then very often, men spoke on behalf of them. Some women even shied away from being photographed although I would still approach them to talk to them. I had to raise both arms up with my palms wide open to reassure them that I had no camera with me.

Closer to the end of our trip, we finally established a better rapport and understanding with Jalalem. He provided us with some useful hints to facilitate our mission. He taught us the local tribal word, Jaala which means “friend”,  as a form of greeting, indicating friendship and solidarity. From then onwards, we could not stop screaming Jaala! Jaala! at almost everyone we saw on the way, much to their amusement but to Jalalem’s mortification. He also helped us to trade pictures for candies but this usually worked with children only.

Water and women – the vital sources of life

We were very often chased by half naked children in need of a good scrub, after our car and surprisingly with great speed. Their agility  and athleticism were only matched by their vocal chord as they screamed Highland! Highland! which to the unfamiliar ears, sounded like Thailand. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why Ethiopia has such a big pool of great runners.

Some boys even tried to attract our attention by doing a sort of local dance consisting of jumping jacks executed from a squatting position.  Trust me, it didn’t look easy and the Russians may be able to learn a thing or two from these boys. We later learned that due to the scarcity of water, empty plastic bottles or “Highland”, named after one of the popular local brands of bottled water, are in high demand in almost every part of the country. They are used to collect water from the river or even puddles of muddy water left behind by the rain. Forlorn-looking donkeys, used as mobile water tanks, were seen carrying bright yellow plastic jerry cans filled with water.

Local women are a vital source of life, not only because they are mothers, they are also responsible for the difficult task of collecting water. Almost throughout the whole journey, women are often seen walking for miles in order to reach water points or rivers, which are often completely dried up. Each woman, with a 20-litre jerry can strapped onto their backs, some pregnant and some riped with old age, take their task seriously as they often risk sexual harassment due to long distance of isolated paths taken to reach the water source. Humanitarian organisations have often tried to make sure that new water wells are being constructed as close as possible to their homes in order to avoid such risk.

It is heart wrenching to think that many of these pregnant women probably risk losing their unborn babies and some even their lives while delivering, due to such harsh condition. Reliable statistics have shown that the neo-natal mortality rate in Ethiopia is as high as 51 per 1,000 live births and the maternal mortality rate is at 720 per 100,000 live births.

Many women also suffer from gradual distortion of their backs due to the burden of such brutal weight. We had seen some elderly women walking and bearing the cruelty of life, with their backs bent forward permanently to almost a ninety-degree.

For many of us who never have to submit to such hardship, it boggles the mind to see how many of them could still muster a beautiful smile which weighed more than the weight they carry on their back by a million times.

Arba Minch – “It’s a good sign”

We finally reached Arba Minch at around 4:30pm. Elevated at around 1,600m, it provides a spectacular view of the Rift Valley and nearby lakes from above. The largest city in the south-western part of Ethiopia, Arba Minch, means forty springs in Amharic, is indeed more developed and sophisticated than other places we have been outside the capital. It is well-known for three things, Nechisar National Park, Lake Abaya and Lake Chamo.

Our first experience with Lake Abaya and Chamo were truly magical. The lakes are divided by Nechisar National Park in the middle, also named fondly as the Bridge of Heaven, provides a startling contrast between the salmon pinkish water of Lake Abaya and the clear blue water of Chamo. The former’s water colour is a result of elevated natural concentration of suspended ferrous hydroxide.

What further amazed us was a rainbow, perfect in its shape, size and colour, arching over the lakes from one end to the other. If heaven really exists, then this was how I would have imagined it. Irada, who was previously apprehensive about her ability to obtain good photographs, told me that the rainbow was a good sign. She once gave me a brief lesson in photography and as I remember it well, she told me that to take a fantastic photograph, it often depends on three things; luck, lighting and composition. Anyone can hone the necessary skills or techniques to become a photographer but without luck, even the best photographers will not be able to secure an outstanding photograph. To her, it was purely luck that we had arrived in Arba Minch with this rare gift of a magnificent view.

After being deprived of fresh seafood in Addis Ababa, we feasted on grilled tilapias caught from the lakes. Nothing had ever tasted so good throughout the time I had spent in Addis Ababa. The fact that we were both starving could also be a contributing factor. The beers were nicely chilled and hence provided us with a delightful change from the often lukewarm beers in Addis Ababa due to the power cut.

By 8 pm, we were both sitting in our hotel room, completely bored and missing our family back in Addis Ababa. With no television or radio to provide us with some entertainment, we were engulfed in the complete stillness and silence of the night. With our 5 litres of untouched white wine staring at us from above a cabinet, we unanimously decided to drown our boredom in some alcohol. After several cups of bottoms up, we settled into bed early that night, exhausted but exhilarated at the same time after all the excitement in one day. Perhaps it was the white wine finally working its way through our system. Whatever it was, we sighed in contentment as we turned off the lights and bid each other goodnight.

As I closed my eyes, I thought about our impending camping trip at the Mago National Park with slight trepidation. I think what had worried me most about the journey was the constant warning of the threat of Sleeping Sickness caused by Tsetse flies in Mago. Once bitten, it apparently results in instant coma. But as I finally dozed off, I heard the echo of Irada’s voice saying, “It’s a good sign.” I thought, if the appearance of a rainbow could provide luck to a photographer, I hope it would provide the same for two women at Mago National Park.

Next: Part VI – Our first sighting of a local traditional tribe

Ka Ea used to be a globe trotter. She has lived in Timor Leste and Afghanistan while working as a civic education and human rights officers for the United Nations. She then tried to be a full time housewife in Ethiopia and Cambodia but failed miserably. Now, she works with lawyers and human rights activists by day and watches Discovery Travel & Living by night. She writes for The Malaysian Insider during her dwindling free time. She longs for the day when someone would pay her to travel, eat and write.

Irada Humbatova was born in Azerbaijan’s capital Baku on 12 July 1974. She trained and worked as a midwife from 1994 to 1997, later assisting the International Federation of the Red Cross/Red Crescent with maternal health work by training and supporting traditional birth attendants in rural areas. Since then she has followed her husband on Red Cross missions around the world, developing her love for photography into a passion and profession. Inspired by Africa’s immense beauty and its people’s suffering she moved from art photography to photojournalism. She has since grown to become Reuters’ stringer for Ethiopia and work on assignments for other news outlets and magazines. Irada is currently back in Baku continuing her work with Reuters. She contributes most of the photographs in this series.

Technorati Tags: Irada Humbatova,Ethiopia,Arba Minch,Nechisar National Park,Lake Abaya,Lake Chamo,Bridge of Heaven,Mago National Park,Tsetse flies,Sleeping Sickness,Reuters,Lim Ka Ea

When the non-marginalised becomes marginalised

This was first posted at The Malaysian Insider on 20 February 2011 under the title “Marginalising the non-marginalised”.

I once had an interesting conversation with my former boss who was then the country representative of a non-governmental organisation (NGO) I was volunteering for in Phnom Penh. She lamented that too many NGOs, international aid agencies and government institutions are giving too much attention to HIV/AIDS programmes. 

So much so that those who are afflicted by less notorious diseases such as diabetes are being neglected despite the latter killing more people each year. According to UNAIDS, 1.8 million people died of AIDS in 2009 while 3.4 million people were reported to have died of diabetes in 2004 according to WHO’s statistics and this number may very well have doubled by now. 

