Afew Good Men

Try imagining what it was like to be a monk in the olden days of India: you had neither valuables nor reserves; travelling from one village to another on foot you preached the dharma to laymen with hope that one day they would be liberated from the world of samsara. Your intention was kind and your words were gentle, but there was no assurance that you would be spared from humiliation and hostility. As you travelled, except for the comfort of shelters offered by nature, decent lodging was not guaranteed; and while you begged for alms, there was no certainty that you would receive any offering; and even if there was, you would take only enough for the day; if by chance, the food offered was not fresh nor to your liking, as a monk, you ate it anyway with a heart filled with gratitude.

How did the monks do it?!

How did the monks, while venturing into a new territory managed not to be disturbed by worries of whether their basic necessities were met, and whether they would be guarded against insults, physical abuses or attacks from wild animals? How did they manage to remain calm and blissful, even when continuously confronted by a tomorrow that offered no certainty, while we, on the other hand, despite the buffers built over the years, flinch at the thought of losing our job without first securing a better one?

Basically there are two categories of people: one who works for their self interest, the other the interest of others. It seems to me, the latter rises above fear, whereas fear prevails among the earlier. There are people living among us, who embrace the spirit of philanthropy to undertake a lifetime commitment to serve the sick, poor, old and needy. There are three paragons I know that I will share with you their stories: Teresa Hsu, Cao-Ching, and Dharma Master Chen Yen.

Like the monks in the olden days, these people made a conscious decision to take a gruelling journey, shouldering enormous responsibilities in the name of humanitarianism and charity; although their journeys were like sailing a boat through a hurricane, never once did they yield to the fear of difficulties, unknown and temptations; in fact like the monks, they overcame them and emerged triumph under every possible tests.

These are their stories…
The 107 years old humanitarian

Teresa Hsu is probably the oldest social worker in the world. Although this year she turns 107 years old, she looks no more than 80, and is still going strong with her charity work. Her life is committed to serve the old and the poor.

As a young girl, Teresa was deeply affected by the sights of hardship and misery that the poor had to endure. One night, while leaving a posh restaurant in Shanghai, a beggar teetered to her to ask for a few cents. The sight of the man “all yellow, starved, skinny and barely able to hold himself up” created a great impact on her; a sudden surge of compassion rushed to envelop her. She felt sorry to be lavishing on a huge meal while beggars, whom she considered her brothers and sisters, were out feeling cold and hungry.

From that very moment onwards, she gave away all her earnings to aid the needy, keeping just the bare necessities for her basic needs. The day she made that decision, she was liberated.

After the Second World War, feeling helpless that she could offer little assistance to the wounded, she applied to study as a nurse in London Nursing Council, although she was grossly over-aged; at 45 she was too old to be accepted for the course, but her persistency eventually earned her a place. After eight years of learning and practicing as a nurse, she discovered a hospital in Paraguay in dire need for nurses, but could not afford to hire them. This was the perfect place for Teresa. Not getting paid or being paid little was not a problem for her, she just wanted to help the poor. Without hesitation, she seized the opportunity and soon worked in the hospital to care for the natives and the Jewish refugees from Germany who were ill.

At an age of 67 years old, when most people would gladly retire, Theresa founded the Home for Aged Sick to care for the elderly in Singapore. Using a property donated by her elder sister, she started accepting residents into the home. Although the operation was constantly faced with financial problem in the beginning, Teresa was not deterred and she continued to accept helpless senior citizens until the number soared to a hundred; even when she had no more money to operate, like a cliff-hanger, she held on to her optimism and faith which always found her the solutions just in time. She remained a committed caretaker and the matron for the home until she turned 85, making way for a younger generation of management staffs.

However, her body was still strong and her mind was alert after she left Home for Aged Sick; mostly she could not suppress her passion to care for the needy. Hence she turned her focus to another group of senior citizens in Singapore, who had chosen not to live in an old folks’ home, but was poor and had no children to depend upon. Through her Heart to Heart Service, Teresa started to provide food and pocket money to this group of elderly.

