The Power of Hope: A Jesuit Training Center in Cambodia

Banteay Prieb turns a killing field into a field of dreams

Twenty-five kilometers outside of Phnom Penh down National Highway 4, a sun-baked sign with a white dove insignia marks the unassuming entrance to Banteay Prieb and the bucolic grounds of this Jesuit-run vocational training school for the disabled.

Not so long ago, during the heat of Cambodia’s bloody civil war, nothing about Banteay Prieb—“Center of the Dove”—felt dove-like, unassuming, or bucolic. This spot once housed a military communications center during Lon Nol’s reign and a prison under the notorious Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge.

But in 1991, reversing whatever Faustian bargain had previously been struck, the government granted Banteay Prieb to the Jesuits. And since then, this killing field has become a field of dreams for more than 1,500 people. Worthy of its name, this Center of the Dove has risen like a phoenix from the ashes.

Inside the front gates, another busy day of training comes to a close. A gentle evening light settles in as the last few students straggle out of the workshops. Under the auspices of Jesuit Service Cambodia since 1994, Banteay Prieb offers training certificates in five areas—mechanics, electronics, sewing, agriculture, and sculpture.

As the students make their way to the shared living quarters nearby, leisure time is already in full swing. Volleyballs fly. Radios play. Dinners sizzle. Whoops of laughter cut clean through the heavy tropical air.

An air of confidence

Now early July, nine months into the twelve-month program, this year’s 106-student class has found its rhythm. Confidence is brimming, social networks are building, and independence is growing—all of which were in short supply upon the students’ arrival last October.

“When we recruit in the villages, it’s common for our team to uncover disabled children who’ve been hiding in their homes for a number of years,” says Fr. In-don Oh, SJ, Banteay Prieb’s director. “They’re ashamed and their families are ashamed. Self-esteem is a major problem.

“Cambodian society takes a rather unsympathetic view toward the disabled,” reveals Oh, who moved from Korea to Cambodia in 1997 and was named director of Banteay Prieb a year ago. “It’s a Buddhist country that views handicaps as the result of some fault committed in a former life, because you did something wrong. They don’t think of this as a social problem, but an individual problem.”

War’s legacy

Even though Khmer Rouge factions laid down their weapons in 1998, the legacy of decades of civil war and genocide still haunts Cambodian society. War accidents, antipersonnel mines, and lack of access to vaccinations explain why Cambodia possesses one of the world’s largest disabled populations. The United Nations estimates Cambodia has as many as 50,000 landmine victims and 60,000 people affected by polio.

Disability and poverty are inextricably intertwined in Cambodia, where poverty is overwhelmingly a rural phenomenon. About 93 percent of Cambodia’s poor live in the countryside, the same place not so coincidentally where 4 million to 6 million unexploded landmines still lurk in the subsoil. For those who live near these mine-affected areas and have to fetch firewood or till the earth for survival, simple day-to-day living can pose great risk. That reality, coupled with inadequate access to health care, begs trouble for many rural poor.

Yet as much as poverty causes disability, it is also a major consequence of disability.

“In Cambodia, everybody is poor, everybody wants a job, and everybody has to eat,” laments Oh. “The disabled are always last in line.”

Or maybe, better said, they were last in line. Slowly, one Banteay Prieb student at a time, Cambodia’s disabled are simply refusing to remain in that line. As Oh makes his rounds, he points out a dimple-faced girl from Siem Reap in a wheelchair. Like so many of the students who attend Banteay Prieb, twenty-year-old Sokkon Duen is a casualty of war.

As sunlight fades, Duen pores over her clothing-design workbook. She reviews the day’s assignment and prepares for tomorrow’s. Her friends lean over her wheelchair to peek at her drawings.

Stricken by polio when she was five months old, Duen has no use of her legs and only partial control of her left arm. Shy and delicate, she wields a heart-melting smile. Frankly, it takes some effort to imagine how Duen can maneuver herself up to a sewing machine, let alone operate it. However, by using a sewing machine she controls by swiveling her hips and thighs, Duen has not only figured out how to make blouses and trousers but has also mastered the art and, in the process, risen to the top of her class.

A matter of empowerment

Success in the workshop, while important, represents only one side of the empowerment equation. The other is “psycho-social development,” which Oh explains through Duen’s personal story.

