| Burma Borderlands - All the Blogs |
Living in Yangon makes communicating difficult. Hotmail is blocked, my blog is blocked, Skype is painful even when it is available, and the phone is prohibitively expensive. As I can't get to my blog I've collected all the posts I've written about Burma since I began a year and a half ago. They are profiles, interview transcripts, published stories, and as few rants as possible. Here they are for safekeeping, All the Blogs.
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Bay Da on Shan and the SPDC
From an interview with 27 year old medic Bay Da in Loi Kaw Wan, Burma, February 2010.
What is Loi Kaw Wan?
Loi Kaw Wan is one of the IDP camp. People move from inside Shan State to live here.
What year did Loi Kaw Wan begin?
Since 2000. During I am here, I didn't hear any problems around here.
We're still in Burma. Why is this place safer than further inside Shan State?
Because how to say that, we have like SSA (rebel Shan State Army) around here to protect this village.
If you're in Burma, in Shan State, how do people get to the IDP camps?
Very difficult. Walking, mostly.
Are you in the SSA?
Yes, I'm medic.
Do all the men have to be in the SSA, or they can choose?
They can choose. Not all. Depend on their mind.
Can they pay their soldiers?
No—which one?
Can the SSA pay?
Yes.
A lot of money?
No. I don't know about that. Not so much.
Do medics get paid good money?
Not so much, in the middle. 1,500 baht. (Per month. =$50)
That's enough?
Not enough.
Is there any way to make money here?
Yes, like, we have to go and pick tea leaves, in Thailand. And then sometimes we farm by ourself.
Rice, pig, some rice farm.
Why do the Shan people need medics? Are there no doctors here?
No. Like inside Shan State? Most of the people there get sick, but no doctor, no health worker there.
Nobody, like, very few medics.
How many medics are there here in Loi Kaw Wan now?
All of the medics here, 30. But all of them not here.
Where do they go?
Backpack inside. They go inside Shan State and look, take care of the patient inside.
Is it dangerous?
Yes, dangerous. Maybe sometime they're—I don't know, about the SPDC (the Burmese government
and army). We have to be careful.
You're only giving medicine. What's wrong with that?
They don't like.
Why not?
They think that we are against them.
Are you?
Yes.
What does the SPDC want to do to the Shan?
They want, like, how to say? They want the Shan all, the Shan people, like no any, like, how to say?
They want to do ethnic clean, cleansing. They want Shans to disappear.
But there are eight million Shans.
Yes. They try to control. They make us can't do anything. Like in Shan State they don't allow Shan
people to study our language, like that. Like, sometime we study our language in a small village or
monastery, temple.
In secret?
Yes.
So do they want you to become like the Burmese, or to disappear?
Maybe both.
How many ethnic groups are in Shan State?
Oh, about 20 ethnic. Shan, Palong, Wa, Kogank, Lahu, Akha, and Chinese. Pa'o, Kayin, many many,
but I can't remember. Biggest group is Shan.
Do they want them to disappear too?
Yes, also the same. Everybody in Shan State.
Are there things in Shan State that the Burmese government wants?
Yes, things like natural resources. Wood. How to say, silver. The mines. Mining. No oil. Like gold.
Diamond, yes they need a lot. Teak. They don't care about environment.
Do you want to go back to Shan State if you can?
Yes, but if the situation doesn't change it's not safe for me to go back.
What do you think could happen to you?
The SPDC they know from here, they will catch me and torture and they will kill me maybe. I don't
know.
Have you seen them torture people before?
Yes.
Who?
My dad. When I was young, about eight or 10 years. They came and took my dad to be a porter and
they torture him with cigarette and burn him, burn his cheek.
What did you do?
At that time I'm just children, I don't know. I can't do anything. And my mom only crying.
How long did the SPDC stay with you?
About one or two days. In my village they come from the city.
Did they tell you why?
I don't know. I can't speak their language. I don't know, I don't know. I just see. Make me sad.
Do they do this many times?
Many many times in my village.
Do you know now why they came?
I don't know.
When the SPDC comes to the Shan villages are they all soldiers, or other kinds?
All soldier.
They make you do porter work—
Yes. When I was young I used to go and build house for them.
You built their house?
Yes. Build, and dig. Dig the ground for their fighting.
But they're fighting the Shan.
Yes, but they force us to go to do for them.
So they force you to build their barracks to fight you. Are you angry?
