IMPACT

Too much time has gone by since I posted. Truthfully, when I arrived back on U.S. soil, I wrote a very long post that never got finished between my feverish applying for jobs and transient living style, aka somewhat being homeless. In many ways, my life has mirrored the survivors of trafficking. I understood more, as an unemployed American, the feeling of hopelessness, depression and desperation that my trafficked Vietnamese brothers and sisters face than I did as a volunteer at the shelter. As each month rolled by and I got no responses from this stale economy, I considered certain lines of work I would never have considered had I not been so desperate. While I didn't submit to engaging in any of them, I certainly see how easy it is to prey upon vulnerable people.

I don't come from a family where my parents or siblings will put money in my bank account even in emergency times. The only person who takes care of me is me. The day came where I didn't know how I was going to eat the next month. That's a scary debilitating feeling. It's a complete feeling of failure when you can't find a job to save your life, and you've put as much time and energy into school as I have. I did the only thing I could. I applied for food stamps. Imagine what it must feel like if you had a masters degree and a decently running car, but you're waiting in line between a mother with 3 crying children and a man in traditional Burmese attire with one leg (who clearly recently arrived to the states)...all because you're homeless and unemployed. As I stood in line for 4 hours, I questioned how my choices in life led me to the same place as everyone else in line. And not that I saw myself as better than those people, but just as someone with more opportunity to change my situation, yet unable to do so when my own government was doing nothing to create sustainable jobs. Every trafficked man and woman I talked to had said the same thing, there were no jobs in their country. After I received my emergency food stamp card, I sat by the perfectly cut grass outside the Health and Human Services building, reveling in the irony of similar circumstances between me and the survivors, yet now understanding the deep impact that our public assistance programs can make on the lives of truly needy individuals. People too easily condemn our government, but in 1975 when my family of refugees landed in Arkansas without food and then in 2010 when I was in need, the social service programs created back in Roosevelt's day allowed me (and my family) to survive. In Vietnam and many countries around the world, if you don't have money for food you starve. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

My caseworker was the kindest man who collected my information between little rivulets of tears running down my face. His kindness and my feeling of being swathed in failure created little unstoppable fountains in my eyes. I kept thinking how 3 months ago I had his job. I was helping others. This exacerbated the crying. Needless to say, he cheered me up and gave me hope to get through the day. He has a kind letter of thanks on it's way to him in the mail.

Things have started to look up in my life. The food stamps saw me through until I was able to find suitable work. When my own family member, knowing I was unemployed, turned me out on the street, a compassionate friend helped to house me in her living room. She and her family assisted me spiritually through their kindness and generosity. My days of driving in between San Diego and LA looking for work have ended. I have a good job counseling teens at a group home and last week, after months of not having a place to call home, I moved into my own place. It's a small room in a shared apartment, but hey, we all have to start somewhere. Never, at 26 (almost 27) did I see my life turning out this way. It's still a good life, just a little different than what I expected. Working with trafficked folks gave me the strength to get through a very dark time in my life -- the past 6 months. Everyday I look for things to celebrate, because life is a precious experience. The most impactful thing about Taiwan wasn't the big stuff like the trafficking stories of human degradation. It was the "little things" I learned about hope, kindness, and resilience that changed my life. Turns out those things aren't so little after all.

Please read on for an excerpt I wrote my friend after reading her thesis. Hope Pavich, an amazingly talented researcher and dedicated human rights advocate, worked side-by-side with me in Taiwan. Consider it an epilogue of sorts to my overseas experience:
Hope, as I continue to read this paper, I am brought back to our memories of TW in a different way. I actually cried about 5 pages in, because the weight of what we witnessed has had time to metabolize. When we were on the go, running from detention center to the shelter to grabbing boba in between a protest, it all flashed by so quickly. For 6 months that I’ve been back in the states, our experience has metastasized into a tumor in me of ugly truth about the world that I carry around, not bitterly but rather just fully aware, as I mull over my next opportunity to help fight slavery. Slavery in 2010. Maybe I let myself too easily be socialized to think of “slavery” as only a historically relevant term related to cotton picking and ancient times. History class has a way of depersonalizing the truth, eh? And yet, as I sit on my little futon and get ready to go to the gym, our little Taiwan seems surreal. How were we able to leave and go back to this – this life of normalcy – when even as I write there are millions of people, thousands of my own in fact, being treated like chattel. I find it amazing how people can so easily separate themselves from the ugly reality of those trafficked when our very lifestyle is fed by it. Well, my dear, I don’t know when I will as involved as we once were (for as long as we were!), but I am proud of everything we did. Especially, I am proud of your thesis, because you are helping to move this issue forward. Every action counts. I acknowledge every effort you made and continue to make, and I thank you for your kind and generous spirit that gives motivation, and inspiration to my life. I love you!

Connections

There is a gentle breeze blowing through my office window today, warm and friendly, but somehow reminding me that I need to reconnect with this blog, especially as my days here wind down faster than I can blink. I was away in Vietnam for almost a month, celebrating Tet with my family and seeing the roots of the complex issues effecting migrant workers and brides in Taiwan. Vietnam was Vietnam. There were great things about that trip and there were awful things. That's life. I'll be using this blog more to prepare for my re-entry to the states, so I hope that you come with me on the last leg of my long trip.