When I met Teresa a few years ago, she was caring for more than twenty such lonely senior citizens. I was drawn there by my curiosity to see for myself how a woman, who was then 102 years old, managed to care for elderly who were young enough to be her children. Immediately, she amazed me with her reflexes and mobility; but more impressed was I by her wit and her sense of humour.

I asked Teresa how she overcame her anxiety in times when she did not receive enough donations for her dependent elderly; I was expecting her to fill me with details of anguish in her anxious days. But instead, she gave me an answer that I had totally not expected.

According to her, throughout the years there was not a single occasion that she ran short of food or financial donation. If she was lacking rice, somehow, someone from somewhere would appear with bags of rice at her doorstep asking for her acceptance. If she needed instant coffee, the same thing would happen. It was like a miracle. She had a wish, and someone would fulfil it for her. However, her wish was never for herself, but the interest of the old folks under her care.

There was one occasion though that she had to visit the supermarket to fill up her supplies. But, while she was queuing up to make the payment, she noticed a woman who kept staring at her.

‘Am I pretty?’ she asked her in usual sense of humour.

The woman smiled because she had recognized Teresa from some newspapers which reported her work. She asked Teresa if she had bought the food for the old folks under her care.

“Do I look like I eat so much?” Teresa answered jokingly.

The woman then offered to pay for the food, and with the remaining change from the cashier she donated them to the Heart to Heart Service.

Perhaps it is her continuous contribution to improve the lives of less fortunate people, Teresa is now enjoying the fruits of the seeds she sowed—a body in excellent health and a mind in total bliss. At 107 years old, Teresa, whose philosophy states that "all living beings are my brothers and sisters", is still running the Heart to Heart Service and the food distribution program. Although she has never sought after accolades in what she does, nonetheless recognitions have found their ways to her: especially in recent years she has received numerous awards, including a Doctor from University of Southern Queensland, Australia, not bad for a woman who did not receive much formal education.
700 Names

Twenty years ago, there was a gap in the welfare systems of Taiwan—no organization was assuming the responsibility to care for patients in a persistent vegetative state. Hence, many patients ended up lying permanently in a corner of their home, depriving from proper medical care. For the patients, albeit some were conscious, the windows where they could communicate with the outside were closed; they were imprisoned by their own bodies, silently enduring a long period of torments. These people were totally under the mercy of their family members. Unfortunately, Taiwan in those days was not a rich country; if someone was already ill at home, it was unlikely that any more adults in the family could be spared from working; thus, it would be a luxury to have someone fully committed to care for the unfortunate ones. Naturally, the patients ended up developing bed sores, and the lacks of immediate medical attention and continuous medical care, only worsen the situations—the sores grew larger and the rotting flesh started to smell, in some cases bones were even visible.

Mr. Cao-Ching, an office worker holding a junior position, saw the problem and could not turn his head away from the agony, pretending not to hear the silent screams that echoed behind closed doors. Without any medical knowledge, financial backing, or connection, he was determined to find a mean to reach out to help the patients who could not cry out their own needs.

Initially, Cao-Ching tried to contact the respective government departments and charity foundations asking for their support. But his voice fell only on deaf ears. Finally, he felt that it was fruitless to go on seeking help from the big boys. That was when the determined the devoted Christian, Cao-Ching, took a drastic step: he packed some clothing and twenty biscuits into a big bag and bid farewell to his family to embark on his humane mission; but his campaign was without the blessings of his wife and two children. It was a one man’s quest, ploughing a lonely furrow for the welfare of a group of stranded strangers. For the subsequent four years, the lonely man travelled around the country seeking support from the public by asking whoever he met with the following three questions:

“Do you know what a human in vegetative state is?”

“Do you care to help them?”

“If you do, can you leave me your name and address?”

Most considered him a charlatan or a crazy man; some gave him an ugly look and some ignored him; but Cao-Ching could not care less with those negative responses, like a stubborn mule, he braced on with his goal in mind. Eventually he managed to secure the trust of 700 people who left him their names and addresses.

