The Underground Railroad

"We Are Not Pimps of Our Own People!"

So spoke the current leader of YWAM Olongapo/Tamar Foundation here in Olongapo City/Subic Bay, the Philippines. Virgie was speaking in reference to my question about mail-order brides. Do the Filipino people accept Canadian men coming and buying brides for a price? Is it cultural/traditional? Is it normal?

Realizing that there are many other international cultural traditions around the world, I will speak candidly about Virgie's response. Mail-order brides are NOT traditional, nor are they cultural. They are an attempt to escape poverty, to gain a new life, or to flee dire circumstances. These are all true and legitimate needs that must be addressed... but not through bride selling.

Many men, oftening beginning as johns in Filipino brothels, feel they are doing these women a 'favour' by marrying them and caring for them. It assuages their own guilt about demading sexual favours where they had not right to demand from. This is not God's definition of marriage. Virgie was clear: "We are no better than pimps when we approve of our beautiful Filipino girls being taken by foreign men for a price. We are NOT pimps... we are not Mama Sans".

Hearing the conviction in her voice affirmed my own thoughts. Yes... some women escape poverty by selling themselves as brides. But instead of just selling sex, they sell the entire relationship of marriage where God has no place. It is prostitution on a whole different level.

Can their be healing? Can their be forgiveness?

Yes. Of course!

Can God reconcile a couple where the woman was a mail order bride (by choice or not) and a man who was so desparate (for whatever reason) acting as an international john?

Yes.

He can.

Just as He forgives and calls individuals, He saves and restores relationships.

However, the better way to deal with the matter is to firmly stand against mail order brides. Just as sex isn't for sale, marriage is not for sale in our Canadian culture. Yes... many johns use the Bible to back up their right to pay for whomever they choose to marry. Dowrys are common still in many cultures. And it's not like Canada is the shining example of healthy marriage relationships at the best of times.

I would say this: dowries occured in a time/place where God tolerated them as a custom of the people. Since it is now neither custom nor tradition in neither Canada or the Philippines, we must seek to end the existence of mail order brides. We must address in love the deeper needs (poverty, etc), and not sell off women who, made in the Divine Image of the Living God, have so much to offer to their own people.

Crippled Hands: Thoughts on Truth Over Unity

"For so long, fundamentalist Christians have valued truth over unity." ~ Dutch Proverb

The above statement speaks in reference to the reason Christianity has multiple denominations... and multiple factions. For so long, believers have placed a disproportionate value on truth over unity, thus justifying the reasons for leaving current churches, and creating new ones; for pointing fingers at heretics; for somehow preaching that the truth will not be denied, and they somehow have found that their particular brand of Christianity has won that corner on truth.

Walking down the wet streets of Olongapo City, I saw a man with shrivelled hands standing in a doorway out of the rain. It's amazing the places where God shows up... or perhaps it's more amazing the places and ways he chooses to rip the blinders off.

I saw the man standing in his rags in the pulpit, thumping down his stumps on the lecturn, and hollering out that the truth "MUST be held up at ALL costs!"

Yet his hands remained shrivelled and dead.

Do we forsake truth in order to live together peacefully? No. That would be to deny the essence of peace, only create a ripe environment for spiritually blind sheep. Yet forcing doctrine at the expense of unity also creates a blindess, and deep injury. There is no love between neighbors, but rather useless hands that have brought leprosy upon itself. And love is here?

Truth and unity must not be held as separate weights, balancing each other out. By nature, they are extensions of God thus they cannot each stand alone. If Christians continue to insist on right and moral doctrine, claiming "This is the truth!", but refuse to accept the person's insights from the person in the church next door - or even simply the person him/herself in the fullness of love -- then Christians have already nullified the truth.

Perhaps I'm more sensitive to the old time preaching style these days after seeing the damage that has been done amongst the poorest of the poor... perhaps I'm wrestling with God in deeper ways that even I know (I for sure do NOT have all the answers)... perhaps I see the developed world stomp around in our pride still screaming that we have all the answers to the world's problems -- message, method, medium, and mark.

