(To all my watchers who keep getting notified of this same journal entry: when I come across a resource on this topic or when I have any further realisations about it I'll add them to the end of this journal, instead of starting a new journal entry, so just scroll down to see the new stuff).

Dear all...

I had one of those moments today, one of those powerful moments that stay with you. Its a simple moment, but it really affected me, and I wanted to share it.

(Its a serious topic so if you feel that you are feeling overwhelmed in life right now and if thinking about emotional topics makes you unsafe then please don't read on. As someone who has had anxiety, I know its important to keep safe).

Before I start, I will say that child prostitution is something that I have absolutely no knowledge of and I'm not a social worker. I'm just a woman who is interested in the plight of our sisters near and far.

I was out shopping with my mom and my aunty. While they looked for Christmas presents for my nieces and nephews, I browsed through the book section (which happened to be right next to the kids toy section). I was drawn to a book with a simple portrait of a woman, who had the most enigmatic look on her face. I'm not sure if it was the sadness of one who has seen darkness, the pride of one who has overcome, the contentment of one who understands, or the quiet determination of one who knows the fight isn't yet over. But it was a look that made me want to read.

It was an autobiography, written by a woman who had been raped and then sold into prostitution at 12 into a Cambodian brothel. The book went on to detail the things that she witnessed, both as a sex-slave, and in the later years after her escape, when she returned as an aid worker. Some of things that she recounted were truly terrifying, sickening, and horrifying. There is an utter powerlessness of women, unheard by the law, as corrupt police actively encourage and profit from the sale of daughters, sold like cattle to pay off family debts. A horrible nexus of shame, obedience, family honour, and institutionalised violence act to silence women; it is an illogical blend of twisted cultural shackles which are used to justify sadistic and cruel treatment. She recounts her experience of obscene and violent acts that are common place occurrences faced by brothel workers, some perpetrated on girls as young as five. These acts seems to me, not about desire or lust, but about the exercise of power over the helpless; brutal and almost inhuman treatment visited upon the most vulnerable of all. Bravery, hope, and a person's ability to trust are stripped away; girls who attempt to escape are made shocking examples of in front of the other slaves; sometimes they are beaten with electrical cables, sometimes nails are driven through their skulls, sometimes they are chained and left to burn alive in house fires. It is clear that there was no love in the vile performance of an act which is supposed to be an intimate experience. But what underscored the story was a lack of love from the very people that these girls should have been able to trust; from mothers who abandoned them, to fathers who sold them, to uncles and grandfathers who raped them, to brothers who beat them, to clients who offered to help them but then betrayed them. Through it all her fiery spirit survives and gives the reader some hope despite the incredible amount of suffering, suffering which continues in the present day. The sad truth is that at this very moment, in the same streets that she lived in, and in the same rooms, the humanity of thousands of girls just like you and me, is being violently ripped away from their souls, precious souls which ought to be cared for and nourished.

I read all this in a corner of the store, just past the rows and rows of toys and games that I wanted to buy for my nieces and nephews. Stuffed toys, soft as dreams, cricket balls, that iconic symbol of childhood, video games, with all the high tech swirly colors and sounds...all the stuff that brings out the magic of a kid's smile.

This is not a rant about decadence and commercialism, (although of course poverty is the hunger that drives the system of abuse, and money is the lifeblood of such brothels.) The point is not that Australian children and their parents are greedy throw-away consumers.

Instead my point is that the children I know are cared for in every way. Their learning and play is fun, interactive and comes in all sorts of shiny new shapes and colors. Of these, the particular kids I'm talking about also have an abundance of emotional resources, as well as material ones. Their parents shower them with time and attention, cuddles and care, welcoming hearts and devotion. In short, they are loved. Very loved. I too received that kind of care, from an incredible family that I am so lucky to have.

