August 21, 2008 - Mountain View, CA

Well, I'd say I've officially settled back into life in the States. That's not to say I'm any less eager to be back in Cambodia and/or be productive in my anti-human trafficking efforts, but I'm happy to say I've come out of my funk. Mostly out of necessity - I'm so darn busy!

One thing that I am continually amazed about is how "destined" I seem to be to work in this field. I'm not sharing this out of self-centeredness (aren't I just faaaabulous?), but because I think its important for people to pay attention to where they are being led. I started thinking about this because the question I most often get asked about my efforts is "what got you interested in human trafficking?". I think people expect that I've had some personal connection to it; that I've known someone who was a victim or was otherwise exposed to it in someway. For me it was a lot simpler than that. One day, while working for an incredible organization called Young Life, my boss mentioned the International Justice Mission (IJM) to me in a random conversation. He gave a brief explanation (they fight slavery) and moved on. I was baffled as to what he could mean. Um, Jeff, slavery ended with the Civil War. So, I looked IJM up on the internet (http://www.ijm.org) and was dumfounded by what I learned on their site. Not only are there people living in slavery today, but it's over twice the number of people enslaved during the entire trans-atlantic slave trade! Furthermore, I read about the horrific practice of sex slavery and sexual exploitation. And that was it. That was the moment that I got interested. I just knew that I was meant to do something about it.

The path that I have taken as a result of this growing interest hasn't been the most direct or even the most clear to me, but it has been full of confirmation to me that this is where I am being led. I decided to pursue my master's degree in forensic psychology, and upon my arrival at that school discovered that my campus was literally next door to IJM and that my advisor and mentor was closely involved with IJM. Now, in my doctoral program, I have been wanting to focus my research onto this topic, but was already committed to a research project at the state prison that was going to fill up all my time. I just got word yesterday that our research authorization at the prison got yanked and my advisor gave me the go-ahead to focus on my human trafficking research! And then last night I met up with a friend from DC who was in town, and she informed me that she is good friends with the deputy director of the Polaris Project - one of the leading anti-human trafficking organizations in the US - and that she'd be happy to put us in touch! It's these little signs that confirm to me that this is the direction I should be heading. And I'm wondering how many of us are getting similar "signs" about what we are meant to do, but overlook them because we are so caught up in our own agenda. I know that I'm only starting to recognize my signs as I reflect on the past few years, but now that I see them, I'm eagerly waiting for more. It's a glorious feeling - to find your purpose!

So, thanks for bearing with me as I got on my soapbox for a little bit, but I really just want to encourage others to figure out what they are passionate about. There are so many worthy causes out there, and such a shortage of people who care enough to take action. If you're reading this blog, I already know you're one who cares enough to do something, I just hope you find your path as rewarding as I do!

If, in the meantime, you want to find a way to contribute to a worthy cause today, I found this great option for giving on the Polaris Project's website...they have recently started transitional living apartments for survivors of trafficking in DC, and have registered for household items at Target. To buy something for real-life survivors here in our very own country, visit: http://www.target.com/registry/wedding/33SWO3ZQ2M0ER. There is a wide range of prices - so even if you only have a little to give, it can mean a lot to them!

July 21, 2008 - Mountain View, CA 3:30pm

I have hesitated to write since my return to the States, mostly because I have no idea what to say. The adjustment to life back in the U.S. has been extremely difficult for me. I know that, unless I share my experiences with people here, my trip would have been for nothing. But I don't even know where to start. Especially hard for me to address are the well-meaning conversational starters of "so, tell me about your trip". I know that those who ask are sincere in wanting to know about it, but I don't think they have any idea of what they would get if I started really talking. And there is no way to give a 2-minute overview while passing someone in the hallway. I feel like you either need to know the whole story or none of it. I mean, if I'm still putting it all together, how can anyone else possibly understand how complex and deep the human trafficking situation is in Cambodia. But, I'm determined to share it. I have to share it. People need to know.

So, until I find my words, bear with me. I will talk to you.

It's hard to be here, which is ironic because the whole time I was in Cambodia I was thinking how how hard it was to be there. It's hard to look around and see so much wealth and gluttony and materialism. I'm not pointing fingers here; I think the same thing when looking at my own life. It's hard to tolerate the petty concerns and dramas we create for ourselves out of boredom. It's hard to have nobody to talk to here who knows what I'm thinking. I have incredible people in my life - people who deeply care about humanity and justice - but they simply weren't there with me. And regardless of how much they may want to understand, they just can't. So I feel lonely here in this country of excess. With our wide open roads that we consider to be full of traffic. And our exasperation at having to wait in line for groceries. And my cat that has to lose 5 pounds because he has too much to eat.

I feel so far away from reality. How can I go about my normal higher-education life here knowing what struggling is really like? I feel an impatience to do something. I'm going crazy thinking that it will be 4 more years until I can actually get to work. I have faith that getting my PhD will help me do more than I can without it, but in the meantime all I can think about is all those people who are suffering today. And I'm stuck here studying for exams and trying to pretend like I feel like I belong.