Perhaps I'm just sick of Christians taking the Gospel and balling it up into a tiny chunk of God's infinite Truth and proclaiming: "Here is the Truth!"

I look again at the man in the doorway... he befits the Truth and Unity much better when he smiles - like he is now. His wisdom is such that perhaps Sunday suits and ties would do well to humble themselves before, seeing Jesus in the best and worst places of His world.

The Cynic and The Schizophrenic

You sit at the edge of Subic's walkway in a small dress meant for a girl much younger than you. Actually... it's more of a crouch. Barefoot, you rock yourself back and forth in nothing but the little dress, mumbling to yourself.

Yet you are clean.

Your toenails are manicured and tipped, as are your fingernails... your, now disheveled, was done up nicely at some point. You don't see me. You keep rocking back and forth, mumbling in terrified tones, wobbling back and forth on your haunches, picking at your toenails, not looking up. You don't see me...

...but I see you.

Money?

Food?

I have little of the first and none of the second with me. The ever present cynicism arises in me like bitter gall: "God won't heal her. He doesn't do that sort of thing anymore..." Vestiges of Bible college come back to haunt me. The childlike faith in me begs to believe, but the grown up cynic sneers that I know God better than He knows Himself. He won't heal you. 

I walk on.

What was I supposed to do? Pray for you?

Prayer is action, I've always said. It always seems so when I'm alone, locked away in a closet where God and I are alone. But it seems absolutely, fundamentally dehumanizing to turn around and touch you on the shoulder, see your plight, and simply say: "Can I pray for you?"

Yes, you would be justified in smacking me.

What's going on inside your head?

Who hurt you that you ran out onto the walkway in nothing more than a shift?

Where is your heart?

My feet keep me walking on and on and I find myself in front of the local Christian bookstore. Feeling the need for comfort or some kind of answer to my faith crisis, I enter. My hope is to find teaching or words of encouragement from my Filipino brothers and sisters. Not so...

Jesus junk.

Just like in Canada.

And lots of it.

Placards and bumper stickers, pens and bookmarks.

The books?

All western authors... sigh. So we have penetrated even here too. We are not thirsty to hear and learn from our family in other countries? We must always be the teachers, the leaders, the wise, the proud?

Even a book about the 'success story' of Wal-Mart lines the shelves and how YOU can experience that success too!

Really? In this poverty... in this world... in this, your feminine shadow rocking back and forth... we have the pride to declare that we all can have the success of Wal-Mart?

I wander the store trying to find expressions of worship and life according to Christ in the Philippines but the shelves are lined with American authors up and down the rows. Do you really crave us this much? Have you any idea what you ask for? Have you any idea how starved we are in our spirits?

No.

You don't.

You pick at your toenails, rock back and forth on your heels, praying for something unintelligable... except by God. Oh God, that your voice would be heard!

I failed you. I walked on certain I had nothing for you.

Yet even in the presence of great teachers and theologians, I felt no assurance. Nothing to offer you that would begin to heal your spirit. 'Tis I that must come back to you. It's me that must see you. God must bring me face to face with you again, and we will know each other by the Spirit between us.

He is working in You.

I pray that childlike faith would begin to work again in me.

Tyhpoon

Right now we're in the midst of a typhoon (major tropical storm). Internationally you may have heard it called Typhoon Nock-Ten, but locally it is known as Typhoon Juaning. 10 people have been confirmed dead, and 10 others are reported missing. Pray for our little community here at YWAM as we hunker down to weather the storm, and also for all the girls, boys, men and women in the bars who still work despite the deadly conditions.

Christians Would NEVER...

A trend I've been observing for quite some time now, and one that is tangibly blatant here in Olongapo City/Subic Bay is that idea that: there are no Christian extremists. We aren't like Muslims after all. We have the Truth in our midst. If we are mistreated, it's because the world hates Christians.

Hmmm... perhaps we had better think this through a little bit.