Upon returning to Taipei, he setup the Creation Social Welfare Foundation. With no more than NT$170,000 of pension fund left with him, he started identifying a location to establish his centre to accept new patients; but it was hard to get anyone to rent a place to him once they knew the purpose. Even after he overcame that problem, most of his fund was already used up—with around NT$10,000 cash left after deducting the deposit and rental. This period lasted like a bitter winter; de facto, the first patient bed was made up of an abandoned cupboard and a layer of blanket laid over it. Some forsaken patients were even left at his doorstep; and they became his responsibilities. Cao-Ching’s determination could not be defeated; instead of driving himself nuts with worries, every night he would stay close to his patients, learning methods from medical books to tackle their bed sores.

However, it did not take long before the foundation’s survival was put to test—the depleting fund meant that the operation could not last for more than a month. The foundation was in a dire strait. Cao-Ching could have chosen to walk out of the situation, but that thought never crossed his mind.

All he needed was immediate financial assistance. So, he quickly wrote a mail seeking the help from the 700 people, whose names he gathered. Like delayed rain that came after a period of drought, donation started to pour in slowly; and according to Cao-Ching, miraculously the money was always sufficient to make the ends meet for each month.

A few years ago, after learning the story of Cao-Ching from a magazine, I was in awe of him. I could fully appreciate the pain of caring for a patient who made no communication with the caretaker, because, after all, I had one such patient in my home—my mother; she became a vegetable after suffering a severe stroke.

I arrived at his centre shortly after one of the worse floods that hit Taipei. I walked into his office without making prior reservation for an appointment. When finally the old man appeared before me, standing between his patients who filled up rows of bed, I was overwhelmed with emotion; I was standing like a little student being called into his principal’s office—dead stiff. I shook the man’s hand and my eyes began to water. I knew how difficult it was to care for one such patient, and, yet, here he was, taking care of hundreds of them. We did not talk much. I noticed he looked rather tired and dazed. A caretaker in the centre told me that when the water was flooding into the centre a couple of days ago, Cao-Ching tried to rescue the diapers kept in a storeroom located at the ground floor. A sudden explosion caused by the breakdown of power supply had injured the old man. However, when a rescue team arrived at the centre in a boat, Cao-Ching insisted them to attend to his patients before attending to him, thus his own treatment was being delayed.

Over the years, Creation Social Welfare foundation continues to have its fair share of obstacles and challenges; but despite all that, Cao-Ching’s selfless nature has never been intimidated to assume heavier responsibilities to care for more patients.

Now, after almost twenty years, what started out as a one man’s quest to answer the silent cries of patients in the country, has benefited more than 700 patients in permanent vegetative state, and the foundation has expanded to fourteen centres covering many parts of Taiwan.
A puddle of blood

One day in 1966, when Master Cheng Yen was visiting a patient in a clinic in Fenglin, Taiwan, she noticed a puddle of blood on the floor. Upon enquiry, she soon learned that the blood belonged to a pregnant tribal woman who was carried to the clinic on a stretcher by four men from a village. The men had manoeuvred through a long and winding journey which lasted for eight hours on foot in order to arrive at the destination. Their strong will had helped them conquered the barriers of mountains, streams and personal fatigue, but, the will was proved futile when confronted by a registration fee required by the clinic—NT$8000. The amount was insurmountable by the poverty-stricken villagers; hence, the woman was turned away. Lifting the stretcher once again, the spell which had so far supported the men began to dissolve, so overwhelmed by the grief that seized them, the men broke into tears; with their shoulders slumped and faces looking down, the tearful men stepped out of the clinic accompanying their loved one on her final journey home.

Master Cheng Yen was deeply troubled by the incident and it hurt her to think about what had happened to the woman and her unborn child, “Did they survive?” she wondered, but there was no answer.