18 days. That's all I have left before a variety of things happen. For certain, I will be an emotional mess upon my return. I already feel the horrible gnawing pains of loss in my stomach, and as each day speeds by the ironic question of, "how will I manage my life WITHOUT the chaotic frenzy that is Taiwan?" creeps into my heart. The other certainty is that I have changed. Figuring out how I fit the new me into an old space (in the states), a context that has stayed somewhat the same frightens me. Of course friends, family, and life back home has changed some, but the change has been more on my end as a default of this type of intensive work/life environment.

I'm at conflict. Part of me wants to take steps to prepare for the horrible feeling of loss looming at the end of this journey. Another part of me wants to just live as fully as possible and deal with whatever pain comes however intense at the time it shows up. I tested out the first path by trying to pack half my clothes in a suitcase the other night -- close up shop. Then I took down half my students' artwork in my office. When I got to the photo wall of me and various residents who have changed my life forever I couldn't do it. I couldn't pack them up. Instead, I started balling. Never in my life did I believe that acts of kindness from others could bring my life such joy. Of course I've given them bits of knowledge, my professional skills, my energy and time, but it doesn't compare to what I've received by witnessing their struggles and watching their minds open up in my classes. I've had the unique opportunity to bear witness as they repair their lives. I've helped them hope and believe that a better life is possible even though things may look bleak. They've made me believe that my message is true. Together, we've created meaningfulness where it didn't exist before.

At times in Taiwan, I've felt helpless, like evil was winning in the eternal battle between good and evil. Little by little, I conclude that I was wrong. The scales are always tipping; power is a fluid entity and at any time we can tip power our way through concerted efforts. As long as I am doing my best in the present moment to fight for justice, progress and a brighter future is possible in the most dire of situations.

The current break-up plan I'm deploying is the one-day-at-a-time plan. It's a combination strategy of closing up some things, like packing up my office gradually, but also not focusing so much on "the end". The end is going to come. That fact is certain, so it doesn't do me any good to keep thinking about it. A close friend helped me out with this message: if you keep focusing on the day you leave, there won't be any room for you to enjoy the time you have left. What's the VietACT intern in Taiwan up to at present? She's living her best life, trying to make each moment count, and enjoying life's joy and pain.

One-Legged, Blind-Folded Gymnastics

That's how my life feels sometimes, but in a good way. It's obvious to me that I need either a publicist or an assistant to help keep my readers looped into the super cool projects I've got my hands in at the VMWBO office. Freshly showered with icy water during TW's chilly winter month of February, I received a message from the universe that I would not be sent a publicist or a flying pony. I've decided to handle one disappointment at a time. Thus, I write.

Of course the art classes are still going. My Survivor-Students have torn down artist obstacles and are creating masterpieces worthy of being framed and mounted.

The support groups have been developed further and tweaked to fit the unique needs of this population. For the men, we're now discussing emotions through interactive exercises involving art, games, and overall creative out-of-the-box thinking. This change happened after a few failed sessions of traditional sitting around in a circle to talk about feelings. The change in the men has been significant and they are able to utilize the some of the new skills they are exposed to. The women are practicing healing through community and self-empowerment. We work on such things as self-soothing techniques, leadership skills, and practice self-respect and self-value, yet from a culturally appropriate approach.

I've wrapped up the last of my counseling cases in preparation for my journey to the motherland of Vietnam for Tet, wherein, I will return to the shelter one month and then head for the states.

NEW STUFF: The donations from the Human Trafficking Awareness Event (HTAN) a couple months back have supplied over 45 Survivors with materials to knit scarves. Only 3 women knew how to knit in my class. They not only taught 43 women how to knit, but they also developed leadership and managerial skills, which included a method for lending out knitting supplies. I estimate there are still enough materials for 20-25 more people to knit scarves. You were able to help keep over 70 people warm this winter! It was quite a site to see 20 women huddled in a tight space, knitting with one another, cracking jokes, arguing, and discussing fashion -- women who only one week earlier were milling about or crying while discussing their court cases and disappointments.

The donations also went to a different kind of healing, nair-apy. Pretty corny, but hey, it's past my bedtime. Nail therapy: different settings call for different ways of healing. I used a portion of the HTAN donations to buy nail supplies. 1) It gives the women another craft and skillset. 2) They can be with me in my office doing their nails and experience care, respect, relief, and fun without having to sit nervously face-to-face to discuss at length their counseling needs. 3) They take pride in their paint job. 4 of my clients worked for 2 years in a Taiwanese nursing home 7 days a week, 16 hrs a day of hard labor with wages withheld and were never allowed outside. Those women deserve at least a manicure.

With Tet on the horizon, I've been asked to teach a dance routine for the big celebration in the Vietnamese migrant worker community. Naturally, I chose Michael Jackson's PYT, Pretty Young Thing. Eight brave young folks have journeyed with me this week through the scary initiation of first time dance classes and must be wondering how they got volunteered for dance camp. Try dancing to a song that's not only in a language foreign to you, but fast, and being asked to do moves that are 100% unfamiliar, such as the shoulder and upper back shimmy. They were actually frightened the first time they saw me 'shake it' for them. We've since moved past the fear and into looking like a dance group. I'll be in Vietnam when they astound the masses with their smooth moves, but I'm proud of them and believe they will surprise themselves with how much fun they will have. Sunday is glove day. I'm going to bestow a single mitt, fingertip free to each dancer. Michael may just have whew-hoo-ed in his grave. Each dancer can now say clearly, "I want to love you, PYT pretty young thing!" Their love, their relentless energy is a beautiful thing to behold. I'm lucky to be a part of it.

