The Permit

"Men often hate each other because they fear each other; they fear each other because they don't know each other; they don't know each other because they can not communicate; they can not communicate because they are separated." ~Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

One evening in Saigon, I wandered into a café behind the Ben Thanh market and settled in a dark corner where I could watch and listen to what was going on without being disturbed.

It turned out not to have been a great choice. After a few minutes, a 30-something Vietnamese gentleman, who appeared slightly unsteady on his feet, approached me. I noticed he was wearing a white shirt, black slacks and shoes (rather than the more common sandals), so I assumed he was an office worker or businessman of some sort. Then I noticed an even more interesting feature of his ensemble. From inside his white shirt, he produced a small, black revolver and was poking it, somewhat tentatively, in my chest.

Having been held at gunpoint before, it had lost much of its romantic appeal, but still caught my attention. Under the circumstances, I assumed my new companion was expecting me to hand over my wallet, but as he didn’t say anything, I wasn’t certain. From his appearance and demeanor, I didn’t think he was either a thug or a terrorist, but he appeared to be a bit tipsy and there was, of course, the gun.

Perhaps his silence was due to the fact that he assumed we didn’t have a common language. In an effort to establish a personal connection at this somewhat sensitive moment I stood, glanced at the gun and whispered in my most authoritative and conspiratorial Vietnamese: “Anh có giấy phép không?” [“Do you have a permit for that?”]. The implication of the remark was that if he didn’t have a permit, he could get in trouble flashing it around in public like that and I was concerned for his welfare.

He was astonished, perplexed and, oddly, seemed a bit frightened. He hurriedly stuffed the gun back into his shirt, pulled out his wallet, produced his permit and held it out to me with both hands in a formal gesture of respect. From his permit, I saw that he was some sort of security guard and guessed that he was probably just moonlighting.

Looking at the permit, I focused on his address and asked how long he had lived there, was he married, how many children, where was he from originally and so forth. I then invited him to join me for a drink (not that he needed one, but I was trying to be neighborly and, in point of fact, I felt the need for a drink myself). He did join me and we continued our conversation without any further reference to the gun.

My new friend had first seen me as an object, sort of like a vending machine. He thought that if he stuck a gun in my ribs, the gesture would produce money. He didn’t seem like the sort of man who would rob another person, but taking money from a stranger - a foreigner - didn’t seem like the same thing to him.

Sometimes we can defuse a potentially explosive situation with a word or gesture, sometimes not, but it’s always worth a try.

-- Bill Herod

Step by Step

Step by Step 
A true story of grit, grace, and gratitude

Phnom Penh’s street vendors are among the various sub-cultures that give the hot, humid and crowded city its joie de vivre. Some of the vendors set up small stands under shade trees along the sidewalks and provide a few plastic stools where their customers sit. Many of the vendors are young women and their stock-in-trade includes drinks and snacks, a pleasant smile and polite chit-chat. Their customers include school children, office workers, motorbike-taxi drivers, soldiers, and policemen. The atmosphere at these little stands is lighthearted and friendly. It’s a good job for a young woman. She has reasonable job security, low overhead, personal safety (being right on the street) and the opportunity to meet all sorts of people. Indeed, there is a good chance of striking up a friendship with a nice young man.

In 1991, Chea Sopheap, a pretty 21-year-old, was working at her small refreshment stand near the French embassy. While clearing some brush, she was suddenly thrown into the air by a deafening explosion. Unconscious and bleeding profusely, she was rushed to the emergency room at nearby Calmette Hospital.

Sopheap had stepped on a land mine. The blast blew off the lower part of her left leg.

At that time, I was working with the Indochina Project of the Vietnam Veterans of America Foundation. I was based in Washington, DC, where I read a news item about Sopheap’s injury. We had a physical rehabilitation center in Phnom Penh where we provided physical therapy and made wheelchairs and artificial limbs. Our program was run by my friend Ron Podlaski, a veteran of America’s war in Viet-Nam. I faxed Ron about Sopheap and was pleased to learn that he was already “on the case.” He had already been to the hospital to visit her family.

On Ron’s first few visits, Sopheap was still unconscious, but he met with her parents and told them he would see that Sopheap got the help and support she was going to need.

On his third or fourth visit, Ron found Sopheap conscious, but still in shock, unable to cope with what had happened to her and unable to imagine what her life would be like as a “cripple.” No more smiling and flirting with the young men who used to seek her out every day to banter with her over their sugarcane juice or coconut milk. Now she would be doomed for the rest of her life to sit on the ground in front of some dingy market or at the entrance to some dusty temple, begging for charity from strangers just to survive.

