Kristof Essay

Two years ago, Nicholas Kristof opened up a yearly opportunity for a student to go on a reporting trip with him to the developing world. Now that I am a student and therefore eligible, I decided to put my name in the running. I had to write a 700-word essay about why I would like to go on this trip.

I don't expect to win, of course (realistic expectations). But the self-inflicted grueling process of writing a 700-word essay was a good exercise in communicating why I'm here in Washington and doing what I'm doing. I'll be the first to admit that in the company of type A personalities who are driven by worldly ambitions, it's really hard to keep my intentions pure and holy. I catch myself chasing after the dreams of being significant and doing all these glorious things for myself rather than building the kingdom of God. This exercise helped ground me to some degree. I've decided to post it online to share with you. I went through nine drafts before I finally (primarily because I ran out of time) submitted this one to the New York Times. I'm not perfectly pleased with it (since when I am ever?), but it's good enough. Enjoy.

I’m usually not a talkative person, but I love telling stories. Whether in short prose, blogs, or other avenues, I want to tell stories that I find interesting. My creative writing professor taught me a lesson I’ll never forget: “Find your own voice. And find your own story to write.” With the help of The Times, I wish to tell more stories in my own voice—stories of struggle and triumph, stories of injustice and hope, stories to awaken the souls of the world to the cries of the voiceless. And more than my desires to tell a good story, it is my conviction to help others that fuels me to seek this opportunity.

This conviction to help those most in need took root during my last semester in college. Prior to then, I had been your run-of-the-mill, self-absorbed teenager who could care less about human suffering. But it was largely the writings of Nicholas Kristof that brought me out of my bubble and into a world where systematic injustice existed, even though I had lived through my share of economic inequality, racism, and xenophobia. Being immigrants, my parents worked more than twelve-hour shifts in laundromats and grocery stores to barely make ends meet. Growing up unable to speak English, I was spat upon and made fun of countless times in school. My own teachers called me by racial slurs. I thought I knew all there was about injustice—until I realized that I would never be sold into brothels like the women whom Mr. Kristof had interviewed for his articles dealing with sex-trafficking in Cambodia. It was then that the words of Edmund Burke echoed in my head: “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

I soon found myself on a plane to Cambodia, partnering with an organization to provide a means of livelihood to people whose own government labeled a lost cause. Many of them were stricken with leprosy and/or other diseases, and they were thrown out of society to fend for themselves. Even worse, their children rummaged through garbage to find food to eat and things to sell. As I watched in horror, I could no longer justify my indifference. I needed to do something.

The organization I worked with had built a school to provide free education for children in the area. I volunteered to teach and give them a childhood that I believed they deserved. Our team introduced them to games that we had grown up with—four corners, tag, jump-rope, and the likes. We wanted to enable their dreams and provide a safe environment, away from traffickers that were always lurching in the villages.

Three weeks later, I came back to America changed. I can’t completely say that I was no longer entirely self-absorbed and indifferent, but I wanted to find meaningful ways to get involved in making this world a better place.

Today, I am a graduate student studying international politics as it relates to injustices faced by children, the most vulnerable elements of society. Children actively fight grown men’s wars, labor in atrocious sweat-shops, and service tourists in brothels. More often than not, their plight has largely gone ignored and their stories have reached deaf ears. They are victims of the truest sense of the word, and I can no longer stand idle as they are taken advantage of.

I am no journalist. I am a student with a drive to keep learning. I am a political scientist who loves to capture stories. I am a human being who wants to make a difference. And I am not perfect. I am sure there are many others who are more qualified than I am. But what I lack in experience and ability, I bring relentless passion, deep-rooted conviction, and steadfast devotion. My out-of-the-box thinking, communication skills, and technical experiences, including photography and videography, will be an asset to your team. But most importantly, this trip will give me a unique experience of translating my interests in politics, writing, and humanitarian work into a lifelong commitment to combating injustice in the developing world as well as a medium to mobilize others to do the same.

At Least I Tried

Nicholas Kristof, one of the New York Times Op-Ed writers, first opened my eyes to a form of slavery I had never been exposed to before--children, as young as eight, and women abducted from their homes to work in seedy brothels all around Cambodia. I could not begin to fathom how one could justify subjugating a child and rob them of their innocence by allowing Western tourists to sexually assault them.

Today, the New York Times published an editorial piece by John R. Miller, a public policy scholar at the Woodrow Wilson Center and a former State Department ambassador. In the article, he attacks the United States Department of Justice for not wanting to end the sex trafficking industry in the United States and abroad, one of the hallmark humanitarian platforms that President Bush has staked his presidential legacies on. I, too, agree with Miller in that the public should excoriate the Department of Justice for its refusal to do whatever it takes to end this horrific injustice.

The William Wilberforce Trafficking Victims Protection Reauthorization Act of 2007 was introduced last year to, among other things, give broader powers to Congress, the Department of State, the Department of Justice, and other federal agencies to combat the pervasive sex trafficking industry. The bill passed almost unanimously in the House of Representatives, but is currently stalled in the Senate Judiciary Committee. How the United States cannot get their act together and continue to ignore the eradication of rights for women and children who are trapped in the modern day slave trade is deplorable.