* Artists used their names to make abstract designs. Creativity is much more embraced in the states, because this was a super difficult day in art class, but they got it eventually!

Start a Love Trend

After 4 months of washing my clothes by hand, I cracked and went to the laundromat today. When I first arrived, the shelter was housing about 34 residents. Now there are 46, if not close to 50. I really enjoy hand-washing, but there's limited space to dry.

I also have less time to hand-wash. Cha Cuong (Father Cuong) is visiting the states for two months. This man does so much for the shelter. I am in awe of how much time and thought he puts into the messages we send to the survivors. We love him and miss him dearly and wish him safe travels. The shelter has 10 classes a week, morning and afternoon sessions. Cha Cuong teaches about 3/4 of the classes. I'm helping to cover some of his slots plus the ones I teach already. In total I teach Computers, Art (not to be confused with arts and crafts), Dance (hip hop and salsa), facilitate 2 support groups, and teach two English classes, a beginner and more advanced. I'm learning a lot about lesson planning, how to communicate effectively, what topics survivors of human trafficking find boring, and how to make boring things more exciting.

Tomorrow there's a big protest. Should be 1000 people gathered at the Council of Labor Affairs to protest the domestic workers not being included in laws that mandate a day of rest every week. Currently, domestic workers and caregivers are expected to work 7 days a week, which is why we call it SLAVERY. They are treated like machines and regardless if they get sick, they are forced to keep working.

I appreciate humor more than ever at the VMWBO. I tutor two young men English. Each has lost a hand, and finding a job in Vietnam will be much easier if they can speak basic English. I try to make the lessons relevant so they're easier to remember. For a week I had taught Minh, "I have a girlfriend. Her name is Hang. She is beautiful. She likes the color yellow." During Hope's English class, which I do interpretation for, Hope pointed to a young girl and asked, "Who is this?" Everyone replied, "She is Hang." Then another voice shouted quite clearly, "She is my girlfriend. She is beautiful!" Without a doubt it was Minh, bolder and badder than ever. I was quite proud, and the other 45 students had a good long laugh.

Conclusion: I love my life. I love teaching. I love sharing my life and the time and space it's in with the survivors. I even love doing laundry. Perspective is a beautiful thing. To everyone else at the shelter, that girl is Hang. To Minh, she is his sunshine. And we all could use a little more of that.

*Names have been changed to protect confidentiality.
*Photo: Cha Cuong and myself at his birthday party! Party on down, Cha!

What You Say and How You Say It

One of my biggest challenges in Taiwan has been discovering how to work effectively with service providers in the NGO world. Strong personalities are drawn to this type of work, so at times I find myself at odds with those who have the same goals as I do -- protecting and fighting for human rights.

Many social workers, case workers, administrative staff and the people who manage the aforementioned people fight so hard for clients that sometimes I think it leads to them fighting with the people who are on the same side of the fence with them. It becomes one big fight for power and control that results in service providers who are tired and unhappy.

Lately, I've been caught up in this vicious cycle; I'm not a fan. It makes this type of work that is already hard even harder. I have to remind myself why I came to the VMWBO in the first place. I have to remember that communication friction, while it slows people down, reminds me how human we are -- how flexible or rigid we can become depending on our environment. Being human is a good thing. I firmly believe life would be meaningless without these trip-ups, these social hiccups.

Knowing how to speak a language, Mandarin, Vietnamese, English, is not even half of the communication battle. Just because you speak another language well, doesn't always result in a understanding between people. Effective communication is hard! Somedays, when there is a discrepancy on how to get an objective accomplished, I struggle to manage the strong personalities in this line of work, including my own. Service providers need their problems listened to and compassion extended to them as much as the residents of VMWBO. We are bridge-builders, are we not?

While my skills are not being used the way I'd like and I have to get breathing room more often than normal, I remember I'm in Taiwan. I consider this a lesson learned. And there's always 'running it off 'on my nightly exercise head-clearing trots.

Depression: A Common Mental Health Issue Among Survivors of Human Trafficking

Link to the video I made for the Human Trafficking Awareness Event in San Diego. It's the first time I used my mac, so it's not the most riveting footage, especially because I can't show the shelter and people here due to safety issues. Little secret, but because I felt uncomfortable talking to myself on the computer I talked to a stuffed animal as my inanimate interviewer. :)

The topic of the vid is a summary of mental health concerns for survivors of human trafficking.

Hey Everyone,

This is Anthony (Vinh) Nguyen, VietACT's 2007 Intern and current Coordinator for our International Internship Program. Thank you for reading our VietACT Intern Blog and supporting Calix in her efforts in combating human trafficking at the VMWBO in Taoyuan, Taiwan.

I just wanted to extend an invitation to those in the San Diego area about an upcoming anti-human trafficking event taking place this Saturday. The event is entitled "Human Trafficking Awareness Night", a "Call to Action" type event, collaboratively hosted by the Vietnamese American Youth Alliance of San Diego (http://www.vayasd.org/), the Vietnamese Student Association of UCSD (http://vsasd.org/), and the Vietnamese Student Association of SDSU (http://www.vsa-sdsu.org/).

