by Tara Winkler
It’s common to hear voluntourists say ‘I swear I got more out of it than the people I was helping!’ and for decades this has been lauded as a positive, even charming statement—but this needs to be seriously re-evaluated.
A lot of harm can be done as a result of well-meaning foreigners looking for an experience with the aim of personal growth and fulfilment. The problem is predominantly around unskilled volunteering by tourists who (like me when I first arrived) include a short-term unskilled volunteer stint as a part of their holiday itinerary. These well-meaning people have been convinced that they’re helping, but the truth is that unskilled volunteers take the jobs of local people (such as builders, painters, teachers and labourers) who are in fact qualified to do this work to a higher standard.
Unemployment is a huge contributing factor to the poverty levels in developing countries. By working for free in jobs that local people could be doing, voluntourists are preventing local families from accessing jobs they desperately need.
Another problem arises when voluntourists are working directly with children. Many of the kids in these residential care centres have already experienced trauma, even just as a result of being separated from their families, and are already likely to be struggling with attachment disorders. So when voluntourists come in and shower them in love and affection—the love and affection that they should be getting from their parents or guardians—they’re left emotionally traumatised each time the volunteers leave. The impact of having a high turnover of adults coming in and out of the kids’ lives means they re-live that sense of abandonment over and over again.
The real reason so many organisations run voluntourism programs is not because they need a helping hand, but simply to raise money. Voluntourism programs are fundraising initiatives. The cost to the volunteer of carrying out a short-term volunteering stint is a misdirection of funds that could instead be put towards employing local people, with the remainder used to benefit the lives of the organisation’s beneficiaries. So while having a personal growth experience is great and a perfectly understandable aspiration to have, it’s not okay when it comes at the expense of vulnerable people and developing communities.
I’d like to believe that if everyone understood their efforts were only needed in order to generate funds, we’d all find smarter and much more effective ways to support and add value to the causes we care about.
There are still many other fantastic ways to have fun, meaningful travel experiences in developing countries like Cambodia. Travellers can engage with responsible tour companies that incorporate sightseeing, cultural immersion and experiential learning opportunities into their tours, while also supporting local community development projects. You can also support ChildSafe initiatives on your travels and choose social enterprise businesses when you’re deciding where you’ll stay, eat and explore. I’ve included a few options at the back of this book.
Now that you know all this, you can probably understand why my peers back in Cambodia who were already across these issues were deeply concerned about the impact my ‘inspiring’ story would have.
The Australian Story documentary about me had inadvertently told the tale of a young, naïve orphanage tourist, turned voluntourist, turned orphanage founder who went on to facilitate orphanage tourism! And the result of this story was to inspire other young, naïve Australians to make the same mistakes. Oops.
My (now) friend and colleague Daniela Papi, founder of the educational travel company PEPY Tours, wrote a blog about me in 2011 called ‘The Dangers of Hero Worshiping (in the Social Sector)’, which highlighted the harm that comes from focusing on the ‘WHO of social causes and not the WHAT’. She wrote:
by praising things which make development work look easy, which make it seem like any person with no specific training can come in and start a successful NGO project, which only focus on praising how something started but overlook the discussion of the long-term systems in place to ensure a positive impact, we are setting up more opportunities for development work disasters.
That blog came as a real slap in the face to me in 2011, but of course, she was completely right.
She continued: ‘The reason I have this blog is to share the lessons I have learned in order to help prevent people from making the same mistakes I made.’
And that is exactly the purpose of this book. It is the reason I have walked you through the excruciating details of the mistakes I have made.
I know it can feel very depressing, confusing and upsetting to learn that helping developing communities and overcoming poverty isn’t as simple as we’ve all been led to believe it should be. But please don’t throw your hands in the air and give up!
The problems I’ve outlined in this book can be reversed and they can be prevented. But it is a mighty task. It requires substantial support and backing, so that governments and reputable NGOs can work together to turn the tide.
If we all work together, I believe that we can overcome poverty. I believe we can put an end to the institutionalisation of children. And I believe we can make sure that vulnerable children everywhere have what all children need and deserve—a family.
Epilogue
I still have mixed feelings about that pro-orphanage Australian Story documentary of 2010. On the one hand, a lot of harm may have come from the messages it conveyed to the Australian public. On the other, it is also what generated the funding that enabled us to change CCT’s model and close down the orphanage in favour of family-based care. It really has been the springboard for everything that has come since. It’s safe to say CCT would not be the organisation it is today without that Australian Story and all the incredibly generous people who rallied in support of us.
By 2012, CCT was no longer an orphanage. The story of how we transitioned, and everything that happened in between, could fill a whole other book. But here’s a summary of what’s happened since 2010:
Within two years of the Australian Story documentary going to air, we had successfully moved all the kids into family-based care and were finally able to close the orphanage gates.
