Fight Flight Freeze

“Tragic” doesn’t come close to describing the nationalist decisions made these past two weeks by the Myanmar and U.S. governments about who gets to remain in their countries. Dreamers and Rohingya can’t be compared perfectly, I know. Yet both countries will be better off if they can sort out their citizenship rights issues and prevent future episodes of flushing out minority groups.

Growing up in America I recall glowing references to the “melting pot,” or the “land of opportunity.” We were taught that it’s good to embrace otherness, and that everyone has an equal chance to prosper. Later, I began to understand that the U.S. melting pot might in fact be more of a salad bowl, and that the meritocracy doesn’t always work.

Myanmar prefers separate plates rather than pots or bowls. Conformity is valued more than variety—a place for everyone, and everyone in their place. Thus conflicts over identity easily flare here, especially when you throw onto the fire other tinder such as land, history, and trafficking. Recent news reports from Rakhine State, with titles like “Trail of Suffering,” describe village burnings and uncommon levels of both fight and flight.

This new chapter in the old strife between several communities appears to contain a familiar theme: the excesses committed by both minority and majority seem especially lopsided. One armed contingent attacks another security force, using makeshift weapons, causing X number of deaths. “Revenge” is then taken by a much larger military unit, causing many times X number of deaths. Of course none of the excesses is acceptable, and comparing them may not be useful. In any case, these numbers can’t be confirmed precisely.

What seems certain is the flight by Y number of people who don’t want to be caught in the crossfire. That number has climbed steadily since August 25th, when a newish group claiming to represent Rohingya interests struck Myanmar government outposts close to the Bangladesh border. Since then the Myanmar military has hit back, and the number of people crossing that border has averaged over 19,000 people per day. We can be reasonably certain about this count, as it is provided by international humanitarian sources who are attempting to furnish emergency relief to those displaced people.

Another thing we can be certain about is that issues connected to living in a plural society truly expose the worst in people here. Comment forums on internet websites and following facebook posts feature tirades and broadsides and abuse rivaling anything you might hear at, say, a rally in Charlottesville.

Nobody must manage such hostilities more than Aung San Suu Kyi, Myanmar’s elected leader and so-called counselor. On diversity issues she has been unable to lead and unwilling to counsel, saying most recently that such issues are dogged by “misinformation.” No doubt she feels the pressure that all politicians feel to say what will please voters, who in this country are mostly biased against Rohingya. To a lesser degree she may also want to respond to the mostly international voices who say her refusal to recognize the Rohingya cause is grounds for the overturning of her Nobel Peace Prize. In the end, she can neither ignore nor overrule the decisions of Myanmar’s military leaders. She appears paralyzed.

Sure, she’s under enormous stress, so her freeze response may be understandable. But it’s hardly the quality that can move Myanmar forward. Silence suggests a lack of hope—precisely the quality on which she was elected. Silence from Aung San Suu Kyi is a double shame, because she has a ready-made roadmap for next steps in Rakhine State. The Advisory Commission on Rakhine State Report’s recommendations, issued the day before the most recent troubles began, provide her with a plan, legitimacy, and balance. When hardliners last year questioned the need for the commission, Parliament voted a green light for it.

In a time dominated by mobs and tweets and post-truth, solutions and peacemakers are thin on the ground. Aung San Suu Kyi holds a few cards that nobody else in the country can claim. She could start by finding her own freedom from fear and acknowledging that violence has never solved Rakhine’s State’s problems. From there, she could lead a push for, as the Rakhine Commission puts it, “an acceleration of the citizenship verification process in line with the 1982 Citizenship Law.” Perhaps such an effort here would even inspire American political leaders as they debate a Dreamer Law in hopes of harnessing the power and benefits of the nation’s mosaic.

Annan Report Released

Yesterday a commission led by former UN Secretary General Kofi Annan released an important report regarding the future of Myanmar’s Rakhine State. It recognizes the many root causes of conflict there.

At the top of the report’s pile of recommendations is a call for reviewing the country’s 1982 Citizenship Law. That law as currently interpreted is partly responsible for more than one million Muslims in Rakhine State being stateless. The law’s critics say it defines citizenship along ethnic lines.

Many other factors beyond the citizenship law explain why so few Muslims (only 13,000, according to the report) in that area have been recognized as full citizens or naturalized. Yet if tweaks to the law increased that number by even a modest amount, it would send an important signal that the future there won’t be dominated by extremists.

