Day of the Disappeared

Navi Pillay’s visit and Day of the Disappeared

On 30 August 2013, the world will mark the International Day of the Disappeared.

This year’s Day of the Disappeared coincides with the visit of UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, Navi Pillay, to Sri Lanka (25-31 August). She is expected to meet family members of some of the disappeared. 

In Sri Lanka, some 12,000 complaints of enforced disappearances have been submitted to the UN since the 1980s – making it second only to Iraq. But the actual number of disappeared is much higher, with at least 30,000 cases alleged up to 1994 and many thousands reported after that. 

“The number of disappeared people in Sri Lanka is astounding. The government has to stop making empty promises and once and for all seriously investigate the tens of thousands of cases of enforced disappearances,” said Yolanda Foster, Amnesty International’s Sri Lanka expert.

[Amnesty International Media Advisory]

Lihithan: Happiness and a Smile

Lihithan was born with a slight mental disability and for the first 26 years of his life he was hidden, or later hid himself from the world. For many in this culture, being born with a disability is the result of a displeased god – someone, somewhere, sometime has offended the gods - and so a child is born ‘differently abled’. Children with disability are, even today, routinely hidden from the world and often invisible both in the community and in any official government census.

Lihithan’s case is further complicated by the fact that his father is also slightly mentally disabled, so his Mum with two daughters to take care of as well, has had a tough life supporting her family. But things began to change for Lihithan and his family when a community engagement officer who knew the family came to talk to them about coming out from the shadows of shame and guilt and meeting with the local hospital psychologist and thereby accessing the psychosocial program that is running in their region.

Dad was the first to find himself in a men’s support group where he discovered that he is not alone; he found a group of men who like him are suffering some form of mental distress, but he also discovered that he doesn't need to hide away – and today when I visited the home his wife apologised for his absence because he had gone to the market, on his bike, by himself – her face was lit with toothless grin as she apologised – a smile that spoke simultaneously of pride and relief.

The sun was intense and the air was painfully dry as I stood under the only shelter on the families small property, it was the cow shed which had been swept clean and the cow, which they had received from our project, had been relocated for my visit.  Standing just behind Mum, never more than a few inches away from her, was Lihithan, now 27 years old. We had been talking for a while when I asked what difference having received the cow had made to her and the family. She pointed to Lihithan and with that same toothless grin, told us that he was the difference.

When the cow arrived Lihithan came out of the house, literally, for the first time of his own accord. He had decided that the cow was his to care for and since that day he has followed and cared for the cow. After 26 years of hiding in the house, he is free. But, it was to get even better (or Mum says, maybe worse) when Lihithan asked for a push bike: after all he needed to collect feed for his cow, he needed to be able to access the market and the government vet service.

This is exciting, isn't it? But then Mum asked if her son could tell me something. Without lifting his eyes from the ground, almost in a whisper he tells me (as if I should know, after all it should be obvious) that he needs a bike because he has to collect nice grass for “my cow”. He stops, a small shy smile crosses his face and a soft giggle escapes – his mother gives him a smile and an encouraging nudge and coaxes him on – the rest of the story erupts, “because I am going to have a calf – and it’s mine”! The vet had only days ago confirmed the pregnancy and he and mum had decided to keep it a secret until the ‘man from Australia came’ so that they could announce it to the world.

Building (and rebuilding) self-esteem in a broken, invisible life is an amazing outcome. Lihithan’s is not the only story of success here – but it is symbolic of our goal of re-imagining life in all its fullness for some of the most vulnerable people in the Kilinochchi district. In an environment of dormant fear, Lihithan is a symbol of innocent hope, happiness and self-sufficiency for me – and all because of a cow.

Kilinochchi: Peace, Hope and Harmony

After travelling for 8 hours I arrived in “Kilinochchi: The city rising with peace, hope and harmony”. The city that saw such a large part of three decades of war, Kilinochchi is rebuilding after experiencing unimaginable trauma. 4 years after the end of the war, the infrastructure is looking good. The road through town is a dual carriageway with the median strip planted out with flowers. The shops are open and full.

I was promised carpet roads, and for most of the trip I had them. It is amazing what can be achieved when the military machine needs it. The city has new buildings, hotels, community facilities, a large and well equipped hospital and schools. On the surface it seems to indeed be rising. But I wonder about an administration that whilst announcing “peace, hope and harmony” maintains such an overt heavily armed military presence.

Just after leaving Puttalam the highway becomes a carpet road: an essential arterial for the transport of goods and services to the North in the vital work of re-establishing community and society – also pretty useful for transporting military supplies for maintaining peace and harmony.

At very regular intervals along the road are the military bases that during the war were home to thousands of forces. They look impressive today with beautiful stone work advertising their Brigade or Command numbers, their grounds are well groomed and as we drove past soldiers were maintaining the road fronts – keeping it all looking nice. I have no idea how many military personnel are deployed behind the fences, but the bunkers, the towers, the pill boxes are still manned with heavily armed soldiers – so I imagine a few.

