The Ones We Left Behind

Bui Doi - "The Dust of Life" The Vietnam War had a profound impact on the lives of millions - those of us who actively participated in it, as well as the others who found themselves caught up in it, just innocent victims of uncaring fate. Of all the tragic stories that came out of that war, one of the most heart rending is the story of the tens of thousands of unwanted children in South Vietnam, Thailand, Laos and Cambodia, who were fathered by American GI's, then left behind to face a life of rejection and cruelty. They are the "Bui Doi - the dust of life." In two small words, this Vietnamese phrase so eloquently describes their status in life. They were and are an inconvenience, a burden on their society. Unwanted children of mixed heritage, their only crime was the crime of being born, yet they were rejected by both sides. Looked upon as nothing more than a useless by product of living, "the dust of life", they are but chaff to be blown away by the wind, of less value than the soil on which we tread. Some were fortunate enough to survive to adulthood and find their way out to a new life. Most though, still remain there, forever outcasts of society - pariahs and foreigners in their own land and unwanted or unknown by the American fathers they never knew. They are a part of a past that still haunts us today. Many of them by now have fathered or given birth to children of their own, children who may face the very same rejection and prejudice their parents have faced all their lives. And many of these, our grand children, will be abandoned by their own parents to eke out a life on the streets, or if they are fortunate enough, to grow to maturity in an orphanage somewhere. This is the ongoing legacy of that war. Born in the wrong place at the wrong time, the Bui Doi have paid and will continue to pay the price for their parents' indiscretions.
"Bui Doi" from the Stage Musical, "Miss Saigon" ************************ like all survivors, I once thought when I'm home I won't give a damn but now I know I'm caught I'll never leave Vietnam war isn't over when it ends some pictures never leave your mind they are the faces of the children the ones we left behind they're called bui-doi the dust of life conceived in hell and born in strife they are the living reminders of all the good we failed to do we can't forget must not forget that they are all our children too these kids hit walls on every side they don't belong in any place their secret they can't hide it's printed on their face I never thought one day I'd plead for half-breeds from a land that's torn but then I saw a camp for children whose crime was being born they're called bui-doi the dust of life conceived in hell and born in strife we owe them fathers, and a family and loving homes they never knew because we know deep in our hearts that they are all our children too these are souls in need they need us to give someone has to pay for their chance to live help me try they're called bui-doi the dust of life conceived in hell and born in strife they are the living reminders of all the good we failed to do that's why we know - that's why we know deep in our hearts - deep in our hearts that's why we know that they are all our children... ...too ************************
Patchara’s Story as related by Patchara to Robert Wheatley This is Patchara’s true story. It is but one of many that could be told of the tens of thousands of fatherless children of Southeast Asia. Like the others, it is a story of tragedy, but hers is also a story of triumph in the face of incredible adversity. It is a tribute to her inner strength, and to the potential that lies within the human spirit - within the soul of every one of us. This account of her struggles and her courage is dedicated to her, our dear Patchara. No last names are used here, and the first names of the other characters in her story have been changed to protect her, our friend, Patchara. Part One "An Ocean of Tears" "It is not easy being Patchara!", she says today. The average person who meets her would never suspect. On the outside they find an attractive, intelligent, witty, sensitive, perceptive, warm young lady, who is a delight to converse with. She is an honest, strong person, a defender of the defenseless, outspoken wherever she sees injustice. Respected by all in her community, she is a self made, successful individual. She has a nice home, vacations in the islands and all of the trappings that financial security brings. But inside there is a part of her that is hidden to most, a dark sorrowful side with a deep seated unfulfilled longing and an aching, burning pain that just will not go away. It is a side of her one can understand only by knowing her past. Patchara came to know rejection and hardship very early in life. Referred to as simply "Mem" by family members, it would be many years before she would learn her proper name that had been recorded on her birth certificate. She was born "Patcharaporn" in August, 1972 in Namphong, Thailand. Her birth was the result of a union between an American GI and her Thai mother, Charunee. Patchara, as she now refers to herself, had been blessed with a remarkable physical beauty. But that beauty, a trait which could have been such an asset in other places, in other circumstances, was instead a curse for her. For it would only compound her problems in life. In Thailand, being a "half-breed" was bad enough. Being a beautiful half-breed must have been very threatening somehow to the jealous ones around her, ones who were of "purer blood lines" than she. And her light brown hair and light complexion left absolutely no doubt in anyone’s mind about her mixed heritage. It was a certain giveaway to anyone who saw her - a public testimony to her "shame." Patchara’s mother, Charunee, was considered the "black sheep" of the family - a prostitute. Prior to her liaison with the American, she had been married to a Thai soldier and had given birth to four sons by him. But apparently, she sought greener pastures among the ubiquitous American GI’s that had come to help fight the Communists in the Vietnam War. The Americans were from a "land of plenty" and riches, and I guess, like many other Thai ladies, she may have wanted to have a piece of that for herself. And in all fairness, she may have loved him as well. But whatever the reason, at age 27 she gave birth to her fifth child, Patchara, fathered by the American. But Charunee left Patchara at a very young age, abandoning her with relatives. For this bastard child, born out of wedlock, had failed to make the American father stay, or to take her out with him when he left. To her mother, Patchara had now become a useless garment to be shed, like the heavy winter coat, useful enough in the cold of winter, but only so much excess baggage in the heat of summer - just a burden to carry around with her. As for her father, Patchara’s only memory of him is represented in a worn and blurred photograph, creased and faded with age. It is dated 1975, the year the Americans left. Patchara was three years old. In the photo, a young American GI stands behind her. Her tiny hands are reaching up to grasp his fingers. She keeps it with her to this day. It is her only link to the man whom she believes is her father. She still wonders why he left her there. Though Patchara’s mother to this day continues to deny he is the man, Patchara knows in her heart that it is him. Her American heritage is a source of pride for her even today. But it was that pride in the half of her that was not Thai which colored her attitude even then, and perhaps brought more punishment down upon her head than she might otherwise have had to endure. "You are too much like your father!", her mother would accuse. "I wish you were dead!" After her mother left, it was Patchara’s grandparents who took her in and raised her through the early years of her life. Patchara shared a bed with her grandmother in the humble household. Grandfather was a fisherman, and grandmother a food vendor. They were the only ones in the family who accepted her and treated her as human. Being the product of an illicit affair with a foreigner, she was the symbol of the family’s shame in the community, and accordingly, she was also the object of the family’s hatred. In this environment, Patchara would be the one to pay the price for her parent’s sins. She was rejected, and was constantly derided and looked down upon by all of her aunts, uncles and cousins. "What good are you!? You are worthless!", they would tell her. "Look! Even your mother doesn’t want you!", they chided. (As if that was all the evidence they needed to prove their point.) But the abuse went well beyond those harsh words, which were hurtful enough in themselves. Patchara recalls vividly the day an aunt was berating her for being a half caste. Patchara had resolved she would not give her aunt the satisfaction of seeing her pain by crying in front of her. When the verbal assault and slaps across the face produced no tears, she shoved Patchara down, bloodying her head on the corner of a concrete step. The blood that spouted and the tears that flowed from Patchara then must have satisfied the aunt. She had put the half breed bastard in her proper place once again! It was not an isolated occurrence. Incidents like this happened on a regular basis. When her aunts and uncles were not picking on her, the cousins were. A frail, skinny child, Patchara was no match for her cousins of larger stature, and they all took great delight in daily bullying her and making sure she remembered her place. Patchara was destined to cry an ocean of bitter tears before she would escape this hell on earth! The love of her grandmother and grandfather was her only source of comfort in an otherwise harsh, inhumanely cruel world. But of course, even her grandparents were unable to adequately shield and protect her from the others. She remembers grandmother telling her on many occasions, "Hardship will make you strong." It was little consolation at the time, but it was all grandmother had to offer, such as it was. And it was true enough, indeed. At the tender age of three or four, the sexual abuse began. An older cousin, recognizing the low status Patchara held within the family, seized his opportunity to satisfy his perverted sexual desires with an innocent, helpless toddler. As time passed, molestation turned into rape - repeated, ongoing, brutal rape. In the absence of a loving, protective father or mother, this poor, defenseless little girl was "fair game and easy pickings" for such a predator. She herself, was of course, powerless to do anything to stop it. Complaints to her mother, on the rare occasions she saw her, fell only on deaf ears. Why should her mother and other family members take the word of this unwanted half-breed child, against the word of an esteemed family member - a family member who was, after all, of pure blood? And grandmother and grandfather, loving and understanding though they were, did not hold enough sway in the family, and were too old and feeble to prevail against the rest. The abuse therefore, continued unabated. When Patchara had reached the age of eight years, her mother suddenly and unexpectedly returned one day to stay at home for a while. By then, it