My brother posted a discussion re: Norway's shootings and the media being certain to label Breivik as a "Christian extremist", and the backlash this is generating. According to some believers, this is outrageous and the people only want to portray Christians as evil manipulators. REAL Christians would NEVER commit such a crime! REAL Christians aren't capable of extremism.

That in itself is a form of extremism.

Here in the Philippines, customers demanding sex wear crosses all the time. Yeah sure they know Christ! They're god-fearing men with wives and children! They work hard and deserve a little play time! If these people are selling flesh, then by all means -- take. Good fruit, right?

No extremism indeed.

When a class of people calling themselves believers maintain that it's their right and choice to take sex and power from an oppressed people group, that's extremism especially if they are deliberately and knowingly doing so with the justification of abusing the freedom we now have in God's grace. Yes, a Christian commited a heinous crime. Can the media twist this for its own ends? Of course! It's the media. That's what it does.

However...

To declare that the media is doing so because "the world hates Christians" is a cop out. It gives imperfect people justification under faith to explain away evil things that they do. Like the johns down here in SE Asia who are all upstanding citizens in their home countries, Christians are human and fallible to legalism, moralism, fatalism, materialism, racism, doctrinism, or any other -ism you can name. These -isms oppress, hurt, kill, exploit, and have nothing to do with the character of God.

As Christians, if we maitain that this is impossible for there to be Christian extremists, perhaps we need to dig around history a little bit again? Or for me right now... walk into the nearest bar and watch the liberties Christians take with other people groups.

We are not above atrocity. If it were not so, we would not be so admonished and warned repeatedly throughout the Old and New Testaments to be on guard, to watch out, to treasure the grace in which we now stand, and to get it through our thick heads that it is in no way acceptable to go on sinning so that grace may increase.

I'm glad the world knows Breivik is a Christian. We need to learn grace for our own brother, as well as learn that not all backlash against believers is because of Christ.

Sometimes, it's because we are the wrongdoers and we are the ones hurting those around us.

Bright Spirits in a Dark World - Life in the Mampweng Tribe

So with all the darker aspects of this practicum mission -- bar ministries, hard testimonies, community dynamics, poverty (more the lack of western understanding of poverty than the sight of it here, if you get what I'm saying), and shootings around the world -- I thought I needed to report about what I think is going to be one the single greatest highlights of my trip here to the Philippines.

Reverend Joven T. Discartin, a local pastor in Olongapo City, hikes out to the Mampweng Tribe in the high hills outside the urban areas. There he serves a beautiful people who live simply, give generously, and love deeply. His Word of Hope Church sits beneath sprawling palm trees that keep it cool in the muggy hot weather, and stands beside a run-off stream from the larger river just down the way from the village. It is serene, idyllic, primitive, and wonderful.

After we eagerly accepted his invitation to come and worship with the tribes people, a YWAMer offered to lead the children's portion of the service and I accepted the offer to give the sermon to the adults. Leaving at 6am yesterday morning (Sunday, July 24), we took a jeepney to the edge of Olongapo where bamboo homes are common, and the lush greenery begins to get thicker. We set out on a tiny path through the forest, tall grasses, across rivers, and bridges. We were all sweating freely by 7am, so we were thankful to have left early! I couldn't have imagined doing the hike in the heat of the day.

Arriving by midmorning, I marvelled at the indescribable quality of tribal life before me. The church sat at the base of a steep hill where grass thatch and bamboo huts clung to the sides of the rocks in a vast upward slope. The children had heard us noisy missionaries coming and were waiting to greet us! Shy at first, we had them playing games and climbing trees in no time! The adults, just as shy and quiet as the children, sat back and watched in pride their offspring sharing their culture with the newcomers.

The sermon went all right, as sermons go (the big blotchy sweat stains all over my shirt made the impression all the more lovely... ha!). Yet it was what happened afterward that captured my heart. We were led down a footpath to a large, deep river. There were rapids upstream and rapids downstream, but in between were slower, deeper waters carving their way at the base of the cliff upon which the village was built.