Then I started to think about what she said and realised that on many levels, there is a lot of truth in it and it doesn’t just stop at HIV/AIDS. 

Part of my volunteering work involved working with staff from Tom Dy Centre, a shelter and rehabilitation centre for women rescued from human trafficking and sexual exploitation in Cambodia. I had visited this centre several times and was amazed by the level of comfort provided by this well-equipped and relatively modern centre but as soon as I stepped out of it, the surrounding area looked more like the rest of Cambodia; bare, under-developed, poor and dirty. 

The roads in the area were appalling and could easily succumb to flooding if there was a heavy downpour and needless to say, the wooden houses around the neighbourhood were old, small, flimsy and completely weather-beaten. It was safe to assume that they would not have been able to protect the three little piglets from the big bad wolf. This scene is just a few kilometres away from Phnom Penh city centre. 

When I asked my colleague about the community’s perception of the women at the shelter, she told me that while some are inclined to look down on them, many actually harbour some form of jealousy towards them. I was not surprised since most people living in the community are struggling to make ends meet while the women at the shelter are given free regular healthcare, vocational training and reintegration packages to help them start their own small businesses. 

It’s difficult to imagine that any of these women would want to return to their previous life as a village girl waiting on her family hand and foot. I also can’t help but wonder whether such new “improved” living conditions would help them readjust easily to their former lifestyle. 

I don’t know whether it’s Angelina Jolie who made adoption “sexy” because it is extremely popular in Cambodia. It is common to see adopted Cambodian children dressed up in OshKosh B’gosh and Gap Kids while being enrolled in international schools that seem to have mushroomed in the capital city to meet the demands of a growing expatriate community. 

Although these local children are being given a chance to have better education and standard of living, the majority of Cambodian children drop out from schools before the age of 12 in order to help their parents support their large families. Not unlike Thailand, the burden of taking care of the family falls on the daughters’ shoulders more than the boys. 

I had the opportunity to meet the executive director of a local NGO called Health Centre for Children. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that their reintegration approach for trafficked and sexually exploited children is very different from other NGOs in Cambodia. Their approach is very much about integrating the victims’ needs with the needs of their community and at the same time, cultivating a collective sense of ownership and responsibility amongst themselves. Families and communities of reintegrated children are rewarded for developing and improving their economic condition and thus preventing their children from being trafficked and sold into the sex trade. 

In a nutshell, all of them get a piece of the pie. 

The NGO will provide a loan or other forms of incentives to help develop the community as a whole. In addition, community-based activities such as campaigns and group sessions to talk about issues concerning human trafficking and sexual exploitation are held regularly. All these activities will help inculcate a common sense of responsibilities towards protecting the children. 

To me, this is obviously a more effective and sustainable approach towards preventing further exploitation of children. For a start, it tackles the root cause of the problem. The majority of women and children are being trafficked or sold as slaves because of poverty. Hence, a more effective method of preventing this form of modern-day slavery is to develop the community first and at the same time, provide the children with education. 

In a country like Cambodia where more than 90 per cent of the population live beneath the poverty line, it is not hard to think that nearly all of them are marginalized in one way or another by our standard. 

For the average Cambodian who barely makes more than US$40 a month, it doesn’t help them to think that one must be a victim of some sort of tragedy, chronic disease or crime in order to receive assistance. For the majority of them, better infrastructure, employment, education, basic health care, food and water will help improve their lives tremendously. 

By no means am I saying that those whose lives are being tragically compromised by HIV/AIDS, trafficking, forced prostitution, disability and other hardships do not deserve the amount of attention the world seems to be giving, but I think it is time for humanitarian institutions to adopt more community-based programmes so that the non-marginalised will not end up being the marginalised.

Conversation with my father

This article was first published at The Malaysian Insider on 19 December 2010

“I notice that you have a weakness. Do you want to know what it is?”

“Yes, sure,” I said with a voice that quivered slightly due to uncertainty and nerve. It was the same kind of uncertainty and nerve when the doctor asks whether I would like to know the result of my pap smear.

It was the first time in my life when my father expressed the need to reveal to me what he really thought of me. It was momentous and yet nerve-wrecking at the same time. I never thought I could do anything wrong in his eyes and I was convinced that I had his full confidence.

Evidently, I was wrong.

I was told that I was too intolerant and that I could never allow other people to assert their authority over me. These words were said with a heavy heart. I could tell it wasn’t easy for my father to say them to me. Nevertheless, I still believe those were the harshest words he has ever uttered to me and I have a good feeling that they would continue to haunt me for a long time.

Now, my father has his own reasons for telling me that. I know what those reasons are and as he has rightly pointed out, I am unwilling to accept the authority of his words. What hurt the most was knowing how much he has misunderstood my character and how unjust his judgment of me was. Having a strong viewpoint is perceived as rudeness and having courage or guts to go against convention is regarded as rebellion, or sometimes as an easy means of escaping responsibilities.

For as long as my father can remember, I had been an obedient child who subsequently turned “difficult” as soon as I became a teenager and then just simply “unhappy” as an adult. He could not understand why I felt the need to be “rude” to my tyrannical teacher or quit my job when my employer could not care less about my welfare. He simply could not understand why I could not be one of those individuals who settle for a well-paying job and stop being unhappy about every injustice that confronts me.

“What do you really want to do in life? What do you want to achieve?” I could see he wanted to know and he wanted to understand.

Such straightforward questions and yet the answers are never as such. I told him that I want to help change things in the country and help to change the mindsets of the people here. I told him that people need to be empowered to choose what’s best for them and that includes the government.

Tears started pouring down my face as I told him about all the wrong-doings that are plaguing the country and how things desperately need to change. I then realised that I had never cried that way before in front of my father. I was surprised and embarrassed by my vulnerability and the inability to control my emotion.

He in turn, looked bewildered and old.

I told him that things are changing and there are many young Malaysians who want to do something to bring about change to the country. I want to be a part of them.

He said I am too naïve and idealistic. He said I would be disappointed when I realise that this is not just a romantic idea of an heroic act. He said he is a lot older than I am and I should trust him that from his own experience, many young people start off with the purest of all intentions but as soon as the going gets tough, they will learn that reality creates stains in life. He said that sooner or later, everyone turns cynical and they will eventually give up.

I am uncertain whether he was being cynical, realistic or simply attempting to protect me from getting disappointed.

I told him that I am fully aware that this world is not a bed of roses and I think I have seen enough of suffering to accept that. What I could not accept is when people stop knowing how to differentiate between right and wrong and choose to be indifferent instead.

He said he couldn’t understand why young people have such silly notions these days. When he was young, all he could think of was to secure a decent living.

“And I thank you for that. It’s because of you that I am able to have all this silly notions,” I said to him.

“You wonder why young people are abandoning lucrative careers for human rights and politics? Could it be because of the opportunity and privilege they now have to focus on something else other than bread and butter issues, as results of improved economic condition provided by their parents? Isn’t that a good thing?” I added.

“And that’s where the Chinese is wise. There is a saying that a family’s wealth does not go beyond the third generation,” my father retorted.

