Women and girls in Cambodia are expected to accept that a man's violence is "normal".
But more and more survivors are gaining justice in the courts, which sends a clear indication that the violence against women and girls is indeed "abnormal" and wrong.
By Tobias Jackson Girls and women in Cambodia face discrimination in many areas of their lives: unequal access to an education, inappropriate and inadequate health care, limited options for jobs, little or no voice in public affairs, little involvement in the family or the society's decision making, and the high risk of being abused.
Three common types of this gender-based violence are rape, human trafficking and domestic violence.
Girls and younger women are especially at risk.ÿ Cambodia has traditional moral codes for women (called Chbab Srey) and for men (called Chbab Pror) which were written in poetry form by Krom Ngoy (1865-1936), who is regarded as the father of Khmer poetry.
His poem-codes have been taught at secondary schools across the country, and reinforced by parents and grandparents through the generations.
The Law for Women suggests that women should serve and respect their husbands at all times, whatever the circumstance.
Girls grow up believing that a man's violence is "normal" and acceptable and private.ÿ As a consequence, violence against girls and women has generally not been seen as "wrong" in Khmer society and this attitude was exacerbated by the years of civil war (1967-1975).
During those years, violence was typically the first way that people resolved conflicts, both within the family home, and in society as a whole.
In a 2003 survey looking at views about rape among youngsters, only 13% of respondents viewed rape as wrong.
Similarly, in a 2005 survey conducted by the Ministry of Women's Affairs, 23% of the women said that their husbands had been physically violent recently; a figure likely to be an underestimate as many cases remain unreported.ÿ Here are two cases that illustrate the violence and also the actions taken by two community groups.ÿ A 35-year-old rice farmer in the northwest, near the border with Thailand, married a policeman in 1992 and they had four children together.
They needed more money, so he decided to do construction work for some extra income, and around this time, he became addicted to drugs.
He began arguing with her, beating her, repeatedly, to the point where she had to do something.
But she did not know what to do.
Volunteers helping with the community development organisation Banteay Srei heard her story from people in the community, made contact with her and arranged for her to stay in a safe shelter.
This gave her the space and time to decide her next step.
She chose to take the crime all the way to the courts, and her case was handled by a lawyer from Banteay Srei who helped secure the ruling she had hoped for: a divorce, with half of the family assets.
She also went to several counseling sessions to rebuild her sense of self that had been shattered.
Other follow-up services helped her re-integrate into the community and re-establish a normal life again, without violence at home, and with a higher status in her everyday world.ÿ A 13-year-old girl, also in the northwest, used to live with her mother, a day labourer, and stepfather, a hunter.
At nine o'clock, on the first night of the Khmer New Year, 14 April 2007, she was raped by her stepfather while her mother went to make the traditional round of greetings to her neighbours.
The mother returned home and saw the rape taking place, and screamed as loud as she could for the whole neighbourhood to hear.
The next day, the mother and daughter reported the incident to the police who immediately arrested the stepfather.
The teenager was referred to stay in a safe shelter run by the Cambodian Women's Crisis Center, where she could get practical assistance and emotional support from a counselor, a doctor, and a lawyer.ÿ In addition to these straight-forward ways to help these survivors of violence, Banteay Srei and Cambodian Women's Crisis Center - two of several organisations supported by Oxfam Hong Kong - also do extensive advocacy and awareness-raising to persuade local, provincial and central government of the importance of tackling these issues and implementing existing laws.
Change is happening.
There are fewer cases of violence in the communities where these organisations are working.
There is a greater determination from the government to address the issue, as indicated by the passing of the Law on Prevention and Protection of Domestic Violence (2007).
More and more survivors are gaining justice in the courts, which sends a clear indication that the violence against people like the 13-yearold girl and the 35-year-old woman is indeed "abnormal" and wrong.
-(TWNF) Freedom frames: The way they were By Geeta Seshu * "We had a pious wish that we would get everything now that we are free, but we soon realised it was not so easy." * "All the ideals we fought for are doomed now.
We may project ourselves as a prestigious nation, but the lives of common people are increasingly burdened and full of miseries and worries." * "Yes, we were young then.
We would protest about rising prices, shortage of essential commodities...
And the government would listen.
Today, nobody does anything or says anything, so even the government is relaxed..." This is what some of the women, who were part of the Indian Independence movement, have to say about today's times.
All octogenarians, they have spent more than 60 years in public life, first plunging into the freedom movement and then, soon after Independence, devoting themselves to political life, working in villages, trade unions, health care centres and women's organisations to continue striving for a better world.
Today, as they look back on the six decades behind them, there is a sense of loss - of ideals, of betrayed leadership or even of missed opportunities.