Our first step in changing the model was to reintegrate all the children from the CCT orphanage into foster care. That involved selecting kind, caring and trustworthy foster families to care for the kids. We knew many of these families already, as they were our existing CCT staff—including Rouet and her husband, Meah and his wife, and Noit and her husband.
Meanwhile, Savenh and Samnang went on to do further training and formed our social work team, which now has eight members. Together they worked to track down the kids’ parents, brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles or grandparents.
The second step was for CCT to help stabilise the lives of the kids’ relatives by ensuring they had safe housing. In some cases, we also provided short-term financial support while our social workers helped the families to find ways to generate income and access job opportunities. This all took place while we facilitated family connection—so the kids could slowly get to know their families again.
The third step, which took much more time and in some cases is still in progress, saw the kids move back in with their families or into full independence. This process is always guided by the children and families and only goes ahead when all sides agree. In some cases, such as little Sovanni who was placed with foster parents in infancy, we work towards a permanent plan involving long-term foster care or domestic adoption. Domestic adoption in Cambodia is, however, still a complicated and expensive process. But when it becomes possible, Sovanni’s foster parents intend to legally adopt Sovanni.
The fourth step was to make sure the kids and their families are on the path to independence.
All of the children whose stories I have shared in this book—including Makara, Rithy, Akara, Tula and Mao—are now living in loving, stable Cambodian families—some with their biological families, some in kinship care, and some in foster care. The young adults have transitioned into independence.
The community youth centre prog
ram that we established shortly before the first Australian Story documentary went to air has grown and developed beyond all our expectations. It is now the basis of what we call ‘CCT’s holistic model’.
The CCT team have all embraced the new model and are now passionate advocates for family-based care.
Of course, CCT’s efforts remain an ongoing work-in-progress and we constantly push to improve our holistic model to ensure our programs create lasting and systemic change in Cambodia.
We believe this long-term change is best achieved through long-term thinking and a commitment to the honest evaluation of our work and by continuing to adapt and improve what we do. We try to maintain the willingness (and the humility) to keep questioning our assumptions, remain open to new evidence and take constructive criticism on board. That’s how we’ve learned—and continue to learn—valuable lessons.
One of today’s biggest commitments at CCT is to keep investing in our people. Development work can be challenging—we see some of the best of humanity, but we also see some of the worst. So it’s vital that we support our people—particularly the ones who are out there, day in, day out, changing the lives of kids and families. They are the unsung heroes of CCT. We take every opportunity to invest in them by providing ongoing training and mentoring, and also by fostering a good, supportive team culture.
We also believe in forming alliances with other NGOs who are committed to best practice so we can share what works and reflect on mistakes together and implement effective solutions.
We are currently a member of the UNICEF and Friends International Partnership Program for the Protection of Children Alliance (3PC), the Friends International CYTI Alliance and the Family Care First Cambodia initiative.
One project that the 3PC Alliance is working on is looking to achieve a 30 per cent reduction in children living in orphanages across five provinces in the next three years. Our involvement includes working with another Battambang-based NGO, Komar Rikreay, to provide training and mentoring to the Battambang DoSVY as they complete family tracing and assessments and develop case plans to reintegrate the kids living in these orphanages back to their families.
There are fifty-nine orphanages in Battambang alone, so this is a big job. But, it is my hope that through this process we’ll finally see SKO and orphanages like it shut down and the children successfully reunited with their families.
In 2014 the ABC’s Australian Story filmed a follow-up episode, titled ‘The House of Tara’, which highlighted some aspects of our new model.
The last few years have had their personal highs and lows, too.
In a rather astonishing ‘down the rabbit hole’ moment, I was named the New South Wales Young Australian of the Year for 2011. Julia Gillard, who was the Australian prime minster at the time, introduced Carolyn and me to the Queen of England. For about five surreal minutes the whole world reduced down to just me, Carolyn, Julia and Queen Elizabeth.
Unfortunately, I was to get a real taste of the dark side of being in the public eye. Throughout 2015 I was stalked and harassed by a woman who saw me on the Australian Story documentaries. She is suffering from an obsessive delusion that I am in love with her, despite the fact that I have never met her, or sent her a single email.
I’ve received hundreds of emails, messages and calls from her, which are extremely disturbing and have been a cause of great distress. Worst of all were the ones that included explicit sexual threats to me and blatant, graphic death threats to my dad, who she believes is standing in the way of our ‘love’. It has caused me to genuinely fear for my life and the lives of Peter, Sue and Noni. The threats were so serious that the Australian police took over the case and applied for an Apprehended Personal Violence Order (APVO) on my behalf that prevents her from contacting or coming near me and my family. She didn’t agree to the terms of the APVO, so the case was then taken to trial in February 2016. The magistrate gave final orders for a two-year APVO. I fear this won’t be the end of the matter, but the police at Rose Bay station continue to be a wonderful support to my family and me. CCT was forced to cancel a fundraising tour in 2015 as we couldn’t afford an appropriate security detail to ensure my safety. Given how uncomfortable I already am with being in the spotlight, this has been a terrible setback for me.