This incident had prompted Master Cheng Yen to establish the Buddhist Compassion Relief Tzu Chi Foundation (Tzu Chi Foundation) to aid the needy, despite the fact that the nun could barely get by with what she made.

In the mid sixties, Master Cheng Yen lived in a little hut cramped together with three of her disciple nuns. The place was pitifully small, leaving little room after occupying two single beds. Two nuns had to squeeze themselves into an undersized bed; throughout their sleep the nuns’ sleeping postures were restricted to lying sideways. Fortunately, they only needed to put up with it for four hours, because that was just how much sleep they limited themselves to.

To make a living, the nuns had attempted much drudgery: knitting of sweaters, stitching of bags to hold animal feed, sewing of baby shoes, planting of vegetables, weaving of cotton gloves and so on. They would even labour for hours ploughing a field using a borrowed ox. However, during the busy seasons, when ox was not obtainable, the eldest disciple, Master De Ci, would take it upon herself to drag the awkward plough around the field without the animal—a test of human endurance. But despite all the hard work, their effort was still inadequate to provide them with the basic necessities.

In times when the harvest was bad, a meal comprised no more than a bean curd cut into four quarters distributed among the nuns. If there was any consolation, the bean curd was dipped with salt to whet their appetites.

When darkness fell, the nuns did not excuse themselves to rest early. Every night, Master Cheng Yen would give a lecture to her disciples based upon the famous “Four Books” of Confucianism, the lotus sutras, and various scrolls of Buddhist sutras; the disciples would dutifully recite the verses from the books. Even during blackouts, the nuns would persevere with their efforts by lighting up a kerosene lamp or a candle.

Other Followers who witnessed their hardship tried to offer their assistance, only to be turned down because these nuns had vowed never to accept any offerings from their devotees; furthermore, the nuns had also vowed never to consume food in a day that they had not worked.

The foundation was founded under such harsh conditions. But how could the nuns who were struggling to be self sufficient carry out humanitarian work?

In order to do so, everyday Master Cheng Yen, her three disciples and two senior female followers, would produce an extra pair of baby shoes each and sold it for NT$4, thus giving them NT$24 a day of combined earnings. In a year, they could make more than NT$8000: an amount sufficient to save the pregnant tribal woman.

During the turbulent years, many Taiwanese prayed to the thousand arms Quan Yin (Goddess of Mercy), who was known for her boundless compassion, to overcome their adversities. Master Cheng Yen felt that if she could gather the strength of 500 individuals, a formidable Quan Yin Bodhisattva would have been formed. United as an entity, the group could adequately answer the cries of victims in desperation and offered comfort to them.

Hence, during the foundation’s inception, Master Cheng Yen gathered all her members—there were 30 housewives—and urged each of them to donate NT$0.50 a day from their grocery money to the foundation for helping the poor and the sick. With that meagre amount, lives could be saved, and yet the lifestyle of the members would not be affected. Hence, every morning before visiting the markets, the housewives would put aside the committed amount into a bamboo “piggy bank” and walked into the markets preaching the words of “saving lives with NT$0.50”, thus creating quite a momentum.

By the foundation’s first anniversary, around US$700 was collected and 15 needy families were relieved. The impetus that started with 30 housewives eventually snowballed to thousands, and as a result, numerous Quan Yin Bodhisattvas were consummated to response to the needy.
A General Hospital

In the year 1979, Master Cheng Yen called for the building of a general hospital in the eastern Taiwan, Hualian. The notion was spurred by an accident: while alone in her room, Master Cheng Yen had a sudden attack of heartache. At that critical moment, she failed to locate her medicine and consequently fainted till the next morning.

Master Cheng Yen took this incident as a warning to alert her of a “bomb” implanted in her body ready to blast off any moment. Coming to terms with her vulnerability, she questioned herself the future of the foundation and the continuation of support for the 2000 recipients after she had passed away.

In her meditation, she discovered that thus far, the foundation resembled nothing more than a pool of water without a source; ultimately it would dry up. What the foundation needed was to create a water source, capable of rejuvenating itself and channelling endless energy to effectively heal the suffering of the poor and the sick. But where could the foundation find a source?