Although I am unsure of how everything is going to turn out in the years to come, I wish to get involved in tackling social injustice--maybe not sex trafficking per se (although I am open), but anything social injustice related. I watched the movie "Lions for Lambs" last night, and in the highly politically-charged movie, Robert Redford's character, a college political science professor, tries to logically persuade an apathetic student with utmost potential to care about society and get involved. In one of the more poignant parts of the movie, the student says, "You think it is better to have tried and failed than to have failed to try. But what is the difference if you end up in the same place?" And the professor calmly responds, "At least you tried something."

When all is said and done, when I have to give an account for what I did with my one life, I want to say that at least I tried to make right some wrongs in the world in which I live in today. At least I tried.

To Be Brave or Be Safe?

In fact, for parents, Jesus asks us, I think, to make yet another choice. Are we raising our children to be brave or to be safe? Are we raising our children to be loving or to be smart? Raising them to be successful or significant? How does God raise his children? This marvelous quote from C.S. Lewis I’d like to have you look at for just a moment: “Love is something more stern and splendid than mere kindness…Kindness merely as such cares not whether its object becomes good or bad, provided only that it escapes suffering.” My vulnerabilities as a parent are such that sometimes I just want my kids to escape suffering. But then they just can’t be good or brave.

IJM’s almost 10-years-old now, and one of the privileges I’ve had is ten years of interns at IJM. There are hundreds of them now who have served with us. And one other thing I’ve had a chance to connect to is hundreds of intern parents. We take these very young, earnest, incredibly sharp, brilliant Christian young people and send them off to these very tough places to go serve some very needy and hurting people. And this is a tough step of faith for the young people, but this is a leap of faith for the parents. It’s incredible to watch because all their life these parents have been plowing faith into their children, and the love of Jesus, and it turns out their children actually believe it! And they go do it! And the parents are out of their minds! Sometimes I wonder, because I think there comes a time when the child asks his mom and dad, "Mom and dad, why are you giving me all this stuff? Because you've given me food and shelter and clothing and great education and discipline and faith and structure and all these things, but mom, dad, why are you giving me all this stuff? And the honest answer for me is that I'm giving you all this stuff so you'll be safe. And I think my kid looks up to me and says, "Really? That's it? That's your grand ambition for me? That nothing bad happens?" And I think something inside of them dies. - Gary Haugen, Director and CEO of International Justice Mission (IJM)

I was reading through IJM's website to look for possible internships, and I came across this sermon that Gary Haugen gave at a church. And as I was reading this sermon, I was reminded of the initial small steps I've taken towards my destiny in these past eight years in Ann Arbor.

For the longest time, I had convinced myself that I was not called to missions work. I loved my ESPN, my burgers, my bed, my car, and all the comforts afforded to me by my privileged life in America. I could not imagine living in a foreign land, eating exotic foods I couldn't even pronounce, and around people who couldn't speak the same language. I knew in my head that there were lost people who needed to hear the Gospel, but I didn't want to be the person who God could use to share the good news.

During my senior year of college, Nicholas Kristof, the New York Times writer, began a series of articles centered around the sex trafficking problem in Cambodia. Girls, as young as six, were being sold into brothels to be used as a sex slave for western tourists. That absolutely disgusted me, and a part of me wanted to do something to stop this injustice from continuing. Sovereignly, that summer, HMCC would send a missions team to Cambodia and Thailand, and I was given the opportunity to apply to be part of that team. But I struggled. On one hand I wanted to be brave and be available to minister to the people in Southeast Asia, whatever their needs were. On the other, I loved my comforts of home too much to give up for some people I didn't even know. But thank God for some key older brothers and pastors in my life who spoke loving truth to make me evaluate my heart. In the end I decided to take that leap of faith and go to Cambodia and Thailand for that summer, and that decision has made all the difference.

I love my parents, who are God-fearing Christians. My mom tells me she prays every morning for my brother and me. She tells me she's proud of us that we still follow Jesus and serve our churches that we do. But she has her limitations. Last year, I was convicted to go on one more summer missions trip to confirm different things that God was putting on my heart. I told my mom that I wanted to go to a communist country to be available to do anything and everything. My mom hesitated before telling me to reconsider. She said that it'd be too dangerous and that if I wanted to, I could go to China later on in life. She told me that people here in America need Jesus also, and she asked me why I would want to risk" my life by going to a closed country. I decided to obey God and not my mom.

I had grown up to be cautious and careful, to be risk-averse and conservative. And I think a part of me did die in the process. The excitement that comes from being part of an adventure was all but gone in my life. But slowly God has been renewing me as I learn more of His calling for me. When He calls me to have faith, He brings me to a place where faith is possible--in the uncertainties, unknowns, difficulties, etc. Obedience to God is often hard and scary; but it is richly rewarding. And though I know the decisions I will make in the future will only get harder and scarier, I pray that I would muster the courage to choose to be brave and follow conviction over safety and comfort.