Very angry.
You said they came when you were eight, that was almost 20 years ago. Are they doing the same thing
today?
Worse than that. Like last year, they burn the house inside Shan State. They burn the village.
Have you been interviewed before?
Yes, I think two or three times.
Do you think it's helping when you tell your story?
Yes, I think it helps.
Does it make you tired, or sad though?
Yes, makes me sad but, also make me strong.
Can you still contact your family in Shan State?
Yes, by telephone. Sometimes, maybe once a year.
Why not more?
If they don't call me I cannot call them, because they are very far from the town. They come to the
town and call me. Give me bad news.
What is the news they gave you this week?
I lost my nephew.
How old was he?
About four years.
How did he die?
From disease. Some disease but I don't know. They don't know. I also ask them, but they don't know.
Didn't he go to a hospital?
No, no hospital there. Just wait and see. Sometimes a little bit herbal medicine from the forest, but not
help very much. I lost three younger brother and one sister and one nephew. Five of them, from
different diseases.
Do you think about the election anymore?
I don't think the election will be fair. I don't think.
Do you know when it will be?
I don't know. They won't tell. I have no idea about that. Nobody knows.
Can you vote in the election?
No. Most of them, most of the Shan people that live in the small village outside the town they don't
have ID, how can they vote? To get ID we have to pay a lot of money.
* * *
Landmine Victim
The conversation with Bay Da begins as we leave the in-patient building, after having spoken briefly
with a patient who lost both his hands in a land mine explosion several months earlier. February, 2010.
Tell me what happened to him. How did he lose his hands and his eye?
He went to outside. He went to inside Shan State. And the SPDC they put the mine, land mine. And
then he tried to, how do you say? Check. He was looking for land mines.
Was he alone or with other people?
With other people. But only one, only him get injury. But other, they are far away from him.
He was reaching on the ground like this?
Yes, his hands gone. His hands is on the trees.
How far away, how many hours away were they from here?
About four hours.
They had to take him all the way back?
Yes. He is, like, strong. Strong mind. Not sad. Somebody when they are not really strong, when they
get injury like this they can die. Depend on our mind.
So they brought him back here. Did he stay here or go to Thailand?
No, direct to Thailand. To Thoed Thai. To Thoed Thai and Thoed Thai sent him to Chiang Rai. He stay
in Chiang Rai hospital for one month.
Is it free when a patient like that goes to the Thai hospital?
Not free, no. Very expensive.
Can he pay?
No, he cannot pay.
What can he do?
Our clinic takes responsibility for that. We have to sign for it.
The clinic here has to pay for his bill?
Yes. If he get money from some organization we can pay. If he don't get we just leave like that. It's
difficult problem.
And he has to go to Thailand? They can't get medical help here?
Yes. Most of them. Most of the serious condition, like broken arm or mine injury.
Is he the first land mine victim, or are there other amputees here in Loi Kaw Wan?
Other. Many others. About 10.
Do they all get them the same way? Going into Burma?
Yes, the same way.
* * *
Gong Mong Mung (Hill View Place) IDP camp
Gong Mong Mung is the newest of the SSA's IDP camps. “Mung” is the same as that in “Muang Tai,”
the Shan's name for Shan State. The Shan call themselves the Tai. Mung means state, or place. Roughly
translated, Gong Mong Mung means Hill View Place. It was established in 2007, but not as a result of
the September 2007 monks' Saffron Revolution. Most of the 60 families here came from a nearby
Burmese town that was formerly the headquarters of the Muang Tai Army, until the MTA leader
surrendered and the Burmese attacked. Life is still hard for them there because of that.
Unlike the other IDP camps, many of the buildings here are adobe. It may be because there is a
much larger than usual proportion of Wa and Pa'o mixed in with the Shan. The Commander's place is
adobe, with a kitchen, a bedroom and a main room a quarter full with supplies like mosquito nets. He
also has wood-shuttered windows, a well made bamboo gazebo, raised flower beds and bamboo
fencing. Here, as in Loi Tai Leng, electric cables are strung down the street on sturdy poles.
The SSA commander is a strange looking man. Pale, broad faced, bad haircut and sores on is chin. He
wears an expensive looking watch, a ruby ring and a “We Love Shan State” T-shirt.
It's a tiny village, with a tiny feel. For now there are only four orphans, only one land mine amputee.
