Ghostwriting
It is monsooning outside, and so perhaps I am in a bit of a funk--in fact, I guess I am. But at the same time I am feeling some clarity about our trip and our travels and vicarioius experience of other people's problems and miseries.
Travelling in a poor country like this one makes one begin to feel like a bit of a ghost. Or, for that matter, the invisible man. I can walk into anywhere, sit down and do as I please. If I feel like eating street food, I do. If I feel like stepping into the most expensive restaurat in sight (with cloth napkins, waiters, candlelight and appetizers) I will find that the menu puts the entrees at $3 and that is simply too cheap to bother me. So I come and go as I please, and there is no Cambodian who would stop me. Even with a grungy t-shirt (and my t-shirt has accumulated 4 months of grime) they know that I am far wealthier than they'll ever be.
I wonder if for a moment you can imagine what this would be like at home. If you began to feel totally ambivalent about grabbing a bite of cheap food (let's say at a diner since we don't really have street food at home) or wandering into a restaurant that's so expensive that it'd cost a month's salary to eat there. I simply float around like a ghost with a skeleton key. Imagine if you could walk into the most wealthy people's houses, and then into the poorest or most average houses and not really be noticed. The silliness of wealth, the presumption of superiority, the ignorance of injustice...all these thoughts blow across my mind, but I am the invisible man and I couldn't communicate to these people if I tried. The people see me, but we are too foreign to judge each other. It is unique for me, only, because I have the access of a king. Or rather, these people are like slaves. Imagine, they SELL their bodies. Not 25 feet from me I just watched a beautiful young Khmer girl stroke an old Western lecher's face. I would settle for stepping up and slugging the guy, but this girl needs the money and has made her choice. The darkness here is like out of a noir film. Good people caught in desperate straights and doing horrible things to protect themselves and the ones they love. And then the second class of perverts and pimps who use that selflessness to their own ends. And then the third class, the voyeurs like me, that will point it out but am too powerless to do anything about it (but I am going to study law and how to work on international justice issues).
JAcob wrote beautifully about Ling, who is a child that is both adorable, resourceful and spunky. But our affection for Ling, as great as it was, would be like the affection that a snowman has for a daffodil--tender, sincere, and necessarily short. There is a gulf there, a gulf that broke our hearts, and that Ling didn't understand (that's why she threw the tantrum when we left). But Ling will learn very soon and very seriously what to expect from the world and from do-gooders like us. A whole lot of well-wishes, a meal or two, and then a bunch of pictures and stories to share with OUR friends while she goes on struggling.
---------
Going to meet the garment workers was a total shock to me. In fact, after asking my fill of questions and beginning to hear their stories, I simply shut down. It got too real for me. I couldn't at the time understand why. My grandparents survived the concentration camps, I've heard these tales of misery for my whole life and while not jaded, I've become at least innured to them. But in retrospect, what was so suddenly overwhelming was the sense, as I sat in a room surrounded by people who sat, ate, and laughed like me--that everything had become real--that these people weren't a part of the moving slide show of our trip. That I couldn't ghost myself out of the room. They were there because we were there and they wanted us to tell you: to tell the world, about how hard and brutal their lives are. And they did it by holding each other and talking and even laughing, but it wasn't joyous laughter, it was bitter.
One of the largest factories in Cambodia just closed, leaving 9,000 garment workers with no compensation. The corrupt union gave the workers two options: take a deal where you get half of minimum wage or go to the courts (who are corrupt as well). Half of minimum wage is not enough to eat on and pay for the rooms that up to 7 people share at a time.
I'm telling you about all of this because I promised some very good people that I would.
That day, the day we were meeting, they had already put in full shifts at the factories. They are working there as I write this, and they are working there as you read this. The factories run 24/7, you are given pills if you are sick, not days off, and these people are stuck in that life.
As an aside, I want to share that the situation was far more complex than the simple evil slavery of corporate profiteers and uncaring consumers. If you don't buy clothes from the Gap (and Old Navy, Banana Republic, and H&M) these people lose their jobs. But by buying these clothes we support this system. And these people are not necessarily forced to work 14 hours a day. They want to work that long, they want the money, they want to help their families. (Of course, what they don't want is to be short-changed on their money--which they often are-- or robbed, or raped, or fired so that they can't complain of abuse). It is a complex situation.