The event will be held on the campus of UCSD (Multi-Purpose Room) on Saturday November 21, 2009 (door opens at 6:00 PM with the event starting at 6:30 PM until 8:30 PM). The first hour will feature speakers from VietACT (http://www.vietact.org/) and BSCC (www.bsccoalition.org/) along with performances by Viet Mai (Spoken Words) and Trinity (monologue). The second hour will feature various "Action Stations" where audiences can make greeting cards to the victims/survivors of human trafficking, take a photo for VietACT's "Not For Sale" Campaign, write a letter to Congress to support legislation against human trafficking, and MUCH more.

Bring a roll of Yarn or any Knitting tools you have for the cause. Calix will be using the yarn/knitting tools to start a new "Knitting Workshop" so that the people at the shelter can make something warm to wear for the winter season ahead. Your donation is deeply appreciated. Hoping to see everyone at the event. Thanks! And keep reading the blog everyone! Thanks Calix for your inspiring updates!

Saturday November 21: VAYA/UCSD-VSA/VSA-SDSU presents "Human Trafficking Awareness Night" @ Multi-Purpose Room / UCSD (UC San Diego 9500 Gilman Dr. La Jolla, CA 92093). (6:30 PM - 8:30 PM, Doors Open @ 6:00 PM). Facebook Event Page: http://www.facebook.com/#/event.php?eid=167965752877&index=1.

Scrambled Eggs

Dear Readers,

I have been in the Philippine Islands (PI) the last week, feeding my soul and taking a break from the intensity in Taiwan. It is important to practice and model the ideas of balance, self-care, and humane work practices that we promote to folks living at the VMWBO shelter. These are basic human rights every person deserves. Survivors of human trafficking are used to working to the point of exhaustion and receiving short 5-10 minute eating breaks, where they suck down the tiny meals they are given. Digestive issues and kidney stones are common phyisical complications. Therefore, as a shelter resident/worker, I still honor my rest time. Survivors observe me working very hard, but also witness me applying boundaries and limits to my work habits. I take intentional breaks, excercise, and make time to relax and just 'be' with folks. Good work performance is married to a happy, wholesome lifestyle. It is a human right to be happy and content.

My co-worker, Hope, and I have been jarred by over 15 cases of possible HTing in the PI while walking along the sandy white beaches. White men who look to be in their 40s courting very youthful looking girls. In my disgust I have spoken both incredulously and loudly while passing them such phrases as "are you serious?!?" and "what's that old man doing with a 17 yr old?" I didn't want to get banned from the beach, but I could not be silent. Those men should feel shame for exploiting Filipinas struggling to survive poverty. These men serve a critical role in the perpetuation of modern-day slavery; they provide a demand for which a supply is then created.

I spotted this man in the water with a Filipina who looked to be about 15 or 16.

Noticing me photographing him, he hid his face like a coward.

***************

H1N1 has been in the detention centers for 2 weeks. We can't go in due to exposure and safety regulations. Hope and I were disappointed, because the 1-2 hours the 130 men and women spend with us each week is the only time they get to leave their cells for recreation. This is the only time they get to be treated with humanity and dignity all week. We have prepared another hip hop dance routine to teach them, but it will have to wait. There will be joy in the DCs again soon.

***************

I have been offering one-on-one counseling and support services for sexual abuse cases survivors experiencing depression, PTSD, dysthymia, and substance abuse. Additionally, I facilitate two support groups, which every resident at the shelter is invited to attend. They are separated by gender to provide culturally-appropriate safe spaces for people to discuss topics they are currently facing. Support is gained by practicing self-care techniques such as deep breathing and meditation. Also, playing games like emotional charades helps them develop 'emotional vocabularies' to express themselves when processing their stories of traumas.

It is thrilling to be witness to the communities of support that the women and men are learning to create for themselves. Discussions in support groups opens their worlds up to other ways of living. It assists them in accessing internal revenues of resources, meanwhile giving me the opportunity to praise and honor them for their perseverance. Most of them have never received positive reinforcement, an unfortunate stereotype of VNese culture. The women especially make negative remarks about their bodies, their intellect and their worth. Of course, my goal is not to impose a Western way of thinking on them. I use ideas that I believe to be effective for people who are experiencing turmoil combined with sensitive understanding of VNese cultural norms. Combining these two crucial elements, I am able to offer healing however big or small in their lives. Thus, ideas of mental health and emotional healing/coping are able to transcend Vietnamese and Taiwanese cultures. This work is extremely trying at times in a context where the survivors all have to manage living together.

In future posts, I will be sharing my thoughts on confidentiality standards, power dynamics, gender-specific mental health concerns, physio-emotional problems, and transnational complications within the context of the VMWBO. Although mental health/healing has had to be teased out, creativity and flexibility are helping to shape it's unique presence at the shelter. We are consistently learning, peeling back the layers of an onion. I remain hopeful.

Refreshed and Inspired,
Calix

Forever Young

Last week, a boy age 21 showed up to the shelter. He struck me immediately. He is thin and wiry but on the taller side. He has a stunted mustache that gives him character. His eyes light up with curiosity when you talk to him. Any stranger could tell that this kid brings happiness to others with his energetic smile because on a face that young, those smile creases mean he's been eating up life.

Waiting for my Vietnamese lesson with Cha, I came over to him to welcome him. I admit, I was curious about him, because I've been conditioned to identify the new folks as the fearful looking ones who look at me like I'm another life form because I open my mouth and English flows out. We had a brisk but meaningful 10 minute conversation as I welcomed him to the shelter. There was something about him that I couldn't quite put my finger on, but I took an instant liking to him.