Ron, a straight-talking, hard-charging combat veteran tried to be encouraging, but his blunt bedside manner was a bit jarring. He told her the injury wasn’t so bad. ”It’s below the knee,” he said. “We can make you a new leg and have you up and walking as soon as your stump heals. You’ll be good as new and no one will even notice the leg. I’ll dance with you at your wedding.”

Sopheap burst into tears and screamed at him to go away. How could anyone be so cruel?

Ron went back to the rehab center and picked up a couple of men he wanted Sopheap to meet. The two hardened wheel-chair-bound land mine victims worked at the rehab center. Both had lost both legs above the knees and had gone through rehab and vocational training. He took them with him back to the hospital and watched as they wheeled themselves into Sopheap’s room. Ron said to Sopheap, “If you want to feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for these two clowns.” As Ron spoke, the two men were tipping their chairs back, balancing themselves on their rear wheels and giggling.

“Hey, sweetheart, don’t worry about it,” said the first one. “A simple wound like that . . . no problem. They’ll make you a new leg with a fancy rubber foot and nobody’ll know the difference.” The second guy chimed in, “You’ll still be able to wiggle your butt when you walk.” Ron punched them both playfully and said, “Hey, watch your language. You’re speaking to a lady.”

Sopheap feigned insult at the crude remarks, but there was just a slight loosening of the rigid lips and just the faintest whisper of her finely-crafted coquetry as she blushed and turned her head.

She was listening.

Sopheap had never really paid any attention to amputees before, though she saw them every day in the streets and parks and markets. She always thought of them as dirty and dangerous creatures to be avoided, and at first glance, her two visitors certainly fit the description. Still, they seemed cheerful, self-confident and she had to admire the way they had refused to be thrown away. These coarse and callous characters were survivors. Could she survive? How could she survive? Did she even want to survive?

She was listening.

As she looked at them, her mind was doing its best to extinguish the tiny flicker of hope they had ignited. Guessing her thoughts — not difficult — one of them said, with a little twinkle in his eyes, “I stepped on that mine four years ago, two years ago I got married. We have one child and another on the way.” Sopheap did the math.

She was listening.

About a year later, I happened to be in Phnom Penh when Sopheap came into the rehab center to try out her new prosthetic leg (with the “fancy rubber foot”). Her stump had healed nicely, but of course it was tender and it would take a while for her to get used to supporting her weight on the strange new device.

The artificial leg had a nicely cushioned socket to snugly fit her stump. When she first stood on it, supporting herself by holding onto parallel bars on either side of an exercise walkway, her mother stood beside her and encouraged her. As she took those very tentative first steps, the pain was excruciating. I watched her face as the tears flowed. These were tears of physical pain combined with the frustration of failure. It was heartbreaking. It was completely beyond her imagination that she would ever be able to walk like this. She could just hobble around on crutches or use a wheel-chair. It seemed hopeless. For her, at that moment, it was hopeless.

One of the rehab technicians assured her the pain would gradually go away as she grew accustomed to the new limb. “You’ll get used to it,” he said as he casually pulled up his trouser leg to reveal his own prosthesis. “We all do. You’ll love that rubber foot. It’ll flex and give you a little lift when you walk, jump or climb.” Walk, jump or climb? What was he talking about? She couldn’t even stand on her own. His amputation must have been different from hers.

Or . . . could it be true?

She was listening.

As she sat in the grass at the rehab center, her crutches beside her, Sopheap watched around her as people who had sustained dreadful injuries were riding bicycles, climbing trees and running around like “normal” people. In fact, as Sopheap came to understand, they were “normal” people. They were normal people who had survived terrible injuries. In fact, as she came to see, many people at the center were struggling with far more serious injuries than hers: above-the-knee amputations, multiple amputations, missing hands, blindness, disfiguring burns or scars and other traumatic injuries. Yet here they were: preparing meals, building wheelchairs, making artificial limbs, studying motorbike repair or lounging about in the shade playing with their spouses and children. A construction worker with no hands was shoveling gravel. A blind man was adjusting the spokes of a wheel to get the balance just right on a new wheelchair. Amputees with injuries like hers were playing table tennis, badminton, and jumping rope.

She was listening . . . and watching.

The next time I saw Sopheap was in 1994 after I moved to Cambodia. Ron had bought a pleasure boat to take tourists out on river cruises and had hired staff to serve drinks and snacks to the passengers. Sopheap was one of the waitresses. By then — a little more than a year after she got her new leg — she was so comfortable with it, concealed under her ankle-length sarong and stockinged feet, that the casual observer really would not have noticed anything unusual. True, she walked with a slight limp, but she walked with such pride and grace that it wasn’t significant. It was an amazing transformation in such a short time.

A few months later, Ron and I received invitations to Sopheap’s wedding. She was marrying a neighbor, one of the dashing young men who had admired her before her injury. He had visited her often in the hospital and had cheered her on during her two-and-a-half years of recovery and rehabilitation.

