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Lost in Transition.

6/23/2014

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A year ago, right as I was leaving for Asia, Carol, a new friend of mine, asked me to write a blog about living a conscious life for her website.  I agreed, but then couldn’t do it.  I wanted to and even put pen to paper a couple times, but it was false and I knew it.  I even wrote something while squeezed in my undersized plane seat on the gazillion hour flight from California to Taiwan, but it just amounted to well-disguised fluff.  I tried a few more times my first months in Vietnam but the result was the same.  The good news is that it wasn’t missed – Carol invited me to write it as a guest blogger just as a favor to me, knowing I was trying to gain exposure with a wider audience. 

Still, I felt bad I couldn’t deliver, and was puzzled why.  I never suffer from writer’s block (I just get my ass to work,) but something about this topic eluded me, month after month.  From Vietnam I traveled to the Philippines and then Thailand, Laos, and Cambodia, where I settled into life on tropical islands, abandoning my blog about living consciously for the playthings of sun and sea.  Left with a title and a blank page, it stayed on my To Do list – and my mind.

A year later, these are my last few hours in Asia.  In fact, I’m writing this as I sit in the airport about to grab a flight to Japan and then Hawaii and eventually on to New York City.  So after visiting 7 countries, 20,000 miles, taking 2,562 photos, writing 51 blogs about life, crafting 2 more books, and surviving 1 super typhoon, am I any closer to writing a credible blog about living consciously?

Not really.  And I never will be.  It took me almost the whole year to realize this, but it finally hit me:

If you think you’re conscious, then you are not. 

That epiphany was both comforting and puzzling.  How can I possibly qualify to write about consciousness when I was just one infinitesimal, comically insignificant life form on a planet with 7 billion others?  What makes me so special that I could call myself, “conscious?”  Nothing at all.  So I’ve set foot on a little more of this globe than the average person (though less than others,) and seen and pondered a few more things than the average person, (though far less than others,) but by no means do I think that’s elevated me to any spiritual authority.  I will never be conscious because the more I see, the less I know.  Therefore I will never be qualified to answer Carol’s calling.  

However, this year hasn’t been without lessons – many of them disconcerting and painful but illuminating beyond belief.  First, I had to unlearn everything I’d worshipped as truth because in Asia, almost no Western paradigm has any context.  My cultural debriefing was embarrassing and ego shattering, but always entertaining.  But somehow I survived, and as I board this plane for that gazillion hour flight back I feel much lighter, like I'm carrying less of a burden than I came with.  I hate to disappoint but I have no strong opinions to impress upon you, no grand philosophies to share, nor any secret answers to life’s questions.  I've seen my mortality and understand I.m but one temporary heartbeat, a bundle of sparking neurons like a beacon in the middle of a vast ocean, so deep and distant it’s impossible I’ll ever see the shores.   

 All of our destinies end the same, so take solace that we’re all in that ocean together.  In the meantimes, there’s no such thing as a lifetime, only moments.  And those moments count – every single one of them.  After this epic year exploring exotic cultures and seeing wonders of the world, do you know what I remember the most?  The small things.  A boy opening his umbrella for an old lady during a rainsquall.  A photo of a birthday cake with my name on it.  A hug from orphans who new I wasn’t lying when I promised to keep them safe.  Sleeping on the roof one hot jungle night under a full moon, holding someone I knew I should never love but did anyway.

So don’t worry your thoughts nor waste your days on the big things.  They're either part of our destiny or only made of small things.  Instead, collect those.  Admire their colors in sunlight.  Celebrate them with vigor and give them away with laughter.  That's what you will remember.  I promise.   

Well, I could go on and on and bore you with all of the life lessons I learned this year but a lady is squawking over the airport’s intercom in some unknown language, which I think means it’s time to board. 

So I’ll leave you with this; I depart this strange and magical place filled with more wonder than I found it.  With more compassion for those humble souls suffering for no fault of their own.  And with more love for all of you, who were with me every step of this journey whether you knew it or not.  I don’t want to rush through these moments anymore and never again will I measure these things as small.  I want this plane to take off but never to land.  I may not become conscious but I’ve happily surrendered to that notion, I’m starting to believe that’s how it’s supposed to be.

-Norm  :-)

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That. Will. Not. Happen.

6/14/2014

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I just got word that the Children's Improvement Organisation in Cambodia,  the great orphanage in Cambodia where out beautiful daughters, Jenny and Jenna were taken in, received some bad news; a Taiwanese organization had pledged to pay the lease for their location - $400 a month - through 2015.  But now, they are backing out as of September of this year because of their own financial issues.  Without that money, CIO can't pay rent and will have no place to go for 37 orphaned children who will be out on the street with no housing or food.

That. Will. Not. Happen.  

Saying goodbye to Jenny and Jenna at their new home, the CIO orphanage.