A couple hours later in the darkness enveloping our shelter, I walked out to the asphalt area to take in some evening air to think about my long, tiring, fulfilling day. After a few minutes, a cell phone light went off a few feet next to me and I realized I hadn't seen Hung, the young man, chilling out next to me. He smiled his infectious smile and handed me a can of Mr. Coffee and a pack of cigarettes from 7-eleven. In the darkness, as he handed me these items, I realized two thing. One, his hand was injured, missing 4 fingers. The large swollen area on his palm was from a skin graft. The doctor was luckily able to use skin from Hung's thigh to cover the area where a faulty machine had obliterated his hand. I hadn't noticed the injury earlier, because his shining personality had made it hard to notice anything else. The other epiphany which had stumped me earlier was that Hung reminded me of my own 21 year old brother, his demeanor, his smile, his zest for life...but mostly, his big heart. For the first time in Taiwan, I truly, deeply missed home -- the home that isn't a place, rather, the home that's made special by the people who fill your heart with laughter and fuzzy memories. I missed my family.and felt the distance of the oceans between us.

I asked Hung why he was giving me those items and he replied that one, I looked tired, and two, I could probably use a cigarette, a whole pack. In my mind I kept hearing, "But I just met you and you shouldn't be spending money on me." Instead, I insisted he should use the items for himself. He was adamant, "Don't worry about it. Money is money. One day you have it, the next day you don't. I see how much you help people here and I want to do something nice for you."

It was decided. It would have been crushing for him had I not accepted his gesture. I opened the Mr. Coffee and took in a generous gift from a boy I had known for only two hours, but I insisted that we smoke the pack together over the next week. He might have seen me tearing up, and I'm ok with that. We're all - here and overseas - suffering in some way. Feeling is part of the human condition, right? For some it's emotional. For this boy it's also physical, yet, in the midst of the chaos of my day this young man stepped into my life to remind me that the fountain of goodness, the well of caring in humans is inextinguishable. For that evening we were a couple of folks sharing our stories that brought us to Taiwan, missing our families, by the faint light of two cigarettes.

*Hung is a fictional name to protect confidentiality.
*Permission was given by man in photo for me to post it.
*Neither this writer nor VietACT endorse the use of cigarettes.

Made by Hand with Love

Dear Readers,

I apologize sincerely that it has been 21 days since my last post. The month started off with a program that staff and myself labored heavily on for Tet Trung Thu (Full Moon Autumn Festival, a Vietnamese holiday focused on children). There are many Vietnamese brides -- VNese women who marry TWese men usually to escape poverty or make money through the marriage and send the money to their needy families back in VN. In short, these women have sold themselves into some form of slavery or bondage in hopes for a better life. The prep involved two weeks of intensive planning, labor to make the many intricate star lanterns, and adhesive, lots and lots of adhesive. I just remember having sticky fingers, chasing down glue in the office, taping this, sticking something to that for days. I cannot emphasize enough that over 50 lanterns were made by hand with nothing more than poles of bamboo fresh out the ground, butcher knives, wire, and cellophane. One has to ask, with such clever, creative, industrious people, how severe living conditions must be in Vietnam that they are unable to survive and instead become entrenched in a system of compelled work overseas?

Over all, it was a hugely successful program and the first of its kind at the shelter. The TWese government, recognizing all the amazing work we do at the VWMBO, helped fund the program. It was a pleasure to help on a project that hopefully is helping the VNese brides retain some of their culture for their children and assist in community building among VNese in TW.

After working 8 days straight, I took a well deserved mini-break with my co-worker in Thailand, which is another reason you haven't heard from me for a bit. The very day we got back, we prepped for the next day's work in the detention center. Split between my activities in the DC and the VMWBO office, I haven't had time to sit and process, to write. I talked it over with myself and made a plan for carving out time to chronicle what has been going down over here. Much has happened. Thanks for sticking with me. I'll be in touch soon.

A mini preview: Thai adventures, teaching hip hop routines in the detention center, case of 5 women receiving big media attention at the shelter, typhoons, 12 new beds at the shelter, therapeutic discoveries, and unexpected goodbyes.

Eye Contact

A very kind man with a deformed hand at the shelter showed me a 5 minute video from inside the very factory where his hand was mangled in a metal working machine. The real live version in comparison with dramatization videos on human trafficking is, unfortunately, bleaker and more sobering. These women and men in this factory work in near dark conditions, save the dull glow of a light bulb at the station they are at as they make computer parts for shipments sent to the U.S., Hong Kong, the U.K. This man makes parts for inside air conditioners and other household appliances. The parts in this factory are mass produced on old machines, many of which are malfunctioning or broken, but the work must be done. And done around the clock to make a profit. This man was working 16 hours a day and due to exhaustion, failed remove his hand quickly enough to avoid it being processed by the machine. After the video, I looked at pictures of his hand. It looked as if a bomb has exploded inside of his hand. The doctors were able to graft skin from his thigh onto the missing section to join pieces of his remaining hand. His photo documentary of the entire process was startling. I forced myself to look at the graphic images because as I struggle to understand the ugliness of human nature, I need to stand face to face with it. This poem emerged from my two intact hands as I type...pensive, lost in thought.