The divide between the those girls and the girls for whom we were buying presents, just broke my heart. There is nothing I can do to rescue the girls in Cambodia, and nothing that I would do to take away from my nieces, who are loved as they should be. But what hurt was just how much these girls are robed of. I wish that they could all have been loved the way my nieces are loved, I wish that they could have been loved the way I have been loved, I wish they could have been protected. I wish that they could have held one of those toys, I wish that they could have been hugged by a mother, and I wish that they could have walked without fear. I wished that they could have been as oblivious to evil as the toddler who was screaming 'I want I want', because there is something so normal about a child who's biggest worry is a pink fluffy pony; I wish that those girls had the luxury of being able to want and to feel.

This isn't the first time that I have heard about terrible suffering, and it isn't the first time that my heart has ached for the victims of evil acts. But this moment in particular hit me hard, here I was surrounded by love and the benefits of wealth, and the contrast was so stark.

It showed me a number of things. First, that although I might complain about the sexist and unjust elements that exist in my society, and in some of the experiences that I have had, I am personally a very lucky individual. I thank God for the mercy I have received in being born where I was born, and for the blessing that my family is. Too often we compare our situation to our friends and our immediate circle, and look upon them with envy. We all forget that we are certainly privileged to be able to read, to eat, to be sheltered at night, and to have no expectation that we will be beaten for looking at a man in a manner that happens to displease him. On a worldwide scale, it is a luxury to have clean water to drink, and enough food to satisfy us; on a percentage wise basis we are the lucky few. This is not a holier than thou rant, I've been petty and wasteful, envious and ungrateful...I just really appreciated today how much I have, in love, in belongings, in security, and in opportunities. It put any of my personal suffering in perspective. Although I will have days where I mourn the hurts I have faced, I hope that they will never consume me, to the point where I forget to appreciate the wonder of my life and what I have been given. I want to use this as a way of moving away from dysfunction, a way to move away from any inward-focused, indulgent self-pity.

The second thing that struck me was that I want to be able to use this privileged position, in some way that benefits these women. I have no idea where to start, but ignorance can no longer be my excuse.

The third thing that struck me was the value of love, in all its forms. I think romantic love has been given too much emphasis, not just in the media, but in general discourse. Romance is wonderful, and it is a fantastic gift to be able to share intimate pieces of your soul with someone special. But love is not just about what we share with a man, it is what creates whole persons who can shine. Compassion, care, affection, loving discipline, are what nurture us. It starts in childhood, but we continue needing it all our lives. There is real 'love' in being a good friend, there is 'love' in caring for the younger members of your family, there is 'love' in devoting time to an elderly person, and there is 'love' in saying a kind word to the person who serves you at the grocery store. So in our search for that special romantic partner, don't forget the love that can be shown to many people around us, and in many different ways, and that it is integral to our survival.

Hmm, so I think thats about all I can think of right now, but I'm hoping that the implications of this shopping trip will keep on sinking in, and that I'll have more to write soon. If you have comments, feel free to note me. I'd like to hear your thoughts!

EDIT:

Here's a quote I found on the UNICEF site

"More than 2.6 billion people – forty per cent of the world’s population – lack basic sanitation facilities, and over one billion people still use unsafe drinking water sources. As a result, thousands of children die every day from diarrhoea and other water-, sanitation- and hygiene-related diseases and many more suffer and are weakened by illness."

Here's the link [link] if you want to check out what these guys do, and just get more informed about the issues facing our world.

EDIT2:

This is a link to an article by Amnesty International about rape in custody of women in SriLanka. Some of the accounts of rape are extremely disturbing, so please do not read this if you don't feel strong enough emotionally to cope with it. Take care of yourself because you need to be strong before you can help others. Nevertheless, the reason I am posting this is because it is an important issue, and awareness is always the first step in getting things to change.

[link]

Although I'm so angry at the perpetrators, I have to remember that the empathy that results in change stems from a love for the victims, and that hate will achieve little...and it helps to focus on that when I want to cry in rage.