Lotus Petals ~ INTRODUCTION
Since
1975, when South Vietnam fell under the Communist
yoke, many Vietnamese, finding life in their country
intolerable, made the heart-rending decision to leave
their homeland, the tombs of their ancestors, and
~ in more cases than not ~ their families, to brave
the dangers of crossing the sea in small, overcrowded
and leaky boats, in order to find freedom and a better
life. No-one will ever know how many of those who
escaped thus now lie on the sea-bed; it cannot be
calculated, but must be well into the hundreds-of-thousands
after all these years. And still the exodus goes on.
Those who survived, and reached ‘free’
shores, were put into Refugee Camps to await resettlement
in other countries. The Camps in Thailand, Malaysia,
Singapore, In-donesia, Philippines, Macau, Hong Kong,
Korea, Taiwan and Japan varied in many ways, such
as the degree of freedom, friendliness, and living-conditions
accorded the refugees by the host-countries; some
were much better than others; some have a terri-ble
record as regards the treatment of the refugees.
Internationally, governments, private organizations,
and individuals responded to the situation, and provided
humanitarian help in many forms. Numerous religious
groups sent well-funded missions to the Camps, and
did immeasurable good work. Sadly, how-ever, some
could not resist the temptation to take advantage
of the opportunity to prose-lytize, knowing, perhaps,
that according to their culture, the people of South-East
Asia find it difficult to give a straight refusal
to anything, out of consideration not to offend anyone.
Their suffering, poverty and uncertainty were thus
exploited by unscrupulous people in order to gain
converts. Some over-zealous missionaries offered money
and other material inducements ~ like bait on a hook
~ to those who would convert to their particular sect;
at one time, the ‘market-rate’ in the
Camps in Thailand was 400 baht (about US$20) per convert;
in Philippines, it was 200 pesos (about US$25, at
that time). And it was funny to see the various sects
of the same religion not working together, but competing
with each other to ‘catch fish.’
In January 1979, I went to the Philippines, thinking
to stay there perhaps three months, so as to visit
some of the psychic-healers for which that country
is famous. I ended up staying there for five years
straight, and never visited any of the healers. In
February ’79, I learned that there was a refugee-ship
by the name of Tung An in Manila Bay, so, together
with a group of local Chinese Buddhists, I went out
to visit it. This formed my introduction to the World
of the Refugees. We found 2,300 refugees living in
terribly-crowded and unsanitary conditions, badly-treated
by the Philippines Navy per-sonnel, and given such
meager food-rations that ~ if I remember correctly
~ one banana had to be divided between three people!
I was appalled by the suffering of these refu-gees,
and resolved that, since I was not involved in anything
else, I would do what I could, within my limited capacity,
to alleviate their suffering in some way. I visited
this ship as often as I could get permission, which
was not very often, in order to extend sol-ace to
the refugees, who were made to stay on that rotten
old hulk through rain and shine, and not allowed to
come ashore. It was never easy to get permission to
visit, and involved going to two or three government
offices for applications, signatures and ap-provals;
it became harder with each attempt, and I had the
feeling that the authorities wished to deter me from
going, as they didn’t want people to see how
poorly they were treating the refugees; they had that
much shame, anyway.
Finally, after keeping these refugees on the Tung
An in Manila Bay for eight months, the authorities
transferred them to a tiny island in the south, named
Tara, an uninhabited place where almost nothing edible
grew, and where the well-water was brackish, so that
everything had to be brought in by ship. It was very
difficult for the delegations to get there to interview
refugees; however, some refugees were resettled from
Tara Island.
Eventually, the authorities realized that they had
made a mistake, and in January 1980, transported the
remaining refugees to the newly-opened PRPC ~ Philippine
Refu-gee Processing Center ~ in Bataan, about 200
kms north-west of Manila. This Camp was a project
of the-then First Lady of the Philippines, Imelda
Marcos, although funded by the UNHCR, and rumor had
it that by setting up this Refugee Center as a ‘show-case,’
she hoped to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Be
that as it may, the PRPC was a vast improvement on
the Tung An ship, Tara Island, and the ‘Jose
Fabella Center’ in Manila, which was another
crowded, dirty and rat-infested refugee place that
I used to visit and nick-named ‘Mosquito Hotel’
because of the swarms of mozzies there.
In September ’79, I began to visit the Manila
City Jail, to bring the Dharma to some of the inmates
there. This became almost a full-time job to me, and
I had many interesting experiences there. One evening,
in March ’80, as I came back from the jail to
the temple where I was staying, in the semi-darkness
at the top of the stairs outside my room, I no-ticed
a strange monk, but since he didn’t speak to
me, I thought he was waiting for someone else, so
went into my room. After a few minutes, when I came
out to go to the bathroom, he was still there, so
I asked him who he was waiting for, and he told me,
in his broken English, that he was looking for me.