Asking for that signal might be asking too much. Moderates on Rakhine State issues are a rare and endangered species. As one veteran UN official told me over lunch recently, “there’s no nuance there.” Surely the Annan Commission heard that opinion expressed often. Just the same, I’d like to believe its report can be a tool for tolerance.

H1N1 on the Brain

For the past couple weeks Yangon has had flu on the brain. Influenza virus always peaks during rainy season in SE Asia.

Mixed in with regular flu this year have come many cases of H1N1, otherwise known as swine flu. This strain, like seasonal flu, can lead to serious health problems for some people.

Health officials have tried to calm the public through awareness campaigns, but the memory of the 2009 global H1N1 pandemic remains fairly fresh. Also, rumor control becomes more difficult in the Facebook era. Pharmacies are sold out of everything flu-related.

I wasn’t surprised to find a mask-clad man when I answered the doorbell the other day. Slowly it dawned on me that he was the same guy who shows up once a month to hand-deliver the bill from the internet service provider (mail delivery isn’t too reliable here). Sometimes, as a token of gratitude for using its services, he also hands me a small gift from the company: a package of candles at light festival time, or stickers around Valentine’s Day. Today, along with the invoice, he presented me with two masks.

Is it Myanmar or is it Burma?

A fine language teacher came my way and provided a new-to-me answer to a common question: is it Myanmar or is it Burma?

This fellow, an anthropologist with an interest in language, says that essentially the two words are the same.

It turns out that the dominant tongue here, spoken by most people as either a first or second language, has both a high form that mainly shows up in formal or literary situations, and a "low" form used for everyday exchanges.

Speakers of the high form, since as far back as anyone can remember, have pronounced the name of this place as “Myan-ma,” with two squeezed-together syllables and without an “r.” The informal form of the language, at some point long ago, began substituting a “b” introductory sound for certain words that had previously begun with “my….” So it was that in colloquial language “Myan-ma” became “Ba-ma.” All along, both names were in use. When the colonizing British showed up, they wrote the everyday name in English as Burma.

Forty years after independence, a new military regime declared that the official English name would thereafter be “Myanmar,” tacking on an “r” to the English spelling as a way perhaps of hinting that the final “a” sound should be lengthened. This declaration took place as part of the junta’s attempt to do away with spellings introduced by colonizers.

Of course things are never that simple.

Political dimensions of the name choice resurfaced. The formal English name and its consequences weren’t brand new debates. This time, not only was the new regime quite unpopular, both inside and outside the country, but it also continued to use the term “Ba-ma” when referring to the country’s majority ethnic group, which the British had spelled Burman. The generals claimed that of the two previously interchangeable place names, their choice was more inclusive of the entire population. “Nonsense,” said many of the minorities in this country where the borders were drawn by outsiders. Even today, thirty years after that decision, no term exists in any of the languages spoken here that includes all of the ethnicities living here. 

The non-Burman third of the population, along with several international human rights groups, suggested that the “new” name simply continued a policy of successive governments to Burmanize the country. My new language teacher friend explains it this way: “It would be as if a new government in Washington, D. C. one day said, ‘We’re no longer the United States of White America; we’re now the United States of Caucasian America.’”

Buses Upgraded

One place the NLD government can claim a measure of success is in public transportation. Major changes were made to the bus system in Yangon, starting about three months ago. Most of the buses are now new enough that you can't see the road through the holes in the floor anymore. Very few remain with wrong-side steering wheels.

In theory, routes, timetables, and salaries are now fixed. Profits are now shared across the system, instead of depending on the number of round trips completed. Drivers no longer have incentives to speed or take short cuts.

I've been riding buses more and more often lately, rather than sweat it out on my bike or paying taxi fare. When they're going where I'm going, they're better than both. Also, it’s hard to beat the local flavor. I especially like the conductor's horizontal water bottle, resting on an above-window grab bar, waiting patiently for him to come by now and then and take a swig.

Yesterday I took one of the new yellow Chinese buses. Replacing the conductor was a little plastic basket, taped on a pole next to the driver, into which you drop your 200 kyat (make your own change... honor system). The seats had lots of legroom, the aircon was really strong. Not to worry: this one still had some classic Burmese touches. Jasmine flowers and stuffed bears hung from the rear-view mirror, and Buddha stickers were mixed with long lists of rules about whoknowswhat.