I'm pledging my support to do whatever it takes to make sure Jenny and Jenna and the rest of the 35 wonderful children at CIO can stay there and are safe, healthy, and happy.  In case you don't know, the Children's Improvement Organisation (Australian spelling) is not a big international nonprofit with a PR department and high admin costs.  In fact, CIO consists largely of two pure-hearted Cambodians - Sitha Toeung and his wife, Sreymom, who have dedicated their lives to help these children and live, work, and eat right among them in humble conditions.  100% of donations go directly to keeping the children housed, fed, educated, and providing basic medical care when possible.
  
To help, I will be setting up their website and handling a campaign of awareness to collect pledges from companies, relief organizations, and caring individuals.  I also envision getting them on the map as a destination for charity/volunteer tourism to benefit from the bustling tourism industry in Siem Reap.  Of course I will be donating myself, every month, and if I can find 50 people who want to commit a little bit every month - even the cost of a coffee at work instead of Starbucks or a meal at home instead of at a restaurant, we can keep the doors to the orphanage open.  To be clear, this is not a hand out.  These children only want a chance to have their basic needs met and the opportunity to go to school, so they can work hard at decent jobs and eventually take care of the next generation of Cambodians, healing their country from the inside, out.   
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But I don't want to collect any money now.  Not a cent.  Instead, let's build a community of caring people who are ready to spread the word and take consistent action as we get closer.  More details will follow, but any other ideas you can brainstorm are greatly appreciated.  But I assure you - we WILL ensure a happy ending for Jenny, Jenna, and all of these kids.  

Please share this on Facebook and email me to pledge your support when the time comes.  

And thanks x 1,000,000!!!!

Norm    :-)


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Check out this insanely fun video about Jenny and Jenna's Big Day Out and find out all about it  here.

If you want to learn more about Jenny and Jenna and all the children who need help in Cambodia, click here.  

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Dreams and death on a green table.

6/13/2014

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I had my fortune told for the first time tonight, on a green table in the back of a dimly-lit room of a bar in the Philippines.  The fortune teller sat me down and went through a deck of cards, asking me to first pick 21 cards and then 13 cards, 10 cards, 7 cards, and finally revealing the last card.  The 50-year old woman, moles on her face and jagged teeth, seemed unsettled even though she's been doing these readings since 13 years old in her village, after she displayed a strange gift for predicting future events.  She only spoke only Visayan, her central island dialect, so I had someone translate.  

This is what she said:

21 cards. The queen of spades came up centered, with the jack of hearts right below it.  She said I was a nice man.  But I would have big problems with a woman - she was bad news and just wanted something from me.

13 cards.  The jack of spades was in the center.  Someone I thought was a good friend would betray me over money.  

10 cards. Jack of clubs.  A guy friend of mine who is older would drag me into his problems.  He's not bad, but he'll unwittingly make me carry his burden.

7 cards.  I have to be very careful with the woman I have problems with - I would get her pregnant, but not end up marrying her.

1 card.  The ace of spades came up, the strongest card in the deck.  She told me that was a sure sign I'd achieve my dreams.

"When will I die?" I asked her.  She just laughed and collected her cards off the green table.

"100 Pesos, please," she said.  

-Norm   :-)



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A Cambodian curriculum vitae.

6/12/2014

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This is what a resume looks like in Cambodia.  I was sitting at a bar, eating some grub on my last evening after a 4-month stay, and got to chatting with the bartender, a pleasant local woman.  She pulled out this resume and looked it over and showed it to me, since I was the only person in the bar. 

She remarked that the young man who submitted the resume must be from the province because he really has no work experience and not even a photo to submit.  There are really no jobs in the province, she explained – they’re all in the main cities and especially areas of tourism like Siem Reap and Angkor Wat (a world heritage site,) Phnom Penh, and the beach town of Sihanoukville.   So everyone comes to those “big city” or tourism areas to try and make a living. 

“He did graduate high school,” she said,  “The most important thing on resume – any resume – is that he speak a little good English. So
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maybe we give him chance.  Now rainy season so tourist slow down, but Siem Reap ok now.  All Korean and Chinese tourist come here instead of Thailand because they fighting.”

I asked her how much an entry-level job at the bar might pay.

“$60 or so,” she said.  

“A week?”  That seemed like a pretty good wage for Cambodia.

“A month.”

Imagine working 12 hours a day, 6 or 7 days a week for $60, or less than $2 a day?  Yet that’s what the vast majority of people in Cambodia earn every month – if they’re lucky.  That’s about the going rate, whether they are servers at restaurants, tuk tuk drivers, give massages, do construction or sew and work in a laundry.  The bartender told me that so many young people come to the city try and get these jobs.  They have no place to stay, no family or friends or even a dollar of savings to fall back on once they arrive, so they sleep 10 to a room in a shabby guesthouse, on the floor where they work, or even on the street on a hammock.  