The answer lay in a general hospital.

Master Cheng Yen had learned from her observation that the prelude to poverty was a breadwinner entangled in a prolong illness, which ultimately impoverished the family. Having a general hospital would certainly benefit the eastern Taiwan which was seriously lacking in medical resources: the critically sick need not be sent to Taipei, the northern Taiwan, for treatment anymore, thus avoided higher medical cost, unnecessary delays and risks.

Everyone would agree that the motive of building a general hospital was good. But was it feasible? To build a fully equipped general hospital that accommodated up to 500 beds in a remote area of Taiwan would have posed a serious challenge even for the most talented and educated professionals in those days. So how could a group of nuns and housewives undertake a project that required an astronomical figure of NT$800 millions?

From every logical aspect, the project was unviable—the foundation simply lacked the manpower and the financial muscle. In addition, the voices of objections were loud. But, Master Cheng Yen’s faith was not wavered by the noises; she persisted with her decision and convinced her members to engage in the project that many had considered a “mission impossible.”

Thus began a series of tests for her as she embarked on the journey.
A Series of Tests

Like crossing a desert under the scorching heat, the march to the Promised Land was arduous and strenuous. Three long years had passed, but only 5% of the targeted fund was raised under intense effort. Tramping at such pace, it would take more than 50 years to reach the objective—a lifetime commitment.

After leading a wandering mass for years with no sight of the destination, it was a huge challenge for any leaders to maintain the caravan. To make the matter worse, malicious gossips aiming against the expedition were hurling like desert wind: blowing sands fiercely onto their faces. But Master Cheng Yen remained firmly committed to her goal. Together with her followers, they forged bravely through the gusting wind with sands gliding through their faces. The excruciating condition had not reduced the size of the caravan, but had strengthened it.

Amid the sand storm, an oasis sprang up like a gift from heaven. A Japanese man grown up in Hualian volunteered to donate US$200 millions to Tzu Chi foundation. He was grateful to the Taiwanese government for releasing the Japanese POWs home after the WWII; hence the handsome donation was a gesture to repay the government’s magnanimousness.

While most would hastily welcome the gift, Master Cheng Yen stood still, between her followers and the oasis, she meditated over the situation calmly despite the rising temperature. After much consideration she concluded that Tzu Chi foundation could not accept the money. Master Cheng Yen believed that the merit of building the hospital should be granted to everyone instead of just one man. On top of that, there was no assurance that the Japanese management style would not collide against the principles of Tzu Chi.

So she pleaded with her followers to continue with their “pilgrimage” giving the public an opportunity to sow the seeds of love. Members were dumbfounded by the decision; but time would prove that Master was right.

Before the sand storm subsided, darkness had descended: the task of identifying a suitable land for the hospital had turned out to be an impossible task. Time after time, a promising property would end up being nothing more than a mirage. It seemed like finally this would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Without a suitable property, Master Cheng Yen had no other choice but to abdicate the project; however, she was prepared to return every single cent of donation back to the donors.

While thick clouds of hopelessness hung over Tzu Chi’s caravan, a beam of light suddenly penetrated through the darkness and presented a ray of hope: with a stroke of luck, an excellent property emerged; the news could not have been timelier. Every thing about the property was ideal except for its premium due to the proximity to town. As it was, the foundation was already struggling to raise the required fund; a premium price would extend the journey even further.

The dilemma eventually reached the ears of Mr. Lee Ten-Hui, the chairman of the province. From a distance, the man had long admired the foundation’s endeavour and it would please him to see the episode concluded with a happy ending. Hence, Mr. Lee came out with a brilliant idea—the government would rent, instead of sell, the land to Tzu Chi foundation for only NT$1.