ASSK, One Year On

Many commentators last month noted the one-year anniversary of Aung San Suu Kyi’s ascension to the country’s top job. She continues to enjoy nearly complete admiration from the majority of people.

Yet in spite of that good will, Myanmar has not become any easier to govern than it was a year ago. In fact, this government is arguably still military-led. By order of the constitution, the most important ministries remain controlled by the generals, who also have the right to appoint 25% of parliament and to decide their own budget.

Those same generals maybe even prefer the current arrangement to when they held all of the cards. Now, they’re allowed to pull most of the strings economically and militarily, while ASSK and her party get to struggle with a long list of political headaches and then take the blame when they turn out to be unsolvable.

Ethnic groups, for example, seem no closer to winning any concessions on the issues they consider most important: revenue sharing, some degree of political autonomy, and local language promotion. The day when peace accords get signed appears not to be any closer than it was a year ago.

Chinese influence in Myanmar has only grown during the year that ASSK has been in office, while simultaneously the international community’s interest in democracy promotion here has diminished during that same time.

No wonder, then, that The Lady’s recent speeches have sounded less responsive to the needs of the people than her campaign rhetoric did. She now urges communities and individuals to find "courage" and "self-confidence." As if the people of Myanmar haven't been self-reliant enough during the many years of military-led governments.

To give her the benefit of the doubt, it would be nice to think that ASSK and the NLD will spend the next four years working with civil society to expand opportunities for the country's poorest, least educated, and least powerful people. 

Yet polls (no telling how scientific or trustworthy) suggest that a growing number of citizens believe Myanmar is headed in the wrong direction. The NLD may be starting to squander the body politic's trust. High hopes for civilian leadership can't last if its actions remind people too much of the previous military government. Stay tuned.

The F Word, or On the Assassination of U Ko Ni

Federalism, or governing both centrally and through local administrations, struggles as a concept here in Myanmar. Sharing power has been discussed on and off for decades. In practice, control and returns from natural resources have never been well distributed between the union and state governments.

Chief ministers for each state and region are appointed from a distance rather than elected by local populations. Taxes, to the extent they are collected transparently at all, must be deposited at the union level before being reallocated. Services such as education and health have rarely been funded or administered locally. As a result, in many areas of the country governance and revenues are contested by people who back their claims with weapons.

Regional and ethnic leaders, as part of peace discussions, have proposed constitutional changes. They see federalism as an opportunity to create a unified country with diverse parts. The central government’s military perceives that federalism would erode both its sovereignty and its profits.

Amidst these challenges and conversations came a political assassination this past Sunday. The death of U Ko Ni, a lawyer who pushed for constitutional reform, is a blow to anyone aiming to create a Myanmar where benefits are shared fairly and where local cultures and histories are maintained. He argued frequently for peaceful protest, against hate speech, and in a spirit of people’s participation.

At the time he was gunned down, U Ko Ni had been serving the new government as its most important legal mind on questions related to religion and race. His own father was a Muslim from India, while his mother was a Burmese Buddhist. He held many views considered threatening to the powers that be. Specifically, he believed that the country’s constitution should be replaced, in part because under it federalism could never truly take root.

The 2008 Constitution, which the military leaders of the country designed and treasure, falls far short of what international observers consider a reasonable standard for collaborative governance. Critics accuse the document, among many other flaws, of failing to grant equal rights to all races and religions. The news of U Ko Ni’s death has thus stirred not only debate about constitutional reform and self-determination but also religious freedom.

There are many federalisms around the globe. I’m not clear which of them, if any, are right for Myanmar’s situation. What I am clear about is that this murder was heartbreaking. One commentator said that the bullet that killed U Ko Ni also “hit the constitution.”

Snakebit

Earlier this week, a snake bit Jip’s mom as she waved goodbye to a visitor in front of her house. Snakebites aren’t always dangerous—she’s had dozens in her life—so she shrugged it off… until early the next morning when she woke up to pee, found that her ankle was a bit more swollen than usual, and apparently fainted, banging her head hard on the way down. No fun. She never did know what she hit.