But there is also an overriding optimism in the human spirit, says Janata Dal leader Mrinal Gore, who spoke earlier of a 'pious wish' to see abundance and prosperity in a newly independent country.
Today, Mrinaltai, 82, is still famously known as the 'paaniwali bai' (for her efforts to bring drinking water supply to Goregaon, a Mumbai suburb) and the woman who led tens of thousands of women in a 'latni morcha' (in 1973, the women held 'latnis', or rolling pins, as they marched to the seat of government in Bombay to protest rising prices).
The seeds of her energetic and uncompromising public career as a municipal corporator, a Member of the state Legislative Assembly and, later, as a Member of Parliament, were sown in the ferment before Independence.
"I was studying in school during the Quit India movement in 1942 and wanted to join even then but everyone around me urged me to concentrate on my studies," she recalls.
Yet, she joined the Rashtra Seva Dal (RSD) and attended its 'shakha' (branch) meetings daily.
There, she came into contact with leaders such as S.M.
Joshi, Madhu Limaye, Bhausaheb Ranade and others.
Until her tenth standard, Mrinaltai recalls, she didn't really get fully involved.
For one, her father used to get very angry over her involvement in public service.
As a professor of physics, he knew his daughter was a good student and wanted her to become a doctor.
"My mother on the other hand was very liberal and supportive.
She had complete confidence in me and trusted my decisions.
I had five siblings and none of them got into politics.
I dropped out of medical school after the first year because I realised both the medical profession and public life were serious things and I chose the latter," she says.
Her father, as she put it, was 'wild with me' but Mrinaltai persisted, later marrying an RSD colleague, Keshav Gore, again with her mother's support.
The two worked together till his untimely death.
"At Seva Dal, we were always told - the real work will come after Independence.
So many young people were involved and they were so enthusiastic abut working in villages and slums, taking literacy classes, selling 'khadi', holding health camps and helping women.
We were all very inspired," she says.
The heady days after Independence began to dissipate into anger at the rising prices and hoarding of commodities by black marketeers.
The Anti-Price Rise Movement was launched followed by the Emergency of 1975-76, when Mrinaltai evaded arrest and remained underground for several months.
"I changed houses 72 times," she chuckles.
Today, Mrinaltai is a tad exhausted.
"People have got used to rising prices.
Only when they see a scarcity, do people feel something must be done.
They see that things are available but for a higher price.
But they are not agitated.
The country has changed, but the life of the common man hasn't changed.
It has got worse," she rues.
"The government is sleeping and relaxed," feels Mrinaltai's colleague, Kamal Desai.
Desai is now 87 but she is still active as secretary of the Nagari Nivara Parishad, the organisation that both of them started to provide housing for slum-dwellers.
"Before Independence and after, I worked with the RSD and after my marriage, moved to Vasai where I began working in 'harijan' 'bastis' (shanty towns inhabited by Scheduled Caste communities)," she says.
At the time, no one wanted to work in these areas, but RSD volunteers went into the 'bastis' to clean them, to teach the children and adults, and to slowly try and break the stigma of untouchability.
Desai says that no one in her family was involved in public life and her own involvement was a first.
"But my husband was very supportive and encouraging," she recalls.
"Today, both Mrinaltai and I have become old but we are still ready to take out a 'morcha' (protest march).
But are people ready to join us?" she asks spiritedly.
Matching her commitment and vitality in abundance is Leela Avte, President of the Mumbai committee of the Bharatiya Mahila Federation (BMF), the women's organisation affiliated to the Communist Party of India (CPI).
Despite feeling the loss of the 'ideals' that scores of men and women had fought for, Comrade Leela says she has no regrets.
"I am 82 years old now and became a communist with intellectual conviction in 1947.
I went to jail, I participated in agitations over several local issues...
I have led a full life," she says, smiling.
Leela also went against the grain in joining public life.
"I was the lone agitator in my family and when I married a man who came from a poorer background, was from a different caste and was less educated than I, my family was upset.
But they were dignified and didn't protest.
It was only when my husband pursued his education after our marriage did my family accept him," she reveals.
Today, she sees the disease of corruption as a huge obstacle, seeing hope in the Right to Information Act and the Consumer Act to combat it.
Upset at the increasing terrorism and communalism in the country, she hopes people will come together to fight the twin forces of evil.
Indefatigable as ever, she spends her afternoons correcting proofs of 'Mahila Andolan Patrika', the magazine of the BMF, and checking the cover of the issue before it goes into print.
For her, as for the others, Independence was merely the beginning of a long road ahead, and they walk - sometimes uphill, sometimes downhill - but always with their gaze ahead.
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