Much to my surprise, there suddenly arose a snorting noise from the river's edge. Up from the waters arose a water buffalo! Domesticated by the tribe, she was tied there so she could cool down freely in the flowing water without wandering off, and nibble on the tought tufts of grass in and around the rocks. I never thought I would say this in my entire life but: I have now swam with a water buffalo!!!!

Some of us couldn't wait to dive in! We were so hot! I had worn my swimsuit beneath my clothes while hiking up to the tribe, so all I had to do was shuck off my sweaty t-shirt and capris, don my board shorts, and collide headfirst with beautiful, soothing, cool clean water!!!! It was HEAVENLY!!!

At first it was only our team out there paddling around. But then I saw a small naked body standing on a rock in the middle of the cliff! He grinned at me and then dove head first into the aqua coolness. Treading water, I stared at the cliff only to see more brown bodies, grinning faces, and sudden giant splashes all around me. It was freedom incarnate! Stripped down to nakedness, the Mampweng children were eager to share in our fun! They showed off by diving, jumping, back flipping and somersaulting into their favourite swimming hole.

Not wanting to miss out on any of the fun, I climbed the cliff as far as a my heavier adult body could go on slippery rock and loose dirt, and turned to jump. What I saw below was a scene of perfect delight and unihibited joy: those small, slippery brown bodies swimming beneath the clear aqua surface back towards the cliff to jump again. They were like sleek, beautiful fish massing in the depths. As they surfaced, they looked up at me with those bright dark eyes and fierce smiles, and hollered at me to jump in. And thus I did!

So all afternoon we played... we worshipped God in our laughter, in our fun in the rapids, in our cliff jumps, in our stripping away of the darkness of the world, and being renewed and cleansed by clean cool water. This was not poverty. The huts were a testament to craftsmanship, the hunting and farming a voice to hard work, the 'primitive' life a quiet but uninhibited song to a people who have loved God for generations in a culture rich with meaning and life.

I'll never forget looking down at those fish-children in the water -- dark and dolphin like. Their innocence commanded me to jump -- to be free in faith -- and not any sermon or hardened doctrine.

Oh... and swimming with Irene also made the hard trek to reach this church all the more phenomenal (Irene being the water buffalo)... lol!!!

 

MJ

She says her name is "MJ". I know that's not her real name because here in Subic Bay/Olongapo City, like so many other places in the world, real names are never used. I was surprised to find that names were used here at all. Many places 'employing' a lot of men, women and children use only numbers and it's client's choice which number he wants as a companion. But MJ it is, and I tell her "My name is Erin".

I smile as she tries to repeat it. Most cultures outside of North America or Gaelic-based cultures seem to share the same difficulty with saying a name beginning with a short vowel. No matter. She is pleased that she speaks my name well and I tell I'm impressed. She is tall and slender for being Filipine, and wears braces. The braces give away that someone is paying for her "beautification", but I don't mention it. It's simply an unspoken reality she wears on her face.

She is bubbly, vivacious, and eager to please. She races to get me a glass of pineapple juice, and appears delighted at the invitation to sit and talk with me. Despite my stilted and poor efforts at small talk, she is patient and carries her end of the conversation well. It's not that I cower at sharing my faith... it's that a part of my Aspie self cannot carry on small talk. Even with practice and prep, it is one of the hardest things in the world for me to accomplish and it makes outreach for me a source of fear and frustration. My poor hearing and the loud background music don't help. But she's friendly enough and we laugh at my teammates who are trying to impress other girls with their pool playing skills.

I ask if she has children. Her face brightens more and she confirms that she does -- a 3 month old boy. She's only been working at this particular bar for 1 week, but she needs the money to support her son. She's proud that he's "a foreigner's baby". At least... that's how she makes it sound. The foreigner is long gone and the 22 year old MJ is on her own to raise her child.