Most of the town sits in a bowl shaped valley perhaps half a kilometre across, surrounded by steep
forested hills. At Gong Mong Mung's main entrance stands a blue oriental archway. Just a few hundred
feet before that is the Thai-Burma border with a Thai military checkpoint, with a red and white striped
barrier pole and just one young border guard manning the hut. The kilometre of dirt road before him is
met by farmland, then a Chinese village on a lake. It's a beautiful, peaceful setting.
There are three teachers and 50 students in the school, between Grades 1-3. Higher grades will be
added as the town grows, more teachers come, and the school adds more classrooms. It is currently
quite small – one tiny class building one office building, one dining hut.
As in the refugee camps and other IDP villages many of the students were sent ahead to live with
extended family. In Gong Mong Mung they can get better education than inside. The school teaches
Thai, English, Burmese, Shan, History, Geography and Math. Later, their families may move here to
join them.
* * *
His Perspective on Burma's 2010 Election and the Shan State Army
Interview with Loi Kaw Wan Vice Principal and long-term SSA soldier, James Fu. February, 2010,
Burma.
Do you think the Chinese government will get involved in the Wa army issue?
Oh, they do not care for the Wa army. Really, because they just looking for the gas from Rakhine. You
know the gas? In the mountain, not mountain, from the sea. The sea, Rakhine, from Bangladesh. They
have some, how you call, natural resource. Gas. They will brought gas from Rakkan and through the
Shan State to Yunnan and to Peking.
No way, not Beijing. Maybe Guangzhou.
Not Guangzhou. Ah, not Peking, maybe through Yunnan state to Shanghai. Maybe from Shanghai they
will carry it to Beijing or some place. So they don't care for Wa, no no no. Before Wa is OK, important
for China. Now, no use, nevermind.
Just in the past two weeks the vice president of Maing La, you know Maing La? Beside Wa, Maing La
troop their vice president has been killed.
Really? Who?
The Burmese do that. Now they got a big problem. They angry angry now.
Do you think the SSA and Wa Army will ever get together?
Now they are very good friends now. They are waiting for fighting. If the Burmese come, nevermind,
we are now OK, the same. If Wa start this fighting, he will be lost. He has to sacrifice too many things
for this fighting.
Do you know how big the Burmese army is?
They are saying they have 300,000 Burmese soldiers. If Wa and Shan altogether they have just 50,000.
But, with the person Burmese soldier is more. But we have to look at the fighting area. Fighting area is
the higher mountain, and forest. Burmese soldier not skilled in mountain, not skilled in forest. They
don't know which way to go. SSA Wa know everything. They spot a small path in mountain forests.
But this time Burmese soldier, they said if they come to fight this time they will not use the soldier.
First they will use the jet and mortar cannon. One-oh-five cannon. Now they have many weapons, they
bought it from North Korea. They want to test their new weapon and find how effective it is. They
want to test their new weapon so they want some fighting.
The election's coming—
The election no use. Even the referendum pass, no use. One village, one town ,one area, just one person
represents all. 'OK, our village have 200 (he gestures on person filling out ballots) SPDC, SPDC good,
good good.' Just one person do it. And this election the same. Finally the winner is SPDC. Finally
everything, the SPDC is the winner, you trust this. No doubt. The winner is SPDC. Sure. SPDC the
winner.
Some people don't care about election. No, some people they are very poor, they have to think about
their daily life. What must they have to do, they just have to think about their job. No extra time they
have to think about election. No use.
Do you think in the Shan cities like Taunggyi they have the same ideas about the election?
The same. All the same. All know the winner will be SPDC. They just play the trick, play the trick for
the world. 'I already make election for the people, and finally the winner is me.'
The world must know and must not waste the time about the election. You want information you must
NCGUB. You know NCGUB? NCGUB is, what we call NCGUB? Dr. Sang Win. Their organization,
ah, how do I say? Now they plan to make the army that includes Burmese, Shan, Karen, Kachin, like
that, they want to make together, all one army.
They who? The rebels?
Yeah, they want to do like the army under the president, Dr. Sang Win.
Can they cooperate enough to make it work?
I don't know. Last month they announce. To say is easy, but to do is very difficult. Even for one army,
for one nation is too much trouble. Not the same ethnic group you have to get together is very difficult.
And some are not the same in policy. Wa, communism. Shan are not communist. So how will they
build a country? I cannot understand.