So why, if this is now a country at peace does this part of the country in particular need to maintain such a high military presence?

I’m here because there is a project that I need to check on. For the past 3 years our teams have been working with the Hospital, the Government Health Department, the Psychiatrists Board and others to implement a process whereby people who have suffered mentally as a result of the war are able to receive help. We have trained community engagement officers who offer support, friendship, and guidance in partnership with the hospitals. We have worked with doctors and hospitals to ensure that people who need it can get access to the system.  We have worked with the Government to make sure that when our funds run out next year the system and the process is sustainable.

The project has received critical acclaim from the Sri Lankan government and from donors. It looks like it is doing well and it is making a huge difference for many people in the region. So yes, the city is rising, but beneath the surface, beside the carpet roads, there are people who are still suffering. Mums who still grieve lost sons. Wives who still look for husbands. Children who still look for Dad.

I’m not sure that hope and harmony have returned yet, to all people – but that’s what we are attempting – to try and restore dignity and hope in all people, particularly the most vulnerable - children, women, disabled and mentally distressed.

The Shark and the Crocodile

With a population of over 3 million people Surabaya is Indonesia's second largest city. Located on the eastern coast of Java it is known as "the city of heroes" due to the importance of the Battle of Surabaya in galvanizing Indonesian and international support for Indonesian independence during the Indonesian National Revolution.

There are a number of theories about the origin of the name but the one I like best is the local myth that Surabaya is derived from the Sanskrit words "sura" (shark) and "baya" (crocodile), two creatures which fought each other in order to gain the title of "the strongest and most powerful animal".

I am here to take part in a week long workshop designed to explore the opportunities for Interfaith dialogue in an Islamic context for the purpose of community transformation and development. We are exploring the dividers and connectors between Islam and Christianity. Talking about the similarities and the differences. Sharing stories of faith journeys with local Islamic and Christian leaders and imagining what it would look like to partner together for the benefit of Indonesian communities. (These lessons of course will be informative for other contexts, including my own in Australia.)

The other day I had the privilege of sitting with a local Imam who told his story of 'salvation'. He was a local thug, "the king of thugs in Surabaya" he called himself. He was a shark, always in a fight with others - always looking for a fight, always looking to promote himself and his own - with no regard for others. But, one day he met a Christian woman who told him that he was worth more than he imagined. Over a period of time she showed him that Christians were not all he had learnt about - cruel, colonial, supremacists - and her message and example of hospitable love convinced him that he needed to be part of improving his community. Today he runs an Islamic boarding school for orphans like himself. Together he and a local Christian Pastor have 'converted' a notoriously dangerous community into a place of safety - a home for some of the people that society would rather ignore.

Why?

Waiting on airplane departures gives opportunity for reflection, so just one last footnote on my Nepal adventure:

Behind the awe-inspiring mountain vistas and Kathmandu's kaleidoscopic chaos lay some of the reasons why I do what I do - too many children who do not get the opportunity to go to school, jump in puddles or play on swings.

For too many children their imaginings and their dreams are not of adventures in fantasy worlds with super heroes - their dreams are of home, of family, of school, of being a normal kid.

Girls, and boys, as young as 9, but more likely about 14 or so are being married off, for all kinds of reasons, but many because it’s a way to keep them alive.

Young girls from the rural districts are being sold into domestic service in the city so that the rest of the family can survive on the pittance that they will be paid for her.

All over the city vans and busses that provide public transport have young boys hanging out the doors yelling the destinations and collecting the fares. These kids will grow up on the busses.

Many restaurants and food outlets have at least one child employed to do whatever job needs done, from carrying stock to washing dishes.

In some places, where tourists gather, companion children are for sale.

I don't believe that any parent willingly sells their child - but what if that's the only option left to feed them or keep them and the rest of the family alive? Is it ever right? No, of course it’s not - so how does it change?

One way is by convincing privileged people, like you and I, that for the cost of three coffees a week we are keeping kids at home and changing the life for the whole family. For the cost of one movie ticket a week families are sending their kids to school, with shoes, books and pencils. For less than the cost of your Foxtel subscription per month we are training and assisting parents to increase their household income and become self-supporting and proud of themselves.

It’s about giving kids hope that is possible to dare to dream different. It is possible to re-imagine the future – changing the nightmares into dreams of nursing, teaching, soldiering and farming. Giving parents of Nepal the same choices that I had for my kid. Every kid has the right to be bored at school!

That’s part of why I do what I do.

The Other Side of the Coin

I would hate you to judge Nepal on my feeble attempt to describe one minute section of Kathmandu - that would be very unfair. So let me use a wider lens and try sketch a picture of out beyond the Kathmandu valley.

Kathmandu valley is (not surprisingly) surrounded by hills and at this time of the year, (monsoon), the clouds hang low over the valley hiding what are awe inspiring mountains. I never did get to see them here, but on a couple of occasions, when the sun beat back the clouds in Pokhara, I saw the snow capped apex of Machapuchare (Fish Tail), at 6,993m above sea level it's not the highest in the area, but when you see this mountain range high above the hills that surround the city they really do take your breath away.

