Category: Letters to Sombath

Dear Sombath,

They keep saying they don’t know
They keep saying they are inquiring
It is almost two years now

For answers we are still waiting



So many have been asking

“Where is Sombath?” to no avail

From everywhere calls are coming

But in Laos silence prevails

How long will this take

For the truth to be said?

How long will this take

For justice to be made?



They should know, let’s make it clear

That time will not weaken us

They should know, let us not fear

That we will never give up.

Anne-Sophie

Dear Sombath,

Greetings of peace!

I share the same endeavor as your wife. My husband [Jonas Burgos] was taken away from me, too. He was abducted by the military last 2007. We are nearing the eighth year of his disappearance. It is difficult, yes, but my family and I will never stop until we have found him, you, and all the other disappeared. Yes, even if it happens that we may have already found my husband, we will continue to search for the others. It is because we know how hard it is for the families and friends left behind by the disappeared. We want this all to end. Nobody must be disappeared again.

Shui Meng and I write each other whenever we can. We need each other as well as all the other relatives of the other disappeared. We support and comfort one another so we can continue on strong with the search. I know you would be very proud of your wife because she never stops searching and fighting for you, to get you back. And I know my husband is just as proud of me, too, for doing the same.

When we remembered the International Day of the Disappeared last Aug. 31, I had a butterfly land on me when we were about to start the march. I whispered a message to it for my husband…In our country, we have this belief that butterflies may carry messages for people in some special way. I will send you a butterfly, Sombath. Keep strong and keep the faith. God is with all of us always!

My prayers and support, Mhe-Ann

Dear Sombath,

This is a letter that has been written many times in my mind. It’s a hard letter to write – I would much prefer to say it to you in person. I cannot remember the first time we met, but I remember we bonded over too much coffee on the balcony of Shui Meng’ sea-facing abode in Dili. There, you shared your wisdom with me, telling me about PADETC and the work it had done. Your serene smile – that classic Sombath look of equanimity – captured the gentle but determined way you viewed life. As sea breeze brought salt to our lips, you sketched out your idea of happiness: the roof of happiness must stand upon the pillars of heart, economy, culture, and environment while supported by the foundation of education. This drove you to devote decades of your life to your fellow Lao, despite the opportunities you had been offered. You are a man of the Earth. This, the Timorese could recognise whenever you visited us in Dili. I was a privileged disciple, whose ears and mind were, thankfully, open.

Later, the one month I spent in Laos – documenting PADETC’s work – was a chance to deeply understand your philosophy. Local knowledge, you exhorted, is what will help any community develop sustainably. I saw how your face lit up with pride when you introduced your young staff and youth volunteers. These are the ones whom you have envisioned would make Laos a better place.

But it wasn’t always work you talked about. On the old swing facing the Mekong River, as we watched your neighbour trawl for fish against the setting sun, you told me about the siblings you helped to bring up. You spoke of your days at the East West Centre – where I, too, had studied briefly. There, you had met your Shui Meng, and fallen in love. Whenever the two of you were together, I would be tickled by how you two – both grey in the head – would still tease one another incessantly. Shui Meng’s chidings were often infused with more love than she realised she was showing. When my son met the two of you at Labrador Park in Singapore, he called you “Uncle Zombat” and her, “Auntie Water”. We ended our excursion with ice-cream – dry ice swirled fancily about – and promised to meet again. That still stands. We pray that our Uncle Zombat comes home so that Auntie Water will no longer cry. We love you, Sombath.

Yours most sincerely,

Bridgette, Norman & Val

Dear Sombath,

The letter I write to you was provoked by an initiative on Facebook. I think this is much in your spirit since I remember you speaking enthusiastically about the use of Internet (Google maps) by young students together with village elders in projects in the rural area. I still remember your inspiring presentation on a VSO workshop in Vang Vien in 2011. Your very personal approach appealed to me and I remember your, for me unexpected, reaction to some of my critical questions. We were the only two people in the room with some grey hairs and you received my comments with the remark that you were very happy with a more critical note since you were critical at heart yourself, but the only way to get things done was to remain optimistic.

I have tried to keep that lesson in mind since I heard of your disappearance, but I must say it becomes more and more difficult as time passes. Presently I work as an agricultural advisor in the Prisons of Malawi and I hope to be able to contribute a little to the situation of people in custody here in Africa. Let me end with pronouncing the hope that you will we a free man soon and assuring you that many people keep up the spirit of your attitude toward development for the poor since you inspired them.

Yours Sincerely,

Flip de Haan,

Zomba, Malawi

Dear Sombath,

I am not sure you know the writer Eduardo Galeano. I do think you would appreciate him. If you haven’t read anything by him, I do hope someday you ‘ll get the opportunity to read Galeano. One of my favourite books is his Book of Embraces. As Galeano says, writing is a way of embracing other people, so I am writing you.

One of the chapters in the mentioned book is called Celebration of Mistrust that goes like this:

On the first day of classes, the professor brought out an enormous flask.

“It’s full of perfume,” he told Miguel Brun and the rest of the students. “I want to measure how perceptive each one of you is. Raise your hand as soon as you perceive the scent.”

And he removed the stopper. Moments later two hands were in the air. Some five, ten, thirty—all hands were raised. Continue reading “Dear Sombath…from Nico Bakker”