Kaitlin Johnson
| |
|
I went to Cambodia to learn more about genocide. From 1975-79 a communist party called the Khmer Rouge killed over 2 million Cambodians in what has come to be called "The Killing Fields."
I wanted to hear the stories of survivors and their children. I wanted to know how people can keep living after they'd lost everything.
Finding people willing to talk to me about the Khmer Rouge wasn't hard. Everyone I met had a story, and they all wanted to share.
I was told stories about brothers and sisters who were taken away and never brought back. Stories about starvation and torture. Stories about slave labor and suffering. And the most chilling component in all of these stories was the matter-of-fact way people told them.
In Cambodia, sometimes you have no choice but to be matter of fact. There are a lot of problems, and feeling sad about them does not make them go away.
In the Children Surgical Centre, the hospital I worked for in Phnom Penh, there was a little girl with a tumor larger than her body, growing from her face. Her eyes were hidden by the tumor and her mouth had turned inside out so she couldn't eat, except by tubes. She will die very soon.
Whenever I saw the little girl she had a blanket covering her head so we wouldn't have to see her face. She was ashamed of her appearance. One day I realized that she didn't make me sad and I wondered what that said about me as a person.
But I realized that it didn't matter whether I feel sad or not. Feeling sad would not make the child happy or make her life longer. If I felt sad, all I could have done was congratulate myself on my compassion.
Instead, I spent a few hours with the patients each day.
Most of our patients are in and out of the hospital in a few days. However, patients who need reconstructive surgery can be in the hospital for months.
They sit on straw mattresses in wards with 30 other patients in beds beside them. There is no air conditioning and one small television. The patients have no Glamour or People magazines to leaf through. Many can not get off the beds by themselves.
This also is a matter of fact; CSC is there to save lives, not pamper them. It provides high quality surgery for free to patients who could not afford treatment. The hospital relies on money from donors and cannot waste the money on magazines and air conditioning.
I also spent time with children in a Phnom Penh orphanage. I came to love these children. They are beautiful and clever and vivacious. They love to finger paint and dance to American pop music. They are also sold for sex to western men.
Many of the children were found rummaging through trash piles before the orphanage took them in. No one wants to starve in the street, so the children stay.
A few months ago, I asked bestselling author of "The Places in Between" and diplomat, Rory Stewart, how we can sit by and watch atrocities happen and not at least try to stop them.
"We do not have a moral obligation to do what we cannot do," Stewart said, in response.
I can never erase the Khmer Rouge from the memories of my new friends. I can never keep all the perverts of the world from abusing young children. I can't wipe away suffering. I can't even cry when I see it.
But I don't need to. The only thing I am obliged to do, is what I can. And what I can do is work to make things better. I can work at CSC and help raise funds for the hospital. I can buy coloring books and crayons for the patients. I can listen to the people who need to tell someone about their suffering. I can be there for people who need me.
And that is true for everyone. No one is asking you to do the impossible. All the world asks of you is that you do what you can. You'd be surprised by how much that amounts to.
I wanted to hear the stories of survivors and their children. I wanted to know how people can keep living after they'd lost everything.
Finding people willing to talk to me about the Khmer Rouge wasn't hard. Everyone I met had a story, and they all wanted to share.
I was told stories about brothers and sisters who were taken away and never brought back. Stories about starvation and torture. Stories about slave labor and suffering. And the most chilling component in all of these stories was the matter-of-fact way people told them.
In Cambodia, sometimes you have no choice but to be matter of fact. There are a lot of problems, and feeling sad about them does not make them go away.
In the Children Surgical Centre, the hospital I worked for in Phnom Penh, there was a little girl with a tumor larger than her body, growing from her face. Her eyes were hidden by the tumor and her mouth had turned inside out so she couldn't eat, except by tubes. She will die very soon.
Whenever I saw the little girl she had a blanket covering her head so we wouldn't have to see her face. She was ashamed of her appearance. One day I realized that she didn't make me sad and I wondered what that said about me as a person.
But I realized that it didn't matter whether I feel sad or not. Feeling sad would not make the child happy or make her life longer. If I felt sad, all I could have done was congratulate myself on my compassion.
Instead, I spent a few hours with the patients each day.
Most of our patients are in and out of the hospital in a few days. However, patients who need reconstructive surgery can be in the hospital for months.
They sit on straw mattresses in wards with 30 other patients in beds beside them. There is no air conditioning and one small television. The patients have no Glamour or People magazines to leaf through. Many can not get off the beds by themselves.
This also is a matter of fact; CSC is there to save lives, not pamper them. It provides high quality surgery for free to patients who could not afford treatment. The hospital relies on money from donors and cannot waste the money on magazines and air conditioning.
I also spent time with children in a Phnom Penh orphanage. I came to love these children. They are beautiful and clever and vivacious. They love to finger paint and dance to American pop music. They are also sold for sex to western men.
Many of the children were found rummaging through trash piles before the orphanage took them in. No one wants to starve in the street, so the children stay.
A few months ago, I asked bestselling author of "The Places in Between" and diplomat, Rory Stewart, how we can sit by and watch atrocities happen and not at least try to stop them.
"We do not have a moral obligation to do what we cannot do," Stewart said, in response.
I can never erase the Khmer Rouge from the memories of my new friends. I can never keep all the perverts of the world from abusing young children. I can't wipe away suffering. I can't even cry when I see it.
But I don't need to. The only thing I am obliged to do, is what I can. And what I can do is work to make things better. I can work at CSC and help raise funds for the hospital. I can buy coloring books and crayons for the patients. I can listen to the people who need to tell someone about their suffering. I can be there for people who need me.
And that is true for everyone. No one is asking you to do the impossible. All the world asks of you is that you do what you can. You'd be surprised by how much that amounts to.
No comments:
Post a Comment