“In order for a country and its people to prosper, I think we need two types of people. Those like you who build the country’s economy and those like us who want to see a more accountable and transparent government that protects human rights. I don’t think you can have one without the other. Besides, can one family’s wealth ever match a positive change brought upon millions of people?” I asked in exasperation.

When I arrived home that night, I was resentful of my father. I resented him for not understanding who I am as a person. I resented him for feeling disappointed with me when I thought he would be proud instead. Above all, I resented the fact that he wished for me to be someone I am not. I also wish that as a father, he had taught me to be strong and to never allow others to assert their authority or power over me simply because I deserve better.

My husband told me that I should try to understand that my father lives in a different generation; a generation where his father did not have the means to give him what he gave us. A generation where their biggest enemies were poverty and ignorance, but it is always easier for human beings to survive ignorance and not poverty. Now, most of us just live in ignorance and we forget how it feels like to be poor.

Perhaps my husband is right but how do you then explain another young person who told me I am too idealistic for my own good? Do we still have hope?

Taking charge

As I sat eating my lunch at a fast food outlet, I couldn't help but felt annoyed with this boisterous  boy not more than 3 running amok at the counter. He was a curious little thing; poking around and trying to get his fingers on everything, including unsuspecting adults waiting in line.  I was quite sure I was not the only one getting annoyed.

I felt sorry for the embarrassed young mother who tried to calm him down. Instead of earning her son's respect, she received continuous kicks from the unrelenting child. 

In the end, she gave up.

As I sat there, I thought about all the possible ways of dealing with the situation, if I were the mother. I must confess that giving the child a good spanking was one of them.

The woman looked relieved when she finally reached the front of the counter. She probably thought her ordeal would end soon once the child got distracted by French fries or a sundae. Instead, I watched him abandoned her and walked towards me.

With all the energy he had, he dragged a chair all the way to the counter. Once the chair was parked securely by his mother, he pushed himself up and stood shoulder to shoulder with her. The woman looked mortified as soon as she realised what happened and proceeded to reprimand him.

I don't know what it was but my initial impression of the boy changed. I was amazed to see how he took charge of his life; he wanted to reach up to be able to see something way above his eye level and he didn't ask for help nor wait for help to come. He just went for what he thought would help him accomplish what he wanted, albeit unappreciated.

I then began to think about all the possible things this boy can achieve when he becomes an adult.

*******************************

If you were the mother, would you have reprimanded the child for dragging the chair?

As a mother, how do you "discipline" your child without compromising his/her self-esteem to take initiatives and take charge of things?

'Forgotten' tribes left behind by development by M. Jegathesan, AFP

KAMPUNG BERTANG LAMA: Just a few hours from the glittering Malaysian capital is a pitiful scene of hungry children and desperate parents, in an indigenous village home to the "forgotten Malaysians".

Naked youngsters with the tell-tale signs of malnourishment - bulging stomachs and brown tinged hair - sit listlessly in a hut, while others cling to their mothers as they suckle milk.

Welcome to Bertang Lama village, home of some of Malaysia's Semai people, an indigenous tribe mired in poverty and struggling to adapt as the multicultural nation races towards modernity.

The village, which houses about 300 people, is located close to Cheroh, a small town in central Pahang that sits along the Titiwangsa mountains which form the backbone of Peninsula Malaysia.

The Semai, once nomadic but now largely settled, are seeking recognition of their traditional land rights as well as basic needs - piped water, electricity, medicine, education and tarred roads.

Known for their tracking skills

There is little food in the village where families live a subsistence life, hunting and gathering to trade in jungle products like rattan and agarwood.

Neither is there much money, as the forest they depend on is fast being depleted of its resources thanks to deforestation caused by logging, and the rapid expansion of rubber and palm oil plantations.

There are an estimated 45,000 Semai in Peninsular Malaysia, among some 150,000 indigenous people divided among 19 linguistic groups who live on the country's mainland.

Colin Nicholas, coordinator of the Centre for Orang Asli Concerns, said the people of Bertang Lama and others like them have become "the forgotten and invisible Malaysians".

Nicholas said the Semai played a valuable role in the British offensive against communist insurgents in the 1950s due to their stealth and tracking skills, but are now seen as irrelevant.

"Come elections, ruling party politicians make promises in exchange for votes but after that they renege on their words. Because of their small population, they are easily ignored by the government," he told AFP.

"The indigenous people have been pushed to the brink. Their situation will only get worse. After nearly 53 years of independence, the government is in a state of denial."

Invisible people

Not all Semai or Orang Asli people are impoverished, and some communities, particularly those located closer to urban infrastructure, have done much better in terms of education, employment and health.

But the plight of Bertang Lama village was highlighted when Lim Ka Ea, an executive officer with the Malaysian Bar Council visited recently and recounted her shock at the scene there in a newspaper article.

"The Orang Asli have been regarded as invisible by many people," she told AFP.

"What we do see in them is their 'primitive' form of lifestyle and the entrenched stereotype that they serve no purpose to the advancement of our nation except to make our tourism advertisements look exotic and attractive."

In the village, 11-year-old Jolisa returns home from the forest, armed with a machete and a bamboo basket on her back as she skips along with three other barefoot friends.

"We went looking for wild vegetables," she says.

"Yes I would like to go to school if there was one in our village," she replies with a smile to a visitor's question.

'Life is difficult'

Nearby, inside a dilapidated hut, a naked two-year-old child with mucus dripping from his nose and an expressionless face holds a bowl containing only mashed tapioca, a flavorless starch, for his breakfast.

The chidren are mostly illiterate, and mostly hungry as their families can only provide them with vegetables and tapioca sourced from the jungle.

The village is located just 11 kilometers from a main road but it is a tedious drive along an unsealed logging track.

"We sell rattan, bamboo and agarwood sourced from the forest. But it is hard to find them now," says Yoke Ham, a 47-year-old father of 12 children who says his ancestors settled here hundreds of years ago.

"The average income per month is less than RM300," he adds, as crying babies drown out the chirp of insects.

Prime Minister Najib Tun Razak, who is striving for Malaysia to achieve developed-nation status by 2020, earlier this month assured all Malaysians that no one will be left behind.

"I promise you, as prime minister I will be fair to everybody. We will help all communities to move forward. We will make Malaysia a high-income country," he said.

But the lofty goals mean little to Robina, who looks in her thirties but does not know her age. She holds her sick three-year-old daughter, Sinar, on her lap and appeals for help as tears roll down her face.

"My child has a fever. I have no money to buy food and rice for her," she says. "We have not had our breakfast yet. Life is difficult."

What they don’t show you on Malaysia Truly Asia advertisements (Part II)

Technorati Tags: Semai Community

Technorati Tags: Orang Asli,UN Millennium Development Goal,SIKAP,Philippines,Malaysia,Indigenous People,Malaysia Truly Asia,Kg. Bertang Lama

This article was first published here in The Malay Mail on 16 June 2010.

THE UN Millennium Development Goals call on all member States to provide universal education by 2015.

If the world collectively declares that education is key to eradicating poverty and ensuring gender equality, how then do we reassure the Orang Asli that their identity and values will not be compromised if they fully partake in our national education system? (Bear in mind that there are others we have met who do want their children to be educated but complain that education facilities have not been adequately provided to them by the authorities.)

The Philippines may have the answer to this social conundrum.