They send as much money as they can manage back to their families in the province – the only system of social security for older people.  The financial pressure on these young people is enormous.  Sending $30 home can make the difference between their parents, grandparents, and whole extended families having enough to eat or receiving medical care or not.  Too often, they are forced into doing jobs their parents would be ashamed of, compelled to hide their vocation but still needing to send money back for them to survive.

They always start their tenure in the city and at a new job sending money back, but some are pulled into dark temptations – partying, buying nice clothes and phones, and always drinking.  Since any real money to be made is at a bar, club, or working to pacify the tourist’s desires, alcoholism is such an unquestioned fact of life that nearly everyone drinks all night, every night.  The depression of hopelessness is staved off by taking a shot and the energy of another night’s neon song.  The girls in bars, whether bartenders, hostesses, servers, or “bar girls,” make a significant portion of their income on tips or lady drinks.  If they can convince a foreigner to buy them a drink (at an inflated price,) they get paid handsomely, usually $1.50 or $2, or as much as they would otherwise earn all day.  

The girls mostly come to work as these bar girls, or that is where they always end up, where they can earn more and try to attract the favor of a foreigner for some nice meals, a vacation, a brand new phone.  Especially the phone - it seems like having a nice new Android or (gasp!) iPhone is a badge of wealth to these girls.  But it’s also a tool to allow them to attract and keep in touch with foreign boyfriends, even when they go back overseas.  Keeping that relationship alive can be lucrative – guys often send a hundred dollars a month or so back to their “girlfriends.”  Or, if things go really well, they may pay for them to take English classes or go to university.  If they’re really lucky, they’ll find the Holy Grail – a visa to another country.  The only detail is that they need to marry the guy, but that is a small inconvenience.  Sometimes, it takes a week for the marriage to manifest, sometimes, years.  It matters little if they know the guy well, are attracted to him, or even like him – the opportunity for economic security and the chance for a better future for them and their family is like a winning lottery ticket that just needs to be cashed on a daily basis. 

For many of them, the devil arrives in their lives and his name is Yaba.  That’s what they call the Southeast Asian version of methamphetamines, or ice - a terrible concoction of poisons that eats away at their brains when smoked – but let’s them float above their problems for a few precious hours.  Once they get hooked on Yaba there’s usually no going back, eventually becoming reckless with selling their bodies.  When that happens, all their money goes to their habit and less and less back to their families.  If they get pregnant they usually go back to the province to have the help of their mother until they deliver.  When they come back to the city to work, the baby usually stays with grandma.  

Even those working outside of the bar scene make a significant portion of their income on tips and kickbacks.  So if the tuk tuk driver suggests a hotel and delivers the tourist to the front door, they’re entitled to a tip from the hotel for bringing a booking.  Sometimes the drivers have a pretty good day, but too often they’re lucky to have one fare for a buck or two.  For that reason, they’ll assault your senses with offers to take you to every tourist attraction.  You usually have to say ‘No,” three or four times to every single street vendor or tuk tuk driver just to get them off your back.  It’s hard not to get annoyed at their aggressiveness but once you understand the economics of the their situation, you tend to soften your stance.  

And then, there are the hustlers; battalions of forgotten people working the streets, outside of any rules or structure of the tourism industry.  Adults – sometimes even their own parents - send children barefoot into the street to beg all day and all night, armed with sad eyes and wearing dirty rags, just enough English to tug on a sympathetic tourist’s heart strings.  Maybe they sell bracelets or knick-knacks, but they’re really just seeing how much they can squeeze out of each farang - foreigner.  

How can you blame them?  That watch you’re wearing costs more than they make in a year, what you spend on a Saturday night enough to feed their family for a month.  The only problem is that most of the money goes to the grown person around the corner who’s spending it on booze or cigarettes, and not much to the kids working in the razor sharp streets.  

Some bar girls – who are sick or too hooked on Yaba to work in bars – work as freelancers.  Of course there are pickpockets and those who set tourists up when their pants are down (literally) but the vast majority of all these people are good, honest, and hard working – even when faced with unfathomable poverty.  They set up a chair and give haircuts in the street, or drag along a cart of coconuts to sell, a machete and straws the tools of their trade.  Many just set up a blanket in the dirty street and sell icy fruit drinks, animal innards roasted over a coal fire, or dried fish.  It’s all they know, and without skills, education, or any resources, it takes all of their life’s energy just to live hand to mouth.  But they are honorable people - they’d split their last grain of rice with you if you were in need.       

“How long have you been working here?” I asked her as she took my plate away and put another ice cube in my beer.

“Three years now,” she said.  “Good job and nice owner that like me work.”

“And how much do you make per month?”

“$80,” she said.  And this was a decent Western bar in tourist areas that catered to foreigners and she spoke good English.  Imagine what the older lady in back made, homely and without strange words, so resigned to mopping up and cooking my meal?  