Warfare
One day, there will be compassion in spaces
filled with the hollow sound of machines
grinding
to a steady rhythm of weary soldiers.

Weaponless soldiers armed only with an undeniable sense of duty.

One day, there will be laughter rolling through tall grasses,
off the back of water buffalo,
when families long separated are reunited.
Chopsticks clinking gently against rice bowls, of people together again.

No richer, maybe even sicker, but together again.

That day is not today.

Today my heart thuds heavily, but steadily...fiercely.
Today I am haunted by lost limbs, listless stares, weak smiles.
Today I have to chase Joy
Hound it like a wild dog
Bite into it to capture my prey, this Joy.
Fake it into being.
Today I simply have to believe.
Make Believe.

because On Some Days, belief seems like
a silly fairytale within a work of nonfiction.
On Some Days, Joy is a fleeting, wounded soldier in a field of wavering shadows.

*Photo by Steve McCurry

Bản đồ Việt Nam
Maps of Vietnam

Click to view Slideshow with Captions

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Awash in a Sea of OceansClick below to view Survivors' Watery Masterpieces

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Creators of an Alternate Universe

Watching survivors create works of art that are solely theirs is a joy beyond words. The most unlikely individuals have emerged as genius artists. During art class about 10 of the 40 people here quietly get into the zone and before I know it I'm staring at an intricate dragon, a tree with delicate carvings and detail, a colorful animated monkey, a blooming flower breathing life and color onto a blank paper, a vibrant map of Vietnam. It's unbelievable to me that folks walk around with these images in their heads, this ability in their hands. How is it that they have been deemed by employers here as only good for hard manual labor or servitude? No, these folks are Creativity Warriors...graphic designers, artists, architects, computer engineers, geographers, writers, cartographers, creators.

Fate, destiny make such seemingly random choices for how our lives pan out.

I hope my excitement, enthusiasm, and pure joy is felt by my students through my yelps of surprise, ooing, aahing, and facial gestures mixed with the 3 descriptive Vietnamese phrases I know: extremely beautiful, very good, this is excellent and interesting.

Painting done by a man who is blind in one eye due to an accident that lacerated him clear across his hairline and wounded one of his legs severely. He says that because the bones in his calf didn't heal properly, when it rains outside he feels intense pain in that leg.

ART GALLERY UPDATE

Photos of shelter folks' art have been stacking up.
I promise myself that I will have them up at least by the end of the month.
Where does the time go?

* Survivor's painting of a pond with fish and lotus.

We Make a Way

What I love most about TW is the time I spend with the survivors at the shelter. Everyday I have many unique, beautiful, and inspiring moments with them. For most, I don't know the particulars of their stories. They are the keepers and owners of their stories, and if and when they want to share them with me they can. Decision-making and exercising choice are learned behaviors. What do we do? We spend time together. It's simple, yet infinitely meaningful. We cook together; do nails; they teach me about various plants and herbs; I show them how to dance to Lil Wayne. I find it unbelievably random how the various experiences I've had in the past 25 years collide with their worlds in the most meant-to-be ways.

For example, I was fortunate enough to have piano lessons in my childhood. I haven't played in years, but one of the survivors pulled me aside the other night. She is learning how to play. As I flipped through the sheet music, I was in disbelief that the Beatles song Oh Bla Di Oh Bla Da caught my eye. It was simple enough that I taught her how to play it. A few weeks ago, I had downloaded this very song to my computer. We listened to it so she could know how it should sound. Here she was with very little English, and me, with little Vietnamese, both belting out "Desmond has a barrow in the market place, Sally is a singer in the band!" Words cannot describe the joy within that moment of my life. Life is so random.

Last night, I went with two male survivors to A-Mart, a mini-mall/grocery store of sorts. One man lost his entire right leg in a factory that processed pig meat, the other lost the lower part of his leg in a factory producing steel and metalworks. Durian, the most magical tasting, pungent smelling fruit on the planet, is their favorite, so the three of us chilled outside the store eating one. It was work to devour this thing. It had so many packets of fruit inside it. I might actually be part durian now. The man without a leg has been in TW 7 years now. He has a wife and daughter in TW too, who visit him on the weekends at the shelter. He bought a bag of limes to give her this weekend when she visits. All these years, so much struggle and they still have romance. This man is a good man.

One of the female survivors approached me recently and said (in Vietnamese): "I want to help you with your Vietnamese. I remember what it was like to come to TW and know no Chinese. My employer yelled at us and none of us workers knew what he was saying. It was a frightening and confusing time. Later, I found I could ask other workers who knew Chinese to teach me a few things and little by little I finally know a lot of Chinese. Now I want to help you because I know how hard it is to be in that situation. Don't worry. We will help each other. Just come find me whenever you don't understand something." If this woman only knew how she changed my life in those 3 minutes. Where there appears to be no way, we find a way. We make a way.

It's no secret that my Vietnamese language fluency is limited. It's usually the first thing I say to any Vietnamese person I meet at home and abroad. For the first couple weeks I struggled and I continue to struggle, but with a little creativity and a desire to connect anything is possible. That's what language is, a tool to communicate and connect. There are plenty of people who speak the same language and fail to understand one another. Life here is teaching me how to communicate with people beyond any spoken language. I am full of gratitude.