In 2005, the Asian Council for People’s Culture assisted different indigenous tribes in that country by setting up the Schools for Indigenous Knowledge and Traditions (SIKAT). This programme envisions a system at par with mainstream education but founded on the ways of life, traditions and culture of indigenous people (see: www.unescobkk.org).

What is most interesting about SIKAT is that the idea originated from the indigenous people themselves. Therefore, they own the concept and results of its implementation.

Important decisions are made by the SIKAT Council of Elders, consisting of 15 elected members of different tribes in the Philippines.

The programme has been successful despite various obstacles such as the lack of funding from the government, obtaining recognition from the Department of Education and in trying to develop a suitable and balanced curriculum.

This is perhaps something that our own government and civil society should look into. However, there is a need to ensure that while every possible option is being explored to help preserve the Orang Asli’s way of life, it is necessary to ensure that they feel part of the collective Malaysia.

It is unreasonable to expect them to integrate fully into mainstream society but it is equally erroneous to treat them as “foreign” or “exotic” groups of people. We should be careful not to regard them as part of Malaysia’s unique wildlife.

At the moment, there is simply insufficient information about the indigenous people (Orang Asli or OA) that can easily be accessed by the public. What we see or know of them is largely from our beautifully produced and expensive tourism advertisements and brochures and they are far from reality.

Since there is little opportunity for interaction with the OA, we often view them as “marginalised” people who are in need of our charity. It is not far from the truth as the only time we do actually interact with the OA is when we visit them with the intention of “giving” something.

My trip on May 22 to Kampung Bertang Lama, home to a Semai community in Pahang, allowed me to examine myself more closely. I saw myself in others when I was working in all those under-developed countries.

We entered the village having full confidence that we were doing something good. We treated the community with much caution and sensitivity that we were afraid of offending them or making them feel as if we were treating them differently.

At the same time, by doing so, we did not realise that we were actually magnifying the differences. We were telling them that we are not “equals”, that they are weaker and more fragile. I remember telling my friend that they are not porcelain dolls. They’re just like us.

We told them that they have rights. We played with their children. We smiled and fussed over how cute the children are when there’s really nothing cute about scabies, malnutrition or illiteracy. We took photos of them as if they are rare finds or a disguised way of announcing to others the good deeds we had done over the weekend.

Yet, we could not name the faces on the photos. We could embrace the endorphin triggered from the trip so easily because once we were out of the village, we were no longer confronted by the ugliness whereas the ugliness does not end the moment we left. It continues.

We left feeling good just as I had left Timor Leste, Afghanistan, Ethiopia and Cambodia feeling good and convinced that I had done something good. The only difference is that the OA are Malaysians. I can never leave them behind but only return to them.

I finally realised that unless we leave behind something sustainable, everything else is only temporary like the endorphin.

Article 8 of our Federal Constitution states that all persons are equal before the law but my experience tells me otherwise. The Chinese believe that the outcome of a person’s life is determined by his/her destiny but my father has proven this theory wrong.

In the end, what really makes one person different from another? Noam Chomsky said that freedom without opportunities is the Devil’s gift. If the mouse that was born in the sewer was given an opportunity to find its way out or given access to rice, do you think it would have a chance at living a better life?

My father is who he is today because he embraced all the opportunities he has been given in life. Above all, he did not have to worry about feeding his family when he was a boy. He also did not have to walk for 20 kilometres every day just to have an education or wait for weeks before he could get a wound treated.

Poverty, illiteracy and fear are all debilitating diseases. They are devastating and ugly. But it is how we forgive our leaders or authorities (who are supposed to assist all Malaysians), whereas these Malaysians are paying for it, that makes it a crime.

We are all guilty of that crime and will continue to be until the day we no longer consider the OA cause as “charity-driven cause”, or treat them as a “species threatened with extinction”.

* LIM KA EA is the executive officer of the Constitutional Law Committee (ConstiLC) of Bar Council Malaysia (www.malaysianbar.org.my/constitutional_ law_committee).

The views expressed in this article are personal to the writer and may not necessarily represent the position of the Bar Council.

The ConstiLC is running a two-year nationwide MyConstitution campaign launched in November last year. The campaign was born of the collective desire of the ConstiLC’s membership of more than 150 members made up of lawyers, academics, students, media persons and activists to increase awareness of the Federal Constitution among all Malaysians – “Untuk Merakyatkan Perlembagaan”.

A unique, first-of-its-kind “The Enlightened Rakyat Workshop”, jointly organised by ConstiLC and Leaderonomics, will be conducted on July 10 (9am-6pm) at Menara Star in Petaling Jaya, as a means of enabling Malaysians to learn about themselves — the choices you are able to make, the impact you can have over Malaysia and the skills you have as a leader. Youths are especially encouraged to sign up, and space is limited to 50 participants only.

Visit http://www.perlembagaanku.com/2010/06/the-enlightened-rakyatworkshop/ to register and go to Facebook pagewww.facebook.com/MyConstitution for more information, or Twitter at www.twitter.com/MyConsti.

What they don’t show you on Malaysia Truly Asia advertisements (Part I)

This article was first published here in the Malay Mail on 9 June 2010 .

MY father is a self-made man. I suppose that qualifies him as one of those people able to say that we can be authors of our own destiny.

I recall him explaining a Chinese proverb to me once, some years ago. The proverb tells of the destinies of two mice — one born in a sack of rice and the other, in a sewer — two similar creatures but with different fortunes.

The proverb assumes that their destinies were fated from the moment they came into being. I was reminded of this proverb when I took a road trip to Kampung Bertang Lama, home to a Semai community in Pahang, on May 22. We were there for the first MyConsti’s “Program Memperkasakan Orang Asli dengan PerlembagaanKu”.

What I saw was the imperfection of humanity and the ugly side of reality. Apart from being shocked, what I saw made me ask this question: Would I be who I am today, had I been born in this community?

The answer was a humbling one. I have spent the past six years working and living in under-developed countries in Asia and Africa.

At no point in time did I think that Malaysia is also a nation where there are communities in need of education and empowerment as the people I worked with in Timor Leste, Afghanistan, Ethiopia and Cambodia.

I suppose the towering skyscrapers of Kuala Lumpur somehow impeded my vision of the real Malaysia. Or I was too busy trying to reach the top of that mountain of rice that I failed to see the sewer just round the corner.

One of the most heart-wrenching images I have seen was the sight of an emaciated infant, no more than three years old, desperately trying to squeeze a drop of milk out of his mother’s deflated breast. The mother, equally hungry and weak, looked up imploringly to the sky, possibly praying that God will be merciful that day.

The only things getting fed were the flies that congregated by the dozens on the faces of the mother and child. That was Ethiopia in 2008.

In Kampung Bertang Lama last month, I saw children terribly malnourished walking around naked with distended bellies. They looked almost like miniature pregnant women far into their third trimester. Some of them wore what looked like angry-looking scabies all over their skin, including the soles of their tiny feet. What is a treatable skin infection is left to thrive because the whole village receives medical treatment infrequently.

I was informed that only two adults are literate in a community of more than 500 people. This information made our campaign booklets “The Rakyat Guides” irrelevant. It was not an exaggeration because when I tried to encourage a girl, aged six, to draw a picture of her village on a piece of paper with colour pencils, she shied away and giggled nervously. It became apparent that she had never held a pencil in her life when I clasped my palm over her tiny hands and guided her fingers onto the piece of paper. We both drew a flower together. She laughed with obvious delight at the result.