July 11, 2008 - Phnom Penh, Cambodia 10:00pm

My last full day here in Cambodia was spent at Transitions Cambodia, Inc. (TCI). I am SO excited and encouraged by the work that James and his staff do at TCI, and am thrilled that I got to end my trip with that experience.

James was a Special Ops Marine, who was working in a civilian company making $250,000/year in Oregon. One day, he and his family watched a documentary about human trafficking called Children For Sale and they decided, as a family, to do something. He quit is job and he, his wife, daughter (16 years old), and two sons (14 and 9), packed up and moved to Cambodia to start an organization to help victims not only recover, but discover who they were meant to be. TCI is a home-like environment that is structured to “help girls rebuild their lives in a meaningful and sustainable way”. I could go in-depth about how exactly they do that, but instead I will highlight some of the aspects of the program that are particularly unique and exciting. TCI provides housing, medical care, counseling, social work, safety, yoga, art therapy, education, and vocational training. James firmly believes that all girls deserve to rediscover their smile, so each girl gets extensive dental work until her smile is perfect. In the first phase of the treatment process, the girls are required to set career goals. The only limitations put on them is that they cannot choose menial labor. Unlike other programs that offer participants training in sewing, cooking, etc, TCI asserts that “if you give girls a job sewing in a factory, it doesn't do much to restore her dignity”. It also doesn't do much to address the larger societal problem that valued them so little to begin with. James encourages the girls to set a goal that they don't think they can reach, and then make sure that they do. For example, one of the girls that recently completed the program now works as a translator for the government and makes 3x the average Cambodian wage. She was able to move away from Phnom Penh as an independent, confident, and self-supporting woman.

TCI also trains the girls in basic life skills (such as going to market and cleaning their own houses – since many of them have been prostitutes since childhood and never learned basic self-care), physical fitness (to learn how their emotions and bodies are interconnected, mainly through yoga and therapy combined), big-sister program with another girl further along in the program, and requires that they participate in community service to learn to give back and improve their society. The girls themselves decide when they are ready to leave the house.

After our fantastic education from James, we spent the rest of the day just hanging out with the girls who were so excited to have us there. Normally, James doesn't allow visitors to TCI (he doesn't want the girls to feel like they are zoo animals), but he believed in our mission and thought it could be good for them to socialize with us. They cooked for us, and then we spent a while playing games and crafts together.

One of the girls, Srey Neth, has agreed to share her story in order to save other girls from the suffering she has survived. Neth is currently 19 years old, and has been at TCI since she was rescued from the Building by International Justice Mission a couple of years ago. Had I met her in any other setting, I would have thought she was a typical, if not extra goofy and silly, Cambodian teenager. She was definitely the entertainer and leader of the group and kept us all laughing with her funny dancing and sharp wit. But Neth is making up for a childhood that was lost. At age 14, her mother sold Neth into a brothel at the Building for $300. The madam who ran the brothel sold Neth's virginity for $300. For the next year, Neth was forced to service an average of 20 men per day, 7 days per week, even when she was sick or hurt. When she cried, she was electrocuted or beaten by her madam. She was given injections into her belly to stop her from getting her period so that she could work continuously. She eventually contracted HIV.

And today this exceptionally strong and resilient child made me laugh and be silly with her. She outsmarted me in a game we were playing and teased me for it. She showed me some of her artwork, including a drawing depicting her being beaten by her madam in the brothel. She is training to be a teacher, and helps counsel the other girls at TCI. She calls James “chicken hair” because of his hair style and he throws her over her shoulder while she shreaks and giggles. James, one of my new heroes, is so fatherly with these girls that in the face of the ugliest side of what men can do, he restores my faith that men can be good and noble and empathetic. And he seems to have restored his girls' faith in men, too. I would have thought that would be impossible.

Transitions Cambodia is funded completely by donations. It is a 501c3, so all donations are tax-deductible and qualify for employer matching. Please consider donating as a monthly donor ($35 per month can provide medical and dental care for one girl!) or one-time donation. Contact me for more info or go to http://www.transitionscambodia.org