I ask if this kind of work is something she wants to do for the rest of her life. Her effervescence disappears and tears well up in her eyes. She tells me she hates it here -- she hates herself -- and she wants out. I explain about who Jesus is, what Tamar and YWAM are, and that there is a place she and her baby can come and receive education, family, love and Christ. She is eager at the thought of it... or so it seemed.

I motion for one of the YWAM staffers to come over so she can give MJ contact info and directions to where we are. Suddenly, the switch is flipped again; and just as fast as she became teary from her welcoming face, she suddenly became flirty and party-ish. She tells my YWAM friend that she would OF COURSE come and visit us "as long as there is alcohol!"

Hmmmm...

Throughout the night, the snap changes in mood and tone concern me. Is she tweaking? Every time I glance at her hands and feet, they are continually moving anxiously - nails tapping the table, knees bouncing up and down rapidly. Is she high? Is she cluing in that I'm not a paying customer and she's stuck with a missionary? Is there spiritual oppression invading her spirit? All of the above?

We begin a game of pool with 2 others. The flirty persona is ramped up, and she shows off her talent. We have fun, but she sits to wait her turn, her face is a mask of boredom and disgust. Then she turns and asks me more about why we would come here and make friends with her... she asks about church... God... Jesus... the tears threatening to spill over again.

Men enter the bar.

Tears are gone and MJ jumps up, leaves our group, and followes the 2 sailors. A large ship has docked tonight. Plenty of work for everyone.

She's rejected. They blow her off.

She sits alone at the bar for awhile and then comes back and sits beside me in a huff.

She asks about a male teammate of mine, the flirty grin coming back as quickly as her embarrassment over her rejection. I give her basic answers but tell her he's no interested in her in "that way". That's not why he's here. He loves her with a different love... a better love. She mutters something in anger, crosses her legs, and looks the other way for a long time.

An older man with white hair is at the bar now. She becomes seductive, approaches him, caresses his back, and speaks into his ear. He, too, refuses her. Once again she storms back to our group, switches to fun and flirty, sits with me, asks about why in the world I would want to be her friend, gets close to tears, and then goes off to approach a man in his 30s at the bar.

He lets her stay... but they don't go anywhere. Eventually, he waves her off.

Thrice rejected.

No show. No dough.

She's not making a lot of money tonight and her anxiety level is reaching epic proportions. Whoever she has to pay -- the Mama San, the owner, her pimp, her landlord, herself for baby supplies, food and clean water -- all that is weighing on her and that weight is creating a war within her soul. She goes back to fun and flirty with us... amazed and suspicious and yet curious with me... seductive to customers... welcoming and shy to other teammates.

How many MJ's are there in there? Who is this beautiful girl really?

Another girl walks past. MJ sighs and expresses how sexy that girl is, and how ugly she is -- gangly and small chested. I turn to ask her more about how she sees herself, but she only shrugs and goes back to rapping her nails into the bamboo table, her toes tapping the life out of the floor.

She disappears for a time. My heart sinks. This girl seems so trapped within herself! A beautiful girl with a quick mind and bright smile, her circumstances threaten to tear the core of her apart. I had hoped to perhaps convince her to at least come and inspect Tamar/YWAM... just a look. No expectations.

As the night draws to a close, MJ comes running out from the back. "You are leaving?" she asks. I tell her it's late and it's time for us to be getting back. "Are you coming back?" she asks hopefully. I assure her we would be back on the strip next Thursday and Friday. We would come see her. She smiles what seems to be a smile of relief, but with so many MJs showing themselves in the span of 1.5 hours, I am no longer sure.

As we walk down the highway to catch a jeepney, we realize one of our staffers isn't with us. I run back to see where she is, and there's MJ... giving the staffer her personal information and receiving YWAM's.

I'm elated as I am cautious.

It's a step.

Perhaps one day, I will know her real name. If I never hear it, that's okay. God knows it well and has been whispering it in deep and ferocious love since He knit her together in her mother's womb. It is His voice she needs to hear so that the face she wears becomes her own.

Keeping My Cool

Well, week #1 is winding down. Can't quite believe that.

