Notes from the Field: A Visit to Phnom Penh's Public Gardens
The idea of "public gardens" invokes different visual images for different people. Personally, I think of thick curated jungles and shaded paths, an oasis in the middle of the city. San Francisco’s botanical gardens, for example, or Central Park in New York.
I am one of five full-time staff at the Somaly Mam Foundation in New York City. On my recent trip to Phnom Penh, I was given an itinerary packed from morning to night with site visits to the recovery and training centers, stops at small businesses owned by reintegrated women, meetings with local partners, and outreach to areas where sex is sold.
Our trip included a visit to Phnom Penh’s public gardens, which turned out to be open strips of lawn dividing the two lanes of a main throughway and dotted with concrete park benches. During the day, I imagine it becomes a social, pleasant spot - during the evening it turns to a different sort of meeting ground.
We rolled up in the AFESIP outreach van with a social worker and a peer educator, medical doctor and security guard, and SMF’s Voices For Change leaders Sina and Sopheap. We were told to hop out and stay close—it wasn’t dangerous, per se, but any outreach visit could potentially go awry when a ‘boyfriend’ or pimp, or nasty client arrives.
The women we approached were dressed casually, in jeans and tight t-shirts. Sina explained this was because police had been cracking down in this area and arresting more women than usual – if the women are in jeans and not a short skirt, it’s harder to prove that they are sex workers. Sina also explained that when a client chose a woman, it was her responsibility and not his to pay the nearby guesthouse where they would go, and she would likely hand over the rest of the earnings to her ‘boss.’
We approached the first pair of women, and the first thing that caught my eye was the woman’s high heels: not only were they the flashiest part of her outfit, but they were mismatched. One shoe was a black velvet slip-in with a bow detail, the other was covered in silver rhinestones. This was not a fashion statement but a necessity.
The outreach team chatted with the women in Khmer, asking about their evening, their family, their health: working to build rapport and trust. They offered each woman a small bag that held a dozen condoms and a bar of soap. The women accepted the bags graciously, with smiles and hands outstretched. We said goodbye and moved on to the next group.
As we got closer, Sopheap let out a shriek and lunged toward one of the women. She scooped her arms around the woman’s waist and buried her face in her neck: they were old friends, Sina translated, and they hadn’t seen each other since Sopheap "got out." The two held each other around the waist and walked away to catch up, heads leaned in like girlfriends. We learned that the last time they saw Sophpeap was when she was arrested. She was hooked on drugs, dangerously skinny, lifeless and depressed, and they took her in for being a sex worker (despite her actually being a victim of the sex industry).
When the women didn’t hear from Sopheap after her arrest, they assumed she had was dead, of overdose or malnutrition. Instead, the police had turned Sopheap over to the social affairs department and AFESIP stepped in to help. She lived at an AFESIP center for two years, where she began to learn English and life skills and regain her health.
As a Voices For Change leader, Sopheap interned with the outreach and rescue team. She quickly proved herself invaluable: with a sensitive and careful approach and an insider’s understanding of the sex industry, she quickly develops camaraderie and trust with a victim, and ultimately rescues many more women than is typically possible by a non-survivor.
Tonight, standing in the gardens with these women with whom she shared a heavy past, Sopheap proudly wore a lime-green SMF polo shirt, khaki pants and sandals, her cheeks rosy and filled and her energy high. She talked to her former “co-workers” about self-care and their options, and they revealed concerns about money, and what would happen if they didn’t bring back enough. She reminded them about the free clinic in downtown Phnom Penh, and of AFESIP’s training center and job placement services. The women nodded, indicating that for many reasons it was not possible for them to make a change right now, but they understood.
These visits represent one step in a long walk toward a new reality: a walk that involves risk and fear of retribution, violence and shame. I was surprised by the genial nature of the women in the gardens, but I saw the sadness in their eyes, and more than once they answered the question of "Are you happy with your work?’"with a firm "No." But they fear what will happen if they come home from a night’s work empty handed, and those who have children must put those needs first and their own health and happiness second.
How revelatory it must be for these women to see Sopheap in her work clothes, riding in an NGO vehicle and handing out bags of supplies. She has crossed over a dividing line and represents a world that none of them consider their own – but step by step, and example after living example, the mindsets of these women can start to shift. Each one must realize that she has the power to say no to what may have seemed their lot in life, and Sopheap already has. Sopheap grabbed me around the waist as we walked back to the van and half-smiled as she said in English, "They thought I died. But I live."