If the SPDC falls will all the rebel commanders give up their power for democracy?
Even I want freedom. I like freedom, I don't want any oppress, so I come here. I think here is be some
freedom, but now I got no freedom. Now I'm like a small bird in a cage, I can't do nothing. Some, even
some simple words I can't talk here. So you stay your life outside is better than us. You must
understand about us, about our life. Some we cannot tell, we cannot talk, you know.
Do you mean you're not allowed?
I mean some word we cannot tell, we cannot tell the truth sometimes because we have to effect
something behind us, we have to effect some shadow. Our imagine and our suggestion are not the same
to other people. I stay too many place before and I know everything, I know everything. Sometimes I
want to make like Diogeny. You know the story about Diogeny, in the text book? In the midday use a
lantern and walk around the city to find the honest man. It's what I have to do here. 'Oh, what are you
doing?' 'I'm looking for an honest man.'
In fact I like the army to stay the army. Don't come and interrupt in the village, in education. If you
know you can come and give some idea. If you don't know about education then don't come and
interrupt. You don't know about education and you come and order 'do like this do like this,' don't do
that. If going on like this they lose so many people, so many soldier. So many soldier accept to stay.
OK, no use, no hope left. Go away, better move.
* * *
Shan Refugee Health
Interview with Loi Tai Leng Clinic Head Medic Paw Shar Gay, February 2010, Burma.
How many medics do you have here?
Here we have two medics, and the other people is me, Ba Tay is finished from Dr. Cynthia's clinic and
then the other is finished the Siesta Blue training. Siesta Blue training Community Health Worker. Total
staff at the clinic is 22 people.
How many patients do you get here per day?
One day is maybe 20, sometimes 30.
Are they mostly from Loi Tai Leng, or from inside Burma too?
Some people is from outside, some people is from here. But mostly IPD (In-Patient Department) is
outside.
Loi Tai Leng's problem is ARI (acute respiratory infection), also skin infection is high. And rainy
season is rain all the time, four months no sun. Sometimes is maybe one week or two week sun is come
out. You know, our dress we make the fire wood and the fire make dry. The sun cannot make dry. And
then UTI (urinary tract infection) is become high.
What do you do to help people prevent it?
Every year we plan to prevent it. Our clinic do like the home visit. One month we will going to section
and home by home, give education. And then give information and vitamin A.
Do you see vitamin A deficiency here?
Sometimes we see like one year maybe one case or two case.
Do you always have enough medicine?
Enough medicine? Yeah is enough. Before the medicine did not enough and then we ask more money
to buy the medicine. And the Partner did not came in here and also backpack, FBR (Free Burma
Rangers) did not come in here. From outside, we take medicine here to outside and go and give the
people who live outside Loi Tai Leng, like mobile team, and then our medicine did not enough.
The donor says 'Paw Shar Gay, you say every year medicine did not enough. How about this year,
this is enough?' Last year he come back. And then I said, 'yes, before medicine did not enough, but this
year enough.'
And then he laughing and said 'why medicine did enough this year?'
'Backpack is coming here, and then FBR is coming here and go outside outside, and same the
Partner group is outside and then our medicine we use here not outside.' So here is enough for me.
Are there any backpack medics here?
Backpack medics is four, five people. Yes, sometimes if they come back from inside they coming here.
If he going inside maybe two months or one month he will come back here.
Are people's gardens here big enough that their nutrition is good?
Yeah, we see now better than years before. And then we can get vegetables. Big garden (in reference to
the sponsored one in the valley) but the vegetables is not enough. Some the shopping go down to
Burma part and buy vegetable. Because you know here we can plant in the rainy season. This season no
water. We can't plant, we have to buy outside. But in the rainy season is enough. We can buy here and
sell here, in the garden. It's like, how do you say, save the money for us. But in the dry season is cannot
save the money.
Do you have a computer?
Yeah. One computer is not so good. Internet if we going to the leader's house and check the Internet.
But our computer is maybe five years. Is working very very slowly.
Do you see health here looks better now than when you began as a medic 14 years ago?
When I arrived here in 1999, no clinic. In 2000 one clinic. The people, the leader here is building the
one clinic, like small like this, this room. We treat the villager, also the military. We treat both. And
then clinic is very small, in Section 3.