When I encouraged her to try it out on her own, an immediate fear seized her. She looked lost. I couldn’t bring myself to ask her name despite wanting so much to write her name down for her to see.

It was for the selfish reason that I rationalised it would be easier to leave later if I did not form any attachment to her.

Fear is as debilitating a disease as poverty, if not worse. Growing up in a society which placed great emphasis on education, I was informed there was apprehension by the Semai community that our formal, national education system offers little hope of retaining the Semai identity and cultural heritage. This fear is not unfounded.

According to UNESCO, while universal education programmes provide important tools for human development, they may compromise indigenous language and knowledge transmission. As such, it may inevitably contribute to an erosion of cultural diversity, a loss of social cohesion, and alienation and disorientation of indigenous youth (see: www.unesco.org).

According to some of the older Semai, they heard many horror stories of young Orang Asli leaving their homes and abandoning their cultural identities once they receive an education.

In the end, it is easy for them to conclude that education does not mean development, at least not for the community as a whole.

For the Orang Asli, their identity is often defined by their deep connection with their ancestral land, not economic migration or individual ambition.

* LIM KA EA is the executive officer of the Constitutional Law Committee (ConstiLC) of Bar Council Malaysia (www.malaysianbar.org.my/constitutional_ law_committee).

The views expressed in this article are personal to the writer and may not necessarily represent the position of the Bar Council.

The ConstiLC is running a two-year nationwide MyConstitution campaign launched in November last year. The campaign was born of the collective desire of the ConstiLC’s membership of more than 150 members made up of lawyers, academics, students, media persons and activists to increase awareness of the Federal Constitution among all Malaysians – “Untuk Merakyatkan Perlembagaan”.

A unique, first-of-its-kind “The Enlightened Rakyat Workshop”, jointly organised by ConstiLC and Leaderonomics, will be conducted on July 10 (9am-6pm) at Menara Star in Petaling Jaya, as a means of enabling Malaysians to learn about themselves — the choices you are able to make, the impact you can have over Malaysia and the skills you have as a leader. Youths are especially encouraged to sign up, and space is limited to 50 participants only.

Visit http://www.perlembagaanku.com/2010/06/the-enlightened-rakyatworkshop/ to register and go to Facebook page www.facebook.com/MyConstitution for more information, or Twitter at www.twitter.com/MyConsti.

The World March for Peace and Non-Violence, Kuala Lumpur – 10 October 2009

The quiet and posh residential area in Jalan Bangkung, Bangsar, was hit by a tidal wave of loud music, vibrant live performances, piercing whistle blows and screams by throngs of people from all walks of life and (not forgetting) smoky scent of grilled meat, last night.

Sounds rowdy enough? Yes, but all for a good cause and it was done peacefully as well.

I usually go to Jalan Bangkung for two reasons; the restaurants and Bali Ayu spa. Last night was special because a group of NGOs; Voice of the Children, Women’s Aid Organization, the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, NurSalam, World Without War and restaurant group Maxim Image (owners of Cava, Leonardo and Opus) came together to organize an event where Malaysians could gather in one place to express their solidarity and commitment to peace and non-violence. The night was marked by a candle-lighting ceremony and a not-so-solemn walk with lanterns around the strip of restaurants.

What I find interesting was how men, women and children from all ages and races were able to shed their cultural and political differences by holding hands and partying the night away. I smiled watching a man of about 60 years old with seemingly mild demeanour, clapping and dancing to the rhythm of hip drum beats. There were two men in the same age group; an Indian and a Sikh, waving the Jalur Gemilang at the front of the stage, while being observed by a foreigner who grinned with amusement.

Pet dogs of all shapes and sizes were not left out from the event as well. Many owners brought their furry friends to participate in the lantern march, much to the envy of neighbouring dogs, barking ruefully from the inside of gated residences. It was amusing observing some of them chastising their over-zealous pooches trying to sniff around the lower regions of those walking at the front.

It was also an expressive night where ordinary people displayed slogans on banners and T-shirts from “Stop violence against women”, “Are you a registered voter?” to “Love us, not eat us”. My favourite was, “An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind” by Mahatma Gandhi and one which says, “I am woman, hear me roar”.

The live performances were refreshing, energetic and pretty darn entertaining but nothing still touch the people quite as much as Michael Jackson’s Heal the World when it came on the loud speaker.

What I saw last night taught me one lesson. We can achieve unity and peace as a multi-cultural nation, if we want to. It was rare for me to see Malaysians of all races gathered together in a place where pork, beef and alcohol were served with the present of dogs, and non-Chinese children  took to the street with Chinese lanterns of all shapes and sizes. Nobody came out and accused anyone of being disrespectful of any particular religion but instead focussed on respecting each other’s diversity without compromising their own.

I wish everyday could be like this and not just during an annual event. We should remind ourselves each day that we need to heal the world and make it a better place.

Peace to everyone!

Parents playing God

I was watching Ramen Girl the other day and something strikes me about the movie. It wasn’t just a romantic story where boy meets girl in a foreign country, they fall in love and live happily ever after. It’s a movie about breaking away from family expectations and finding your own path in life.

Brittany Murphy plays the character of a lost (by lost, I mean uncertain about what she wants in life) American girl, who while in search of her love, ends up in Tokyo. She loses her love but instead finds a purpose in life. For the first time, she realises what she wants to do and that is to be a ramen chef.

Defying her family expectation of her in becoming a lawyer, she studies under the tutelage of someone who appears as a mean and tyrannical Japanese ramen chef in a small but popular ramen restaurant. During this time, she learns and adopts what is considered as the epitome of Japanese culture; responsibility, discipline and commitment towards achieving one’s goal.

Inevitably, like many other movies, she finds love with a local guy, whom unlike her, sacrifices his dream of becoming a musician by working as a corporate executive in order to fulfil his family’s wishes. So, the movie is basically about how the two individuals from such diverse cultures learn from each other; her by learning responsibility and him by pursuing his dream.

The movie’s theme reminded me about how I used to think (sometimes I still do) that my whole life is about fulfilling my family’s expectation. Sometimes I feel guilty for breaking away from the tradition my Father started by building his own business and then expecting my brother and I to take over from him. There is a huge dilemma of wanting to do something for myself and yet feeling remorseful for disappointing my Father since I owe him so much.

Thankfully, albeit being disappointed, my Father only wishes for our happiness. As long as we’re able to lead an honest and respectful life, we’re given the blessing to do whatever we wish for. Unfortunately, not all children are bestowed with understanding parents.

Many years back, I met a girl who was nice and kind in my A-Levels class. She was the kind of girl who would never harm another person. She was sweet, soft-spoken, polite and warm. We knew each other for about a year and then one day, she stopped coming to class. I found out later that she had committed suicide. Words had it that she aspired to be a dancer but due to family pressure, she was forced to study medicine. She must had been very unhappy and yet nobody knew or suspected anything until she met her death in her own hands. If the rumours were true, I wonder how her parents must had felt, knowing that they were partly responsible for their daughter’s death.

In university, I met many interesting, intelligent and nice Malaysian students. Since we were studying abroad, we all felt a special kind of bond and solidarity towards each other. We would sometimes hangout together, share a Malaysian meal or participate in cultural events.