God supports everything. He loves everyone. His anger burns against the wicked, yet He longs that none should perish.

None.

Even the smug, wolfish men entering the bars and grabbing any girl they choose.

Yes... last night I was there in the lions' den. Every Thursday night I will be (Thursday morning for you guys), so please: each Thursday morning from now until I return, I beg of you to intercede for me, for the YWAM team, and for the girls we meet up with and hang out with.

We go "bar"-hopping (bar: AKA strip joints, peep shows, brothels). There are countless numbers of them along this one strip just outside Olongapo towards Subic Bay where the Americans used to have their army base (hence the HUGE prostitution issue). Each bar has a few eye-candy girls out front cat-calling people to come inside, as well as a beefy looking guy to show who's boss -- for patrons and for the girls. Our barriers are these men -- "managers", "owners" -- and the women pimps or "Mama Sans". Because the atmosphere is more resort-based, it is more laid back than in other areas I've been in, so most manager, owners and Mama Sans don't mind YWAM coming and encouraging the girls. It's good business, right? Makes them look good. That surprised me. Usually, taking the time up of any girl (or boy) cut into profits, but there are so many that taking up the time of one doesn't break the bank... makes the girl feel good... makes her a better worker... ugh, the logic. No matter. It gets us in. YWAM has established an amazing and godly rapport with the girls down in Subic Bay -- a testimony to how God is creating transformation.

So we go in, chat up girls we encounter, play pool, and then invite them for lunch at the YWAM base the next day (Friday morning for me, Thursday evening for you) -- and we share the Gospel, this safe haven community for girls longing to escape and how there's education, skills training, and... FAMILY. Last night we had commitments from 5 girls who wanted to come. Please pray that Christ would move in them to see that He has so much more for them... that He LOVES them... that by coming here could mean a totally new creation in them.

While many of the girls appeared to be over 18, and even in their late 20s, some of them couldn't have been more than 11 or 12... I know some Asian girls can look a lot younger than their age belies, but truly... just little girls forced into day-glo green bikinis, twirling around poles, and pleasing rich white men in their 40s and 50s. I could have thrown up.

Pray too I'd keep my cool. Men have NO right to exploit these women! There are so many more factors at play here, I know, but men have the choice to be ruled by Christ and not by their lust. Yet last night, as I was playing pool with "Lola", I had to fight to quell the indignation and rage against these men paying for the used of these girls' bodies... and laughing about it. They are "the least" too... Jesus wants them too. Jesus doesn't want them to perish. Yet when a grabby Australian comes at me for a good time, my instinct is to grab him by his crotch, squeeze and whisper: "You have NO authority here!"... just being honest (edited my words too as they were heading towards profanity). I wanted him to suffer like he was making others' suffer. It would have done no good. I held my temper, smiled, waved farewell and walked away. Hmmm... that did something. Some of these men are not used to having women walk away on them. They get want they want, when they want it. Oh God, that you would break this pride and greed!

I'd better go... the girls who are curious about us will arrive soon and we need to get ready. I've been told that most times it will take them coming a few times before those who choose to commit to the Tamar Community stay but still... planted seeds in the midst of a tropical monsoon of darkness, lust and poverty.

In the meantime... some more rules and lessons surviving the Philippines:
1. Don't believe anyone who says that there are NO mosquitoes during winter season. The bites on your arms and legs will prove them wrong.

2. Yes, the Philippines have THRIFT stores which they keep fastidiously neat!!!! They will allow travelers without checked luggage to find cheap clothes. :D

3. Pineapple, mango, bananas... never from Extra Foods. Either straight from the tree or bought from a fruit vendor who picked them straight from the tree the same day. double :D The taste is incomparable to what we get in Canada (imagine the difference between domestic strawberries, and the little wild strawberries that are SO worth waiting for!)

4. Don't begin anything you cannot finish: when you act as jungle gym for one child, you will become the play thing for ALL the children unceasingly until they are finished with you... which is never.