had been a very long time since she had last seen her mother. Patchara’s naive, childish hopes were raised that perhaps this time, her mother would stay and become the protective, loving parent she had never known. But such childish dreams were just that - dreams. They were dreams that would not be realized. For some reason, there was much fuss and excitement among family members over Charunee’s return this time. Patchara was not sure what all the hubbub was about, but it was certainly apparent that something very much out of the ordinary was afoot. Grandmother explained to Patchara that her mother was soon to be married to a German born man, a man named Hans. Charunee had come home to be properly married in the traditional Thai wedding ceremony. Patchara later learned that this man Hans, who was to be her new step-father, had been raised in one of Hitler’s Youth Camps in Nazi Germany. It was a piece of trivia that would lend some insight into his capacity for cruelty, a cruelty Patchara would experience later in life. With the wedding over, Charunee once again walked out of Patchara’s life. The newlyweds left Thailand the very next morning to start their new life in Adelaide, Australia. Patchara’s hopes for a better life, one that included a safe and loving home, were dashed. For she was a part of that old life, and she would not be privileged to share in the new one. Like a discarded shell, the old life and Patchara, would be left behind in Thailand by Charunee and Hans. Patchara's abandonment by her mother was complete and now, seemingly final. The cards had all been dealt, and there were none left to draw. She would have no choice but to play the hand that life had dealt her. Two more long, hard years passed - years of continuous emotional and physical and sexual abuse. They were years marked by cuts and bruises and broken bones, by deep emotional wounds, and floods of tears, but not by a broken spirit. For Patchara had learned well from her grandmother, and she had taken her words to heart. At ten years of age, she had become determined, "Hardship will only make me stronger!" She would not be crushed by it. "I will survive to spite them all!" It was an attitude and a philosophy of life that would serve her well in coping with the many trials she would face in years to come. By this time, grandmother and grandfather were becoming too feeble to continue to look after her. And none of Patchara’s aunts or uncles would accept the responsibility, nor did they care enough to take her in. Finally, at the persistent urging and insistence of the family, Charunee grudgingly returned to Thailand to shoulder the "burden" that was once again hers. Her mistake had come back to haunt her. This half breed child, this inconvenience, had once again intruded on her life and was dragging her down! It would not go away, this albatross around her neck! But no one else in the family would step forward to pay the penalty for Charunee’s folly. It was hers alone to pay now. At 4:00 PM, on December 2nd, 1982 Patchara arrived in Adelaide, Australia with her mother, closing the old chapter in her life and opening a new one. "I’ll never forget the day", she says. But this was anything but the "happy ending" Patchara had been longing for. For many years to come, this new chapter in her life would be only a little better than the last one had been. Part Two "The New Life" Mature beyond her years in many ways, Patchara was still a frightened little girl inside when she arrived in Australia. As she and her mother disembarked the plane, she tightly clutched a small Teddy Bear, holding it close to her for security in this scary moment, stepping into a new and intimidating world. Upon entering the terminal, they were greeted by a kindly lady, who at once took Patchara in her arms and hugged her tightly and held her close for one long, delicious moment. "I love you, honey!", she said. Patchara wondered, "Who is this stranger?" But it didn’t matter at the time who she was. The affection being showered upon her was much more than welcome. For Patchara’s soul was a desiccated sponge that thirstily soaked up every sweet drop of it. This was the very first time anyone had so lovingly embraced her. It was an embrace she had waited all of her life to receive - one she would always remember. Even her dear grandmother back in Thailand, as much as she loved Patchara, had never expressed affection for her in this manner. Up until now, touch from another had always been for the purpose of inflicting pain and punishment, or to gratify some lurid sexual desire. The nurtured, cherished feeling imparted by an embrace such as this, was one with which Patchara was completely unfamiliar - unfamiliar, but most receptive. Now, after all the years of waiting, it was an overwhelmingly heartwarming experience - almost too good to be true. It made her thirst for more. Patchara would come to learn that this loving, kindly lady, whom we shall call Sarah, was the one who had helped Charunee make arrangements to bring Patchara back to Australia from Thailand. And it was she and her husband Tom who were to become Patchara’s new godparents and faithful, steadfast lifelong friends. In the absence of her grandmother and grandfather, it would be they who would provide the life preserver which would help sustain Patchara through the storms of adversity she had yet to weather in years to come. Life in South Australia certainly was a radical change from life in Northeastern Thailand, where Patchara had passed all of the ten years her short life. Everything here was new and strange, and she took it all in with wide eyed wonder. Today would be a day of many firsts for her. Arriving at her new home, upon entering the front door, she was awestruck to find carpet under her feet - this in a house where she, Patchara, was to live! She had never expected such luxury. More astounding than that, she was to have her very own room! It was too much to have dreamed of! In fact, Hans had gone out of his way to prepare a very nice room for her prior to her arrival. Did she dare allow herself to believe her life at last was really taking a turn for the better? It certainly looked that way, at least in terms of her physical living conditions. Indeed, the first few weeks of her new life in Australia went fairly smoothly. Patchara was dutifully enrolled in grade school, and at her mother’s insistence, she began attending the Lutheran Church where Charunee and Hans were members. In Thailand the predominate religion is of course, Buddhism. But there, someone the likes of Patchara was not of enough consequence for the family to invest the time to impart the teachings of the faith to her. Therefore, accepting the Lutheran doctrine was not a radical change in faith for her. For in fact, in Thailand Patchara had no particular faith at all, other than faith she held in herself and in her grandparents. Here in Australia, she would become baptized and confirmed in the Lutheran Church. In church and other public places, Charunee and Hans went to great lengths praising Patchara and putting on the face of the loving, doting, proud parents. As far as the community at large knew, they were the quintessential happy family. But it was all for show. In private, away from public eyes, things were not quite so rosy as they might have seemed on the outside. And this home was anything but the loving Christian household they wanted everyone to believe it was. On very thin ice to begin with, the relationship between Patchara and her mother rapidly deteriorated. Charunee’s resentment of this bastard child could only be papered over for so long, and it was to give rise to a burning, almost fanatical hatred that would not be contained. Patchara would come to realize in later years, part of the reason for that resentment and hatred was her own resemblance to her father - the man who had deserted Charunee and left her there alone when the Americans pulled out of Southeast Asia. Like a broken record, her mother’s words played over and over, echoing in Patchara’s consciousness. "You are too much like your father. I wish you were dead! .... I wish you were dead! .... I wish you were dead!" It would quickly become painfully obvious Patchara’s status in the family was no better here than it had been back in Thailand. Though overt physical abuse of a child in public was not acceptable behavior here, what went on behind closed doors was a different matter. For societal proscriptions against such physical abuse meant nothing in the privacy of the home, away from public scrutiny. And the mental abuse regularly inflicted upon her psyche was every bit as traumatic as the physical abuse was to her body, perhaps even more so. Physical wounds can heal. The effects of the mental abuse would be far reaching and lifelong. It was true enough, here in Australia, Patchara would at least get an education, but away from school, she was little more than a convenient household servant. Like a Cinderella, she was a slave who had nowhere else to go, and one who was powerless at this point in her life to change things very much. Though she had escaped the horrors of the frequent rapes by her cousin back in Thailand, the sexual abuse here took a more subtle form. Sometime after Parchara's arrival in the home, Hans went to the trouble of replacing the frosted glass in the bathroom window with transparent panes. The prying eyes Patchara felt on her in the shower then made her reluctant to even bathe. But of course, in their minds, privacy and basic human decency were things which a bastard half breed child neither needed nor deserved. And it was one more way of reinforcing Patchara's sense of utter worthlessness. Much of the mental abuse took the form of perpetual criticism. Though no one else in the household would lift a finger to help, almost nothing Patchara could do was good enough. "Hurry up! You're going too slow! You're doing that all wrong! Do it over again!" Some of this mental "Chinese water torture" was less than subtle. Out of meanness, and perhaps to garner Charunee's approval and stay on her "good side", Hans took delight in startling Patchara whenever the opportunity arose. Often when absorbed in watching the TV, with her head turned away and her guard down, Hans would suddenly slam his hand violently on the table, just to see her reaction. Startled out of her skin, Patchara would of course jump, bringing great peals of gleeful laughter from both Hans and Charunee. It was great entertainment for them. Frequently, the mental and emotional abuse became physically threatening as well. Patchara recalls one particular occasion when she had been sent up on the roof to clean the leaves from the gutters. Upon finishing her assigned task, she returned to the point on the roof where the ladder had been, only to find Charunee or Hans had removed it, knowing full well she was on the roof at the time. When her calls for assistance went unanswered, she was finally forced to take matters into her own hands and jump from the roof. It was fortunate she was not seriously injured in the fall, as it is doubtful she would have been afforded any medical attention. Though Charunee and Hans were covered by medical insurance, and their dependents automatically so, Patchara was never allowed to see