The Liberator, or: Right Impulse, Wrong Action

The background: Nicholas Kristof, a NY Times columnist whose columns often focus on gender as a social justice issue, traveled to Cambodia a little over a year ago. There he met some sex-trafficking victims and wrote a few columns about them, describing them as shy and trembling. He bought two of them from their brothels and returned them to their families. He recently returned to Cambodia to see how the two girls were doing. One girl has been moderately successful in a business venture; the other has a methamphetamine addiction and has returned to working in a brothel to support her drug addiction.

And here I am, sitting in judgment.

One, I object to the manner in which these girls were removed. Although Kristof never mentions this in any of his columns, there are several organizations dedicated to the protection of sex-trafficking victims in SE Asia. Public health and social work experts have been doing this kind of work for years. If Kristof had contacted some of these groups, he could possibly have gotten involved in a larger rescue operation, one that would have benefited 50 or 100 girls, not just two. By not involving the groups that work daily to do this rescue work, by not even mentioning them, Kristof has made this his own personal campaign. What if he had mentioned some of these groups and concerned readers could send money to them? What if he had interviewed some of the workers who for years have been removing children from brothels? No, he chose to go it alone, heroic cowboy, and now we can all say oh, what a wonderful man he is.

What a wonderful man. How generous, how unusual, for a white Western educated man to care about the lives of young SE Asian girls. We should all be so grateful to this man for stepping outside his male domain to pay attention to the problems of young brown women in another nation. Right?

Wrong. I know it is unfair to blame Kristof for being a white Western educated male; we can’t help who we’re born to. However, this whole process feels to me like the Big White Man Liberating the Trembling Brown Girls From the Horrors of Their Native Land. If you don’t believe me, listen to his voiceover in some of the multimedia presentations. Dripping with paternalistic pity.

Finally, I know that in order to increase awareness of the problem, we need photos and stories about it — how else would anyone know? — but I feel like a voyeur when these two girls reunite tearfully with their families and the camera zooms in on their faces. That’s a private moment we don’t all need to share. I wonder how the family felt about having their emotions broadcast?

Neocolonialism, even when well-intended, is still not the way to go about liberation operations. (Of course, if people listened to me, then the world would be different…)