5. No matter where you go in the world, if you sneeze in small rapid-fire sneezes, they will be the laughing topic of conversation for days, months, YEARS to come. Get used to it.

When The Kids See It All

Many of the women living here at Tamar (name of YWAM Olongapo's community) bring their children with them. Honestly, there is nothing like waking up in the morning and heading down to the main area to see small, dark-eyed Filipino children scrambling around, laughing, playing, smiling shyly at me, and begging to use my digital camera! (lol...) Of the many joys I am experiencing here, a top one would be the innocence and wonder of the children here.

Not a lot of personal circumstances surrounding the children have been shared with me yet in terms of whether or not they themselves have been victimized. However, some of them have been eye-witnesses over and over again to their mothers' victimization. They have see sex, rape, prostitution, women lined up in bars with numbers pinned to their panties (always easier to abuse a person when they're a number and not a human), as well as physical and emotional abuse.

What is going on in the minds and hearts of these little ones?

The tiny ones... the babies... I wonder if they'll remember anything at all (what a blessing that would be). Some of the older ones though I cannot help but stare into their dark eyes and sense a brooding fear. "This community will fail us too.".... "Mom will go back"... "He'll find us"... "Women are just trash"... messages and lies and fears whispering around their spirits already where the enemy will corner them and gloat in taking them for his own.

How quickly the enemy forgets his own defeat.

There is healing here. There is transformation here. There is LOVE here.

As the mothers begin to see changes in their little ones, it spurs them on towards pursuing God's freedom for themselves. As the children, then, see the new creations in their mothers, a tenuous trust begins to blossom. Childhood is restored. Renewed. Redeemed.

Just yesterday in the wee hours of the morning, one of the newest 'disciples' (clients) gave birth to her 3rd child. She gave birth after having been with Tamar/YWAM for only 2 months, with 2 older children, and a smoldering demeanour of mistrust, fear and weariness.

But the beautiful boy was born into freedom... into love... into God's family.

Now that's humility.

That's power.

That's a song the underground will sing of for ages to come.

"My Kids Gotta Eat..."

Debt bondage: the process by which oppressors keep people enslaved by continuing to rack up real or false debts owed by the oppressed. Things such as visas, plane tickets, room and board, clothing, drugs, jewellery, or anything that can have a dollar amount attached to it is obscenely and wrongly placed upon the shoulders of slaves making it virtually impossible for them to pay back what they "owe". The process is so oppressive in some cultures that debts are passed down from generation to generation, and babies are, from the time they are born, owned by oppressors.

In Canada, debt bondage is common. A pimp or recruiter will love a bomb a girl (for example) with fancy cell phones, nice clothes, money, drugs or other material goods all under the pretense that these are acts of devotion and caring. In reality, they are acts of blackmail that will come back to haunt the girl when the pimp says: "Pay up." Then the girl is turned out to work the debt off, but mysteriously it keeps rising. Suddenly there are more debts to be paid and more reasons why she cannot buy her freedom.

I expected something similar in the Philippines. While it certainly happens here, local workers and former prostitutes say it is not as common as in other countries. 71% of Filipino families cannot make ends meet each month with the wages they earn, and children must eat. Poverty, shame, shaky familiy situations, fear, abuse and drugs all play roles in prostitution and sexual slavery but often if a girl pays off her debt, she's free to go. Where one leaves, there are 10 more to take her place.

What's sad is that when a girl is forced to begin her life as a prostitute at 7... 11... 15 years old, that's all she knows. She wants nothing more than to be free, and makes intelligent and strong plans to win that freedom. But once out of the trade... ????? Many girls return "voluntarily" (I have my qualms about how that word is interpreted) because it's all they know. They hate themselves for it, they feel disgusting, ashamed, and dirty. But without education, family, medical care, home, or God, where is she to go? What else is she to do? Female pimps are common here and often make a good deal of cash. With 3 mouths to feed, they choke down their shame knowing it's wrong to sell flesh for cash, and focus on raising their children... hopefully to a better life.