I wondered what would become of this kid who was applying for the job, even if he got it?  Faceless and with nothing to claim except a blank page, what was his fortune?  Or so many countless young, cheap laborers like him who came to the cities?  I guess we could just be thankful this new generation didn’t have to experience the horrors of war and genocide that their parents endured.  But as tourists keep pouring money into the country, I just wished that more of it actually landed with the real people living and dying in the streets, who really deserved it.  I guess I always hope that things get a little better.  

“Ketloy,” I said, asking for the bill in Khmer – the Cambodian language.  She smiled and brought me the bill.  I put down enough to cover the bill and a tip big enough for her to eat for a month and handed it back to her   She went to give me change, confused why I overpaid.

“Keep it,” I said.  “That’s a tip for you and spilt it with the lady over there with the mop.”  

“What?  Really?!  Oh thank you thank you!  Ohn Kuhn, bong!” she said to me, holding her hands to her forehead and bowing slightly to the sky, an offering to Buddha thanks for her good fortune. 

I smiled back – a real smile that I hope she remembered when times were bad.  I thanked her again and walked out onto the street.

“Tuk tuk?!  Tuk tuk!  Where you go?  Angkor Wat?” five taxi drivers barraged me at once.  I checked my watch – I had to head to go collect my bags at the hotel and get to the airport soon.

I guess that’s really what it comes down to – some of us are lucky enough to have places to go while the rest of us are always left hoping things get better, praying fortune arrives if they could just get through another day, around the corner or maybe in the kindness of a stranger.  Either way, none of it still makes any sense to me.  But that’s just how it is.  

-Norm    :-)
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See you later - but never goodbye - to Cambodian orphans Jenny and Jenna.

6/9/2014

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By now, many of you know the story of Jenny and Jenna, orphaned sisters here in Cambodia that grew up in desperately poor circumstances, separated from each other and with no food, money, or anyone to care for them.  Luckily, they were helped few years back by an American expat, Cowboy Bart, who managed to reunite the sisters and arrange for them to live with a family in a jungle province not far outside the main city.  Things were better but they still lived in humble circumstances, with barely enough food, attending school only sporadically, and having to sleep outdoors many nights.  

But things got much better for Jenny and Jenna recently.  Thanks to your generous donations, and the hard work of the true champions in their lives – two Cambodian medical students nicknamed Keep Calm and Keep Hope, along with Cowboy Bart, they were accepted into an orphanage in Siem Reap, a northern tourist town where Angkor Wat is located.  The orphanage, the Children’s Improvement Organization, was founded by a kind local man named Sitha Toeung.  The girls safely transitioned up there a couple weeks ago after a hot, bumpy bus ride with Keep Calm and Keep Hope.  But before they went we brought them into the big city of Phnom Penh for a going away celebration, a day of fun and firsts they’ll never forget! 
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Today is my last day in Cambodia before I make my way back to the United States after a whole year in southeast Asia, 4 months of which was spent in this beloved country of Kampuchea, or Cambodia.  So I couldn’t think of a more fitting goodbye than to travel up to Siem Reap to visit Jenny and Jenna at the orphanage to say goodbye before departing on a plane tomorrow.  

 The last time I wrote about the girls, and also the “Children of the Trash,” in Steung Meanchey, I was bombarded with donations and well-wishes from friends from all over the world.  I put that money to good use here in Siem Reap, hitting the local market today to buy all the things the orphanage needs: two huge 50kg bags of rice, 2 jugs of cooking oil, industrial-sized laundry detergent, boxes of snack food, 25 toothbrushes, toothpaste, plenty of bottles of shampoo and soap, combs and brushes, notebooks and pens for school, art supplies, and a full bedcover set for the girls.  

On this, my last evening in town and in Cambodia after 4 months here, I hired a taxi to drive me out to the orphanage to meet up with the girls.  Eager with anticipation all day, it was heartwarming to have the girls run up to me with big hugs when I arrived.  I was pleased to see that the orphanage was a much nicer set up than their last family in the province, with big thatched bungalows high up on stilts (to keep away from floods during the rainy season and any critters that might venture in,) a wide open courtyard, a locking gate and fence to keep the children safe, a big separate outhouse facility, and a serviceable outdoor kitchen under a tin roof.  It was spotlessly clean and all the kids appeared pleasant and cared for, if not a little shy at this foreigner's caravan arriving.
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Jenny and Jenna looked happy and healthy, and Sitha confirmed that they were doing well – fitting it well with the other kids and making friends.  He did mention that they were lagging way behind the other kids their age in school, unable to read or write even their own Khmer language fluently because of sporadic attendance in the past.  But he assured me that they would catch up and learn well in time, and the orphanage even employed an English tutor on site to teach the kids in the afternoons, a huge advantage as most of the decent jobs require English in a country becoming increasingly dependent on tourism.  Sitha himself, he confessed, didn’t even start school until he was 20 years old, but he earned a college degree not long after.  