a doctor. They excused the neglect saying to her, "You're not covered by our insurance!" But Patchara knew better. It's a small wonder they didn't want her to be seen by a physician. For a medical examination would have revealed the bruises and other marks her body always bore. They would bear witness to the beatings and make it all too apparent what was going on in the household. Within three weeks of Patchara's arrival, Charunee and Hans decided it was high time this ten year old begin paying her own way, and they made it a point to find a job for her. Required to work after school in a local Thai restaurant, she passed many long hours of toil in the steaming hot kitchen, doing menial tasks for a pittance in pay. But the pay mattered not to Patchara. For it was of absolutely no benefit to her. "I never saw a dime of it!", she recalls. It was all confiscated by Charunee and Hans, before she could lay hands on it and "waste it." And at home of course, she was required to do all of the cleaning and cooking and yard work. For if Charunee was to be burdened with giving this mistake a roof over her head, she would be bloody well expected to earn it! But in fact, there were many nights when Patchara returned home from work, only to find she had been locked out of the house. On those nights, she would not have that "roof over her head", and the nice room that Hans had prepared for her would go unused. Though there were lights on inside the house, and voices coming though the door, no one inside would be bothered to answer her knock - just another form of mental abuse. Patchara knew, she could have gone across the street and knocked on her godparent’s door seeking shelter. Being the loving, giving folk they were, Sarah and Tom would certainly have taken her in and fed her and tucked her into a safe, warm bed to spend the night. They would have done it in a heartbeat, without a second thought. In fact, Sarah often came to pick Patchara up from the train station after work, so she would not be forced to walk home in the dark by herself. It was a convenience her own mother would not provide and one which she would never allow Hans to provide for her either. But her godparents had a family of their own for which to be responsible. And being a keenly sensitive person, Patchara would not allow herself to intrude upon the privacy and intimacy of their family life and become another burden to them. Therefore, on these occasions, her only shelter from the cold South Australian nights was the old car which Charunee and Hans had thoughtfully left unlocked in the driveway. What generosity! What more could a bastard child ask? With temperatures hovering near the freezing mark, Patchara managed to survive curled up shivering through the long night on the cold seat, with only a short afghan to cover herself. When the cold gray dawn finally broke, she would be allowed to once again enter the house to prepare for another school day, as if nothing unusual had happened. And in fact, nothing unusual had taken place. It was all too much the norm. Patchara’s relationship with her step father, Hans, was a very complicated one. Today, she is still reluctant to criticize him too much, even though much of the physical and mental abuse heaped upon her was carried out by him. "He was basically a good fellow", she says. He’d had a very rough time of it in his first marriage, and after his first wife left him, he continued to be the dutiful father, taking care of their children, at least financially. It was something for which Patchara understandably had a good deal of respect. But Charunee was a very vindictive, controlling woman, and under her direction, the depth of Hans’ capacity for cruelty revealed itself. Dutifully following orders, he would execute Charunee’s commands, meeting out brutal punishment to Patchara in an almost mindless, robotic way. Yet in times when Patchara and Hans were alone together, away from the ever watchful, critical eye of her mother, he was quite likable and friendly toward her. Whenever Charunee observed such behavior, she would quckly intervene and derail it. She would have none of that! The prospect of an amicable relationship between Patchara and Hans only poured more fuel on the fire of Charunee’s hatred. She would allow no such comfort for the object of her malevolence! Consumed with jealousy, Charunee was determined to see to it Patchara would have no respite nor refuge from the punishment she continually worked to heap upon her. For most of her life, poor Patchara was at a loss to explain her mother’s hateful, vindictive behavior. Still, she continually searched her mind for an answer. What had she done to deserve this? Could her mother’s thirst for vengeance be rooted in the mere fact that Patchara had the temerity to be born and further burden her by surviving? Was she resentful of having to share the intimacy of her new family life with this embarrassment, this imperfect offspring of hers? Did she feel threatened somehow by Patchara’s presence here? As irrational as it seems, it was probably all of these things and more. And as Patchara matured and began to blossom into an ever more beautiful young lady, her growing physical attractiveness was just one more thing to further threaten Charunee and fuel her jealousy. For every success, every achievement attained by Patchara, for every ounce of praise she garnered from others, it seemed only to make Charunee more determined to deflate her daughter and keep her in her place. In this oppressive, wretched environment Patchara’s, soul ached for the protective loving care of the father whom she had never really known. "Why did he leave me? Is he still alive? Where is he now? Does he ever think of little Patchara? Will he ever come to rescue me and fill this vacuum in my soul?" Often, in times of deep despair she would climb to the top of the hill overlooking Adelaide and cry out at the top of her lungs, "Why me?! Why, out of all the people in the world did you choose me for this? When will it ever end?" But only silence returned. For the time being, there would be no answers forthcoming. There were even times when she thought of ending it herself. She had known of others in Thailand in her condition who, unable to face it any longer, had finally found the ultimate escape by taking their own lives. But it was not within Patchara to take such drastic steps. She was destined for better than that! There were other, better ways out. But she could not wait for others to save her. It was apparent it would be up to Patchara to rescue herself, and she set her mind on doing just that. Her school work had to be accomplished in whatever time she could squeeze in after taking care of work at the restaurant and the chores at home. Still, in spite of the hardships, she managed to excel in school. For she realized it would be the key to her freedom and her ultimate success in life. Surviving and succeeding would be her revenge on all those who had mistreated her and held her down. "Hardship will make me stronger! I will survive to spite them all!" Part Three "Escape to Freedom" For as long as Patchara could remember, every day of her wretched, miserable life had brought with it new pain and new trials and tribulation. Each day brought more rejection, humiliation and degradation. But she had learned to take each day as it came, coping and surviving from one sunrise to the next, whereupon she would rise once again and face it all anew. Powerless to control what happened to her, she could only control how she reacted to events. One has to wonder if Charunee and Hans thought that it would always be this way - that Patchara would always remain the stoic, submissive prisoner, and there would never come a time for them to pay for their sins. But time marched inexorably on, as time always does. The dark years slowly passed, one fading into the next, until one fateful day dawned to find Patchara no longer a frightened, helpless little girl, but a fierce, determined, and yes, even vengeful young woman on the threshold of independence. It was her senior year of high school, with graduation day fast approaching. Patchara had received the startling news she was to be awarded an academic scholarship for excellence in her studies of English as a Second Language. It was a citation and monetary award among the highest to be awarded by her school! Patchara was understandably proud and elated by the good tidings. For the rest of the day, her spirit rode the crest of a wave of euphoria, the likes of which she had never experienced. Fairly bursting with pride, she could hardly wait for the day to end, so she could bring the wonderful news home to her parents! This was something Patchara had achieved on her own - something of which they would surely have to be very proud! What an honor it would be, not only for her, but for her family as well! Surely this was something in which they could take pride. After all the years of "falling short" in her mother’s eyes, perhaps, this achievement would at last win her approval. The award was to be presented at the school auditorium in the evening after school in a special ceremony. It would be presented before all of Patchara’s peers, the students, their parents and the faculty. What an honor it would be for her to march across that stage, to bask for a moment in the limelight and receive public recognition for her Herculean efforts to achieve academic excellence! It was excellence achieved in the face of adversity that few of her peers could even begin to imagine! Patchara immediately rushed home after school to tell her parents her wonderful news. But as might be expected, Charunee and Hans reacted with complete and utter indifference. Brushing the whole thing aside, they refused to even take her to the school to receive the award. For Charunee was cunning, and she certainly realized that to allow Patchara any such recognition would only nurture her daughter’s sense of confidence and self worth. It would allow her spirit to blossom - a spirit which Charunee had worked so hard over the years to suppress. Confidence and self worth are not things one wants to encourage in a slave, and Charunee was determined she would crush it outright. Little did she know, it was too late for that. Aside from the spiritual lift that would be imparted by such recognition, on the practical side, the award would give Patchara the means to begin to further her education and to eventually become independent from them. Charunee would never willingly allow that to happen, and she would do whatever she could to place road blocks in her way and forestall the day! Patchara’s enthusiasm was completely crushed by her mother’s indifference. She knew of course, she could have asked a friend or her god parents to take her to the awards presentation. They would have been happy to do so - even proud and honored to share her moment of triumph with her. But the recognition itself, and even the love and admiration of friends was not what Patchara longed for. Rather, she yearned for something which no one else could give her - the love and acceptance of the one who had given birth to her. But it had become crystal clear at last, that for which she longed could never be attained. Patchara therefore, sat at home that night, swallowing