Naturally, being away from home, we were free to be ourselves. We were allowed to dress however we like, do whatever we want and fall in love with whomever we believed we could be happy with. We were living unadulterated lives and sure enough, we made mistakes, we got hurt and so, we paid for our actions. Above all, we learned to grow up through trial and error and making our own decisions.

A few years after I graduated, many things have changed. Some of us have taken up completely different styles of dressing while others have settled down with life partners who possess completely different characters and personalities from their exes. It was almost as if the people I used to know have reverted back to a generic or mainstream lifestyle.

I hope that what I said doesn’t come across as me being judgmental. After all, being a student is far from being a working adult with different sets of responsibilities and priorities. However, I do question whether people change because they want to or merely because they are conforming to family and society’s expectations.

Do we choose a specific profession because that’s what our families would be proud of? Do we choose our life partners because they fit the profile of who our families would be happy with? Do we express ourselves in the way our family and society would be comfortable with? It would seem that we often do.

Many people have condemned how doctors seem to play God by determining the life and death of a person. However, less people have questioned whether parents are doing the same thing. I believe that I understand what it means to make our families proud and happy simply because we owe them our lives. It took me years to break away from the guilt of not fulfilling their wishes because at the end of the day, we don’t choose to be borne. They chose to give birth to us and decided on their own paths but it doesn’t mean they have a right to expect us to live the life they want. If they were to determine what road we should take and who we should become, isn’t that playing God or perhaps worse because God allows us to have freewill.

However, I do have a disclaimer for this. While I am a strong proponent of freewill, I believe that we do owe our parents a lot for bringing us up and we should never forget this. We can show our gratitude by respecting them, attending to their needs and be grateful for what they have sacrificed for us. Their happiness means a lot to us but at the same time, it should be reciprocal.

Sex, thugs and NGOs in Cambodia

At a cursory glance, it’s easy to regard Phnom Penh as Bangkok’s less developed, poorer and “innocent” cousin. In many ways, this is true.

Here, there are many majestic pagodas situated in almost every corner, making them practical landmarks while navigating the small city. The King and Buddhist monks are highly revered by its people.

Every single day, the drones of four-wheeled tuks-tuks can be heard early in the morning without fail while ubiquitous street vendors accessorize the city landscape.

Like Thailand, there are more than a dozen of cramped markets selling all sorts of cheap silk and wooden handicrafts. The ingredients used in Khmer cuisine are similar to Thai minus the hotness.

Before the recent economic depression, hundreds of thousands of women trooped to work in garment factories, spending hours putting together clothes for big labels such as Gap, Banana Republic, Abercrombie and Finch, Ralph Laurent and Tommy Hilfiger. Earning about USD50 to USD80 a month, most of these clothes cost more than their monthly salary a piece.

Yet, many girls aspire to be garment factory workers. They drop out from schools, leave their homes in the village to attend training for three months before joining their “sisters” in the exploit by industrialized nations. What we spend for USD80 at a fraction of a minute, can feed their entire family for a month.

What makes Phnom Penh innocent compared to Bangkok is the absence of red light districts where  sex industry is part of the tourist attraction. You still see the occasional local young girls escorting “barangs” (foreigners) in the city, but not as conspicuous as in Bangkok.

That’s how most tourists would think of Phnom Penh; just a charming developing city with happy and friendly people. If they have lived here long enough like me, and work in the field that I do, there is a much uglier and sinister side of the city than Bangkok.

Unlike Thailand, majority of the sex workers in Cambodia are being forced into prostitution.

Unlike Thailand, there is no specific districts or locations where strip bars, brothels and sex shows operate on a nightly basis.

Here, everything is carried out more discretely and hence gives the impression that sex is not for sale in Cambodia.  Because it’s so discrete, nobody knows the brutality of this sleazy and inhumane business.

Not only is sex for sale here, the girls and boys are as well. Many of them have been sold by their own family as sex slaves to meet the perpetual sexual demands of expat and local men while temporarily feeding the basic needs of their families.

This is not the only ugly and sinister part. Many of these girls and boys are under the age of 16. Here, it is a paradise for paedophiles.

In Cambodia, the responsibility of taking care of the family lies in the daughter. Boys are often given more opportunity to attend schools while girls remain at home to take care of household chores or get a job.

If this isn’t enough, there is another solution.

They are sold to traffickers or pimps. These girls are supposed to work as prostitutes to pay off their debts. The trick is, they don’t receive any payment in return and hence holding them as financial hostage forever.

Sexual slavery, like any other form of slavery, is a multi-million dollar industry.

If the girls try to escape, they are beaten up, tortured and threatened to death. They receive similar treatment if they don’t smile and seduce customers or have the audacity to reveal any hint of coercion from their handlers. So, customers go on thinking that they sell their bodies voluntarily.

Remember, they don’t even get paid.

Because Cambodia is considered less developed and poorer, it’s infested with hundreds of international NGOs, pouring in millions of dollars to help the people, to free them from any kind of bondage. In the end, the majority of people who do benefit from this “industry” are NGO workers, companies who provide the logistics for NGOs, the government and the lowest of the lower income group.

I recently had the opportunity to visit an international NGO providing free formal education and vocational skills training programmes to children and youths living in Steung Meancheay, a garbage dump in Phnom Penh.

When I entered the training compound, I was astounded by the extravagant infrastructure on its 5 hectare land. After more than one hour of tour around the whole area, I concluded that this is the Disneyland of Vocational Skills Training Centre.

With 600 full time staff and USD5 million annual budget for its operating cost alone, it’s no wonder that the hospitality, cooking, hairdressing and spa training areas are able to simulate what you would get at a five star hotel.

All  200 students are smartly dressed in clean and pressed uniforms. The products used at the hairdressing training are all genuine L’Oreal and Evian brands, none of the counterfeited ones used by the other training centres.

They are even expanding their training centre to include a full size swimming pool, basketball and tennis courts for their students. It’s even better than the school I attended in Malaysia.

The Head of Public Relations told us that all students are guaranteed jobs with the tourism industry upon graduation.

While I listened with great amazement, my heart was filled with sadness. Sadness for the millions of children from low income group who are not able to share such privilege.

I have been visiting many governmental and non-governmental training centres for disadvantaged group in Cambodia. It is part of my job to gather information on how to improve the training curriculum of the NGO I am volunteering for. None of them could ever compete with the Disneyland of Vocational Skills Training Centre. The quality of training is far below reasonable standard and most of the trainees do not benefit from job placement upon graduation.

One day, I asked a local colleague of mine whether any of the rescued women who have been sold as sex slaves (the NGO I work for provides rehabilitation, training and reintegration of trafficked women) comes from Steung Meancheay.

He replied, “None.”

I expressed my surprise, seeing how much poorer the families living in the dumps are and hence presumably more desperate.

He answered solemnly, “Nobody wants to touch these girls from Steung Meacheay. They are dirty and they have diseases.”

Then, it dawned on me. Unless you’re rich or an “untouchable” ; the lowest of the lower income group, you will continue to struggle and suffer like the majority of the people I meet here.

Note: This article was first published at Loyar Burok, a leading human rights portal run by a group of young lawyers in Malaysia.