But yeah, it is a strange feeling. We ride around and meet these incredibly brave and hardworking people who work more hours in a month than most workaholics, and after the meeting, Jacob, me, and a reporter from the Associated Press went out to a dinner that cost more than their monthly wage. And so while it is really fun to be out here in Asia, living like kings, I cannot help but begin to feel the incredible lonliness that the invisible man must feel. To be able to get into anywhere, enjoy any luxury, but not share it with anyone.
Because how could I share it. Giving away money (while I've been doing that) isn't responsible because we don't even have enough to cover our trip. And it doesn't address the real sources of misery, which is corruption and apathy from wealthier nations. And even when organizations step in, it is often no help.
The incredible Phil Marshall, who is the patron saint of this trip somehow, pointed out the following. You can have a girl who is so desperate for money that she comes to Cambodia to work as a prostitute. And she works for 2 years saving her money. And then, under pressure from the international community, the whorehouse is raided by the police. Well, if she is under the age of 18, she will be considered a victim of trafficking, (will probably have her money stolen by the police) and be sent home (where she fled from in the first place). If she is over 18, she will lose her money and go to jail for being a criminal.
If you go to Laos, you will find that there are no kids between the ages of 15 and 20 in the towns. They have gone to work in factories or, if they are pretty enough, to work as prostitutes. If they are caught, they will lose everything and be deported or jailed. That, right now, is the best that the UN has been able to do about the problem. 18 is a magic age in the US and Europe, but here it is meaningless.
I'm ranting again, and I want to stop, but I want to share one thing else in case Jacob was too squeamish to mention it. Ling is a beautiful child, and while she is not too successful selling books, I'm sure she's still making enough to get by. But only kids sell books. In about 5 years, barring any misfortune, Ling will have to make a choice. And that choice (or lack thereof) is factory work, or prostitution. (Jacob mentioned that she is in school now, but that means very little about getting a job in the future). That is what she is facing, and she knows it. So do all of her friends.
Like I mentioned before, those factories are running as I write this and as you read this. And at the same time Ling is dragging around a heavy basket of books (or if it is night) she is sleeping on some cardboard or in a hammock on the street.
What can I say. It's a mad, depressing and shitty world. At the same time, it is filled with a small group of amazing people that have actually come out here to help. If you want to help them, please visit their websites. Womyn's Agenda for Change (www.womynsagenda.org). This was also a project started by Oxfam (oxfam.org).
That's all for now. We'll be contacting you from Viet Nam soon.
Travelling in a poor country like this one makes one begin to feel like a bit of a ghost. Or, for that matter, the invisible man. I can walk into anywhere, sit down and do as I please. If I feel like eating street food, I do. If I feel like stepping into the most expensive restaurat in sight (with cloth napkins, waiters, candlelight and appetizers) I will find that the menu puts the entrees at $3 and that is simply too cheap to bother me. So I come and go as I please, and there is no Cambodian who would stop me. Even with a grungy t-shirt (and my t-shirt has accumulated 4 months of grime) they know that I am far wealthier than they'll ever be.
I wonder if for a moment you can imagine what this would be like at home. If you began to feel totally ambivalent about grabbing a bite of cheap food (let's say at a diner since we don't really have street food at home) or wandering into a restaurant that's so expensive that it'd cost a month's salary to eat there. I simply float around like a ghost with a skeleton key. Imagine if you could walk into the most wealthy people's houses, and then into the poorest or most average houses and not really be noticed. The silliness of wealth, the presumption of superiority, the ignorance of injustice...all these thoughts blow across my mind, but I am the invisible man and I couldn't communicate to these people if I tried. The people see me, but we are too foreign to judge each other. It is unique for me, only, because I have the access of a king. Or rather, these people are like slaves. Imagine, they SELL their bodies. Not 25 feet from me I just watched a beautiful young Khmer girl stroke an old Western lecher's face. I would settle for stepping up and slugging the guy, but this girl needs the money and has made her choice. The darkness here is like out of a noir film. Good people caught in desperate straights and doing horrible things to protect themselves and the ones they love. And then the second class of perverts and pimps who use that selflessness to their own ends. And then the third class, the voyeurs like me, that will point it out but am too powerless to do anything about it (but I am going to study law and how to work on international justice issues).
JAcob wrote beautifully about Ling, who is a child that is both adorable, resourceful and spunky. But our affection for Ling, as great as it was, would be like the affection that a snowman has for a daffodil--tender, sincere, and necessarily short. There is a gulf there, a gulf that broke our hearts, and that Ling didn't understand (that's why she threw the tantrum when we left). But Ling will learn very soon and very seriously what to expect from the world and from do-gooders like us. A whole lot of well-wishes, a meal or two, and then a bunch of pictures and stories to share with OUR friends while she goes on struggling.