The comparatively smaller hills that seem to guards these mountains have their own beauty. The roads up their sides are terrible, but climbing the hills you are rewarded with beautiful green fields, small terraced farms, vegetable 'tunnels' and paddy fields. Dotted among the fields are small villages comprised of very basic houses, community buildings, run down but lively schools and very friendly, generous people.

The scenery as we drove the roads is dominated by wide fast flowing rivers, (home to white water rafting tours), green hills and high snow capped mountains - it truly is breathtaking beauty. Trekking these hills, passing through the villages, being greeted by smiles and the welcome, Namaste (or Namaska) really is a special privilege.

As I traveled from Dhangadhi to Nepalgunj out on the western Terai, (the flat lands) I crossed the Karnali River using a 500m single pillar bridge, apparently one of only two in Asia. The clouds and rain were descending on the bridge as we crossed creating an eerie feeling of driving into the unknown. On the other side it was as if we had crossed into a different land - we were in the Bardiya National Park, the largest and most undisturbed jungle in Nepal and home to numerous species of animals including the single horn rhinoceros, elephants, tigers, leopards, deers and many species of endangered birds. We didn't see anything other than elephant, but they assure me there out there.

The scenery is inspiring, but the most beautiful thing from my experience was the people. Kathmandu, like any city is a little different with its busy people, but out in the hills and on the Terai, people are welcoming, generous and kind. Nepali culture dictates hospitality but I felt often that the welcomes went beyond the expectation of culture. The offers of sweet buffalo milk tea and beaten rice - or whatever they had - were genuine and heartfelt. Like many of the cultures in this part of the world, I felt that there was no way you could out give these people.

My time in Nepal is now at an end, but as I fly out in the morning, I do so having learnt so much about the country and her people. There is much that is not yet good for all her citizens, but despite the explicit and extreme poverty, the recovery from internal war and the inherent caste, ethnic and gender challenges, I get the feeling that Nepal is going to fight - and so hope remains. (Thank you Nepal for the opportunity to learn.)

Kaleidoscopic Kathmandu

Trying to describe Kathmandu is like trying to describe the image you see in a kaleidoscope -change the angle or the light and you have a whole new image. So, as I try and describe the images I saw in the period of a one hour walk this morning, I know that I do the place an injustice. Bu there goes any way...

The city is going through a campaign of road widening, but they aren't doing one street, or one stretch at a time, they have ripped up the side walks and the roads all over the place - consequently walking down the street is like a cross country hike. Dodging the cows and dogs, the people and the bikes, the potholes and broken concrete, the piles of rubbish and the mud becomes like a dance on hot coals.

Above and along the roads the electric wires hang low and in chaos. Dozens of wires cross roads and terminate together from all directions at a post, every now and then a few cables hang down, terminating in mid air - like webs woven by a spider on steroids this could be an arachnophobes worse nightmare.

I turn the corner and almost get bowled over by a man carrying two plastic shopping bags. In one there are four small legs with hooves hanging over the sides, the other is red and squishy, filled with the intestines and other delicacies as as he carries a recently bifurcated goat to the butchers on the corner. Passing by the butcher shop the feathers are flying and the sounds of assassinated chickens fills the humid morning air.

Competing with the chickens are the peels of the ubiquitous bells rung as a devotee punctuates their pujas (prayers) at the Hindu and Buddhist temples that saturate every street and district. A woman in her exercise gear, stops, bows before an idol and lights an incense stick at the temple as I pass by.

The six way round about which marks my half way mark is beginning to fill up with people looking for transport. It's just after 6 in the morning and school children are walking to school. The girls, chatting on mobile phones are dressed like the boys, in pin stripe slacks with collar and monogrammed ties as they pass the security guard into St Xavier's College which proudly advertises that it is a 'chewing gum free zone'.

As I walk past the vegetable market that is already doing brisk business, I buy a mango for my breakfast and much to the amusement of the locals I probably pay twice as much as everyone else.

Completing the turn back toward my hotel I cross the road, dodging the motorbikes, the cars and the animals when I see a Ford pickup coming down the road with a dozen people, including children, sitting high on the back try. As the pickup appears to lose it's front wheels in a pothole as peep as the grand canyon, I notice that the platform on which they sit is actually composed of LP gas cylinders banging together over every bump.

I must look a little like those clowns with swivel necks and open mouths at the carnival - this is sensory overload. But this is just my small corner of the city during a 60 minute walk - cross the river, turn the corner and the kaleidoscope changes. New images, new smells and new tastes appear.

A little later in the morning I will be dodging monkeys as I visit the Monkey Temple, a Buddhist complex on the hill, and then as I walk the alleys and streets of Thamel I will be offered the best price, I will be asked to "only look sir", I will be asked if I would like some 'hydroponics', (hash or grass) - as I pass what must be hundreds of stores selling souvenirs and trekking gear.

This is a fascinating city.