His story is an incredible one – as dark and at the same time as uplifting as the human spirit can endure, like so many Cambodians who lived through the Khmer Rouge years of genocide and mass starvation.  He was born in 1969, only 6-years old when Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge came to power and systematically mass murdered 1.5 million people – about 25% of the country’s population - within only 3 ½ years.  Sitha told me that as a boy in Phnom Penh he grew up near the high school – then converted into an infamous prison and torture chamber.  He used to climb a palm tree and look over the fence to see people being tortured on a daily basis.   (continued at right)

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Sitha survived the scarce years after the war living in a pagoda upon the mercy of monks, and soon turned his trauma to something better – founding the Children’s Improvement Organization, where he's dedicated his days helping impoverished and orphaned children.

We talked briefly about these things, almost in whispers, as Jenny and Jenna and the kids ran and played with far fewer cares in the world than he'd had.  How far the people have come and how much healing has taken place in only one generation, we agreed, something to hang our hopes on even if things were still very hard for people in Cambodia.

Soon, nothing but joy and laughter resumed, as my taxi driver helped me unload all the goodies I brought for them.  They stood in a big circle out under the sun and helped me take everything out of the bags, lay it out for display so they could pick it up and talk about it, and then put it all in the bags again.  Sitha gave me a quick tour and Jenny and Jenna showed me their bungalow, where they slept on the floor on bamboo mats along with 10 other girls.    

Sitha also introduced me to his lovely wife, a kind soul if there ever was one, and the four young Taiwanese volunteers who had been helping the orphanage for the last year.  In fact, most of the buildings had been donated by Taiwanese organizations and their biggest donor was a kind-hearted but common Australian woman.  It was always a concern where the next donation would come from, and already he was worried about securing a renewal on the orphanage’s lease once their current one was up in a year.  I’d felt good for bringing so many things, but seeing that it had to take care of 37 children, I wished I brought more.  The bags of rice, seemingly enormous when I purchased them in the market, were dragged away to the kitchen by two skinny, shirtless Cambodian kids who looked 5 years younger than 13 and 14, their real ages, because of malnourishment.  

“How long will one of those bags last, I asked Sitha.”

“2 ½ or 3 days if they’re lucky,” he said, “ We have 37 kids and they eat rice three meals a day, so it goes fast.”  I couldn’t help but think, what would happen when those bags ran low?  For a second, I glimpsed the panic that must engulf their every day, though it was such a familiar play thing it was now just called, “life.”
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The wind picked up and dark clouds rolled in from the horizon, stirring palm trees and sending street dogs barking.  It was monsoon season and we had some dirt roads to traverse back to town, so it was with unspoken agreement that we moved toward the taxi and said our goodbyes before we got caught in a squall.

Saying goodbye to Jenny and Jenna was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.  They hugged me and we waved goodbye furiously, the only real method of communication because they didn’t speak English and I, very little Khmer.  With Sitha’s translation, I told them that I’d be back as soon as I could, maybe 6 months, and that I would stay in touch with him and make sure they had everything they needed.  They smiled and hugged me.  I made my way five steps toward the taxi, and they hugged me again.  We went on like this again and again, until I had tears in my eyes, hidden by my sunglasses so my concern wouldn’t diminish their smiles at all.  How could I just walk away?  Six months was a long time – if that would happen at all.  What if I couldn’t come back?  What if they didn’t have enough food, or the orphanage enough money to renew their lease?  What if some other malady fell upon them, like what happens with too many Cambodian children?  How could I possibly keep them safe?  And all of the other 37 children in the orphanage that were quickly wining my heart? 

This time, I turned and hugged them before climbing into the taxi.  I would find a way.  We drove off, all of us waving vigorously until the very last second, when we turned a corner and Jenny and Jenna were out of site, but with me more than ever.

-Norm   :-)


Email me if you'd like to help.
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12 Inspiring quotes from Paulo Coelho's, 'Manual of the Warrior of Light.'

6/3/2014

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Brazilian author, Paulo Coelho is one of the most iconic writers of our time, his books exuding an almost mythical presence.  His most famous, The Alchemist, has been translated into 80 languages and his books have sold 150 million copies worldwide.

I recently read his book, Manual of the Warrior of Light, and found myself underlining, circling, and ear-marking pages like mad when I read a great passage, until virtually the whole book is beat up.  Of course I suggest reading his work, but some of these quotes are way too good not to share!

I amend some quotes only slightly just so they can stand alone in this different context. 

1. 
“A prolonged war finally destroys the victors, too.”

2.
“Repeated experiences have but one aim: to teach you what you do not want to learn.”

3.
“All the rage and courage of a little bird are nothing to a cat.”

4.
“Intuition is God’s alphabet.”

5.
“Use fear as an engine, not a brake.”

6.
“You do not drown simply by plunging into water, you only drown if you stay beneath the surface.”

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7.
“The hidden enemy within us is someone we can no longer hurt.”

8.
“God uses solitude to teach us how to live with other people.  He uses rage to show us the infinite value of peace.  He uses boredom to underline the importance of adventure and spontaneity.   