Another oasis had appeared—it was a mega boost to the morale of the fatigued fund raisers; but, once again, Master delivered a shocking decision—she turned down the offer! Master felt that if Mr. Lee was promoted to a higher stage of his political career, this decision would create complication for his successors who might not concur with his judgement. Furthermore, if the property price surged, the government would be placed under pressure to pacify intensifying protests of angry tenants who paid a higher rent. On hindsight, Master was right: Mr. Lee was promoted and ultimately became the president of Taiwan, and the property price too had inflated. Had she taken the NT$1 offer, Tzu Chi Foundation could possibly end up in the centre of gossips inviting unnecessary criticisms.

Upon securing the property, Master authorized the construction of the hospital to begin; she was overwhelmed by emotions as she watched the commencement of the construction work. With only 5% of the fund raised, many would have expected the progress to be slow. But, what happened was the contrary. The milestone had reinforced the confidence of donors and the determination of the fund raisers, and at the same time raise the urgency of the project. As a result, the pace was very much accelerated.

Eventually, when the hospital saw its grand opening, it was not 50 years later. It took only seven years. By 1986, Master Cheng Yen had accomplished what she set out to do. She had awakened the compassion of the public by involving them in the building of the hospital, without succumbing to any temptations. Tzu Chi Hualian Hospital had also become the first hospital in Taiwan to abolish the compulsory registration fee, thus setting an example for the rest to emulate.

As for the Tzu Chi’s members, they had practiced Buddhism by taking a path that resembled the monks who went around begging for alms; the members condescended themselves to go around asking for donation, accepting criticism and humiliation if required; but in the process, they gained a new recognition of their true self by diminishing their egos.

Today in Taiwan, Tzu Chi foundation has six general hospitals, a College of Medicine, a College of Nursing and a Marrow Donor Registry with the largest bone marrow database in Asia. From a humble beginning of 30 members in the eastern part of Taiwan, Tzu Chi has now grown to more than 5 million members around the world carrying out four major missions—charity, medicine, education and culture—to improve the world we live in.
Conclusion: Rising Above Fear

Teresa Hsu, Cao-Ching, and Dharma Master Chen Yen are a few good men living among us. Like you and I, they might look ordinary; but what they had accomplished was extraordinary.

These people understand a simple concept—the world is interdependent; there is no one, no matter how intelligent and affluent, can survive on his or her own. This awareness of oneness brings upon a humbling effect on them, thus raising their gratitude and appreciation towards others.

The major difference between the few good men and most of us lies in the definition of “self”. While “self” to us comprises nothing more than our selfish desires and needs, “self” to them encompasses everyone’s welfare. As a result, they empathize with others’ suffering as much as their own. On the other hand, though we might be unmoved by the images in a TV showing Africans dying of hunger, we do not end up happier. Ipso facto, our narrow definition of “self” makes us a prisoner of our selfish thoughts.

Throughout our adulthood, we work hard to accumulate assets, with the intention of acquiring happiness through our wealth. Unfortunately, along the way, we become quite disoriented by our self-centered goals that we end up being a victim of our own greed and fear. Our minds are constantly filled with worries and concerns: not getting a promotion, not clinching the deal, breaking off with our steadies, losing money in our investments, failing our school examination, someone exposing our secrets, and so on. Even if we are the few lucky ones who achieve great financial success, we only end up becoming greedier—lusting for more and more. Eventually we become caught up in a cycle of greed, fear, disappointment, anger, and delusion. The irony is that whereas people living in the third world are dying of hunger, the first world’s are suffering from psychological illnesses and rising suicide rate.

To the few good men, the existence of their own interest is minuscule; for their interests lie mainly in others’ welfare. For instance, Dharma Master Cheng Yen has introduced the concept of “nano-self” to remind her followers to reduce their ego and desires, in order to fit themselves into others’ hearts to provide services that benefit those in need of help.

For the galaxy of humanitarians, obviously they are untouchable by fear and greed. After all, what do they fear losing? Self interest? With a heart filled only with the welfare of the sick, old and poor, when faced with challenges and uncertainties, their concerns for the needy will take priority, consequently giving them the courage to brace against the odds.

--The End--