July 10, 2008 - Phnom Penh, Cambodia 11:00pm

Tonight I went out with Tammy, Alessandro, and James Pond (that's Pond, not 007...though he could be), who founded and runs Transitions Cambodia, Inc. (TCI). James took us on a tuk-tuk (passenger trailer pulled by a motorbike – Cambodia's version of a cab) ride through the brothel areas of Phnom Penh. James told us that there had been a recent crack-down on the well-known brothels, in a response to the U.N. And U.S.'s ultimatums (make more of an effort against trafficking and child prostitution or we'll stop giving you money). Unfortunately, rather than stopping sex slavery, it only forced it further underground or relocated it. I'm sure this is a case of “treating the symptom not the disease” in terms of the larger systematic problems at play, but in any case, James told us that we wouldn't see as much as we would have a few months ago. Could have fooled me. We rode down streets and streets just filled with girls sitting outside of bars and clubs where they either worked for pimps as street prostitutes, in sex bars, brothels, or as “hostesses”. They all looked so young. James told us that what we were seeing was just the outer layer of the sex trade in Phnom Penh. Like a rotting, stinking, poisoned onion, there is layer upon layer of exploitation, degradation, and criminality. Some of the bars, we were told, had a “fishbowl” set up, where a man would enter to see a glass room filled with girls sitting on bleachers, all with numbers pinned to their chests. He simply orders which one he wants by number. Others are a little less obvious, employing hostesses who try to get men to buy as many drinks as possible before paying to take her upstairs. And then there is the Building. The Building is enormous and looks like it has been bombed out (probably has). I wouldn't set foot anywhere in the vicinity, just for the fear of it collapsing as I walked by. Well, this charming little locale is the hub of Phnom Penh's sex trafficking industry. Inside, we were told, every single room (formerly apartments) is filled with brothels (aka, sex slaves). Many of them children. It is unclear why the police haven't targeted the Building, but I suspect the reasons are also multi-layered. James told us that a friend of his, who worked undercover to rescue girls from the Building, vomited the first time he entered one of the rooms. The stench of human excretions (mostly male, if you catch my drift) was so overpowering that he had to leave and come back later to avoid throwing up again in front of the madam.

To get an even closer view of sexual exploitation at play, James took us to a bar called the Walk About, which caters mainly to Westerners. He and Alessandro waited outside, and told Tammy and I to go in and look around. He wanted to get a woman's perspective on it. At first, it looked like any American bar. Lots of older white guys having drinks and laughing. On closer inspection, all of the white guys were chatting with young (and I mean young) Cambodian girls. We headed upstairs and, on the way up, encountered a girl who needed help putting her dress back on. Before we could offer, a fat old white guy rushed to her side to lace up her dress, while also happening to grope all over her. Ew. Upstairs was a large group of older men – imagine 7 or 8 American businessmen that you would see on a golf course – each with 2 or 3 young girls hanging on him. As I watched these men, probably doctors and CEO's, I couldn't help but think of how easy it would be, if I were them, to fool myself into thinking that the girls were enjoying themselves. I guess I always have the image of the prostitute as sad and deadened, based on what I've read about the psychological effects of the industry, but failed to remember that they also have to sell themselves successfully. Therefore, they play the part of happy and fun, flirty and desiring of the men. If that's all I wanted to believe, I could see how tempting it would be to ignore the reality of what these girls endured and accept them at face-value.

With our blood boiling, Tammy and I decided that it was time to go. We couldn't stand to see human beings traded around as products any longer. On our way out, two younger American guys sitting at the bar grabbed my arm. They asked if we wanted to go out drinking and dancing with them. We said we couldn't, and then one of the guys told me that we really need to leave the bar. When I asked why, he flatly told me “because this is a hooker bar”. “Oh, really?”, Tammy said. He quickly explained that he and his friend (both professors) had booked a room in the hotel (conveniently upstairs from the “hooker bar”) without knowing what type of a place it was. I told him I was surprised that they stayed, then, and asked how he felt about staying in a place like that if he wasn't partaking in it. He said it didn't bother him – that it's just a cultural thing for the women and it's the only way they can make money. I wanted to smack his fat face and give him a serious education about why he should be bothered. But before I gave in to the temptation, Tammy dragged me out and back to the tuk-tuk, where our chivalrous men, men who fight for the rights of these women and understand what the sex trade does to them, waited to comfort us.

July 10, 2008 - Kompong Chhnang Province, Cambodia 5:00pm

We left Phnom Penh and drove to the Kompong Chhnang province (about an hour away) to meet with Randa, the director of Kampuchea for Christ. Randa is a Cambodian woman who started a center in the province that cares for victims of sexual abuse, rape, and sex slavery. The center itself is impressive and lovely, but even more striking to me was Randa's own life story. To put her story in context, I will give an extremely brief explanation of the past 40 years or so of Cambodia.

Following the Vietnam War Cambodia went through several years of civil war. Then, on April 17, 1975, the war-ravaged capital of Phnom Penh was “saved” when an army of Cambodian soldiers, mostly young, and dressed in all black marched silently into the city. The people thought that they were there to end the war and they rejoiced. They cheered, hugged, and cried with relief. They gathered in the streets to meet the soldiers and thank them. The soldiers, representing the Khmer Rouge Regime and directed by the newly assigned leader, Pol Pot, told the people that the Americans were going to bomb the city in the next few days and that they had to evacuate. This wasn't a stretch to believe, as the Nixon administration had recently relentlessly bombed other areas of Cambodia for days on end in an attempt to quash communism. Within three hours of their arrival, the Khmer Rouge soldiers had emptied the entire city of Phnom Penh and drove all of its residents to the countryside, where they killed them all with pick-ax blows to the backs of their heads and necks. The fields where the mass killings took place came to be known as The Killing Fields. But they didn't stop there. Under Pol Pot's orders, they continued their terrorizing throughout the whole country. They targeted the educated class of Cambodia, focusing on torturing and killing the upper-level of society. Those that they didn't kill right away were held in torture camps and interrogated. Supposedly, every single one of them was suspected of espionage for the CIA and KGB, but it is much more likely that they were the only ones that posed a threat of speaking out against the Regime.