At the wedding reception, Ron and I were seated with some of Sopheap’s friends from the rehab center. Sopheap looked radiant in each of the several dresses Khmer brides wear during these highly choreographed celebrations. Just above each slippered foot, she was wearing a large traditional Khmer bangle at the ankle. It concealed the joint between the prosthetic leg and the “fancy rubber foot,” that was, indeed, giving her a natural little spring in her step as she moved about.

Finally, as the band started playing a slow number, Sopheap walked across the floor and stopped in front of Ron. Eyes glistening, palms raised together in the traditional gesture of respect, she smiled and said softly, “Shall we dance?”

-- Bill Herod

Who Cares?

Every morning, as part of my meditation practice, I write names in my journal of people I know who have special joys or concerns. This list includes families I know who are caring for someone living with dementia. Theirs is a special world and deserves our thoughtful, prayerful consideration.

At various times over the years, I have been a part of teams who cared for those with dementia in institutional settings, so I have some appreciation for their special needs. But for families who are providing home care for an elderly loved one, the 24/7 demands and challenges are so much greater. There is no end of shift, and no carefree holidays or long weekends "away."

Those individuals living with dementia are no longer bound by reality, but in their minds they may roam freely through space and time. Sometimes these journeys are satisfying, sometimes frightening. Some flights of fancy are childlike and whimsical, while others can lead to danger, frustration or anger. Sometimes there may be an intersection with reality, but reality's grip may be only fleeting and one never knows where the next transition will lead.

It is the loving caregivers who have taken on the responsibility to keep the loved one safe and, to the degree possible, comfortable. This responsibility is sometimes greatly complicated if the person with failing faculties isn't cooperative, or perhaps doesn't even recognize the caregivers.

The very term "caregiver" is so appropriate! These are not "caretakers." They are not maintenance workers who simply perform tedious chores, though there may be plenty of that. They give care, often for one who cared for them many years ago. It is a challenging and heroic endeavor deserving of our deepest respect...and our care.

Obama Gives Hun Sen a Road Map to the Future

President Barack Obama has given Prime Minister Hun Sen a road map for the way forward to even greater glory: release imprisoned broadcaster Mam Sonando, allow opposition politicians to function freely (e.g. allow Sam Rainsy to return to the Cambodian political arena) and establish an independent election commission.

Hun Sen can easily accomplish these goals with no danger to his political future. Indeed, by following President Obama's advice, he can assure his standing as a respected elder statesman.

It should be noted here that President Obama could have raised a number of really difficult cases such as impunity for murder and corruption involving some Cambodian officials. The fact that the president appears to have stressed relatively simple matters suggests he was making a serious proposal rather than throwing up an impenetrable barrier to improved relations.

Mam Sonando represents no political threat to the Prime Minister. Sonando is a respected public figure, but not a political force. He is best known as a popular independent broadcaster, a human rights activist and something of a social gadfly. He was arrested and convicted of "insurrection" in a bizarre case involving the government's mishandling of a land dispute in which a 14-year-old girl was killed by security forces. Sonando's involvement seems to have been his radio station's broadcast of issues surrounding the land dispute and may have been an awkward attempt to divert public attention from the killing.

Sam Rainsy, on the other hand, has been a political opponent of the Prime Minister for years, but he has little popularity with the vast majority of the electorate. He is an overseas Khmer (he holds French citizenship) and is most popular with Khmer abroad and with small pockets of urban voters and former Khmer Rouge who may be enthralled by his anti-Vietnamese rhetoric. His party currently holds only 26 seats in the 123-seat National Assembly. All opposition parties combined hold only 33 seats.

If Rainsy were to return to Cambodia to participate in next year's election, it is extremely unlikely his new combined opposition party - The Cambodia National Rescue Party - would fare much better than his previous escapades. Indeed, given Rainsy's autocratic leadership style - he does not play well with others - the new party may well implode if he is in the midst of the process. The new party has some formidable and highly regarded personalities, but if they have to function in Rainsy's shadow, their charisma will be greatly diluted. It should be noted that President Obama did not mention Sam Rainsy by name, but referred obliquely to the need for or opposition parties “to be able to operate.” President Obama was not indicating US support for any candidate, but for the democratic process.

In 2009, Rainsy was convicted of forgery and destruction of public property in an incident related to a dispute over the border demarcation between Cambodia and Viet-Nam. Some argue the charges were politically motivated, but the physical removal of border markers and the publication and circulation of maps at variance with national policy were also politically motivated and would certainly be a matter for legal action anywhere. Rainsy is now in self-imposed exile and faces a twelve-year prison sentence if he returns to Cambodia.