bitter tears of disappointment, feeling utterly dejected and hopeless. This was her lot in life, and she realized now it would never change. There was absolutely no way she could ever be good enough to win her mother’s affection. She had been trying all her life to do just that, hoping against hope to work a miracle and erase the blackness in her mother’s heart. But whatever feeble spark of hope she had nurtured for her mother to change had at last been snuffed out by this final cruel act of denial. The following day, once again at school, friends asked Patchara why she had not been there to receive her award. "They called your name several times and waited, but no one knew where you were. What happened?", they quizzed. Patchara had no good answer for them. How could she explain? It was all too complicated and too shameful for her to talk about. Who would want to admit to such indifference and mental cruelty by their supposedly loving parents? This was a shame which Patchara had always borne alone, and it was one she would continue to quietly bear in secret. A fortnight would pass after graduation before Patchara would finally be pressed to action. It would be the most fateful day of her life - the day she would cease to be a victim. Today she would at last break her chains and boldly seize control of her own life! All the years of emotional and physical abuse had taken a terrible toll on Patchara’s psyche. Now in her seventeenth year, having just suffered this last act of rejection and humiliation, her pent up anger and resentment had finally come to a full, rolling boil..... It was time justice be served! Patchara "awoke" one morning to find herself standing in her parent’s bedroom doorway, seething with a rage she had been holding at bay for her entire life. It was a rage which could no longer be restrained. In her sweating, trembling hands she clutched a .22 caliber revolver, one purchased on the black market with funds borrowed from a friend. Now she possessed the means to end her suffering and to exact long overdue retribution from her persecutors! Now she was but a heartbeat away from perpetrating the ultimate act of vengeance on the unsuspecting forms that lay before her. All the tortured years of abuse had culminated in this one singular moment of decision. Completely at her mercy, her tormentors lay slumbering helpless in their bed, blissfully unaware of the deadly peril that now hovered over them. Holding the cold steel instrument of death at arm’s length, Patchara gripped it tightly with both hands. Then, white knuckled, she carefully lowered the weapon until it pointed squarely at her sleeping mother’s head. Her heart was pounding in her ears, as her twitching finger slowly tightened on the trigger. Sighting down the barrel, she watched as the hammer reached the apex of its rearward travel - the point just before it falls on the cylinder.... and then she paused. Now at last, they would be repaid in full for all the years of abuse they had meted out to her! Oh how delicious revenge would be! How sweet it would be to see the last drop of life drained from their vile worthless corpses, to hear them take their last gasping, rattling breaths! They would never again mistreat Patchara! They would never again mistreat anyone! At last she would be free from their evil clutches! At this moment, it was within Patchara’s power to make it happen. It would be so easy! All she need do was squeeze.... just a tiny bit harder! It was she who held all the power now - even power to decide life and death for them! And she also held within her hands the power to decide her own future. For what seemed an eternity, she stood there over them in silence, balanced on the precipice of murder, while the struggle raged on within her. Charunee and Hans never knew just how close they came that day to meeting their maker. Patchara wrestled mightily with almost overwhelmingly irresistible urges. But at last, good sense and logic prevailed over emotion. A person of lesser strength might have succumbed to the urge and pulled the trigger - "Consequences be damned!" But Patchara finally relaxed her grip, letting the hammer slowly return to its resting position, then withdrew the weapon. Abruptly, she wheeled about and left the room, silently slipping out of the house, avoiding a murderous act of violence that surely would have ended their lives, but at the same time, would have effectively ended hers as well. For hours she wandered the streets of the middle class suburb of Adelaide Hills, which overlooks the town of Adelaide, while she weighed her options and tried to formulate a plan. She could stay on with Charunee and Hans for a while longer. They at least, were a known quantity. But she also knew that to stay on any longer would almost inevitably result in her murdering them in their sleep. The only alternative was to take the giant leap into the unknown and strike out on her own. She had no clear idea of where she would go, or how she would survive. But as frightening as the prospect of being on her own might be, the alternative was even more frightening. Her decision finally made, she returned to the only home she had known since coming to Australia, in order to retrieve her books, the books which had been a gift from a dear friend, and a few other of her meager personal belongings. Hans was there to greet her at the door upon her return. Patchara had not been there to prepare breakfast for them, as was the usual ritual, and they'd had to fend for themselves when they arose this morning. "Where the HELL have you been?!!" he thundered. The company which Charunee and Hans had been entertaining over coffee and cake looked up from their seats at the kitchen table in startled surprise at Hans’ outburst. Knowing that words would be useless here, Patchara proceeded straight away to her room and began to pack her belongings. Hans was not far behind. He would not allow such insolence from the likes of her, especially in front of guests! Bursting into her room, he at once saw what Patchara’s intentions were. Immediately he began shouting his objections, making it clear to her she would bloody well NOT be permitted to leave, until they TOLD her to leave! Hans then left the room briefly to bring up reinforcements, returning a moment later with Charunee in tow behind him. She took up her position in the doorway, blocking Patchara’s only means of exit and stood there like a sentinel at her post with arms folded, overseeing the scene. With Charunee now watching over and smiling with smug approval, Hans’ shouting quickly escalated into slapping, then punching with closed fist. A thundering blow sent the books Patchara had been holding in her arms flying across the room. As she bent over to pick them up, Hans went completely berserk! Grabbing her by the hair, he began kicking her violently about the head and torso, dragging her about the room, and shouting at the top of his lungs, like some kind of raging maniac. A sharp pain in Patchara’s side accompanied the breaking of bone, as Hans’ boot struck blow after crushing blow to her ribs. They sucked the life’s breath from her lungs, and she swooned as the kicks to her head made galaxies of stars swim before her eyes. She fought against slipping into unconsciousness, for if she blacked out now, she might never awaken from this! At some point, Patchara finally managed to free herself from Hans’ grasp, and pushing past Charunee, she retreated to the living room, attempting to reach the front door, where she could make good her escape. But Hans followed behind her in close pursuit, delivering a salvo of brutal, punishing kicks to her body all the way to the door. If the ingrate bastard were determined to leave, he would make sure she would never come back again, by God! "I basically crawled out the front door on my hands and knees to freedom!", Patchara recalls. As all of this was taking place, the bewildered breakfast guests remained seated at the kitchen table, paralyzed in shocked disbelief, apparently unsure of what they were witnessing or what to do about it. About this time, Patchara’s godmother, Sarah, came running across the street to intervene, having already instructed her son to call for the police. Fortuitously, Hans’ son in law, James, pulled into the driveway and entered upon the scene at the same moment. Attempting to de escalate the violence, he quickly inserted himself between Hans and the object of his fury. "Take it easy!" he said. "She’s just a child, Hans! Give her a break!" he pleaded. Hans, near apoplectic and still quaking with rage, began to slowly regain his composure, while Sarah comforted and attempted to soothe Patchara outside of the house, while ministering to her bleeding wounds. It was obvious she could not remain here. Had Sarah and James not intervened when they did, Hans might well have killed her that day. With the situation temporarily defused, Patchara waited in James’ car, while he and Sarah hurriedly finished packing her belongings. It’s unclear how long the thrashing had lasted, but it almost certainly had to have been several agonizing minutes – minutes of intense domestic fury, driven by blind, unreasoning, murderous hatred. It was one of the worst beatings Hans had ever inflicted upon her. But the one thing which stands out most in Patchara’s memory of the incident is the approving smile on her mother’s face, as she bore witness to, and even directed, the brutal, life threatening beating of her own flesh and blood! But then, this was not at all inconsistent with Charunee’s cruel behavior over the years. Nor was it at all inconsistent with the behavior of a mother who could indifferently look the other way, while her little girl, over an extended period of time, was repeatedly sexually assaulted by a family member. But such things are common, after all, among the Bui Doi, the "Dust of Life." Patchara was no longer present when the police finally came. James had whisked her away from the scene to a safer place by the time the authorities had arrived. She never sought revenge by pressing charges against Charunee and Hans, as she easily could have. She wanted only to put it all behind her and begin a new life. At least now she was free! Bloodied, but unbowed, Patchara had crawled and clawed her way to freedom that day. But freedom always carries with it a price. Part of the immediate price for her had been severe physical trauma. It was trauma that might well have taken her life, but she had miraculously survived it somehow with multiple cuts and bruises, a broken rib and undetermined internal injuries. She did not seek medical attention for them. Her physical wounds would heal with passage of time, just as all the others had in years past. Now, with her bridges burned behind her, she would have to somehow make for herself a new life, to move forward. But having no real assets, other than her own innate courage and will to succeed, how could she begin to establish a life for herself in a fiercely competitive, often uncaring world of strangers? On whom could she rely for critical assistance in getting on her feet, both physically and financially? That person turned out to be her step sister’s estranged husband, James - the one who had intervened on her behalf with Hans. (To Be Continued)