When it was all said and done, from 1975 to 1979, the Khmer Rouge Regime murdered 2 MILLION Cambodians, including all of its doctors, teachers, professors, lawyers, judges, government workers, and other professionals. The entire educated class of Cambodia was wiped out. Their children were also all killed in an effort to avoid future acts of revenge.

When I arrived in Cambodia, I had heard vaguely of the Khmer Rouge regime, but had no idea of how central that period in time was to creating the country that I found on my trip. It is hard enough for a country to recover from a period of war, especially on it's own soil, but Cambodia's problem is even greater. Not only had they lost all of their educated class who were essentially running the country before, but they had nobody to train and teach a new generation how to fill those roles. They are a poor nation of farmers and laborers who were left to start from scratch. They went from having 40,000 doctors to having 40, and nobody left to teach medical students. The country is in such widespread poverty that I can't imagine a child growing up in one of these poor villages thinking of anything but survival, much less higher education. But, even if they did, who would teach them? Nobody knows how the courts and government used to run. I consider myself part of the educated class in the U.S., but even I would seriously screw up if I was left to start a legal system from scratch. So, as these people struggle to recover from devastating war, genocide, and grief, they must not only fight for basic survival, but also to build an entirely new country. And all the while, they are trying to find strength to move past the horrors that they themselves have witnessed. I don't think I met one person in Cambodia that hadn't lost someone in the Regime. It's a wonder that they have any faith left in humanity. And learning all of this has helped me to understand how the corruption, poverty, and inhumanities are occurring. How could they not?

So, back to Randa. We met with Randa, and she told us her story while we sat on huge home-made swings under palm-frond huts. Randa was 12 or 13 when the Khmer Rouge entered Phnom Penh. Her family was slaughtered in the Killing Fields, and she was taken to a torture camp where she knew she would be killed. One day, she decided that she would rather die anywhere but there, so she hid in the back of a military truck and held herself up against the wall of it behind a blanket. The truck left the camp and, after a few hours of driving, her muscles gave out and she tumbled into the front of the truck. The soldiers looked down at her, and asked her what she was doing. She said that the would rather die anywhere but the torture camp, and asked if they could kill her there instead of taking her back. One of the soldiers, a female, promised that she would keep Randa with her and wouldn't let her go back. When they got to their base, Randa was told that she would be trained to shoot a gun and kill for them. The little girl of only 13 looked at them and said that she would not. Rather than killing her, they said that she could instead work as a maid for them, but that she would not be allowed to speak a word – ever. So, she worked with some other children as the silent slaves of the Khmer Rouge soldiers for months and months. One morning, she awoke to the sound of gunfire and bombs, and saw that the base had been completely abandoned. Only she and the children remained. She decided to wait one week, and if nobody came for them, they would run. A week later, she and the children escaped from the base into the jungle. There they hid for days, covering themselves with dirt and leaves to avoid detection and mosquitos. At one point, they all hid in a pond for 3 whole days, and when they finally emerged, they couldn't even see their skin because they were covered in leeches. Weak from the loss of blood, Randa stumbled upon an American military envoy, and was saved. They took her to a refugee camp and asked where she would like to be re-settled. She said America. Her story of being in the Camp, hearing about the Bible, becoming a Christian, meeting her husband, moving to the States, and then deciding to return to Cambodia is one that could best be read in her autobiography, which is available for sale. Learning about her experiences first-hand are much more powerful than my weak re-telling, so I highly recommend reading it.

Randa made us all cry with her story. Perhaps the most incredible part, to me, was that she returned to the country that caused her so much heartache and trauma, and decided to immerse herself in other people's pain in order to help them recover. She is so inspirational and encouraging. If and when Cambodia recovers from the atrocities it has seen, it will be because of people like Randa.

(Film about the Khmer Rouge genocide: The Killing Fields; Randa and Setan's stories: http://denver.rockymountainnews.com/flash/cambodia/print.shtml)