Prime Minister Hun Sen has the option of requesting Royal pardons for Mam Sonando and Sam Rainsy. Such pardons would certainly be seen as the gestures of a self-confident leader – and some would see them as strokes of political genius.

The issue of the composition of the election commission is somewhat more complicated, but certainly well within the capacity of the Prime Minister and his colleagues. As the Cambodian Peoples' Party will easily win nationwide in free and fair elections, why not demonstrate that? In democracies, elections are won by campaigning on the rights and legitimate aspirations of the people, not by rigging the process. President Obama is a perfect role model for that point.

It must be humiliating for Prime Minister Hun Sen, who was seeking a non-permanent seat for Cambodia on the UN Security Council, to now be seen as the odd man out in ASEAN – upstaged most recently by President Obama's nod to Burmese President Thein Sein for the ongoing reforms there. Hun Sen must also be concerned about the growing influence of China in Cambodia and President Obama has given him an easy way to demonstrate to the world Cambodia is not in China's pocket, but is a legitimate, developing democracy and independent nation open to improved relations with the U.S. as well as improved standing in ASEAN and the wider community of nations.

Bill Herod

Leadership in the Blood

For the last several years, it has been my privilege to work among the indigenous Bunong people of Cambodia’s remote Mondulkiri province (bordering Viet-Nam). The Bunong have their own language and culture quite distinct from the ethnic Khmer. In the small province town of Sen Monorom, we have a coffee and crafts shop, a boarding school dormitory, a community center and other projects.

A few days ago, two Bunong men carried their very sick father in a hammock slung from a long pole between them from their remote village to the hospital here in Sen Monorom. They walked for ten hours through the jungle, along the road and into town.

As the sick man was carried in front of our shop, our Bunong staff rushed out to see what was going on. On learning the situation, they immediately pooled their pocket money to buy food and water for the man and his family then went to the hospital to see how he was doing.

When they returned from their first visit to the hospital, we discussed the case. Heng, the 23-year-old designer at our shop, told me the sick man was “very old.” Remembering that I am nearing retirement, she quickly added, “Well, not as old as you, but old.” As age is revered here, I accepted the compliment and realized this was a young woman with a mission: she was going to do what she could to help the poor, elderly patient and his frightened family.

When the staff realized that cash from tips at our shop could be used in such cases, they went off to the market and bought a sleeping mat, a mosquito net, a blanket, bottled water, fruit juice, rice soup and other small items the patient and his family would need during their stay at the hospital.

Heng also realized that the patient’s family did not speak Khmer well, so now she serves – several times each day - as translator between the family and the Khmer medical staff. When one of the Khmer male health workers started yelling at the desperately ill patient for waiting until he was so sick to come to the hospital, Heng cut him off: “Hey, this man is sick. He came here for your help. Now help him!”

When she learned that the patient was severely anemic, Heng organized the staff from our shop (including this old man) as well as students from the boarding school to go to the hospital to be tested to see if any could donate blood. Some had the wrong blood type and some were too young to donate but their willingness to do so was really exciting. Heng told the technician at the hospital to call on us if they needed any of our blood types for future patients.

After several days, compatible donors were found. First, a colleague found a matching donor – also a Bunong student – and he gave blood but a second unit was needed. Hiep, the student manager of our shop, had been visiting his village during the crisis. When he returned, Heng immediately took him to the hospital where his blood was determined to be the right type and he gave the second unit.

At this writing (ten days after his arrival at the hospital), the patient’s condition continues to improve steadily though he may need surgery when he is stronger. Heng and other members of our staff visit several times each day and we have set up a phone link with the family at the hospital so they can reach us easily if they need assistance.

Heng will leave her job at our shop next month to become a kindergarten teacher in Bousra – much more responsibility in a much more remote location for much less pay. Why? “Because I want to be a teacher,” she says proudly. We are trying to put together a small project for her to teach design and sewing to village women there when she is not teaching children. That should give her a bit more income and make even better use of her considerable and varied skills.

Several years ago two development workers were driving in a car on a deserted Cambodian country road in the heat of the early afternoon. A motorbike with two men was approaching in the distance. Suddenly, the motorbike driver lost control and the two men were sent skidding across the gravel and came to a stop in a bruised and bloody heap. The driver of the car – a prominent “leadership trainer” much in demand - simply sped off leaving the two injured men in a cloud of dust to fend for themselves.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. identified three types of leaders: those who prepare the way, those who show the way and those who stand in the way.

Leadership training can be a valid activity but let’s not overlook the fact that there are natural leaders all around us – and thoughtful, conscientious people who will follow them. Let’s spend more time identifying these leaders and helping them get the resources they need to do the work they can do best. Most importantly, let’s don’t stand in their way!