*Photo: Sunset at beach in Danshuei, TW

Stinky Tofu

Every morning I walk from the women's shelter facility to work. On the beginning of my walk the buildings are tall pretty apartment buildings and convenience stores. In a bit, I take the back way into a long alley of gravel where semi-fenced off to my right, there are tall wild grasses. The beginnings of the smell of something rotting starts at that point. For about 5 minutes I travel this way, until I reach the mounds of trash, the remains of a demolition project that just never got cleaned up. Rusty chains, yellow asbestos looking stuff, shattered wood, and of course, people's discarded bottle over here...food remains over there, all lie waiting to be discovered by a trash truck.

At this juncture, the trash meets a putrid, waste-laden sewage creek from which the stench of rotting plant and animal matter cling to the humid air, filling one's lungs to the point of pure disgust. The photo does the smell no justice. A rocky cement paved ledge about 1-1.5 feet wide lies next to the creek. I remember the first time a survivor showed me how to get to work. A large bag over my shoulder I had thought, "This is a joke right?" Thankfully, this part of the walk, the offensive creek and cement ledge is only all of 1 min or so and every so many feet the path decreases to half the size and I cling to the posts jutting out to prevent falling in the creek with the tiny fish eating pond sludge.

When I reach the end of this, I have to hop the creek by a gnarly tree. Someone put down two weak slabs of plywood-looking-feeling concrete for a makeshift bridge. I keep wondering when and if this will give one day under my weight, sending me into the creek I fear and loathe. The creek is on the backside of the office, so once I pass the 4 ft crossing I'm on solid land and at my place of work.

Every day I'm reminded how mixed up life is, how precarious things really are. The sludge creek leads to a place of refuge, the VMWBO office, where Tan has lived for over one month because the stress of working 13 hrs a day in a tile factory, 6 days a week, lifting heavy construction materials overwhelmed him. One day he got into a fight with another worker, a physical fight. His employer refused to pay him and then fired him. Tan came to Taiwan for several reasons. Of course one of them was to send money back home, but he also, at age 22, saw TW as a ticket out of the depressing conditions in VN and his dysfunctional family. For him, an older son in the family, it is his responsibility to help the family survive. His parents grow food on a small plot of land in front of their tenement in a rural part of north VN. He suffers a large scar that turned into a keloid on his upper arm because a machine cut out a large chunk of his arm. Two years ago Tan paid $8000 to some man who showed up in his village one day talking about a country with work and money. He didn't even know where Taiwan was. I'm astounded by the number of traffickers, often the same cultural background as those they traffic, selling their own. What does it mean when we sell our own?

Tan doesn't know how he will find work to pay off the rest of his debt. I think hard about the fact that in the U.S. he and his family might have had other choices. I think about all the American college students who are getting an education for their debt, while Tan is being human trafficked for his.

The sludge creek reminds me that outside the walls of the shelter, VNese are treated like 3rd class citizens. It stinks. It stinks stronger than any decomposing matter. But the creek also reminds me of the balance between the dark and the light, because in the midst of the human rights violations committed in TW, there are people like the shelter staff and caring folks in the states who are doing their part to fight for basic decency and justice. I guess it's like Stinky Tofu, a Taiwanese delight. Darkness and light, stinky and delicious, do dances around each other. I can't lie though, that creek smells like shit.



*Names have been changed to protect anonymity.
**Photo: 2 works of art made by women in the detention center. On the left, a more optimistic view. On the right, a depiction of a detainee's self-portrait of her sadness. Buon means sad VNese. The woman on the right mentioned repeatedly how ugly her drawing was. I told her I thought it was very, very special. She has been in the DC for 5 months.

Two Unrelated Items

I am struck by the amount of migrant workers in Taiwan. Perhaps that's a naiive discovery, but a discovery nonetheless. Though the VMWBO office (Vietnamese Migrant Workers and Brides Office) serves Vietnamese, I am horribly aware of the Thai, Indonesian and Filipino workers facing similar human trafficking issues. In fact, at the International Human Trafficking Conference I attended, I came away feeling that Indonesians have less resources to address this social problem. I've noticed many Filipino detainees in the detention centers too. I wonder how much of Taiwan's economy is fueled by darker-skinned Asians. I'm probably going to get in trouble with that statement. Oh well, it's the truth. Southeast Asians and Pacific Islanders have always ranked lower on the Asian scale of privilege. Just like Latinos in North America, the Asian continent has it's own hierarchy of people groups.

On a lighter note, I lost my Invisalign retainers again. I have a lifetime reputation for losing things. We all must be good at something and my talent is losing stuff. I somehow managed to put them in a napkin on a table in the common room. I discreetly asked one person and in about 30 seconds, about 8 shelter residents were involved in the search. It was pretty embarassing, especially because I already managed to lose my phone's SIM card and a few other items over only 3 weeks. Thus, though there's not many things the shelter folks can say in English, they know the phrase "I lose things a lot." And yes, we dug through the trash and found them. Definitely blog-worthy.

Freedom in Contained Spaces


The detention center project has started after much coordination and negotiation with police officials and the NIA (National Immigration Agency). Yilan has two DCs, one for men and the other for women about a mile away. Our plan is to run a 2 hour recreational program at each facility every Friday. Our actual time allowed varies on whatever the guards dictate for that day. It was rough going on Friday, but with sweat pouring down our faces, Hope, Dave, Mina, Cha Chinh and I proceeded, first with the female detainees, and then later drove to do the same at the center with males. Because detainees, victims of human trafficking, are cooped up all day, many with dire circumstances, the recreational program is meant to give them some time where they get to focus on something relaxing and fun. Time where they are not treated like criminals.