July 9, 2008 - Phnom Penh, Cambodia 10:00pm

Just when I think I've come to grasp the level of injustice and corruption that the Cambodian people have been subjected to, I learn something that knocks me right back into utter disbelief. Today was one of those times. We were greeted this morning by an American girl named Ali, who came over to Cambodia for a visit after graduating from college and, once she saw what was happening here, canceled her flight home and decided to stay to help. The specific situation that gripped Ali's heart was that of Andon. Andon is a “community” of squatters that was established by the Cambodian government about an hour outside of Phnom Penh. In the 1990's, foreign real-estate developers decided that they wanted to buy a huge stretch of land along the river in Phnom Penh. They were willing to pay a generous price to the Cambodian government for it, and the offer was too good to refuse. Unfortunately, the land was already occupied by approximately 1,600 families who owned homes and businesses on it. The government offered an insultingly low price to the families to vacate and they, quite rightly, turned it down. So, early one morning at around 4:00 am, the government invaded the community with tanks and armed soldiers. They woke everyone and told them they had 30 minutes to gather their belongings and vacate their homes. Those who resisted would be met with violence. Some did resist and were killed. The rest, terrified and confused, loaded onto the buses and were shipped to the middle of nowhere. There, they were given some meager supplies and then left to eke out an existence. So, 1,600 families were taken from an urban city-dwelling lifestyle, to being homeless in the fields and to fight for survival. Few of them knew how to build, farm, or otherwise make a life out of nothing. To make matters worse, the government had originally planned to buy 3 hectors for the families to live on, but didn't want to pay that much so they squeezed them onto one. And there they remain today. A small square of land crammed full of families who live in huts and shacks constructed of found materials. They have no space. They live shoulder to shoulder. They must compete for the limited resources available to them and, therefore, do not trust or look out for one another. They have no source of income, no place or way to get work. They live on nearly nothing. Their drinking water is drawn from trenches that you and I wouldn't even put our feet in. As I walked through Andon, I kept reminding myself that these weren't some breed of gypsies or voluntary settlers. These were respected business people and citizens of Cambodia. And they were reduced to this. The complete lack of control and power they have over their own lives was shocking to me. And, of course, they were extremely vulnerable to traffickers and exploitation.

The indignation I feel at how people can treat their fellow man makes me want to vomit. And I feel so frustrated that all I can do is look on and be angry. There are several organizations that have been trying to help the people of Andon, including the one that Ali works for, but for some reason Andon seems to be only further declining. There is a great deal of sickness in the community (mostly from the lack of clean drinking water), and rising levels of domestic violence, assault, and rape. And there are so many children. Everywhere I walked, all I saw were children. Naked babies being cared for by nearly naked toddlers, watched by barely dressed children. A whole generation growing up thinking that Andon is what their lot in life is. I wonder if they will ever know anything different.

While I was standing and taking photos, I felt a little hand on my leg. A tiny girl, no more than three years old, had wrapped her arm around my knee and was resting her head on my thigh. She didn't look up at me or ask for anything. She just wanted contact. Comfort. Shelter. She wasn't even clinging or grasping me. Just leaning ever so lightly. And as I moved along through the alleys, she stuck with me until, suddenly, I looked down and she was gone. My heart hurts for her and for the fact that I didn't swoop her up in my arms and take her away from there.

July 7, 2008 - Phnom Penh, Cambodia 9:00pm

Yesterday we spent most of the day driving from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh, which is the capital of Cambodia. We drove through 6 hours of rice fields and countryside, and then entered the bustling and decrepid city. The entire city is in utter shambles and chaos. I have only seen a handful of buildings that would pass building inspections in the U.S. and the rest are hollowed out, dirty, segmented versions of city construction. The reasons for this can only be understood with some learning about what the Khmer Rouge regime and war did to this once-prosperous nation, and I will try to go into that in a later posting, but for now you will just have to take my word for it. I can't even imagine an American trillionaire willing to redevelop this city if it was handed to him. I would think it would sooner be completely leveled and start from scratch. Additionally, many of the inhabitants of Phnom Penh live in homemade shacks, tents, and market stalls that line all the streets, so it is an added level of poverty and density.

So, today we got our first real immersion into this city with a meeting at the Vulnerable Children Assistance Organization (VCAO) and then the city dump community. The VCAO is one of the local NGOs that works with trafficking and abuse survivors to not only provide them with the care they need, but to provide them with real options for the future. They provide assistance, education, and advocacy, which includes housing and care, education, and job training. The program requires that after six months of vocational training (for example in sewing), the participants must start a business of their own. They may take out a no-interest loan from VCAO to get them started. It's exciting to see such sustainable after-care programs for victims, as it seems that so many NGOs in the U.S. just want to throw money at victims to help them in the present, without investing the time and energy required to truly change their future. The participants at the VCAO are aged 10-18, with the average age of 13. Just children. The center runs completely on private donations, with a mere $2,000 per month providing for 30-40 children. Unfortunately, the center is currently operating at 400% capacity, as they have lately seen a surge in the mail-order-bride problem. It is becoming increasingly popular for foreign men to hire “marriage brokers” to buy them a wife from a poor nation such as Cambodia. The girls are often sold as children to be married, and then are either abused by their husbands, sold by them to other men, or find out that there is no husband and they are trafficked into brothels. The center also recently had a few children come to them who had been held as slave laborers on fishing boats for the last two years. They escaped when they saw and island in the distance and swam to safety. I asked VCAO's Executive Director, Chea Pyden, what the biggest need for them currently is and his answer surprised me. He said they need more training for their counselors and social workers. I'm excited that I may actually be able to help one day.

