Bleak future for road victims
Cambodia’s dangerous roads are claiming – and crippling –
more lives than ever. The victims are mostly young men, often the
breadwinners of their families
Seven months ago, 31-year-old Phaung Sopheap was driving his
motorbike down Street 271 on the western outskirts of Phnom Penh when
another motorbike crashed into him. He fell off and landed with his leg
trapped underneath his bike. The man who had collided with him then
drove over him again in an attempt to finish him off – a well-known
tactic to avoid paying medical bills.
The same happened to Chen Boeun in Kampong Speu who in 2010 became
the victim of a hit-and-run – his children gave up their studies to find
work in garment factories.
And to Touch Sokun, who had to have his leg amputated in 2012 after
crashing in Phnom Penh. He was about to take up overtime work, but his
injury forced him to miss the necessary training.
All three men are now in debt after becoming victims of Cambodia’s
roads – which are claiming and crippling more lives than ever before.
Many of the casualties are young men. For these family breadwinners, the
repercussions are huge: being unable to work, spiralling into debt,
being unable to provide for their families. Some even become dependent
on their children.
“Road crashes are a new threat to the country’s future,
disproportionately affecting vulnerable groups of road users, including
the poor,” said independent road safety consultant Ear Chariya, adding
that more than two-thirds of the people killed on Cambodian roads are
aged between 15 and 44. “Road crashes place a heavy burden, not only on
the national economy but also on household finances,” he said.
Socheata Sann, a Cambodian PhD candidate in road safety at the
Queensland University of Technology in Australia, is conducting research
into the effects of road crashes on Cambodian men. She has mainly been
working with Cambodia’s 11 physical rehabilitation centres, all of which
provide free rehabilitation services to physically disabled people
around the country. Two of them are funded by the government, nine
through various NGOs.
In Sann’s research, she found that, from 1980 to 2011, just 3 per
cent of the people treated at these rehab centres were injured in road
crashes. But those figures accellerated rapidly in the study’s last five
years. For 2007 to 2011, the rate was 15 per cent. The real increase is
probably even higher, she said, because there are many road crash
victims who do not use the centres’ services.
A few months ago, Sopheap was undergoing physical therapy at the Kien
Khleang National Rehab Center in Chroy Changvar district, which has
fitted him with a prosthetic leg and where a physiotherapist helps him
to get used to walking again.
Sopheap’s injury was worsened by the perpetrator running over him
again. According to Chariya, despite a 2007 law ordering the same
punishment for a driver who causes death as one who causes disability,
perpetrators remain cognizant that they could still end up paying more
compensation should the victim remain alive.
“Victims or their family can ask for more compensation to cover their
medical costs and long-term care, which would cost more than death as a
result of a crash,” he said.
Sopheap now attends the rehab centre every morning, and hopes he will
eventually be able to drive again, a skill he needs to be able to go
back to work.
“My family life has really changed since the crash,” he said. “My
children used to go to an expensive school, but I can no longer afford
it. They can’t study English any more.”
The effects of impairment from road crashes are complex. The cost of
medical treatment is high, and many fall into debt. Because of
Cambodia’s poor infrastructure, which brings with it a lack of
accessibility for the disabled, it can be impossible for them to find
work. For people aged between 16 and 60 – a category that makes up 85
per cent of patients injured in road crashes – the economic implications
are enormous.
“Most people are of working or studying age, and are also the
breadwinners of the families. At that age, it affects a lot of areas of
their life – the whole family too,” said Sann, adding that the majority
of those affected are men, partly because Cambodian men are more likely
to drive, and partly because, in her opinion, they are more likely to
demonstrate risky behaviour.
The poorest are worst affected. Treatment is expensive and, depending
on the injury, can last many months or even years. The former
breadwinners become dependent on family members to take them. “Mobility
is a real issue,” said Sann.
Even if those left disabled have the chance to attend short
vocational training courses run by NGOs, these classes may not be
relevant, said Sann. “The training courses might be to repair motorbikes
or cars, but it’s not really about continuing their long-term
education,” she said, adding that some courses include tasks that
require heavy lifting, which are not appropriate for many disabled
people.
“It’s a very good idea to provide skills, but these NGOs need to
check first whether they can follow these skills or not, because some of
them might spend a year learning a skill and when they start to work
for three months they cannot continue to do so, so it’s a waste of
time”, she said.
As a result, many are left unemployed. Of the road crash victims Sann
spoke to, 20 per cent were unemployed, compared with the latest
International Labour Organisation figure of 0.20 per cent people
nationwide.
And if people cannot work, they become reliant on their families.
“People really expressed the feeling of becoming a burden on their
families, because they are disabled and cannot get a job. Sometimes,
their children need to stop their education, or their brothers and
sisters need to stop to get a job,” she said.
Boeun, from Kampong Speu, sustained broken bones in his hand and leg
after the hit-and-run. He used to lead a team of construction workers
but had to give up the job due to injuries. While he can sometimes work
in construction or on a farm, he only does what he can manage. His
family is now reliant on his two children, who support them through
working in a garment factory.
“I can’t do hard work as before,” he said. “It changed my life a lot,
from being a normal family to a poor family, because I spent almost
$7,000 for my treatment. I didn’t have that kind of money, so I took out
a bank loan and now I’m in debt.”
For Sokun, although the recovery from his motorbike crash is far from
smooth, most of his medical costs were covered, partly by insurance
from his work at the Ministry of Agriculture, and partly by the
perpetrator of the crash. He was also able to keep his job, and they
even paid him the same salary while he was off work for 15 days after
his operation.
“It didn’t really affect my work. As soon as I could walk again, I
could go back. While I was recovering, the department paid me as normal,
because when I had the accident, I was on the way back from work, so
they understood,” he said, sitting in his cramped fourth floor apartment
– which he still finds difficult to reach – near Phnom Penh’s Orussey
Market.
That’s not to say Sokun had it easy. He had intended to take up some
overtime work in the agricultural sector in order to earn more money,
but missed the training because of his injury. This work, out in rural
villages working with farmers, could have made him substantial extra
cash to support his wife and three children, he said.
He also bought a car that he now drives to work, believing it safer
than a motorbike. But it was expensive, and he is now indebted to his
relatives.
“I need to spend more money on the car – petrol is more expensive.
But even though I have to pay more, it’s safer, because fewer accidents
happen in a car than on a motorbike,” he said, adding: “I now think
about safety first. Life is important to me.”
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