Build People Up

I’ve come to realise that whatever I think I know, there is always so much more that I don’t know yet. I’ve learned that when I think I know something, pause. Maybe I know it, maybe I don’t; dig around, ask some questions, test out my hypothesis, and find out whether I’m right or not. 

I was teaching some sewing students English.

During this lesson, I made the mistake of placing my hand on a young woman’s shoulder, from behind, so that I could lean over and see more closely what she was doing. It was a gentle, caring, sort of a sorry to interrupt, but hey, let’s see what you’re doing, a gesture that I’d used hundreds of times with children in my classes in England and Australia. 

But these weren’t children in England or Australia, and I should have known better. 

The woman jumped, startled, afraid of that touch. It was a stark reminder of the abuse these women had suffered, and I didn’t make that mistake again. 

I was working in an after-care centre for survivors of sex trafficking. 

While half the women at the centre were learning sewing, the other half were learning hairdressing. Sewing was taught on-site, while the hairdressing salon was around the corner. One afternoon, the women returned from the salon upset. They’d had to walk past a building site, and the workmen knew they lived in a centre for sex trafficking survivors and had yelled cruel comments at them. This is when I learned the Cambodian saying, ‘Men are gold and women are white cloth.’ Not only is gold more valuable than white cloth, but if gold is dropped in the dirt, it can be cleaned, whereas white cloth is stained and dirty forever. 

My task this day was to get these women to see in themselves the strength that I perceived in them. I wanted them to know they were the strongest people I had ever met. I wanted them to know their strength the way I knew it, and never forget it. 

I let them know they had a choice: to ignore such comments or confront the ignorance and cruelty but, either way, they should hold their heads high knowing they had done nothing wrong, knowing they are strong. 

When I told each of them they were beautiful and strong, they cried. They said I was the first person to ever tell them they were beautiful. 

How was this possible? 

Not one of them had ever been told they were loved. 

It broke my heart. I had known them for less than three weeks and I loved them. 

Before this I’d had no idea of my privilege. I grew up on a working-class estate in the rough end of town. But I grew up knowing my mum loved me. She taught me I was strong and could do anything. I had toys to play with. I had a bed to sleep in. I was so privileged, and I’d never really realised it before. 

I’m privileged to live in a country where if you’re raped and decide to tell people, society won’t shun you. There is no saying about women being white cloth. There are similarities, though; there are many women who are raped and keep it to themselves. I want to see a time when girls and women across the world can talk openly without fearing being shamed, where they’re confident they’ll be met with love and support. 

In your life and in your leadership, remember your privilege, and build people up. 

Nicky Mih believes in our capacity to live and lead differently. Her book Do What Matters: what leading a child protection organisation in Cambodia taught me about life and leadership is an Amazon #1 best seller in the categories of Business Ethics and Business Leadership. Do What Matters is available on Amazon and freetoshine.org/dowhatmatters