After the VCAO we went to a school that they run in the city dump. That's right, IN THE DUMP. There is an entire community of families who live right in the trash. They survive by sifting through garbage and muck all day everyday, and selling anything reusable they find. They have set up tarps as tents and that is where they call home. So do their children. We got to the school just in time to walk the kids back to their homes. Many of the kids were barefoot, walking through garbage that I hesitated to step on with my shoes. They also had more than their fair share of open wounds and infections. And yet they happily led us from their one-room schoolhouse, through the trash piles, to their own tents in the dump. And then the stench hit me. It was like nothing have ever smelled before. It took every ounce of my will not to gag in front of them. We were given surgical masks before arriving to help us with the smell, but I didn't want to offend or alienate these people any more than I had to. I already feel torn about “touring” their lives as if they were some attraction or freak show. I keep telling myself that it is for a good purpose, but it still feels demeaning. The people that I've met don't seem to mind. They are completely gracious, if not somewhat guarded. I can't say that I blame them. Especially since our guide told us that rape and assault is a huge problem there, since local men know that they can enter the dump community and do what they wish with no threat of legal repercussions. In any case, our time in the dump community was haunting. Later that night, when we were sitting in our luxurious hotel rooms, Alessandro reminded me that right now, those kids that we had held hands with and walked home from school with were sleeping in the rotting stinking garbage that we happily fled from earlier. And they will continue to, day in and day out, unless they are able to make the most of the education that the VCAO program is providing and dare to dream of more. I just don't know if they even know what else to dream of. And if they did, what would that do to them now?

July 5, 2008 - Tonle Sap Lake, Cambodia 7:00pm

Cambodia has a huge lake called Tonle Sap, which is the center of their fishing, rice, and boating industry. The lake is also home to a fair sized population of the Cambodian people. I don't mean that they live around the lake, I mean on the lake. The lake hosts what are referred to as floating villages. Floating villages are exactly what they sound like. People construct houses out of twigs and wood, and other materials that float. There are entire villages created out of floating houses and market boats that bring items along the lake for purchase. The people who live in these villages may spend years never setting foot on land.

We spent the day on a boat touring these floating villages today. Though it may sound somewhat luxurious to live in such a village, I can assure you that it is nothing like the houseboats and Venitian villas that may come to mind. The citizens of the floating villages are among the poorest in Cambodia. Because of this, they are especially vulnerable to the dangers of human trafficking; mostly because they are easier to exploit as they need money, and partly because when kidnapped or assaulted, they have no access to the police or court system. The police and courts here function on an unofficial “fee for service” system, meaning that unless you pay them, you will get no help. The floating villagers are self-sustained in that they barter among themselves for food and goods. They also live in extremely close quarters, with a family of 5 or 6 dwelling in a 5'x6' floating shack. As wrong as it feels to say it, I can understand a little more what would lead a family in this situation to sell a child. Not only do they desperately need the money, but they also have neither the space nor resources to support them.

Strangely enough, as we boated through the villages, I felt calmer than I have since I've been here. I recognize that the people I was seeing were poor and struggling, and that I couldn't survive one day in their lives...but I don't think that realization went both ways. From what I could tell, they didn't seem all that unhappy. Weary: yes; unhappy: no. How could a person living in a shack the size of a closet, with no money to their names, living on nothing but sun-dried fish and lotus roots be happy? I know plenty of people with a gazillion times what they have who seem a lot more unhappy than what I saw. The only thing I can think is that they aren't comparing themselves to anything or anyone else. This is the only way of life that they know, and within that they are successful. They aren't sitting on their rafts thinking, “man, if only I were living in Mountain View, California, I would be sipping Starbucks while watching a video in my huge one-bedroom air-conditioned apartment I share with my cat.”

Meanwhile, we Americans compare ourselves constantly to others to see who has more, newer, bigger, better. And that's what makes us unhappy. We set standards for ourselves based on a reality that is not our own. We want want want. And what does it get us? It gets me pity for a people that are only pitiful according to my own lifestyle. It reminds me that I'm blessed and spoiled at the same time. It makes me question the American tendency to want to “save” other nations and cultures from lifestyles and realities that we deem inferior. But what would my interference get these people in the floating villages? Other than more food to fill their bellies, I have nothing to offer them. Nothing of value in their lives. I would only demote them from happily existing in their own sphere, to unhappily struggling in a different one.

I still believe that nobody deserves to be subjected to the inhumanities and degradation inherent in human trafficking, and I will still continue my fight to prevent that. But I am also learning to re-evaluate my ideas of need and pity. Perhaps it is more degrading to them for me to assume that they must be miserable and need my help, than to respect our differences and merely honor our shared humanity.

July 4, 2008 - Siem Reap, Cambodia 6:00pm

It's ironic that I'm spending Independence Day among the least free people in the world.

Today we visited two sites that are associated with an organization called Krousar Thmey, which means “New Family”. The first site we went to was a School for the Blind and Deaf. Initially, I didn't see how this school and human trafficking were related, until I was told that here in Cambodia, a family's only real option for dealing with a blind or deaf child is to sell them off. Families most often struggle to support themselves with basic necessities, so providing for a child with special needs is out of the question. They can, however, make a decent sum for themselves if they sell of the children to work as beggars or sex slaves. The “begging industry” here is structured much like a gang or a prostitution ring – there are “big brothers” who control a group of children. The children are trained to beg, and are forced to turn over their money to the big brothers in exchange for protection and shelter. The more pitiful the child, the more effective they are at playing on others' sympathy and collecting money. Therefore, it is often in a big brother's interest to keep the children hungry and malnourished, bruised, dirty, and injured. Similarly, a blind, deaf, or otherwise disabled child can also be quite a lucrative possession for a big brother.