I was already scheduled to show up in Ban Krud later that day. The plan had been for me to visit Chao’s house in Bangkok the night before and then to head south from there on my own to the village. But that morning we got the news about the snakebite from a neighbor who had taken her to the hospital. We decided to drive down together.

As it happened the whole country was a bit topsy turvy at that moment. The new king was due to be crowned the next day. Or maybe not crowned, maybe just installed. (He had said on the day after his dad died that he needed a year to mourn before taking the throne. That would mean he wouldn’t be king until September 2017.) Nobody was really sure, and to be honest he might have been about the only one who was really all that excited about the prospect, no matter when it was supposed to happen.

Chao and I arrived at the hospital. Mom didn’t look too good. Chao handed her a little gift he had brought along—a memorial necklace with the old king’s picture on the pendant. Watching her don it was a lovely moment. Despite the bruised head, black eyes, and puffy leg, her wonderfully expressive and vital face shone. She suddenly appeared peaceful and satisfied.

Myanmar Wealth

The Burmese economy mystifies, as has been mentioned often in these pages. It is sometimes said that the country’s development needs could be met overnight if only the lucrative domestic jade business was taxed fairly.

One in four people lives below the poverty line. In rural areas it’s one in two; in conflict-affected areas near borders, it’s nearly everyone.

Official reports about what generates wealth here discuss natural resources and agriculture. Unofficial accounts mention trafficking of drugs and humans, theft of timber, smuggling of gems, and other such “dark” sources of money.

Estimates about how much of the economy is underground range as high as half. One report estimated tax losses at 122-172% of health expenditures and 48-73% of education spending from 1960-2013.

How else to explain the growing availability of luxury goods? One BMW and one Mercedes dealership can now be found on the road to the airport. Shops dedicated to Swiss watches are now inside the airport itself and in fancy hotels.

Many times, I have nearly lost faith in Myanmar’s ability to repair the damage done by greed. Finishing up at the ATM on a recent rainy day, I felt a tap on my wrist from a very little person. He was holding a rumpled bill worth about 1500 times less than the stack I had just pulled out of the machine. His face wasn’t exactly pleading. It just looked confused, as if he wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to be asking. 

Flu Season

Here in Southeast Asia influenza cases spike during the wettest time of the year—usually July through September. In Thailand people sometimes talked about getting flu shots during May and June as prevention. I haven’t noticed anyone in Myanmar having those discussions.

The talk instead is of traditional ways to avoid the disease. Some people mention umbrellas to keep the head dry. Logical enough. Others suggest dietary changes: no deep-fried foods or sticky rice. One of my local friends has a very specific four-step prevention plan:

• Avoid showers for one week
• Clean only the body’s nine orifices
• Rub feet and armpits with damp cloths
• Spread Tiger Balm inside ears, under arms, and around bellybutton

So far, so good.

Seen in a Stream

Several men fish in a countryside canal. Some string nets across the entire stream. Others use electric probes that stun anything with gills. (The electrofishing method isn’t legal but alas also isn’t rare.)

I watch for a while and I wonder how this body of water still contains any fish. They don’t seem to stand a chance.

Down the steps toward the water come two women carrying a bucket full of…
…fish to release for good luck.

This country both charms and discourages me.

Unsnug Plugs

The most unexpected difficulty of rural travel in Myanmar? Coaxing electric plugs to remain inserted into sockets.

When we arrive from other places we take for granted that we’ll be able to charge computers, phones, cameras and so on. It might occur to us to bring along a power pack or extra batteries to tide us over through the many, many spots in the country where electricity has yet to arrive. Once we do find a socket, we assume the little prongs will stay put. Wrong.

Sometimes the slots turn out to be too wide. Other times everything’s angled toward the floor and gravity works against us. Often the wall plate has gone missing, which means the heavy adaptor that we world travelers cannot live without drops to the ground because it has nothing to lean against.

So we miss our bus because our alarm didn’t go off because the outlet let go of the plug during the night. Or we never get the text that our friends sent about the meetup time because the connection got loose and the phone battery went bye-bye.

Traveling with duct tape might help us get a grip. But even that universal cure doesn’t always do the trick if the socket is too old and tired. Welcome to Myanmar!