He said he was a Vietnamese refugee who was staying
at the PRPC, and had heard from someone in Jose Fabella
Center that there was a Western monk in Manila who
was concerned about the refugees, so had come alone
to Manila to look for me. But, since he didn’t
know my name or address, he wandered around Manila
until he came to Chinatown, where he began asking
people if they knew where he could find a ‘European
monk.’ Finally, he was lucky; someone who had
seen me and knew where I was staying, directed him
to the temple, where I found him waiting. He told
me that he had been in PRPC since January, and would
like me to pay a visit, but I said that I was very
busy at the jail and wasn’t free. “Maybe
next time,” I told him. He went back to Bataan,
somewhat disappointed, but two weeks later, he came
again, with a friend, and this time, I agreed to go
with them, “but just for one day, okay?”
My visit of ‘just one day’ to Bataan,
however, was enough for me to decide to go to stay
there; I told Thich Thong Hai ~ for such was the monk’s
name ~ ”Just let me round off my work in Manila,
and I will come.” By the end of March, I was
in PRPC to stay, but I never realized then that my
sojourn in that Camp would last, unbroken, until November
’83. Thich Thong Hai left there for resettlement
in the U.S. in July 1980.
To recount a few of my experiences in Bataan Camp
would need a book for them-selves, so I will restrict
myself here to saying that my main purpose in going
to stay there and in remaining for so long had to
do with the suffering of the refugees. Having realized
that Suffering is the First and Foremost Teacher ~
Guru Dukkha ~ on the Way, I felt that an attempt should
be made to show some of these people how it can be
turned around and something gained therefrom, otherwise,
if nothing were gained, it would be an even greater
tragedy than the suffering itself. This was, and still
is my main purpose. To a Buddhist, the Buddha is not
our First Teacher, but the Second. Suffering is the
First Teacher, because without Suffering, nobody would
be interested in the Buddha’s Teach-ings about
how to deal with and overcome Suffering.
Many refugees were persuaded, by fair means and foul,
to change their religion. I objected to this, not
because I am against people changing their religion,
but because they were pressured and influenced into
changing. I do not blame the refugees them-selves
for changing, but consider the missionaries highly
reprehensible for using what-ever means they could
devise to convert these poor, suffering, trusting
and gullible unfortunates, many of whom had little
left to call their own except the traditional religion
of their ancestors; it was cruel, callous, calculating
and ruthless of the missionaries to exploit them in
this way. Certainly, I know that many Buddhists understand
little or noth-ing about Buddhism, and that therefore,
one name ~ Christian ~ is just as good as an-other
~ Buddhist ~ but still, that is no reason to pressure
them to convert; these people risked everything to
be free, and should be left alone to choose for themselves
some-thing as personal as religion. I had little choice,
therefore, but to oppose such proselyti-zation, and
to encourage the Buddhists to keep their religion,
and most of my talks in the Camps were given for this
purpose. How much success I had in this, no-one could
say; perhaps very little, if any. On the other hand,
no-one could say what would have hap-pened had I not
exhorted people as I did. My words were seeds, freely
scattered, in the hope that some of them ~ a tiny
proportion, perhaps ~ would grow. Have any of them
grown so far? That is not for me to say.
The Vietnamese Refugee Center ~ VRC ~ in Palawan,
South Philippines, was opened in 1979, and from ’81
to ’87, I visited there periodically, a total
of ten times. While there at the end of ’83,
I gave talks in the temple covering several evenings,
and these talks were later transcribed from tapes
made at the time, and typed-up in book-form under
the title: “LOTUS PETALS.” Recently, in
Melbourne, I met Nguyen Van Cam, the man who, together
with Dr. Tuan, had translated those talks in VRC,
and he showed me the “LOTUS PETALS” he
had typed. Reading through it, although there were
quite a number of mistakes, I felt that, if the biggest
mistakes were corrected, to make it easier to understand,
this collection of talks might be worth publishing
as a book. I told Mr. Cam about this, and we agreed
to work on it; I would correct the more-obvious mistakes,
and he would translate it all into Vietnamese.
At first, I thought to correct it and make it as grammatically-correct
as my writings, but upon second thoughts, decided
that it would be wrong to do so, as they were talks,
not writings, and talks ~ my talks, at least ~ differ
from writings, in that there are errors and breaks
in the flow of the speech, particularly when it is
being translated; this is to be ex-pected, as I do
not prepare my talks, and in fact, seldom know what
I’m going to talk about beforehand, so it is
usually spontaneous. I have therefore decided not
to modify these talks too much, but just to correct
the most-obvious mistakes, and leave the rest as it
was spoken, without apologies, feeling that what my
words indicate matter much more than the words themselves.
There are some breaks where tapes were turned over,
or where the recording wasn’t clear, or where
neither Mr. Cam, Dr. Tuan or myself re-member what
was said; I don’t want to fill those breaks
with new words.
Those refugees who were in Palawan at one time or
another may visualize the scene of the talks out in
front of the temple there, in the open air, with the
moon and stars shin-ing down through the coconut-palms,
the frangipani and bougainvillea trees, and the sound
of the sea in the background.
Abhinyana, Melbourne, July
2533/1989.
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