On a much brighter note, I could not be more proud of Sinet. After graduating from high school, she landed a job with BBC Media Action in Phnom Penh as an assistant producer for a radio program about sexual and reproductive health for Cambodian youth. She’s since been promoted to the role of producer. She also works with CCT, on a youth mentoring program with our social workers and on our advocacy programs, using her voice to speak out against the dangers of orphanages. She lives a very busy life these days, but on the joyous occasions when we do catch up, I marvel at the woman she’s become—zipping around Phnom Penh on a little Scoopy moto, with flaming red hair in wild and wonderful outfits. To be ‘different’ in Cambodia, to go against the grain in the way she does, requires a lot of courage and self-confidence. She’s got more chutzpah, more charisma, and more fight in her than almost anyone else I know.
And her older sister Sineit’s ‘impossible’ dreams did end up coming true! She fell in love with a boy, they got married and had a baby—and both Sineit’s husband and her son are free of the HIV virus, as Baz promised. CCT provided Sineit and her husband with vocational training and they are now a healthy, happy little family with a house and a dual income. And their son, now three years old, will never know the poverty that blighted the lives of his parents—the cycle has been broken.
But it certainly hasn’t all been sunshine and roses.
SKO continues to operate under Rath’s management.
And at age twenty-five, the case of full-blown anorexia I suffered as a teenager came back to haunt me. I was diagnosed with osteoporosis, a condition in which bones become brittle and are more likely to fracture. It’s a disease that I am genetically predisposed to, but the early onset is a result of the anorexia, particularly during the critical time when my body was still laying down bone mass.
If I could send a message to sixteen-year-old me I’d say—I know you feel ashamed, but your eating disorder does not define you. It is an illness that can be treated, so please reach out now and find the help you need. Life is so much better, so much richer, when you are free of it, feeling healthy and strong. And so that, too, is my message to anyone reading this who may be battling an eating disorder in silence. Remember that this illness thrives on secrecy. Be brave enough to start talking about it—whether it be to your doctor, your counsellor, or a trusted friend or family member. There are effective treatment regimes out there—and life is too short to waste another second before taking positive action towards a happier, healthier life.
In the last few years I have also faced some traumatic and heartbreaking events that I could never have anticipated . . .
In 2010, we were on a CCT excursion to the local pool when little Jendar slipped off her lifejacket, just as we were packing up to go home, and jumped into the deep end. We did everything we could to revive her, but it was too late. She was only five years old. Her death had a huge impact on everyone, as Jendar was a real darling of CCT. And it nearly destroyed me. It was really only thanks to Carolyn’s love and support that I was able to slowly heal.
Then, in early 2011, Carolyn fell very ill and was diagnosed with appendiceal cancer, a very rare and aggressive malignancy. The CCT team, especially Jedtha and our incredible operations manager at the time, Erin Kirby, did a wonderful job of holding down the fort at CCT so that I could fly back to Sydney. I was by Carolyn’s side when she received the horrific diagnosis and while she fought like a champion through massive abdominal surgery and six gruelling months of chemotherapy.
She died in March 2012.
The nine months between her diagnosis and death were nine of the very worst and very best months of my life.
Carolyn’s death changed me profoundly.
By
the time she died, we were so closely bonded that, in some ways, I feel I know what it’s like to be given a terminal diagnosis. I know what it’s like to face death, to say goodbye to your life and all the people you love . . .
And yet here I am, alive.
This acute awareness of my own mortality has led to a powerful appreciation of life, of being alive, and a sense of urgency to make the most of the time I get. I made a promise to Carolyn that I would go on after she was gone and live my life to the fullest.
So, for the rest of my days, I’ll be striving to honour her memory in the best way I know how—burning the candle at both ends, basking in the light, and trying to leave the world just a little better than I found it.
Sue, 1977
Learning to ride, 1986
Peter, 1978
With grandma Nagy, 1988
Champion girl rider, 1999
Holiday in Vanuatu, 1987
At Ta Prohm temple Siem Reap, on my first trip to Cambodia, 2005
Dusty Battambang
The treehouse at Akira’s Landmine Museum, 2005
The statue that greets all new arrivals to Battambang
Battambang in 2005
Battambang countryside
Children from SKO orphanage catching their own food in nearby rice fields
CCT gates, a few months after we rescued the kids from SKO orphanage, 2008
Jedtha
Savenh
Sinet and me, 2008