Fortunately, the School was founded in order to provide an alternative, and some hope , for these children. The School provides housing, food, social support, academic education, and creative and performing arts, and vocational training. It is a nonprofit organization, and is funded completely by individual donations. Blind and deaf children are brought to the School when they are found in orphanages, rescued from traffickers, or discovered within the community.

Despite being informed of these children's often horrific backgrounds, it was difficult to believe once I interacted with them. They were given a recess while we were on the modest little campus, and were thrilled to have some new and strange people to entertain them. One member of our group brought a bag of bright yellow balloons to give out, and by the way the kids reacted you would have thought they were gold bricks covered in chocolate. They screeched and laughed and batted the balloons around. They were joyful over such a simple pleasure. And they were able to simply be children. I was blessed to witness it.

Our next stop was to one of the Krousar Thmey Family Houses. The Family House Program is similar to a foster care or adoption system, but does have some key differences. Family Houses seek to provide a new family to the very young or deeply traumatized children who are rescued from trafficking and the streets. A Cambodian couple opens their home and raises a family of 10 of these children. It's not about money, and it's not about a governmental obligation. It's about a couple of people who become real-life heroes to the most damaged and in-need children. They aren't specially trained and they aren't a part of a larger “system”. They are parents and their sole purpose is to give these children a family, a safe home, love, and an upbringing that maintains their Khmer heritage and culture. Once a child is placed in one of these homes, they are a permanent member of the family, and stay there until they are grown.

We got to meet one of these incredible families and spend some time with them. The parents were humble working-class people who strived only to love their kids. The rooms of their house were completely empty except for the sleeping mats that were rolled up in the corners, and tables and chairs in the main room. The yard was full of chickens and dogs. When asked by one of our group members what their greatest need was, they simply answered “we are happy”. And the children seemed happy, too. We brought pizza, balloons, and some soccer balls for the kids. And then we played. For hours. We played with the balloons. We played soccer and volleyball. We taught eachother words for the farm animals depicted in the children's books I gave them. We sang songs and played patty-cake type games. We communicated with charades and facial expressions. They adopted us into their family for a day. And it was simple and real and lovely.

The littlest girl there was 8 years old. She was fascinated by everything I did, and I became her little pet. When we were playing in the sun, she sensed I was getting too hot and led me by the hand into the shade. At one point, she gasped and desperately started dusting off my arm. I had leaned against the house and was covered in dirt and paint chips. She was, too, but she didn't seem to recognize it. I got the sense that, to her, I was clean and needed to be preserved. I only wish she saw herself the same way.

Of course, when it was time to leave, the thought occurred to me to grab her and run. But then I remembered that she has a family who loves her. And it seemed like the biggest miracle in the world. How sad is that?

One of the boys there gave each of us a drawing that he had done. I received an ink drawing of humming birds and roses. I have been looking at the picture wondering where in his life he has ever seen such an image, since I doubt he observed it himself. And then I turned the paper over and saw a drawing that was, tragically, more authentic. He had drawn a stick figure scene of a child giving oral sex to a grown man. The drawing was small and rudimentary and off in the corner, but it was there. I was struck by how the image he presented me, flowers and birds, was a pretty distraction from the real images in his head that needed to be expressed. Unfortunately, despite the incredible love and care that Krousar Thmey offers these kids, it isn't able to provide any sort of counseling or specialized treatment. And though these kids are a million miles ahead of where they would be without it, they are still doomed to have these ugly images and experiences lurking in their heads because nothing can change their past. I am even more intent now on saving as many people as I can from such a fate. Prevention is definitely better than treatment, and yet so much harder to accomplish.

July 3, 2008 - Siem Reap, Cambodia 7:00pm

Today was promised to be a “cultural day”, as we were to spend the day visiting some of the many temple ruins here in Siem Reap. We did, indeed, visit the awe-inspiring temples, built in the 1200's and in various states of ruin now, but the culture that I experienced was found outside the temple walls. When entering or leaving Angkor Wat (an immense temple that is one of the 7 wonders of the world) or the other temple sites, we were literally mobbed by children who were begging or selling various wares. I happened to finish my sight-seeing walk of the temples about 30 minutes prior to my peers, and so was left to fend for myself outside the exit. At first, I tried to politely decline, saying “no thank you” and “I'm sorry” dozens of times before I concluded that they were not going to be so easily turned away. Once I made eye-contact with a child, I was considered fair game, and was relentlessly pursued with droning and repetitive cries of “one dollar”, “please”, “help me”. Surrounded by 10-15 desperate and exploited children, my only defense was to ignore them. And it killed me. They are human beings, little children, and I had to pretend they didn't even exist. And I got angry. At them for leaving me with no choice but to act as if they weren't there. At myself for not speaking their language in order to explain to them that...what? That my dollar wouldn't solve their problems? That it is a larger economic and social system that needs to change before they are to be fed? That if I were to give them my money, it would only reinforce the industry that is exploiting them and robbing them of their childhood? In the end, even if I could speak Khmer enough to begin to say all this, they wouldn't stick around long enough to hear it. Because they have to make money to give to their bosses or they won't get fed. Or they will get punished. Or they will be sold into an even worse fate. But I'm still angry that these children are put in the position of being treated like they aren't even humans. And that I'm one of the ones treating them that way. And that I don't see how to begin to fix it.