At that time the people is not know about health. Not health education, they did not know about this
so much. They did not know about the family planning. You know in the year 2000 we delivered 120
babies. At that time population is maybe 1,000. And now population is 2,600. More people here but the
people know about the education and then they can provide and think. And this year is 42 babies
delivered. Very different.
Then you know about the vaccine? Before two year, three year they don't want to receive the
vaccine immunization, because the people said if they get the immunization her children is become sick
and then is painful, cannot sleeping enough for the night time, because the baby is crying. Very painful,
they don't want to come. The health worker is work hard, like go down and give education like this.
Because immunization is very very important. But many people they also tell me, 'before we did not
receive, we never receive vaccine. But we alive until now. We did not get other disease like you say.'
They ask me and then I answer, 'before is like the before. Before is the disease is not like this. So
your baby, how do you say? Like, you is very old, and then you will dead. Your baby is growing and
then in the future you will not see. Your baby, maybe your baby can get some anything you did not
know about. If you receive the vaccine maybe the vaccine can help like the infection is coming less.
Not 100 per cent. Maybe 50 per cent. Explain the parent about the vaccine. And then now, if we
looking in the register book the vaccine is become improved. And many children is receive the full
course of the vaccine, immunization. For me I think is improved.
And then the last one is education about diarrhoea. We need to boiling the water and then drinking.
If you boiling the water, water will be safe for our life. Cannot get the disease easy like the diarrhoea,
something like that. Washing the hands for you going to toilet, but if after you finish the toilet after you
come back wash your hands before eating.
One man is very old, and then he ask me, because we give toilets, we have the budget for building
the toilets. We ask to building the toilets and one man he ask me, 'Sa Mah,' they call me Sa Mah, 'I
never believe about this because now my age is 70 and I never boiling the water and drinking the water
because if you boiling the water, the water is not sweet. If you go to taking in the river and then drink,
is sweet. And then sometimes we did not go in the toilet, we go in the forest. Sometimes we going pass
stool in the river,' he said like this.
And then I'm about this question thinking, because I cannot answer yet. I thinking, and then I
remember my Sir tell me that if you go in the community you will get many many problems. The
people will ask you many questions. And then I remember. I ask that man, 'OK, you say is true. The
water you carry from the river is sweet. If you boiling then is not so sweet, right, true. But at that time,'
I call him uncle, 'Uncle, at that time how many household at that village?'
And then he answer me 'not so much.'
'And then you see now, many people in this village. And then if the one people going to pass stool at
the river, and another people is going to pass, it will put a lot of things in the water. It will be clouding.
If only Uncle you going to pass in the river maybe the river will pass stool with the river, but many
people not so good.
And the pig, they did not make the pen, they did not have a pen for a pig, they will free for the pig.
And then maybe that pig will go pass stool at the river. And then maybe the rabbit, some rabbit is move
down to the river. And then this water is sweet. So then uncle is drinking some stool from the river, so
become sweet. So that uncle not believe me. Only uncle can pass in the river, but for the other people I
think it's not so good if you go down to pass in the river or in the forest. You need to build the toilet.
The toilet it will save the stool and then not so smell.
* * *
Shan Orphan
Gwan Kham, 22 years old. Recounts being 11 years old when his village was attacked and he became
separated from his family. He now works as a teacher and English-Shan interpreter in Loi Tai Leng.
“I was in jungle, I went to look after buffalo, and then I come back to my village I don't see anybody,
just only like the burnt house.
Did you try to find them?
No. I was very afraid about this. So I went to the jungle, and suddenly the military, about the SSA,
come to the near our village and I saw them. And because they can speak Shan, right? So they ask me
'why you stay here alone?' 'I don't know. Because my family no here.'
I didn't know anything, but I want to go. So they ask me 'do you want to go with us? OK, we have
food, we have everything for you,' like this. I got here when I was 12 years old. I stayed in the jungle
with the military for five months.
Why didn't they take you here fast?
Because there is very bad weather. They cannot come here, because the Salween is like, flooding.
Is it correct that you were alone for four weeks, and then the SSA came and found you?
Yes.
Do you know if your family's still alive?
I don't know right now. Maybe until now they are, I don't know. Maybe they already go away from our
world.
What did you do when you came here?
Go to school.
Had you had much school before?
No. I didn't have money to attend the school until I was 11, when I was in the Shan State.
How did you learn English so well?
I like to learn grammar, and I love to go to another person when I saw foreigner, I would like to talk
with them.