Overland

Normally a journey to Myanmar starts at an airport. This time I chose to begin at a bus station in Kanchanaburi, Thailand. Not far from there is a border checkpoint that has been open to foreigners for about two and a half years. The twisty gravel road from the checkpoint ends at a sleepy southern Myanmar town called Dawei. When you figure in the cost of time and onward travel to Yangon, the overland crossing isn’t faster or cheaper than going by air. But it’s varied and pretty and unpredictable—in other words, all the reasons we travel.

Vans to the border leave Kanchanaburi every 90 minutes starting at 9am. I picked the first one because I wanted to be in Dawei before dark. We reached the checkpoint at 10:30, including time for stopping on a lovely Thai side road to buy a few bamboo tubes of sticky rice from the van driver’s auntie.

Leaving Thailand went smoothly, just like at any airport. From the checkpoint I walked about 100 yards to a little courtyard where I could book transport to Dawei or buy breakfast. They took my passport and 800 baht. In a few minutes they gave me back my passport, a ticket, and a photocopy of my visa for Myanmar Immigration. A shuttle drove me and a few other travelers the five or so miles through what I guess is a no-man’s-land.

The shuttle turned around in Htee Kee, a Karen town with a Burmese name. People there speak Karen, Thai, Mon, Burmese, and a little English. The immigration office felt a little rougher than the Thai counterpart I had just left but it got the job done. The staff seemed grateful for the photocopy.

Next up in the transportation chain: the dispatcher. He arranges full vehicles for passengers from both directions. Anybody who’s ever traveled in Asia knows that times like these are good times to go get a coffee and open a book. In this case the wait turned out not to be too long, maybe 30 minutes. Probably some days it’s two minutes and other days two hours, all depending on who else is going.

The dispatcher came and went several times before pointing to a Toyota hatchback. The driver and the only other traveler both hailed from Dawei. They had plenty to talk about so they took the front seats and I got to stretch out in back, with a seat belt even. Communication was easy because they spoke Thai.

For the next three hours we saw no more than 20-30 other vehicles. A few motorcycles carried people who looked like they would be stopping often to work in the sparse forest. There were no trucks other than a convoy of five Thai double-tractor-trailers that rumbled our way just as we formally entered Myanmar. The trucks looked too clean and formal to have traveled very far. I wondered if they had crossed from Thailand earlier in the day to pick up an unofficial shipment of something that Customs would wave through uninspected.

The terrain started out hilly, gradually giving way to jungly, and then cultivated. Finally we encountered a bit of extraction, though it was hard to tell exactly which minerals were being carved out of the hillsides and sluiced out of the river. We made a steady 30km/hour, slowing for clouds of dust and one-lane-only bridges. No pavement, no cement electric poles, almost no settlements. The scattered houses were made only of bamboo and thatch. Whenever we passed a building of any size, it flew the flag of the Karen National Union.

Shortly before 3pm we stopped at a roadside office with no markings. The driver disappeared with my passport for much longer than the “official” immigration people in Htee Kee had needed to look at it. After that point it seemed we had entered our third country of the day. Busier and busier villages, more and more rubber or plantations of this and that, and finally tea shops and electronics displays.

Downtown Dawei is full of old lattice and lace houses that have been kept up nicely. The people charmed me too. The next morning I asked the guest house owner about where to find good mohinga. She described the directions and then added, “Bring me some back, will you?” A friendly welcome to Myanmar.

Open Wind

In the massage shop at Bangkok’s southern bus station, making use of a gift hour resulting from my first-choice bus being sold out, I told the masseuse about a crick in the neck caused perhaps by sleeping the wrong way. She began with the feet, as they do, and after about five minutes said something about “bpeurt lom,” meaning to “open the wind.” At first I figured she was referring to an electric fan as the room was a little bit warm. I said fine, for me it’s OK either way.

But then she didn’t stand up or move toward any switches, and it occurred to me that she might not be talking about fans at all. The word for wind in Thai can also refer to the life force… not exactly the same as “chi,” but in that category. Maybe she was referring to the beginning stage of any massage, giving me a kind of description of what she was doing? Something along the lines of “With these humble hands of mine I will now unblock your essential energy.” Which she then proceeded to do.

She got a big tip. The massage had so many nice results. My neck really did feel better the next day. Almost as nice was the feeling I got after figuring out the second possible translation. It’s satisfying to have lived in a region long enough to realize there’s more than one option. In Thailand I have a chance of understanding unexpected or deadpan remarks. In Myanmar my language skills are still a long way from that place.