God uses silence to teach us to use words responsibly.  He uses illness to underline the blessing of good health.  He uses death to show us the importance of life.”

9.
“Those who look on other people’s misery with indifference are the most miserable of all.”

10.
“You are not who you seem to be in these moments of sadness.  You are better than that…You are sad - that proves your soul is still alive.”

11.
“Problems seem very simple once they have been resolved.”

12.
“The most important words in any languages are the small words:
Yes. Love. God.

They are words that are easy enough to say and which fill vast empty spaces.”

***

Amazing, huh?  I recommend you give our buddy Paulo a read.  And let me know if you find any more great books or quotes by him!  

-Norm  :-)

1 Comment

In defense of Somaly Mam.

6/1/2014

37 Comments

 
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This week, startling allegations emerged that Cambodian anti-sex trafficking crusader Somaly Mam has been lying to us the whole time.  Her personal story – kidnapped as a ten-year old girl and sold into sexual slavery, forced to endure a decade of horrific abuse until she managed to escape – captured the hearts and attention of the international philanthropic community, funneling millions of dollars into Cambodia and her own Somaly Mam Foundation to help other victims.  She became the face of the anti-human trafficking cause, a media darling who appeared with Oprah, Anderson Cooper, on PBS, with NY Times columnist Nikolas Kristof of, Half the Sky fame, and rubbed shoulders with Hollywood celebs Susan Sarandon, Meg Ryan, Angelina Jolie, and many others as they toured Cambodian slums and brothels.  

The high-water mark of her accolades is well documented, but it all came crashing down so suddenly this week.  Allegations of falsehood in her narrative led her own foundation to hire an independent law firm to conduct an investigation.  The results weren’t pretty – an elephant so big it couldn’t be swept under the rug - including concrete evidence from multiple Khmer (Cambodian) sources that confirmed Somaly Mam has been flat-out lying to us the whole time.  She was not kidnapped and sold into sexual slavery at age 10, or at all, instead grew up as a normal village girl like so many others.  The tale of 10-years of rape, beatings and slavery she told us, which endeared us with their authenticity and brought a tear to more than one blue eye, didn’t happen at all.  Furthermore, Somaly lied about her own daughter being kidnapped by sex traffickers as retaliation for her work (she actually ran off with a boyfriend to escape the attention of her mother’s foundation,) and even worse, coached Cambodian girls into telling their own fabricated stories of sexual exploitation to elicit more donations. 

Basically, Somaly Mam told us the story we wanted to hear – no, that we needed to hear in order to justify writing big checks.  In response, her foundation announced her resignation and is hoping the media maelstrom blows over.  Somaly has remained mum on over these allegations but let’s be clear – she lied, and it is wrong.  But why?  And is there at least some shred of salvation we can locate in all this rubble, considering she’s spent most of her life doing more to combat sex trafficking than anyone on earth?  Does she warrant our forgiveness based on the purity of her actions, even if they were wrapped in a banana leaf of lies?  I think so, and I’ll tell you why.





First, a quick note about my perspective on this issue; I’ve lived in Southeast Asia over the last year and spent about 4 months of that time in Cambodia, an enchanting black rose of a country that I truly love.  I’ve traveled corner to corner, from Kampong Som to Siem Reap, befriending locals, immersing myself in the culture and writing about it.  I’ve volunteered at orphanages, visited the slums where people live in and on garbage, slept under the stars in the hot jungle provinces with no electricity, and even lived in a rat-infested abode next door to sisters who work in the sex industry, earning a living in Phnom Penh’s tourist bars.  I became like a big brother to them and also became friends with many others and heard their personal stories.  I have friends who run charitable foundations here, Khmer friends who work at the Phnom Penh Post, and sipped more than one beer with ex-CIA agents and former royal national guards who’d seen it all.  In the meantime, I also wrote a collaborative book, Cambodia’s School of Hope, to help educate and empower youth here.  None of that make me an expert on Cambodia but the reality is, I hear more about the true nature of these events on the streets every day than the international media has documented so far, combined.

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I see things on a routine basis that would be hard to even wrap your mind around for folks in the Western world.  I know that because I wouldn’t have believed the magnitude and majesty of Cambodia’s oddity myself, only a year ago.  So let me tell you 10 reasons why I think Somaly Mam, despite her obvious wrongdoing, is still worth defending.

1.Context.
To start, it’s important to understand that you are looking at this situation through a western or United States paradigm.  Of course you are – that’s where you’re from and where you live, so how could you not?  It’s a world of black and white, right and wrong, and moral absolutes.  But please realize, other people live in a world without the luxury of that same paradigm.  I don’t expect you to grasp that right away, but try to keep an open mind as you read what follows. 