Are you still in school?
I'm finished and now I'm working in the school.
What do you teach?
Before, English. And right now history, because I love to teach history.
Do you get paid to teach?
Mm-hm. Two thousand (baht) per month. ($67)
Do you think you'll ever go back to Shan State?
I think so.
Would you like to?
Yes.”
* * *
Another Shan's Perspective on the Shan and the SPDC
An abridged version of an interview with the school principal in a Shan IDP camp, February 2010.
What's your name?
My name is Htam Khur, Sai Htam Khur. I'm 35 years old.
Are you Shan?
Yes.
Tell me about the Shan and Burmese.
Shan people, we have our kingdom in the past, and Burmese people they also have their kingdom in the
past. And these two, our kings, they are always fighting. If the Burmese win the Shan people need to
live under control of the Burmese, and if the Shan people win again the Burmese people need to live
under control of the Shan people.
Burma became the colony of British in 1885, and Shan become colony of British in 1887. At that
time Shan recognize their people by themself. If the British want to order the Shan to do something
they just order to the Shan people directly, not to the Burmese.
When the time that our people need to get freedom from the British the Burmese they want to get
the freedom also. General Aung San came to the meeting of the Shan people. If we will take the
freedom together we will get the freedom very quickly from the British like that. And so some of the
Shan people did not want to get the freedom together with the Burmese people, but some of the Shan
leaders think that if we get together we can get the freedom quickly.
So at that time we took the freedom together with the Burmese, but we have agreement. We will
organize the country together, during 10 years. After 10 years if the Shan people don't want to be in the
union the Burmese, we can separate off by them to be Shan State. But, in 1962 General Nye Win
became the dictator and take every power from the people and so until now we are under the Burmese.
Do the Shan still want to be a separate country?
Some of the Shan people want to get the freedom, but most of the people want the rights, the human
rights. Rangoon is well developed and Shan state is not. But everything like the teak or the stone, they
get it from Shan state or from the other states, but the states are not organized. And also the roads to go
to Rangoon, from Daunggyi to Ga Lo the roads are not so good. But from Ga Lo to Rangoon is big
road.
Where are you from?
I am from Daunggyi. I live in Daunggyi until 2003. When I finished university I get misunderstanding
with my older brother, and I run away from my home to Tachilek. I heard they (Loi Kaw Wan) need a
teacher to teach the children. The children are orphans, and people here is like the refugee and they are
running away from the SPDC to build the village. So, I join with them and come here. Before I came
here I am a shop keeper.
Are you a soldier in the rebel Shan State Army here?
Sometimes we are similar like the soldier, you know? Helping them. But really we are not. I am not a
soldier.
Can you go back to inner Burma?
Yes, I can go back, but very dangerous because they (Burmese government officials) will ask me the
information about this area. And even I answer them they will not believe on me, and they will put me
into the prison. I just organize the school and the orphanage. About the (rebel Shan) army, I don't know
many things about the army because I am not a soldier, you know? But the Burmese soldier will not
believe on me.
How many students and orphans are here?
298 students. Now we have just 65 orphans.
Where do they come from?
The orphans are coming from near this area. In 1999 the SPDC (Burmese government) forced the
people to move from their village, and when they run into the border they are far away from their father
and mother and their father and mother don't know where are they. And some of their father and mother
getting disease in the forest. And that time, if the people walking in the jungle met with the SPDC
soldier, Burmese soldier, without question they shooting to the people walking in the jungle. Like that.
So some people die during their running to the border.
Is it better now?
Now is better because not so much are fled from their village. Just in 1996 until 2001, very worse for
the Shan people. Because at that time Burmese soldier force the people move from the village to live
close to town, and the villager they don't have the money to stay near the town and don't know what
kind of job they can do. So they are running to the border.
Tell me about LKW
LKW is an IDP camp. IDP is the internally displaced people. If they stay inside Burma the SPDC will
force them to be porter and if they live inside Thailand they don't have the ID card. If they live among
the SSA (rebel Shan State Army) the SPDC cannot come and force them to anything. And also the Thai
people cannot make the trouble to them also. Yes, is small place.
Is the SPDC here in town?
No, just near our area they have their guard. And they cannot come into the village. But spy, we don't
know about the spy. Sometimes spy can be Shan people. And can be Lahu, can be Akha, we don't
know. Can be anyone. But even the people who want to come and visit the village if they want to like
stay for one night or two night who will receive them to stay in their house, the village committee have
to know about their background.