---------
Going to meet the garment workers was a total shock to me. In fact, after asking my fill of questions and beginning to hear their stories, I simply shut down. It got too real for me. I couldn't at the time understand why. My grandparents survived the concentration camps, I've heard these tales of misery for my whole life and while not jaded, I've become at least innured to them. But in retrospect, what was so suddenly overwhelming was the sense, as I sat in a room surrounded by people who sat, ate, and laughed like me--that everything had become real--that these people weren't a part of the moving slide show of our trip. That I couldn't ghost myself out of the room. They were there because we were there and they wanted us to tell you: to tell the world, about how hard and brutal their lives are. And they did it by holding each other and talking and even laughing, but it wasn't joyous laughter, it was bitter.
One of the largest factories in Cambodia just closed, leaving 9,000 garment workers with no compensation. The corrupt union gave the workers two options: take a deal where you get half of minimum wage or go to the courts (who are corrupt as well). Half of minimum wage is not enough to eat on and pay for the rooms that up to 7 people share at a time.
I'm telling you about all of this because I promised some very good people that I would.
That day, the day we were meeting, they had already put in full shifts at the factories. They are working there as I write this, and they are working there as you read this. The factories run 24/7, you are given pills if you are sick, not days off, and these people are stuck in that life.
As an aside, I want to share that the situation was far more complex than the simple evil slavery of corporate profiteers and uncaring consumers. If you don't buy clothes from the Gap (and Old Navy, Banana Republic, and H&M) these people lose their jobs. But by buying these clothes we support this system. And these people are not necessarily forced to work 14 hours a day. They want to work that long, they want the money, they want to help their families. (Of course, what they don't want is to be short-changed on their money--which they often are-- or robbed, or raped, or fired so that they can't complain of abuse). It is a complex situation.
But yeah, it is a strange feeling. We ride around and meet these incredibly brave and hardworking people who work more hours in a month than most workaholics, and after the meeting, Jacob, me, and a reporter from the Associated Press went out to a dinner that cost more than their monthly wage. And so while it is really fun to be out here in Asia, living like kings, I cannot help but begin to feel the incredible lonliness that the invisible man must feel. To be able to get into anywhere, enjoy any luxury, but not share it with anyone.
Because how could I share it. Giving away money (while I've been doing that) isn't responsible because we don't even have enough to cover our trip. And it doesn't address the real sources of misery, which is corruption and apathy from wealthier nations. And even when organizations step in, it is often no help.
The incredible Phil Marshall, who is the patron saint of this trip somehow, pointed out the following. You can have a girl who is so desperate for money that she comes to Cambodia to work as a prostitute. And she works for 2 years saving her money. And then, under pressure from the international community, the whorehouse is raided by the police. Well, if she is under the age of 18, she will be considered a victim of trafficking, (will probably have her money stolen by the police) and be sent home (where she fled from in the first place). If she is over 18, she will lose her money and go to jail for being a criminal.
If you go to Laos, you will find that there are no kids between the ages of 15 and 20 in the towns. They have gone to work in factories or, if they are pretty enough, to work as prostitutes. If they are caught, they will lose everything and be deported or jailed. That, right now, is the best that the UN has been able to do about the problem. 18 is a magic age in the US and Europe, but here it is meaningless.
I'm ranting again, and I want to stop, but I want to share one thing else in case Jacob was too squeamish to mention it. Ling is a beautiful child, and while she is not too successful selling books, I'm sure she's still making enough to get by. But only kids sell books. In about 5 years, barring any misfortune, Ling will have to make a choice. And that choice (or lack thereof) is factory work, or prostitution. (Jacob mentioned that she is in school now, but that means very little about getting a job in the future). That is what she is facing, and she knows it. So do all of her friends.
Like I mentioned before, those factories are running as I write this and as you read this. And at the same time Ling is dragging around a heavy basket of books (or if it is night) she is sleeping on some cardboard or in a hammock on the street.
What can I say. It's a mad, depressing and shitty world. At the same time, it is filled with a small group of amazing people that have actually come out here to help. If you want to help them, please visit their websites. Womyn's Agenda for Change (www.womynsagenda.org). This was also a project started by Oxfam (oxfam.org).
That's all for now. We'll be contacting you from Viet Nam soon.
posted by Raphael at 6:51 AM
2 Comments:
The gap between the haves and have nots expands at an alarming rate. Think that could be at least part of the animosity we perceive? Great post,Raffi. Lots of food for thought.
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