July 2, 2008 - Siem Reap, Cambodia 7:45pm

I have arrived safely in my hotel in Siem Reap, Cambodia. Unfortunately, as I suspected would happen, my luggage did not arrive with me. I can only hope that it arrives tonight as predicted (especially since 24 hours of traveling among 4 different countries has left me a bit sweaty and stinky). I was met at the airport by Alessandro, our Global Exchange representative who, if he weren't married, would leave me absolutely dreamy eyed and useless. Fortunately, he is married, so I am free to focus on my purpose for being here. As we drove from the airport to the hotel, I kept waiting for the “city” of Siem Reap to appear before me. To my surprise, the tropical countryside littered with thatched huts, shacks, and shoeless children was the city. At one point, Alessandro alerted me that we were on the main highway, which was, admittedly, a bigger road lined with market stalls. The roads were filled with people on bicycles and motorbikes, all of whom seemed to make their own traffic rules as they went along. Despite the small-scale chaos, it still has the feeling of a village rather than a city. I am in awe of how naturally beautiful this land is, and how out of place I am in it. The town and its citizens don't quite seem real to me, almost as if they are acting the part of southeast asian villagers for my benefit. The sad thing is, they are more real than I am here.

I was so busy being in awe of this new region that I nearly forgot what it is I am here to see. While waiting in line to get my visa at the airport, I noticed a single American man also in line. It brought to mind the statistic that 45-60% of tourists to Cambodia are single men who, presumably, come here for sex tourism. As the thought ran through my head that I could be looking at a real live child sex tourist, and that I had even smiled a friendly “we are fellow Americans in this strange country” smile at him, my stomach lurched and I fought both the urge to vomit and to confront him with my suspicions. I did neither, but I realize that I will have to steel myself for some more close encounters while here. And as we drove through the city streets and I watched the little girls and boys playing on the sides of the road, I couldn't help but wonder how many of them have been exposed to horrors that I can't even imagine. For comfort's sake, I managed to convince myself for the time being that none of the children I saw could be victims of exploitation or trafficking, but I know that the odds are against them.

Tomorrow we are spending all day at Angkor Wat temple, and I'm looking forward to dwelling on the beauty of this great land before facing the ugliness of it.

July 2, 2008 - Air over Hong Kong, China 12:30pm

My third plane of this trip has just taken off from Hong Kong. My remaining two hours in the Taipei airport ended up being more interesting than anticipated, as I spent it hanging out with a handsome Scottish guy named Chris. After saying goodbye to him, the 1 hour flight to Hong Kong flew by (no pun intended), and I was greeted in China with a bit more of the “foreignness” that I had expected in Taiwan. I was ushered off the plane, into the face of a flight attendant who rapidly shouted at me in Mandarin, to which I stared at her dumbly and managed to nod when I heard the word “Bangkok” come out of her mouth. That is my next destination. I could only hope that she understood that. Then, in a massive flashback to the kindergarten bus-boarding process, she stuck a huge orange sticker to the front of my shirt, handed me some sort of pass that I couldn't read, and pointed down the terminal. I had NO IDEA what was going on, but I obediently embarked in the direction she shoo-ed me until I was greeted by someone who reached for the pass I was holding. The ordeal turned out to be nothing more than another round of security checks for us foreigners, and now I'm safely aboard my plane to Bangkok.

July 2, 2008 - Taipei Airport, Taiwan 6:00am

I'm sitting in a coffeeshop in the Taipei airport, and am somewhat suspicious about how I got here and if, in fact, I really am in Taiwan. I was all geared up for a) a torturously long and uncomfortable 13-hour flight, and b) a bit of culture shock and broadening of my horizons upon landing in this part of the world. As for the flight...I took a dose of “Simply Sleep” while we were taking off, and when I woke up I found out that we had only 3 hours left until landing. I watched two episodes of Lost on my laptop and was told that it was time to land. This news concerned me a little, since I looked out my window and saw no “land” upon which to “land”. But, sure enough, ten minutes later we were touching down. I am thankful that the flight was so blessedly easy on me, but I must admit that I feel a bit gyped thus far by my Asian adventure. During landing, I scanned the countryside for some evidence of “foreigness”, and despite my best efforts, saw only American-looking buildings and a friggin football field. Even the airport has all of its signs in both Taiwanese and English...and everyone speaks English...and they all look so American...AND they only accept American currency here. So, thus far, leg one of my brave little journey has consisted of a full night's sleep, two episodes of Lost, and now a latte and chocolate muffin in a cafe decorated with Michelangelo paintings and photos of Venice. Hmph.