2. Poverty.
It’s hard for you to even understand the level of poverty in Cambodia.  I could throw out plenty of statistics, like the average person makes about $2 a day at a decent job, or there are 90% illiteracy rates in its expansive rural areas, or that it’s so poor, children are frequently sold off for $20 because there’s just not enough food to go around.  But all the stats and figures won’t prepare you for the siege of poverty that barrages you when you here.  After you see the thousandth barefoot child begging in the street, or whole families picking through the trash, dirtier than the garbage they’re shuffling through, or people with no legs dragging themselves through the streets by their hands, the only reflection they’ll ever see in the shined hubcaps of a politician’s Range Rover, words fall short. 

The best way I can describe Cambodia’s poverty is, fittingly, with a quote by Mahatma Gandhi, “There are people in the world so hungry, that God can not appear to them except in the form of bread.”

2. The modern history of Cambodia.
Somaly was reportedly born in 1970 or 1971, her formidable years as a child during the hell-on-earth era of Pol Pot’s regime in Cambodia between 1975-1979, when the Khmer Rouge systematically murdered, starved, or worked to death at least 25% of the population.  At least 1.5 million people died in this genocide of “purification,” sometimes for no greater offense than they wore eyeglasses or spoke a little French.  The horror was absolute – cruelty unsurpassed in human history.  Millions of people spoke only in whispers, made soup from grass and tree bark to survive, ate roaches, rats or earthworms as their only protein source.  Mothers watched their babies swung by their legs against trees because soldiers didn’t want to waste the bullet to kill them.  High schools and hospitals were turned into carnivals of torture.  Mothers, sisters, brothers, and children were raped, mutilated, and killed right in front of you and there was nothing you could say or do about it.  After years of that, you didn’t even have tears left to shed.  This is the reality Somaly grew up in, and the subsequent decades of hunger, shock, and hopelessness that blanketed the country.  

Now, tell me Somaly hasn’t suffered enough - at least to earn our attempt at understanding - without your voice wavering.      

3. People act in proportion to their desperation.
It’s important to clarify Somaly’s indiscretion if we are going to pass judgment.  Her organization wasn’t a sham, she didn’t cheat people, and funds were not misappropriated.  Instead, Somaly’s heinous crime was that she lied – seemingly manufacturing a backstory that was consistent with the victims she was trying to save - to garner funds to help innocent children from being kidnapped, raped, and sexually exploited. 

People act in proportion to their desperation, and faced with insurmountable suffering all around her - that the world had forgotten - perhaps she did what was necessary to help quiet the screams.  Sit with that for a moment. 

4. Culture.
There are acute cultural differences between the United States or the western world and Cambodia that muddy the clear waters of our condemnation.  For instance, in Cambodia it’s very rude to directly say, “no” to someone.  This often leads to hilarious encounters for the traveller or expatriate as we navigate hundreds of gently deflected mistruths in the name of politeness, like taking 3 left turns instead of a right.  I’m not saying that’s the case in Somaly’s situation but I do know there are a lot of cultural differences at play as we translate her narrative into our western consciousness. 

5. Corruption.
The mechanics of Cambodia are corrupt to their core – there’s no other way of saying it - as is the case in most poor developing countries.  In the modern history of Khmer society, the only absolute most people have known is the daily scramble for survival while a tiny circle of ultra-rich fatten themselves on the sacred cow of their birthright.  The deck is stacked and the commoner will always lose.  As far as these people know, that’s the way it always has been and how it will always be.  You want truth?  Power is the only truth in Cambodia, a belly full of rice, the only honesty.  No one bothered showing up to work at the Ministry of Justice today, and the Department of Corruption is the nicest building in town.  I’ve heard of a general’s wife accepting an award for humanitarian work from the foreign community in the past, while at the same time she was one of the biggest human sex traffickers in Cambodia.  Now that we’ve recalibrated the moral spectrum, where does Somaly’s well-intentioned lie rank?



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6. Marketing is about telling stories.
A good story promotes your cause far better than all of the hard work and good intentions in the world.  As much as we despise this reality, we equally respond to it.  If Somaly were just another poor Cambodian woman crying for the world’s help, would we have listened?  Would the international community have picked her up and passed her to the front?  Probably not.  I know this because I meet people here in Cambodia all the time who do incredible, selfless work to help the disenfranchised but have to close their community centers and suspend operations because of a lack of international attention and funding.  A good story is the core, and then you circle your good deeds around that.

This situation reminds me intimately of Greg Mortensen’s dilemma last year, when he fell from grace amid allegations that he fabricated parts of his remarkable story.  Author of, Three Cups of Tea, about his near-death experiences in the mountains of Pakistan and Afghanistan that led him to build schools for poor and isolated kids there, he went from best-selling author, media darling, and humanitarian of the year to scorned pariah in the blink of an eye once 60 Minutes and others poked holes in his story. 

The world of spin and attention-grabbing headlines is not the same as the real world, yet we continue to canonize our heroes and drag our villains through the streets of public opinion, quickly forgetting why we loved them in the first place.  How quickly we abandon the pure causes they championed in order to join the rabid mob.