Road thrills that kills

Road traffic in Phnom Penh is a bit like a slow boat ride through a haunted tunnel. Most of the time you know that nothing exciting is going to happen because most drivers don’t speed. There’s hardly any room for speeding due to bad road condition, combined with swarms of motorbikes encroaching on narrow lanes, making it impossible to breeze through traffic at more than 60kmph.

At the same time, your heart can’t help but skip a beat or two whenever a motorbike seems to appear out of nowhere and often at high speed. It’s a time when you feel that something could go wrong and it’s beyond your control.

Yes, car drivers hardly speed but some motorbike riders do and they don’t stop at that. Very much like our very own Mat Rempits, these riders try hard to terrorise other road users by weaving along traffic without any concern for their safety or others. The scariest part of all, they often don’t wear helmets.

On 3 January this year, police began enforcement of helmet law in Cambodia. It came at a time when fatal road accidents involving motorcyclists are on a rise due to increasing number of vehicle users with extremely low driving skills and even lower respect for traffic laws.

When you take a tour of the city, it’s easy to sight images such as the one shown below. This picture, taken by Dr. Sok Long, Director of the Health Development Department of the Cambodian Red Cross, is called Motorbus for the obvious reason that a lot of motorbikes are often used to transport a whole family. Sometimes, I cringe when I see a baby cradled between the driver and passenger(s) on a motorbike. Very often, I also see young toddlers being held carelessly by the waist while balancing precariously on two feet. Such images are the ones that make the horror tunnel ride heart-gripping and nerve-wrecking.

 

It has been 5 months since the start of the helmet law but the way I see it, the law is getting nowhere as I see more motorcyclists without than with helmets on their heads. Many people complain and justify that they can’t afford the helmets, which cost around USD1 each. But how do you explain many motorcyclists who ride around with helmets, not on their heads, but dangling around their shoulders like handbags? Perhaps, the scorching heat is preventing them from wearing them, or perhaps the helmet causes too much discomfort particularly on their vision? Most importantly, perhaps law enforcement officers are just not doing their jobs?

I think the answer lies on the high level of corruption within the law enforcement authorities. What boggles the mind though is how many Cambodians are willing to pay a bribe to escape penalty than buying a helmet.

I often wonder why Cambodians are not able to understand the importance of road safety. Does it not matter to them that lives are being compromised here? When I suggested to my husband, who is assisting the Cambodian Red Cross in its road safety campaign, that public exhibitions of graphic pictures of road fatalities are effective methods to shock and scare people into submission, he thought it might be too traumatizing for people who have lived a violent past. Then, someone who has lived in Cambodia for a long time told me that those pictures will do nothing to change the mindset of the people here. Apparently, they are used to violence and death here.

I remember when I was in primary school, we were forced to attend a road safety exhibition in school. Until today, I am not able to shake off the images of disfigured faces, crushed skulls and severed limps from my mind. Yes, it was traumatizing and perhaps not the best method for a child to witness such graphic images, but I honestly thought that the exhibition has left such a huge impact on my classmates and I that we are very careful when it comes to road safety.

Whether this would have provided the same impact on Cambodians or not, the more pressing issue is for the government to make a conscious effort to study the factors which are preventing the people from observing road safety regulations. As a start, there is a need to find out how to get the people to understand that these are not just rules, but something which is created for their own safety and the protection of their lives and the lives of their families.

I also think that economic conditions play a huge role in deterring people from obsessing about their safety on the road. Not many people can afford to buy a car here and hence, have to rely on a motorbike to transport their whole family. Cambodians are practical people. If the only way for a whole family to get from one point to another is by motorbike, then so be it. As such, I think the government needs to take this into consideration and starts to think of ways to provide safe and affordable public transportation. There are not many buses in the city. Some do resort to tuks-tuks but the same problem presented itself when eight to ten people pile into one.

Road accidents is one of the biggest killer today. If Cambodia wants to develop, it needs to think about the high rate of people that are being killed in the country every single day and this includes their future generation.

Mother’s Day – A time for reflection

I can’t believe that I have forgotten about Mother’s Day but then again, I haven’t celebrated Mother’s Day with my Mother for a long time. I know that this note came a day too late but as they say, better late than never.

In the past few years, when I could, I would send a Mother’s Day card to my Mother from wherever I was. Otherwise, I tend to believe that the best way for me to pay tribute to my Mother is by not giving her unnecessary grief or any reason to be worry about me. I hope that I have succeeded in doing that and this is the least I can do for her.

In essence, I wish that everyday is Mother’s Day because mothers who really care hardly relinquish their role and they’re not mothers only on the first Sunday of every May. They are mothers every single day and many until the day they die.

I was reminded of Mother’s Day when I read Susan Loone’s blog entry bearing the title, “Not Everyone Wants A Mother’s Day”.  I thought it was a courageous and refreshing article. It provides a completely different perspective, shying away from the usual “airy-fairy” tales paying tribute to Mummy Dearest.

Since I am lucky to have a Mother who devotes her whole life to protecting my interest and was brought up in a circle of relatives and friends who have the same kind of mothers, my first encounter with “bad mothers” came about when I was in Afghanistan.

I was then working as a Human Rights Officer with the United Nations and came across a case where a woman was hung to death after she was accused of adultery. The facts presented to me were both shocking and sad. In order to redeem the family’s honour, the woman’s mother had sent her to the gallows with her own hands.

The thought of a mother giving up her daughter for death is inconceivable and against the law of nature as I thought it is the primal instinct of all mothers to defend and protect their offspring at all cost. As much as I question how a mother could have done that, I also wonder how a daughter would have felt knowing that her own mother is responsible for her death.

I’ve also read many stories where mothers have allowed their husbands or lovers to rape their daughters. What about mothers who abuse their children? In Cambodia, I’ve encountered cases where mothers sell their daughters to slavery and prostitution.  These are things which I can never understand and in some ways, I do wonder whether these mothers have themselves being victims of abuse when they were young.

Luckily enough, not all mothers are bad and in fact, a lot of the mothers I’ve known are simply amazing. They each try to bring up their children the best way they can.

Not too long ago, I managed to catch up with a friend who is taking care of her two young children; all by herself without the help of a maid or nanny. I am often amazed by how much energy she has because attending to the needs of two young children is not an easy feat and she seems to be managing it well on her own. She told me that there is a deep sense of satisfaction knowing that she could impart life skills and values to her children. Not many people are able to see or understand that motherhood is not just about feeding, bathing and providing shelter to their children. It’s much more than that and above all, it’s about bringing up children who will become responsible and independent adults.

To end this note, I think Mother’s Day should be a day for reflection. It’s a day for mothers to think about how much they have contributed towards shaping their children’s lives in a positive manner. It’s also a day for children to think about how much they have done in return for all the sacrifices their mothers have done for them.

Marketing strategies reinforcing the stereotypes and objectification of girls

 

I watched a rather interesting documentary on TV5 Monde tonight. I felt sorry that I didn’t watch the beginning part of the programme but it was about how marketing has “pornofied” every aspect of our lives today, including children and adolescents. The pictures above show two famous brands of dolls by MGA Entertainment which apparently are selling like hot cakes around the world.