How many people live in LKW?
I heard from the village committee they said over 2,800 live here.
Do you think the SPDC could attack LKW?
Yes. Because it's a resistance group area. If the SPDC want to disappear the SSA, they will attack us.
Do you think it's dangerous here?
Not dangerous. I have lived here for seven years and I have seen no fighting during seven years.
Back in Shan state, in Burma, what does the SPDC do to the Shan?
Now? Now in northern Shan state is very worse for the people. I have a, sometimes I call to my house
with my mobile, and sometimes I'm asking about the people who live inside Shan. They said northern
Shan state is very worse for the people because now is like ceasefire group and SPDC. SPDC want the
ceasefire group to be the border guard, ceasefire group did not want to be the border guard. Ceasefire is
not over, just depend on the Burmese. The Burmese want to go around all the ceasefire groups, and
they sent their troops every way to the ceasefire group. If the Burmese soldier group is going into the
forest they need a porter.
Why do they force civilians to act as porters?
They don't want to carry their things, you know? Because they want to disappear the ceasefire group,
and if they are matched against the ceasefire group they want the porters to be their cover. Put the
porter in front of them and the ceasefire group cannot shoot them, you know?
Ten years ago the same thing, you know? When the Burmese attacked the Muang Tai Army in Ho
Mung they bring many Shan people, Shan porter from Shan state. And cover in front of them. And put
the porter go first, put their uniforms on the porters and force the porter to go first. The porter, mine,
pew! Like that. Is for them, for save their lives they get many porter for them.
Did the MTA know those were porters, not soldiers?
The first they don't know. But when the first attack is finished, when they clean the attacking area they
saw the people who die are the Shan people. It's very hard for the MTA to attack the Burmese soldier.
What year did this problem begin between the Burmese government and the Shan?
1947. But at that time most of the Shan people, most of the Shan leaders believe on the Burmese. After
the 10-year agreement no Shan people believe on the Burmese.
Are the problems in Shan state worse now, or better, or the same?
The same. You know, during 1962 until 1990, that time the Burmese soldier they are force the people
move from the village and burn everything in the village. And next let the people to stay in their village
again. And after one and two years force the people out again and burn the village again like that.
The reason why they do like that is to destroy everything of the Shan people, like the history book.
Because our culture we'd write our history book and put at the monastery. Who can bring everything?
Can't bring everything, so after we move from the village they burn everything. And if we come to stay
again we bring back that again and put at the monastery. And for us to move again, we cannot bring
most of – you know? And we lose the history book and culture also. And if we mix, like, SPDC get
married with the Shan woman, the salary will get higher.
Why is the Burmese government doing this to the Shan? What is the goal?
They want to genocide the Shan people like that. I have heard from the Burmese when I was a
university student, “next 10 year the Shan people will be disappeared. No Shan people will speak Shan
language,” they said. Some of the Burmese soldier they said like that. When I was a university student I
don't know how to speak Shan language.
Not even at home?
Just little. Just get understanding. But when I need to explain something in Shan I can't, just explain in
Burmese language.
What language do people speak in Daunggyi?
Mostly is Burmese language. And now, even now my nephew if I call to my house he can't speak Shan.
Just Burmese language to me.
------formal interview ends. While walking to the school kitchen Htam Khur recounts how he made a
point to learn Shan in university. After graduation he was contracted to teach for three months in a
Shan village. After several weeks the local SPDC captain told him to stop the classes and return home.
Htam Khur refused. Over a number of days the captain became more enraged at Htam Khur's refusal
to leave. The situation came to a head one evening as he was walking home, and the captain stopped
him in the street.----- At this point in the story I turned the recorder back on.
'Leave now.'
'No.' I said 'no' again. Yeah he is very angry. He feel very angry and take out a gun, and point to me,
you know? And I still said no. We are talking is very loud, very loud. And the villagers heard that and I
think 20 or 30 villagers running out from their home, and we two, and they surround all of us. And the
Captain cannot do anything. He is very angry and he said to me “now I cannot do you anything, but in
the future I'm not sure.” Again, you know?
And I'm coming back with the villager to my rest-house. And the villager said, “hey teacher, this is a
problem. You need to go back.”
