One of the more readily apparent human rights issues in
Cambodia is the culture of child labor. In a country where the average annual
income for a family of six is $400, the potential extra income that a child can
provide is exceedingly valuable. Selling everything from bootleg books, to
postcard packets, to friendship bracelets, young children roam Cambodia’s
streets and beaches touting their wares. They range in age from around 5 to 13,
and they are undeniably adorable. Throughout our trip, we found makeshift signs
and lamented poster from children’s rights NGOs that warned travelers not to
buy from child vendors, no matter how cute or persistent. Our patronage would
just further affirm the kids’ ability to earn money, and would keep them on the
streets, out of school, and vulnerable to assault or kidnapping.
It was difficult not to fall for their gimmicks. The
children selling postcard packets would follow us down quiet streets and across
picturesque temple grounds, counting out the cards in a rapid succession of
various Romance languages. “You want postcards? I give you 10 for $1. See? One,
two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Uno, dos, tres, cuatro,
cinco, seis...” Our polite declines would invariably be followed by, “You
change your mind, you buy from me, okay?” It was obvious that they had been
strategically taught to say pertinent phrases in different languages that catered
to their wide diversity of clientele.
Sihanoukville, with its constant stream of wealthy revelers
and foreign travelers, was a hot spot for child vendors. They roamed the
beaches from sunrise until late into the night, touting bundles of brightly
colored friendship bracelets and encouraging beachgoers to purchase strands to
match their multicolored bikinis and Beer Lao tank tops.
A week into our travels, Meghna and I had thus far
successfully heeded the warnings not to give child vendors our money. One particular
evening, we had set up shop at a beachfront restaurant in Sihanoukville to
watch the sunset and enjoy a few beers.
I’d brought along a deck of cards to pass the time. We’d been lounging
for about an hour when a young boy approached us.
“You want bracelet? I give you one for one dollar.”
“No, thank you.” Our polite dismissals were well-rehearsed
at this point.
The boy pressed on. “Many colors. You want bracelets?”
Cue the same tight lipped headshake that worked so well to
deter vendors elsewhere. He’d probably leave after a second failed attempt.
That was when the boy noticed my deck of cards resting idly
on our table. Casting his bundle of bracelets carelessly onto the sand, he
dropped to his knees and started dealing the cards out to us.
Enchanted by his innocence, we decided to humor him. The
game was some sort of rule-less gin rummy, and we were moved by the young boy’s
simple desire to play children’s games instead of hawking wares. Despite the
fact that he would sporadically throw us a coy, gimmicky wink as he positioned
the cards around the table (a ploy obviously learned as a way to charm his
customers) we wanted to believe that, fundamentally, this was a child just wanting
to be a child.
Well, we fell for it. After about 20 minutes of throwing
cards around playfully and humoring the boy as he tried to explain the rules of
his game through the shrouds of language barriers, Meghna and I agreed that we
should buy a few friendship bracelets from our new playmate.
At this point, the sun had nestled down beneath the horizon,
and we were enjoying one final beer before heading out. Just as we were about
to pack up, the little boy came running back to us in obvious distress. He threw
the deck onto our table, the cards dispersing in all directions.
What was going on?
The little boy broke into a torrent of agitated Khmer,
trying to explain to us what had happened. With his English limited to “you
want bracelet?” and our Khmer limited to “Akun” (thank you) we weren’t getting
very far in understanding his distress. Finally, the boy resorted to a twisted
game of Charades, mimicking the motions of being beaten.
We finally understood that the boy had been scolded and
possibly beaten for possessing the deck of cards. With his leader probably
assuming that the boy had stolen them from a customer, he had been ordered to
return the deck. It was an ironic twist; the gift of one game was returned in
form of another “game” to demonstrate mistreatment.
Sheepishly picking up the scattered cards, I tried to
process my actions’ unintended consequences. My attempt to challenge the loss
of innocence that child labor produces had, in actuality, created further pain
for someone already victimized by an oppressive and entrenched system of abuse.
Unfortunately this is a common habit that we Westerners
bring to our interactions with foreign populations. Much like the Vietnam War
or even the War in Iraq, our moralistic belief that we should intervene to
change “oppressive” systems, in many cases, has actually further exacerbated
the very situations we were trying to rectify. My experience with the young
bracelet seller in Cambodia was a very unsettling personification of the important
question that Americans still wrestle with today. In what situations is
inaction better than action?