“We have two vacations during the school year. During our last break Duen traveled home alone to Siem Reap. That’s a six-hour bus journey!” says Oh.

“But not just that, while she was home, she decided to go visit her aunt who lives in some other distant village. This is the same girl who before coming to Banteay Prieb hardly left her house and I don’t think ever left her village. I know it took several home visits by our staff to finally convince her to enroll here. She really didn’t want to come. When she was fifteen, she didn’t even want to live any more. So when I heard about her recent vacation and what she did, I just started to cry.”

To Oh’s delight, Duen is no longer willing to accept crumbs. Full of self-confidence from her months at Banteay Prieb, Duen now expects cake—an independent life that she can manage as she sees fit—and the freedom to eat it too.

Oh and his staff, which currently includes two other Korean Jesuits, Oh-chang Kwon, in charge of pastoral care, and Su-yun Park, head of production, understand the next challenge for Duen starts the day she graduates from Banteay Prieb.

“It’s not enough to train them in production,” says Oh.

“When they head back to their village, they have to have something to do,” explains Vann Klieng, 42, a ’92 graduate and the current principal of Banteay Prieb, who lost one leg to a landmine during the war. “That way villagers will accept them more. So we help them set up a workshop.”

That’s not all. Banteay Prieb’s outreach program continues to offer support to graduates five years out. Usually that translates to providing the means for self-sufficiency—sewing machines, welding equipment, tool chests, and raw materials—and often extends to providing house repair, well construction, and counseling support as necessary.

Attracting support

Banteay Prieb sits near the top of the heap of the many nongovernmental organizations providing services to the disabled in Cambodia. It is the oldest, most renowned, and most comprehensive program of its kind. The government has recognized its curriculum as the national standard for training of the disabled. Other organizations follow Banteay Prieb’s best practices. And the support Banteay Prieb receives from international circles is impressive.

Over the years, hundreds of lay people and Jesuits have contributed to Banteay Prieb’s mission. Spaniard Fr. Joaqui Salord, SJ, Banteay Prieb’s former director, has inspired volunteers from all corners of Europe to lend a hand. The tragic death of Fr. Richie Fernando, SJ, a 26-year-old Filipino who was killed in 1996 by grenade while trying to restrain a troubled student at Banteay Prieb, has galvanized countless fellow Asians to get involved. Thai lay people have assisted in mechanics, Australians in agriculture, and Germans in electronics. The list goes on.

One Tuesday in July alone, some 30 visitors passed through Banteay Prieb. Eleven students from Sogang University in Seoul made Banteay Prieb their base for a weeklong “exposure” trip. A bus from Phnom Penh unloaded a group of Australian teachers who visited with the students and attended a Mass. Singing and eating ensued. Afterwards, Sr. Denise Coghlan, RSM, outgoing director of Jesuit Service in Cambodia, led a reflection among the visitors.

Something about Banteay Prieb lends itself to reflection. Maybe it is the contrast of cultures and the spirit of sharing that pervades the tranquil surroundings.

Giving life meaning

“In Korea now, we’re quite developed. Our lifestyle is very comfortable. It’s easy to lose the meaning of life,” reflects Oh. “So people come here to share, smile, and learn the simplicity of life. And they ask: what is important about life? They take those questions home with them.

“My experience as a missionary in Cambodia confirmed my vocation,” recounts Oh. “In Korea, we have a strong Jesuit and Catholic life. But here, it’s mostly Buddhist. Sometimes I confuse my identity. ‘If I’m a priest, who are my sheep?’ But in a wider sense, everybody has the presence of God. We talk about how God presents among the people, the marginalized and the poor. And that encourages me to be here.”

Kwon, who recently arrived at Banteay Prieb to provide pastoral care to the students, has contemplated the same questions of identity and purpose. “My superior said, ‘just be with the students,’ ” he says. “But my Khmer is poor, no medical experience, no education as a counselor. It’s frustrating not to be able to help more.

“But here I see the power of hope,” he continues. “Civil war is difficult, poverty is difficult, and the lack of education is difficult. But you can’t keep the beauty of human beings from blossoming.”

The story and photos by Peter Lemieux originally appeared in the Fall 2009 issue of Company magazine (pages 17-23).