Bui Doi - "The Dust of Life"

The Vietnam War had a profound impact on the lives of millions - those of us who actively participated in it, as well as the others who found themselves caught up in it, just innocent victims of uncaring fate. Of all the tragic stories that came out of that war, one of the most heart rending is the story of the tens of thousands of unwanted children in South Vietnam, Thailand, Laos and Cambodia, who were fathered by American GI's, then left behind to face a life of rejection and cruelty.

They are the "Bui Doi - the dust of life." In two small words, this Vietnamese phrase so eloquently describes their status in life. They were and are an inconvenience, a burden on their society. Unwanted children of mixed heritage, their only crime was the crime of being born, yet they were rejected by both sides. Looked upon as nothing more than a useless by product of living, "the dust of life", they are but chaff to be blown away by the wind, of less value than the soil on which we tread. Some were fortunate enough to survive to adulthood and find their way out to a new life. Most though, still remain there, forever outcasts of society - pariahs and foreigners in their own land and unwanted or unknown by the American fathers they never knew. They are a part of a past that still haunts us today.

Many of them by now have fathered or given birth to children of their own, children who may face the very same rejection and prejudice their parents have faced all their lives. And many of these, our grand children, will be abandoned by their own parents to eke out a life on the streets, or if they are fortunate enough, to grow to maturity in an orphanage somewhere. This is the ongoing legacy of that war. Born in the wrong place at the wrong time, the Bui Doi have paid and will continue to pay the price for their parents' indiscretions.

"Bui Doi" from the Stage Musical,
"Miss Saigon"

**************************

like all survivors, I once thought

when I'm home I won't give a damn

but now I know I'm caught

I'll never leave Vietnam

war isn't over when it ends

some pictures never leave your mind

they are the faces of the children

the ones we left behind

they're called bui-doi

the dust of life

conceived in hell

and born in strife

they are the living reminders

of all the good we failed to do

we can't forget

must not forget

that they are all our children too

these kids hit walls on every side

they don't belong in any place

their secret they can't hide

it's printed on their face

I never thought one day I'd plead

for half-breeds from a land that's torn

but then I saw a camp for children

whose crime was being born

they're called bui-doi

the dust of life

conceived in hell

and born in strife

we owe them fathers, and a family

and loving homes they never knew

because we know

deep in our hearts

that they are all our children too

these are souls in need

they need us to give

someone has to pay

for their chance to live

help me try

they're called bui-doi

the dust of life

conceived in hell

and born in strife

they are the living reminders

of all the good we failed to do

that's why we know - that's why we know

deep in our hearts - deep in our hearts

that's why we know

that they are all our children...

...too

**************************

Patchara’s Story
as related by Patchara to Robert Wheatley

This is Patchara’s true story. It is but one of many that could be told of the tens of thousands of fatherless children of Southeast Asia. Like the others, it is a story of tragedy, but hers is also a story of triumph in the face of incredible adversity. It is a tribute to her inner strength, and to the potential that lies within the human spirit - within the soul of every one of us. This account of her struggles and her courage is dedicated to her, our dear Patchara. No last names are used here, and the first names of the other characters in her story have been changed to protect her, our friend, Patchara.

Part One
"An Ocean of Tears"

"It is not easy being Patchara!", she says today. The average person who meets her would never suspect. On the outside they find an attractive, intelligent, witty, sensitive, perceptive, warm young lady, who is a delight to converse with. She is an honest, strong person, a defender of the defenseless, outspoken wherever she sees injustice. Respected by all in her community, she is a self made, successful individual. She has a nice home, vacations in the islands and all of the trappings that financial security brings. But inside there is a part of her that is hidden to most, a dark sorrowful side with a deep seated unfulfilled longing and an aching, burning pain that just will not go away. It is a side of her one can understand only by knowing her past.

Patchara came to know rejection and hardship very early in life. Referred to as simply "Mem" by family members, it would be many years before she would learn her proper name that had been recorded on her birth certificate. She was born "Patcharaporn" in August, 1972 in Namphong, Thailand. Her birth was the result of a union between an American GI and her Thai mother, Charunee. Patchara, as she now refers to herself, had been blessed with a remarkable physical beauty. But that beauty, a trait which could have been such an asset in other places, in other circumstances, was instead a curse for her. For it would only compound her problems in life. In Thailand, being a "half-breed" was bad enough. Being a beautiful half-breed must have been very threatening somehow to the jealous ones around her, ones who were of "purer blood lines" than she. And her light brown hair and light complexion left absolutely no doubt in anyone’s mind about her mixed heritage. It was a certain giveaway to anyone who saw her - a public testimony to her "shame."

Patchara’s mother, Charunee, was considered the "black sheep" of the family - a prostitute. Prior to her liaison with the American, she had been married to a Thai soldier and had given birth to four sons by him. But apparently, she sought greener pastures among the ubiquitous American GI’s that had come to help fight the Communists in the Vietnam War. The Americans were from a "land of plenty" and riches, and I guess, like many other Thai ladies, she may have wanted to have a piece of that for herself. And in all fairness, she may have loved him as well. But whatever the reason, at age 27 she gave birth to her fifth child, Patchara, fathered by the American. But Charunee left Patchara at a very young age, abandoning her with relatives. For this bastard child, born out of wedlock, had failed to make the American father stay, or to take her out with him when he left. To her mother, Patchara had now become a useless garment to be shed, like the heavy winter coat, useful enough in the cold of winter, but only so much excess baggage in the heat of summer - just a burden to carry around with her.

As for her father, Patchara’s only memory of him is represented in a worn and blurred photograph, creased and faded with age. It is dated 1975, the year the Americans left. Patchara was three years old. In the photo, a young American GI stands behind her. Her tiny hands are reaching up to grasp his fingers. She keeps it with her to this day. It is her only link to the man whom she believes is her father. She still wonders why he left her there. Though Patchara’s mother to this day continues to deny he is the man, Patchara knows in her heart that it is him. Her American heritage is a source of pride for her even today. But it was that pride in the half of her that was not Thai which colored her attitude even then, and perhaps brought more punishment down upon her head than she might otherwise have had to endure. "You are too much like your father!", her mother would accuse. "I wish you were dead!"

After her mother left, it was Patchara’s grandparents who took her in and raised her through the early years of her life. Patchara shared a bed with her grandmother in the humble household. Grandfather was a fisherman, and grandmother a food vendor. They were the only ones in the family who accepted her and treated her as human. Being the product of an illicit affair with a foreigner, she was the symbol of the family’s shame in the community, and accordingly, she was also the object of the family’s hatred. In this environment, Patchara would be the one to pay the price for her parent’s sins. She was rejected, and was constantly derided and looked down upon by all of her aunts, uncles and cousins. "What good are you!? You are worthless!", they would tell her. "Look! Even your mother doesn’t want you!", they chided. (As if that was all the evidence they needed to prove their point.)

But the abuse went well beyond those harsh words, which were hurtful enough in themselves. Patchara recalls vividly the day an aunt was berating her for being a half caste. Patchara had resolved she would not give her aunt the satisfaction of seeing her pain by crying in front of her. When the verbal assault and slaps across the face produced no tears, she shoved Patchara down, bloodying her head on the corner of a concrete step. The blood that spouted and the tears that flowed from Patchara then must have satisfied the aunt. She had put the half breed bastard in her proper place once again! It was not an isolated occurrence. Incidents like this happened on a regular basis. When her aunts and uncles were not picking on her, the cousins were. A frail, skinny child, Patchara was no match for her cousins of larger stature, and they all took great delight in daily bullying her and making sure she remembered her place. Patchara was destined to cry an ocean of bitter tears before she would escape this hell on earth!

The love of her grandmother and grandfather was her only source of comfort in an otherwise harsh, inhumanely cruel world. But of course, even her grandparents were unable to adequately shield and protect her from the others. She remembers grandmother telling her on many occasions, "Hardship will make you strong." It was little consolation at the time, but it was all grandmother had to offer, such as it was. And it was true enough, indeed.

At the tender age of three or four, the sexual abuse began. An older cousin, recognizing the low status Patchara held within the family, seized his opportunity to satisfy his perverted sexual desires with an innocent, helpless toddler. As time passed, molestation turned into rape - repeated, ongoing, brutal rape. In the absence of a loving, protective father or mother, this poor, defenseless little girl was "fair game and easy pickings" for such a predator. She herself, was of course, powerless to do anything to stop it. Complaints to her mother, on the rare occasions she saw her, fell only on deaf ears. Why should her mother and other family members take the word of this unwanted half-breed child, against the word of an esteemed family member - a family member who was, after all, of pure blood? And grandmother and grandfather, loving and understanding though they were, did not hold enough sway in the family, and were too old and feeble to prevail against the rest. The abuse therefore, continued unabated.