The women's facility was more prison-looking that the men's, a very visible and noticeable difference our team noted. Shrouded in barbed-wire, from the outside, the place looks ominous with the feeling of an extreme-security prison. Guards here don't smile and we had to watch our every move because in the blink of an eye our recreational program could get shut-down. We brought styrofoam hearts and barrel-shaped objects for the women to decorate. Unfortunately, the guards would not let us give the women sequins, beads and other fun decorations we had brought for them to glue onto the objects. The guards fear suicide attempts and warned that any small object can be consumed to commit suicide. In all, there were 41 women.

I noticed many women drew pictures of themselves depicting their sadness and depression on the objects. Some drew pictures of loved ones back in Vietnam, and a significant amount just stared listlessly at other women drawing. When I tried to help these particular women think of something to draw, they were either too shy or too depressed to engage in conversation that was productive. Many women would comment that their drawings were ugly and even after I told them I thought each drawing was special, my statements weren't well believed. We ended the hour with a relaxation exercise that I led. A majority actually did the deep breathing, but many stared at me with curious eyes as I had them stretch their necks and connect with the feelings in their bodies. They need time to get used to our presence and understand what we're they're to do.

I find myself sitting with the uncomfortable feeling of helplessness for the cultural differences among these women versus women in America. I am sitting with the discomfort of not-knowing how to insert my foreign ideas that these women's lives are worth more than slave labor. This is definitely a life lesson in patience, persistence, and creativity. What does it mean for these women to be caged up when it is they who traveled overseas to make money to send home to their families in Vietnam?

About two hours later we arrived at the male facility and set up painting/drawing areas for them. We asked them to draw something about themselves. About 1/3 of the 38 men did not want to participate and sat idly watching others draw. I moved from cluster to cluster, making small-talk and positive comments about their work. I'm sad to say I was terribly uncomfortable by the suggestive looks I got from the men, many of whom asked for my age and whether I was single. Furthermore, if I wanted a boyfriend. Some made offers. To be fair, these men have had no contact with women in the DCs. Prior to detainment, they labor 11+ hours a day, 6 days a week, in factories making stones, tiles, car parts, etc that are both used in Taiwan and exported to countries like America. Others are fishermen. In the small villages and communities they are from in Vietnam, women are for making babies and raising children. I try to remember these facts when I feel my skin crawl from their flirtatious comments and focus on the work and the sweat pouring down my face in the stuffy auditorium.

About 90% of the men did not take my breathing relaxation exercise seriously. Many just watched me with very observant, peering eyes. It didn't help that the guard offered to interpret my words into Chinese (since many of the men understand a fair amount of Chinese). I discovered his understanding of my English was pretty limited, though I used basic, rudimentary verbage. Dave, the American psychiatrist studying Chinese, also tried to chime in which made the entire thing messy. All in all, our team learned at lot for how to modify the program for next week.

Three thoughts linger. There will always be people who are desperate for a better life. Consequently, there will always be people in the world ready to exploit others to fulfill a need for cheap labor. What can I do to ease the suffering of those who are subject to these situations? I hope that the hours that our team spends with the detainees over the coming months serve as contrasting moments of freedom in a life that has not been fair to them. Because, surely, life is never fair.

There are 4 detention centers in Taiwan. The NIA, National Immigration Agency, detains foreigners at these locations who need proof of paperwork or are suspected of breaking the law. Because of the poor conditions of trafficked people in the DCs (detention center), we've started a recreational program at the Yilan DC.

Our team consists of My-Nga, the program coordinator, Hope, a master's student with social justice background from the U.S., Dave, a psychiatrist from the U.S., Cha Hung, and myself. Last week, we became aware of a Vietnamese case at one of the DCs. A woman had tried to commit suicide by biting a piece of her tongue off. She was non-communicative, so Mina, Dave and I went to the shelter she was at to offer her some assistance.

As we walked into her room, the odor of her infected mouth became obvious. She had been suffering for over a week with her oral wound untreated and used a towel to cover it. The only nutrition she had consumed for a week was milk. She was only able to vaguely mumble that taking medicine hurt. Some of her answers didn't match our questions, a typical occurrence in trauma victims. She was refusing treatment because she thought the medicine was a trick, that people were coming to kill her. After a very tender and tedious conversation, she was able to say that 5 men had tied her down and raped her in the DC. She was shaking and began to sob. My intuition told me that, clearly, something very vile must have happened to this woman.

She had been an undocumented worker in TW for over 5 years. She had no history of prior mental illness and after 1 week at the DC, she had become disoriented, dissociative, and suicidal. A week prior, NIA had tried to repatriate her to Vietnam twice, but each time, she would refuse to board the plane at immigration, since she felt that people in TW were out to kill her. She stated that if she went home to Vietnam, she'd be trafficked against her will to China where things would be worse.

It was unclear what parts of her conversation with us were accurate. There is a chance some of her thoughts were delusions, but even so, she was experiencing them as reality. Dave offered to medically treat her wound, and again she refused treatment. Our team wanted the NIA to hold off on repatriation until she was able to receive adequate medical care in TW, but instead, she was taken to the airport where this time she boarded the plane to Vietnam. My mind was reeling after that case. In this work, there are always limitations to how we are able to help. We are frequently reminded of this fact.