On the left is a Bratz Babyz and the right, Bratz Dolls. What seemingly harmless toys are apparently shaping the minds and stereotypes of how girls should be perceived by our world today; thin, sexy, desirable, trendy and fashionable, by children as young as 2 years old. If you look closely at the Bratz Babyz, you wouldn’t even realize that it is supposed to be a baby. Do you spot a diaper anywhere? What about those pouty lips (without a pacifier, may I add), which is a marketing signature of Bratz.

What was interesting about the programme was how honest and open the discussions were. It was a Quebecois production, a French state in Canada and hence not the prudish sort you would have expected elsewhere. But it was precisely such honesty which made an impact on the topic in discussion.

According to several experts (child psychologists and social scientists) who were interviewed on the programme, marketing and commercialism have evolved to such a monstrous state where children are now being targeted as consumers. This includes music videos featuring scantily clad women, dancing in sexually provocative movements. Bands like the Pussy Cat Dolls are being idolized by millions of teenage girls all over the world.

Clothing lines like the American Apparel, targeting young adolescents prides itself for its sexy and trendy designs and is not ashamed to market its product through sexually provocative billboards, fashion magazines and catalogues featuring very young teenage girls in cleavage hugging but rather baring tops. When I first watched the American series Gossip Girl, I was shocked with how the entire main cast, portraying 16 to 17 years old New York elite socialites, were dressed. They should have named the series Glamour Girl instead. Whatever happens to jeans, T-shirts, baby-doll dresses and the classic shapeless but adorable dungarees (overalls)?

The programme also showed how young girls are being encouraged to shop. You get merchandise like small purses with the inscription such as I-heart-shopping (I love shopping). Then you have panties that have a picture of an ice cream cone at the crotch area with the inscription, Lick me! They have also created push-up teenage bras for those who are wearing bras for the first time.

A child psychologist based in a school revealed that she often counsels girls who want to talk to someone about sex, something which they do not want to discuss with their parents. She was horrified when a 13 year-old girl asked her whether she should have sex with a boy using 3 holes; her mouth, vagina and anus. She explained that due to the influence of  media, especially uncontrolled access to internet which exposes children to unlimited adult materials has forced teenagers to believe that they are expected to perform all the sexual acts seen on pornographic pictures and movies. At that age, they do not discuss about sex when they are in a relationship. Boys are pressurized to perform and the girls are expected to play her role in the performance.

Another expert qualifies pornography as a form of violence which comes in 3 different forms; physical violence where women are objectified as sex tools, economic violence where women are being exploited for commercial purposes and political violence when governments are unwilling to put a stop to such exploitations in defence of capitalism.

Some concerned members of the public have raised their outrage on marketing strategies adopted by entertainment and commercial entities. They have launched sensitization activities in schools and homes to educate children about self-dignity and how their bodies belong to them and no one else. In schools, a workshop facilitator put up two pictures taken from fashion magazines on the screen. They each showed two women (one presumably a teenager) posing in sexy garments with seductive poses. She then asked the students which one was adolescence (presumably teenage fashion) and which was pornography. Some students were interviewed later on and one admitted that she couldn’t tell the difference. Since she was so used to seeing these pictures on teen magazines, she thought it was normal and nothing pornographic about them.

Then the programme showed an activity carried out in a house with several children around the age of 4  to 6. The children were shown cut-put pictures from teen magazines with images of teenage girls posing half naked (the girl was wearing tights and one arm was flung across her chest, covering only her nipples). The children were asked what they thought about the pictures. One pointed out that the girl was naked and when asked whether nudity was necessary to sell clothing attire, he said no. And why not? The child said because those are our private parts and we shouldn’t show them. The children were then given crayons to create tops which would cover the model’s upper body. Their work of arts were then put in an envelope to be sent to children and teenage clothing companies as a sign of protest.

Finally, a woman expressed the irony of how the feminist movement in the 70s, is now perceived as anti-sex feminism when they were the ones who fought for women’s right to sexual expression and liberation. The whole concept of feminism has deviated to a point where women are moving backwards. Instead of spending time to discover their own personal identities and potential, they have become generic creatures who wear the same make-up, clothes and accessories, with an appetite for shopping.

To end this note, I thought that the programme was indeed enlightening but at the same time, I was disappointed that the panel of experts consisted of women only. It would have been more effective if we could hear the men’s perspectives on such an important matter. At the same time, I’m also curious how young boys are being sensitized on the way marketing strategies have changed the whole concept and idea of feminity and role of women in society today.

The 21st Century Slavery (Part VIII)

What we’ve learned from our market research assessment

During the last few weeks, we finally carried out our market research project by interviewing four different target groups; 1) residents undertaking vocational skills training courses at three shelters, 2) government and non-governmental vocational skills training centres for women, 3) local small to medium sized businesswomen and 4) international NGOs that implement vocational skills training courses and income-generating programmes for women.  

We have uncovered a wealth of information and at the moment, are still trying to develop an action plan for the reintegration component of AFESIP. The action plan will provide recommendations on whether to expand or improve the training curriculum at AFESIP’s shelters (or both) and if yes, what courses should be implemented or act as a supplement to the existing courses; hairdressing and sewing.

What do the residents say?

About 150 women were interviewed based on a series of questions and a list of 21 training options were given to them in the forms of pictures (see photo above). They were asked to choose 3 training courses which they would like to take if they are each given more options than the current ones .

Our questionnaire revealed that majority (more than 70%) of the residents at the shelter will return to their families in the village after they complete their vocational skills training courses. While majority of them are happy with the current two training courses, an overwhelming number would like to have some form of computer lessons and if they are given more options, many would like to choose agriculture (particularly fish-raising), cooking, running small businesses, tourism and traditional dancing courses.

Surprisingly (or rather unsurprisingly), none of these women chose housekeeping as an alternative course. We are uncertain as to whether the reason was because most of the women do not feel that they need to be trained on domestic science or that they do not want to pursue a career as a domestic helper.

What we learned from the government and non-governmental vocational training centres for disadvantaged women

We visited several training centres in Phnom Penh, Kampong Chhnang, Kampong Cham, Kampong Speu and Siem Reap. It was interesting that all the centres provide the same courses; hairdressing and sewing. Some offer silk weaving and food processing as well. It’s easy to understand why training options are limited to these and but at the same time, difficult to imagine that such homogenous career paths can help the women to become more competitive in the market. In the end, it feels as if all the women will become either a hairdresser, tailor or garment factory workers.

One of the main reasons that hairdressing, sewing and silk weaving trainings are such popular options is because majority of these women have very low education level. These training courses do not need much literacy skills and at the same time, there is a high and consistent demand for hairdressing and tailoring services in a country where weddings and cultural ceremonies are part and parcel of community living all over the country. Cambodia is also a country which depends heavily on its garment industry where big labels like Gap, Banana Republic, Abercrombie and Finch, etc. are being outsourced here. Nevertheless, there has always been a fear that these labels may not stay for long in Cambodia once economic trade agreements change and other less developing countries begin to provide cheaper labour.

The other thing we learned is that in order for these centres to be sustainable, it needs to form network and partnership with international organizations, governmental agencies, financial institutions and business associations. The Ministry of Women’s Affairs (MoWA), Ministry of Labour and Vocational Trainings (MoLVT), International Labour Organization (ILO), UNDP, Asian Development Bank (ADB), JICA and World Bank are the key partners in programmes like this.

- to be continued -