When Patchara had reached the age of eight years, her mother suddenly and unexpectedly returned one day to stay at home for a while. By then, it had been a very long time since she had last seen her mother. Patchara’s naive, childish hopes were raised that perhaps this time, her mother would stay and become the protective, loving parent she had never known. But such childish dreams were just that - dreams. They were dreams that would not be realized.

For some reason, there was much fuss and excitement among family members over Charunee’s return this time. Patchara was not sure what all the hubbub was about, but it was certainly apparent that something very much out of the ordinary was afoot. Grandmother explained to Patchara that her mother was soon to be married to a German born man, a man named Hans. Charunee had come home to be properly married in the traditional Thai wedding ceremony. Patchara later learned that this man Hans, who was to be her new step-father, had been raised in one of Hitler’s Youth Camps in Nazi Germany. It was a piece of trivia that would lend some insight into his capacity for cruelty, a cruelty Patchara would experience later in life.

With the wedding over, Charunee once again walked out of Patchara’s life. The newlyweds left Thailand the very next morning to start their new life in Adelaide, Australia. Patchara’s hopes for a better life, one that included a safe and loving home, were dashed. For she was a part of that old life, and she would not be privileged to share in the new one. Like a discarded shell, the old life and Patchara, would be left behind in Thailand by Charunee and Hans. Patchara's abandonment by her mother was complete and now, seemingly final. The cards had all been dealt, and there were none left to draw. She would have no choice but to play the hand that life had dealt her.

Two more long, hard years passed - years of continuous emotional and physical and sexual abuse. They were years marked by cuts and bruises and broken bones, by deep emotional wounds, and floods of tears, but not by a broken spirit. For Patchara had learned well from her grandmother, and she had taken her words to heart. At ten years of age, she had become determined, "Hardship will only make me stronger!" She would not be crushed by it. "I will survive to spite them all!" It was an attitude and a philosophy of life that would serve her well in coping with the many trials she would face in years to come.

By this time, grandmother and grandfather were becoming too feeble to continue to look after her. And none of Patchara’s aunts or uncles would accept the responsibility, nor did they care enough to take her in. Finally, at the persistent urging and insistence of the family, Charunee grudgingly returned to Thailand to shoulder the "burden" that was once again hers. Her mistake had come back to haunt her. This half breed child, this inconvenience, had once again intruded on her life and was dragging her down! It would not go away, this albatross around her neck! But no one else in the family would step forward to pay the penalty for Charunee’s folly. It was hers alone to pay now. At 4:00 PM, on December 2nd, 1982 Patchara arrived in Adelaide, Australia with her mother, closing the old chapter in her life and opening a new one. "I’ll never forget the day", she says. But this was anything but the "happy ending" Patchara had been longing for. For many years to come, this new chapter in her life would be only a little better than the last one had been.

Part Two
"The New Life"

Mature beyond her years in many ways, Patchara was still a frightened little girl inside when she arrived in Australia. As she and her mother disembarked the plane, she tightly clutched a small Teddy Bear, holding it close to her for security in this scary moment, stepping into a new and intimidating world. Upon entering the terminal, they were greeted by a kindly lady, who at once took Patchara in her arms and hugged her tightly and held her close for one long, delicious moment. "I love you, honey!", she said.

Patchara wondered, "Who is this stranger?" But it didn’t matter at the time who she was. The affection being showered upon her was much more than welcome. For Patchara’s soul was a desiccated sponge that thirstily soaked up every sweet drop of it. This was the very first time anyone had so lovingly embraced her. It was an embrace she had waited all of her life to receive - one she would always remember. Even her dear grandmother back in Thailand, as much as she loved Patchara, had never expressed affection for her in this manner. Up until now, touch from another had always been for the purpose of inflicting pain and punishment, or to gratify some lurid sexual desire. The nurtured, cherished feeling imparted by an embrace such as this, was one with which Patchara was completely unfamiliar - unfamiliar, but most receptive. Now, after all the years of waiting, it was an overwhelmingly heartwarming experience - almost too good to be true. It made her thirst for more.

Patchara would come to learn that this loving, kindly lady, whom we shall call Sarah, was the one who had helped Charunee make arrangements to bring Patchara back to Australia from Thailand. And it was she and her husband Tom who were to become Patchara’s new godparents and faithful, steadfast lifelong friends. In the absence of her grandmother and grandfather, it would be they who would provide the life preserver which would help sustain Patchara through the storms of adversity she had yet to weather in years to come.

Life in South Australia certainly was a radical change from life in Northeastern Thailand, where Patchara had passed all of the ten years her short life. Everything here was new and strange, and she took it all in with wide eyed wonder. Today would be a day of many firsts for her. Arriving at her new home, upon entering the front door, she was awestruck to find carpet under her feet - this in a house where she, Patchara, was to live! She had never expected such luxury. More astounding than that, she was to have her very own room! It was too much to have dreamed of! In fact, Hans had gone out of his way to prepare a very nice room for her prior to her arrival. Did she dare allow herself to believe her life at last was really taking a turn for the better? It certainly looked that way, at least in terms of her physical living conditions.

Indeed, the first few weeks of her new life in Australia went fairly smoothly. Patchara was dutifully enrolled in grade school, and at her mother’s insistence, she began attending the Lutheran Church where Charunee and Hans were members. In Thailand the predominate religion is of course, Buddhism. But there, someone the likes of Patchara was not of enough consequence for the family to invest the time to impart the teachings of the faith to her. Therefore, accepting the Lutheran doctrine was not a radical change in faith for her. For in fact, in Thailand Patchara had no particular faith at all, other than faith she held in herself and in her grandparents. Here in Australia, she would become baptized and confirmed in the Lutheran Church.

In church and other public places, Charunee and Hans went to great lengths praising Patchara and putting on the face of the loving, doting, proud parents. As far as the community at large knew, they were the quintessential happy family. But it was all for show. In private, away from public eyes, things were not quite so rosy as they might have seemed on the outside. And this home was anything but the loving Christian household they wanted everyone to believe it was. On very thin ice to begin with, the relationship between Patchara and her mother rapidly deteriorated. Charunee’s resentment of this bastard child could only be papered over for so long, and it was to give rise to a burning, almost fanatical hatred that would not be contained. Patchara would come to realize in later years, part of the reason for that resentment and hatred was her own resemblance to her father - the man who had deserted Charunee and left her there alone when the Americans pulled out of Southeast Asia. Like a broken record, her mother’s words played over and over, echoing in Patchara’s consciousness. "You are too much like your father. I wish you were dead! .... I wish you were dead! .... I wish you were dead!"

It would quickly become painfully obvious Patchara’s status in the family was no better here than it had been back in Thailand. Though overt physical abuse of a child in public was not acceptable behavior here, what went on behind closed doors was a different matter. For societal proscriptions against such physical abuse meant nothing in the privacy of the home, away from public scrutiny. And the mental abuse regularly inflicted upon her psyche was every bit as traumatic as the physical abuse was to her body, perhaps even more so. Physical wounds can heal. The effects of the mental abuse would be far reaching and lifelong. It was true enough, here in Australia, Patchara would at least get an education, but away from school, she was little more than a convenient household servant. Like a Cinderella, she was a slave who had nowhere else to go, and one who was powerless at this point in her life to change things very much.

Though she had escaped the horrors of the frequent rapes by her cousin back in Thailand, the sexual abuse here took a more subtle form. Sometime after Parchara's arrival in the home, Hans went to the trouble of replacing the frosted glass in the bathroom window with transparent panes. The prying eyes Patchara felt on her in the shower then made her reluctant to even bathe. But of course, in their minds, privacy and basic human decency were things which a bastard half breed child neither needed nor deserved. And it was one more way of reinforcing Patchara's sense of utter worthlessness. Much of the mental abuse took the form of perpetual criticism. Though no one else in the household would lift a finger to help, almost nothing Patchara could do was good enough. "Hurry up! You're going too slow! You're doing that all wrong! Do it over again!" Some of this mental "Chinese water torture" was less than subtle. Out of meanness, and perhaps to garner Charunee's approval and stay on her "good side", Hans took delight in startling Patchara whenever the opportunity arose. Often when absorbed in watching the TV, with her head turned away and her guard down, Hans would suddenly slam his hand violently on the table, just to see her reaction. Startled out of her skin, Patchara would of course jump, bringing great peals of gleeful laughter from both Hans and Charunee. It was great entertainment for them.

Frequently, the mental and emotional abuse became physically threatening as well. Patchara recalls one particular occasion when she had been sent up on the roof to clean the leaves from the gutters. Upon finishing her assigned task, she returned to the point on the roof where the ladder had been, only to find Charunee or Hans had removed it, knowing full well she was on the roof at the time. When her calls for assistance went unanswered, she was finally forced to take matters into her own hands and jump from the roof. It was fortunate she was not seriously injured in the fall, as it is doubtful she would have been afforded any medical attention. Though Charunee and Hans were covered by medical insurance, and their dependents automatically so, Patchara was never allowed to see a doctor. They excused the neglect saying to her, "You're not covered by our insurance!" But Patchara knew better. It's a small wonder they didn't want her to be seen by a physician. For a medical examination would have revealed the bruises and other marks her body always bore. They would bear witness to the beatings and make it all too apparent what was going on in the household.