To put the ultra-competitive, cutthroat world of NGO’s (non-governmental organizations) in context, probably the biggest and most popular charitable org here is the Cambodian Children’s Fund, founded by Australian Hollywood movie mogul, Scott Neesun.  Here is his story: 

Scott was one of the most successful people Hollywood, President of 20th Century Fox International, and had the wealth and privilege to prove it.  But in 2003, on a trip to Cambodia, he came across the garbage dumps of Steung Meanchey.  There he witnessed a little 9-year old girl, barefoot and dressed in rags, picking through broken glass and syringes looking for food or something of value to sell.  Through an interpreter he found out that she lived there among the trash with her sister and mother, and that’s how they survived.

Despite all of Scott’s money and accomplishments, he just couldn’t turn his back on that little girl, and all the kids born into those same circumstances in Cambodia.  So he walked away from his star-lit Hollywood life and instead dedicated himself to helping those children.  Since 2004, Neeson's charity has helped house, educate and provide health care for more than 1,450 children in the country's most desperate slums.  

Great story, huh?  I’m sure Scott is a great man and does great work, but there’s no coincidence that his ultra-marketable riches-to-rags story helped propel his organization a lot faster than if he was just another caring tourist. 

There’s a corollary to this story that will conclude my point.  I do some charity work with a wonderful school here in Cambodia, the Spitler School in a poor village outside Siem Reap.  American businessman, Danny Spitler, and his wife founded it about 8 years ago after they visited Cambodia and had a similar epiphany as Scott Neeson.  They started funding a humble school in the village along with a caring local man, which has grown into two large school compounds that help educate and empower over 800 children a year, every year.  But Danny doesn’t have a slick PR campaign and a Rolodex filled with Hollywood insiders so the marketing has lagged behind the angel’s work they do.  We just released a collaborative book, Cambodia’s School of Hope, to remedy that problem, but you get my point – marketing is storytelling, and there’s no playing field where it’s more important than non-profits and fundraising.    

7. Great people have great flaws.
Some of the greatest people in history are megalomaniacs, passionate to a fault, hurtful to those around them, and have egos the size of beach balls.  Think of Steve Jobs, Pablo Picasso, and the archetype of just about any other eccentric genius throughout history.  The same personality traits that lead people to greatness manifest as great flaws.  I think it’s important to tolerate the flaws if we celebrate the greatness.  Perhaps, Somaly is one of those people.  

8. Who are we to criticize?
What have we done to help the little girls being raped and sold into sexual slavery in Cambodia, or anywhere?  What do we do for charity?  What have we sacrificed?  Are we quick to criticize but slow to act?  Let me put this as delicately as possible…if you’re licking your chops to criticize Somaly but not doing a whole lot to make this world a better place, then shut the hell up and go away.

9. Are we innocent?
If we want to start stacking stones of right and wrong on the scales, let’s make sure they’re all up there.  The United States has done plenty of terrible things in this part of the world and hurt countless innocent people for the sake of money, power, or ideology, many of which I never realized until I came here and saw with my own eyes.  We’ve also done a lot of good things that genuinely help people.  But Asia is a maddeningly complex theater of the world where everyone is guilty during some act.  So before we point fingers at Somaly, one poor Cambodian woman who’s guilty of being overzealous to rally the world’s attention around the pure cause of defending children - let’s make sure our own hands aren’t dirty, too.  

10. Would you do the same?  
If you were faced with these same conditions and circumstances, and you honestly thought that to make a real difference in these girl’s lives you had to exaggerate a backstory, would you lie to help them?  Would you perpetrate a small wrong to achieve a whole lot of right?  Would you do the same as Somaly? 

Based on that paradox, would it have been unlawful for her not to lie, if it meant she wouldn’t be empowered to help all of those women and girls?    

I don’t know what the right answer is.  Or, I guess the whole point is that there's not one right answer, but I do know this; Somaly, in all of her flaws and faults, indiscretions and imperfections, has done more to spread light than most of us, myself included, will do in 100 lifetimes.  Yet, we find ourselves in this unfortunate place because she did violate our trust, and trust is perhaps the one thing worth more than money - something so precious and fragile, it’s rarely recoverable.  

But if you could look into the eyes of the Cambodian girls she’s rescued, hear there joyful voices say, “arkoun, ohn,"– “thank you, sister,” to Somaly, you’d realize it’s not the only thing. 

-Norm   :-)

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    Norm Schriever

    Norm Schriever is a best-selling author, expat, cultural mad scientist, and enemy of the comfort zone. He travels the globe, telling the stories of the people he finds, and hopes to make the world a little bit better place with his words.   

    Norm is a professional blogger, digital marketer for smart brands around the world,  and writes for the Huffington Post, Hotels.com, and others.

    Check out South of Normal his Amazon.com best-selling book about life as an expat in Tamarindo, Costa Rica.

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