Within three weeks of Patchara's arrival, Charunee and Hans decided it was high time this ten year old begin paying her own way, and they made it a point to find a job for her. Required to work after school in a local Thai restaurant, she passed many long hours of toil in the steaming hot kitchen, doing menial tasks for a pittance in pay. But the pay mattered not to Patchara. For it was of absolutely no benefit to her. "I never saw a dime of it!", she recalls. It was all confiscated by Charunee and Hans, before she could lay hands on it and "waste it." And at home of course, she was required to do all of the cleaning and cooking and yard work. For if Charunee was to be burdened with giving this mistake a roof over her head, she would be bloody well expected to earn it!

But in fact, there were many nights when Patchara returned home from work, only to find she had been locked out of the house. On those nights, she would not have that "roof over her head", and the nice room that Hans had prepared for her would go unused. Though there were lights on inside the house, and voices coming though the door, no one inside would be bothered to answer her knock - just another form of mental abuse. Patchara knew, she could have gone across the street and knocked on her godparent’s door seeking shelter. Being the loving, giving folk they were, Sarah and Tom would certainly have taken her in and fed her and tucked her into a safe, warm bed to spend the night. They would have done it in a heartbeat, without a second thought. In fact, Sarah often came to pick Patchara up from the train station after work, so she would not be forced to walk home in the dark by herself. It was a convenience her own mother would not provide and one which she would never allow Hans to provide for her either.

But her godparents had a family of their own for which to be responsible. And being a keenly sensitive person, Patchara would not allow herself to intrude upon the privacy and intimacy of their family life and become another burden to them. Therefore, on these occasions, her only shelter from the cold South Australian nights was the old car which Charunee and Hans had thoughtfully left unlocked in the driveway. What generosity! What more could a bastard child ask? With temperatures hovering near the freezing mark, Patchara managed to survive curled up shivering through the long night on the cold seat, with only a short afghan to cover herself. When the cold gray dawn finally broke, she would be allowed to once again enter the house to prepare for another school day, as if nothing unusual had happened. And in fact, nothing unusual had taken place. It was all too much the norm.

Patchara’s relationship with her step father, Hans, was a very complicated one. Today, she is still reluctant to criticize him too much, even though much of the physical and mental abuse heaped upon her was carried out by him. "He was basically a good fellow", she says. He’d had a very rough time of it in his first marriage, and after his first wife left him, he continued to be the dutiful father, taking care of their children, at least financially. It was something for which Patchara understandably had a good deal of respect. But Charunee was a very vindictive, controlling woman, and under her direction, the depth of Hans’ capacity for cruelty revealed itself. Dutifully following orders, he would execute Charunee’s commands, meeting out brutal punishment to Patchara in an almost mindless, robotic way. Yet in times when Patchara and Hans were alone together, away from the ever watchful, critical eye of her mother, he was quite likable and friendly toward her. Whenever Charunee observed such behavior, she would quckly intervene and derail it. She would have none of that! The prospect of an amicable relationship between Patchara and Hans only poured more fuel on the fire of Charunee’s hatred. She would allow no such comfort for the object of her malevolence!

Consumed with jealousy, Charunee was determined to see to it Patchara would have no respite nor refuge from the punishment she continually worked to heap upon her. For most of her life, poor Patchara was at a loss to explain her mother’s hateful, vindictive behavior. Still, she continually searched her mind for an answer. What had she done to deserve this? Could her mother’s thirst for vengeance be rooted in the mere fact that Patchara had the temerity to be born and further burden her by surviving? Was she resentful of having to share the intimacy of her new family life with this embarrassment, this imperfect offspring of hers? Did she feel threatened somehow by Patchara’s presence here? As irrational as it seems, it was probably all of these things and more. And as Patchara matured and began to blossom into an ever more beautiful young lady, her growing physical attractiveness was just one more thing to further threaten Charunee and fuel her jealousy. For every success, every achievement attained by Patchara, for every ounce of praise she garnered from others, it seemed only to make Charunee more determined to deflate her daughter and keep her in her place.

In this oppressive, wretched environment Patchara’s, soul ached for the protective loving care of the father whom she had never really known. "Why did he leave me? Is he still alive? Where is he now? Does he ever think of little Patchara? Will he ever come to rescue me and fill this vacuum in my soul?" Often, in times of deep despair she would climb to the top of the hill overlooking Adelaide and cry out at the top of her lungs, "Why me?! Why, out of all the people in the world did you choose me for this? When will it ever end?" But only silence returned. For the time being, there would be no answers forthcoming.

There were even times when she thought of ending it herself. She had known of others in Thailand in her condition who, unable to face it any longer, had finally found the ultimate escape by taking their own lives. But it was not within Patchara to take such drastic steps. She was destined for better than that! There were other, better ways out. But she could not wait for others to save her. It was apparent it would be up to Patchara to rescue herself, and she set her mind on doing just that. Her school work had to be accomplished in whatever time she could squeeze in after taking care of work at the restaurant and the chores at home. Still, in spite of the hardships, she managed to excel in school. For she realized it would be the key to her freedom and her ultimate success in life. Surviving and succeeding would be her revenge on all those who had mistreated her and held her down. "Hardship will make me stronger! I will survive to spite them all!"

Part Three
"Escape to Freedom"

For as long as Patchara could remember, every day of her wretched, miserable life had brought with it new pain and new trials and tribulation. Each day brought more rejection, humiliation and degradation. But she had learned to take each day as it came, coping and surviving from one sunrise to the next, whereupon she would rise once again and face it all anew. Powerless to control what happened to her, she could only control how she reacted to events. One has to wonder if Charunee and Hans thought that it would always be this way - that Patchara would always remain the stoic, submissive prisoner, and there would never come a time for them to pay for their sins. But time marched inexorably on, as time always does. The dark years slowly passed, one fading into the next, until one fateful day dawned to find Patchara no longer a frightened, helpless little girl, but a fierce, determined, and yes, even vengeful young woman on the threshold of independence.

It was her senior year of high school, with graduation day fast approaching. Patchara had received the startling news she was to be awarded an academic scholarship for excellence in her studies of English as a Second Language. It was a citation and monetary award among the highest to be awarded by her school! Patchara was understandably proud and elated by the good tidings. For the rest of the day, her spirit rode the crest of a wave of euphoria, the likes of which she had never experienced. Fairly bursting with pride, she could hardly wait for the day to end, so she could bring the wonderful news home to her parents! This was something Patchara had achieved on her own - something of which they would surely have to be very proud! What an honor it would be, not only for her, but for her family as well! Surely this was something in which they could take pride. After all the years of "falling short" in her mother’s eyes, perhaps, this achievement would at last win her approval.

The award was to be presented at the school auditorium in the evening after school in a special ceremony. It would be presented before all of Patchara’s peers, the students, their parents and the faculty. What an honor it would be for her to march across that stage, to bask for a moment in the limelight and receive public recognition for her Herculean efforts to achieve academic excellence! It was excellence achieved in the face of adversity that few of her peers could even begin to imagine!

Patchara immediately rushed home after school to tell her parents her wonderful news. But as might be expected, Charunee and Hans reacted with complete and utter indifference. Brushing the whole thing aside, they refused to even take her to the school to receive the award. For Charunee was cunning, and she certainly realized that to allow Patchara any such recognition would only nurture her daughter’s sense of confidence and self worth. It would allow her spirit to blossom - a spirit which Charunee had worked so hard over the years to suppress. Confidence and self worth are not things one wants to encourage in a slave, and Charunee was determined she would crush it outright. Little did she know, it was too late for that. Aside from the spiritual lift that would be imparted by such recognition, on the practical side, the award would give Patchara the means to begin to further her education and to eventually become independent from them. Charunee would never willingly allow that to happen, and she would do whatever she could to place road blocks in her way and forestall the day!

Patchara’s enthusiasm was completely crushed by her mother’s indifference. She knew of course, she could have asked a friend or her god parents to take her to the awards presentation. They would have been happy to do so - even proud and honored to share her moment of triumph with her. But the recognition itself, and even the love and admiration of friends was not what Patchara longed for. Rather, she yearned for something which no one else could give her - the love and acceptance of the one who had given birth to her. But it had become crystal clear at last, that for which she longed could never be attained. Patchara therefore, sat at home that night, swallowing bitter tears of disappointment, feeling utterly dejected and hopeless. This was her lot in life, and she realized now it would never change. There was absolutely no way she could ever be good enough to win her mother’s affection. She had been trying all her life to do just that, hoping against hope to work a miracle and erase the blackness in her mother’s heart. But whatever feeble spark of hope she had nurtured for her mother to change had at last been snuffed out by this final cruel act of denial.

The following day, once again at school, friends asked Patchara why she had not been there to receive her award. "They called your name several times and waited, but no one knew where you were. What happened?", they quizzed. Patchara had no good answer for them. How could she explain? It was all too complicated and too shameful for her to talk about. Who would want to admit to such indifference and mental cruelty by their supposedly loving parents? This was a shame which Patchara had always borne alone, and it was one she would continue to quietly bear in secret.

A fortnight would pass after graduation before Patchara would finally be pressed to action. It would be the most fateful day of her life - the day she would cease to be a victim. Today she would at last break her chains and boldly seize control of her own life! All the years of emotional and physical abuse had taken a terrible toll on Patchara’s psyche. Now in her seventeenth year, having just suffered this last act of rejection and humiliation, her pent up anger and resentment had finally come to a full, rolling boil..... It was time justice be served!

Patchara "awoke" one morning to find herself standing in her parent’s bedroom doorway, seething with a rage she had been holding at bay for her entire life. It was a rage which could no longer be restrained. In her sweating, trembling hands she clutched a .22 caliber revolver, one purchased on the black market with funds borrowed from a friend. Now she possessed the means to end her suffering and to exact long overdue retribution from her persecutors! Now she was but a heartbeat away from perpetrating the ultimate act of vengeance on the unsuspecting forms that lay before her. All the tortured years of abuse had culminated in this one singular moment of decision. Completely at her mercy, her tormentors lay slumbering helpless in their bed, blissfully unaware of the deadly peril that now hovered over them.

Holding the cold steel instrument of death at arm’s length, Patchara gripped it tightly with both hands. Then, white knuckled, she carefully lowered the weapon until it pointed squarely at her sleeping mother’s head. Her heart was pounding in her ears, as her twitching finger slowly tightened on the trigger. Sighting down the barrel, she watched as the hammer reached the apex of its rearward travel - the point just before it falls on the cylinder.... and then she paused. Now at last, they would be repaid in full for all the years of abuse they had meted out to her! Oh how delicious revenge would be! How sweet it would be to see the last drop of life drained from their vile worthless corpses, to hear them take their last gasping, rattling breaths! They would never again mistreat Patchara! They would never again mistreat anyone! At last she would be free from their evil clutches! At this moment, it was within Patchara’s power to make it happen. It would be so easy! All she need do was squeeze.... just a tiny bit harder! It was she who held all the power now - even power to decide life and death for them! And she also held within her hands the power to decide her own future.

For what seemed an eternity, she stood there over them in silence, balanced on the precipice of murder, while the struggle raged on within her. Charunee and Hans never knew just how close they came that day to meeting their maker. Patchara wrestled mightily with almost overwhelmingly irresistible urges. But at last, good sense and logic prevailed over emotion. A person of lesser strength might have succumbed to the urge and pulled the trigger - "Consequences be damned!" But Patchara finally relaxed her grip, letting the hammer slowly return to its resting position, then withdrew the weapon. Abruptly, she wheeled about and left the room, silently slipping out of the house, avoiding a murderous act of violence that surely would have ended their lives, but at the same time, would have effectively ended hers as well.

For hours she wandered the streets of the middle class suburb of Adelaide Hills, which overlooks the town of Adelaide, while she weighed her options and tried to formulate a plan. She could stay on with Charunee and Hans for a while longer. They at least, were a known quantity. But she also knew that to stay on any longer would almost inevitably result in her murdering them in their sleep. The only alternative was to take the giant leap into the unknown and strike out on her own. She had no clear idea of where she would go, or how she would survive. But as frightening as the prospect of being on her own might be, the alternative was even more frightening. Her decision finally made, she returned to the only home she had known since coming to Australia, in order to retrieve her books, the books which had been a gift from a dear friend, and a few other of her meager personal belongings.

Hans was there to greet her at the door upon her return. Patchara had not been there to prepare breakfast for them, as was the usual ritual, and they'd had to fend for themselves when they arose this morning. "Where the HELL have you been?!!" he thundered. The company which Charunee and Hans had been entertaining over coffee and cake looked up from their seats at the kitchen table in startled surprise at Hans’ outburst. Knowing that words would be useless here, Patchara proceeded straight away to her room and began to pack her belongings. Hans was not far behind. He would not allow such insolence from the likes of her, especially in front of guests! Bursting into her room, he at once saw what Patchara’s intentions were. Immediately he began shouting his objections, making it clear to her she would bloody well NOT be permitted to leave, until they TOLD her to leave!

Hans then left the room briefly to bring up reinforcements, returning a moment later with Charunee in tow behind him. She took up her position in the doorway, blocking Patchara’s only means of exit and stood there like a sentinel at her post with arms folded, overseeing the scene. With Charunee now watching over and smiling with smug approval, Hans’ shouting quickly escalated into slapping, then punching with closed fist. A thundering blow sent the books Patchara had been holding in her arms flying across the room. As she bent over to pick them up, Hans went completely berserk! Grabbing her by the hair, he began kicking her violently about the head and torso, dragging her about the room, and shouting at the top of his lungs, like some kind of raging maniac. A sharp pain in Patchara’s side accompanied the breaking of bone, as Hans’ boot struck blow after crushing blow to her ribs. They sucked the life’s breath from her lungs, and she swooned as the kicks to her head made galaxies of stars swim before her eyes. She fought against slipping into unconsciousness, for if she blacked out now, she might never awaken from this!

At some point, Patchara finally managed to free herself from Hans’ grasp, and pushing past Charunee, she retreated to the living room, attempting to reach the front door, where she could make good her escape. But Hans followed behind her in close pursuit, delivering a salvo of brutal, punishing kicks to her body all the way to the door. If the ingrate bastard were determined to leave, he would make sure she would never come back again, by God! "I basically crawled out the front door on my hands and knees to freedom!", Patchara recalls. As all of this was taking place, the bewildered breakfast guests remained seated at the kitchen table, paralyzed in shocked disbelief, apparently unsure of what they were witnessing or what to do about it.

About this time, Patchara’s godmother, Sarah, came running across the street to intervene, having already instructed her son to call for the police. Fortuitously, Hans’ son in law, James, pulled into the driveway and entered upon the scene at the same moment. Attempting to de escalate the violence, he quickly inserted himself between Hans and the object of his fury. "Take it easy!" he said. "She’s just a child, Hans! Give her a break!" he pleaded. Hans, near apoplectic and still quaking with rage, began to slowly regain his composure, while Sarah comforted and attempted to soothe Patchara outside of the house, while ministering to her bleeding wounds. It was obvious she could not remain here. Had Sarah and James not intervened when they did, Hans might well have killed her that day. With the situation temporarily defused, Patchara waited in James’ car, while he and Sarah hurriedly finished packing her belongings.

It’s unclear how long the thrashing had lasted, but it almost certainly had to have been several agonizing minutes – minutes of intense domestic fury, driven by blind, unreasoning, murderous hatred. It was one of the worst beatings Hans had ever inflicted upon her. But the one thing which stands out most in Patchara’s memory of the incident is the approving smile on her mother’s face, as she bore witness to, and even directed, the brutal, life threatening beating of her own flesh and blood! But then, this was not at all inconsistent with Charunee’s cruel behavior over the years. Nor was it at all inconsistent with the behavior of a mother who could indifferently look the other way, while her little girl, over an extended period of time, was repeatedly sexually assaulted by a family member. But such things are common, after all, among the Bui Doi, the "Dust of Life."

Patchara was no longer present when the police finally came. James had whisked her away from the scene to a safer place by the time the authorities had arrived. She never sought revenge by pressing charges against Charunee and Hans, as she easily could have. She wanted only to put it all behind her and begin a new life. At least now she was free! Bloodied, but unbowed, Patchara had crawled and clawed her way to freedom that day. But freedom always carries with it a price. Part of the immediate price for her had been severe physical trauma. It was trauma that might well have taken her life, but she had miraculously survived it somehow with multiple cuts and bruises, a broken rib and undetermined internal injuries. She did not seek medical attention for them. Her physical wounds would heal with passage of time, just as all the others had in years past.

Now, with her bridges burned behind her, she would have to somehow make for herself a new life, to move forward. But having no real assets, other than her own innate courage and will to succeed, how could she begin to establish a life for herself in a fiercely competitive, often uncaring world of strangers? On whom could she rely for critical assistance in getting on her feet, both physically and financially? That person turned out to be her step sister’s estranged husband, James - the one who had intervened on her behalf with Hans.

(To Be Continued)