“No, I had the promise with all of you. I need to stay here. Even he is not allow me to stay with you
I will stay here for three months. Because of the promise, and teaching is still running, not finished
yet.” And the village is very worried for me.
But I'm a little bit lucky, you know? The battalion from the Daunggyi base, they visit the village.
This battalion leader we are know each other. And he come and visit me with the Captain. This captain
very afraid of me that time, you know? If I say, “this captain he doing to me.”
You told?
No no, I didn't. The Major, he's the leader of the battalion. I didn't tell to the Major anything. And the
Captain feel a little bit good.
And the next day he come and visit me. The Captain, “hey hey, sorry, everything that I do on you.”
If they have some people afraid they are very kind people, you know?
But the Major heard about us from the villager. And when the major go back to Loi Lem base he
ordered to the Loi Lem leader, the Loi Lem leader changing the Captain to the other area.
* * *
The middle class men of Rangoon
I may be exaggerating in order to make a coherent story, but I don't think I am. The wealthy men here
seem lonely, cold, bored and accustomed to taking what they want. They're aroused by the prospect of
the Western exotic, any Westerner will do.
I'm not a beauty. I have dry yellow hair and bad skin, but I do stand out a mile in a city with only a
handful of blondes. Maybe because of that and because the upper class take what they want, I was
approached by such men here more than anywhere I've ever been. It was constant and every week
would be punctuated by a bizarre experience with an exceptionally determined “doctor.” I have to put
“doctor” in quotation marks because, come on, could they all really be doctors? Maybe because of my
own boredom mixed with some flattery, I usually agreed to eat a meal with every “doctor” the day we
met.
“You act just like a Burmese girl,” complained one when I broke down after he told me he was
married, too long after our trysts began.
“What are you talking about? Any woman would be upset, what did you think I would do?!”
“I didn't know European woman would feel this way. I only saw them in movies and porn. Maybe I
make mistake, you are very tender girl.”
“Fuck you you bas!” I didn't actually say that last line until after he was gone. At the time I just
stared at him bewildered by the idea that in this city I was surrounded by men who believed porn plotlines
represented my heart.
Another doctor stopped me on the street several times to bother me with typical English practice
questions, though his English was fluent. Ultimately, I agreed to have dinner with him, to which he
brought a greasy little fat man who introduced himself as the director of Yangon's Boss Construction
Co. The sidekick didn't let courtesy conceal his irritation that I hadn't brought a woman for him, and
made me promise that I would, and that she be the same size and colours as me, for our “next date”
(which I did notgo on). For the rest of the evening, in exchange for their opinions on Burmese politics
and some tips to make life in Yangon more comfortable, they competed for my attention, arguing over
which one of them liked black more, since I was wearing a black sun-dress, and nagging me to walk
along the pier twice, once for each of them. At least there was no touching.
There was, to my surprise, touching when I agreed to share a table with a hulking 40-something
stranger in a ritzy cafe. It turned out his table was in a private karaoke room—why does a coffee shop
even have one of those? I think it's for this purpose, not singing at all.
He bought me a latté, asked me the same where are you from and how long are you here questions.
Without any more lead-up he took my hand and started doing that thing where a person focuses on
rubbing the centre of my palm—I hate that! I pulled away and giggle-muttered that we didn't know
each other and hoped that was that.
“Will you let me kiss your hand?”
“Wha—ohhh, um, you should be careful, you don't even know me,” (and I'd completely forgotten
what he said his name was except that part of it is “Toe.”) “I could be a spy or, you know.”
“Ha ha, you're spy!”
“Yes, yes I am. And a journalist. I'm both and I want you to tell me everything about the
government.”
“Ha ha! I don't have care for politics. I only interest about Suzy.”
“Well, you know, I don't know anything about Suzy.”
“You are so cute—”
Now, for some God-sent reason he had prefaced buying my coffee by telling me he had to leave
briefly to sign people in for night duty, and would I promise to wait for him to return. I reminded him
of this and lied as earnestly as I could that I wouldn't move from the spot.
“OK OK,” he said. “Just allow me—” and then he dove in and smothered my neck with spitty
kisses! Agh! It was an act that required no input from me, he just went straight to work. I backed off
and stood up and was stupidly civil about being assaulted. Why don't I just indulge in punching them? I
know I want to, but being romantically attacked simply makes me eager to find a quick resolution that
won't make these guys argumentative.
“OK OK OK, you are right I must be at the hospital. Don't worry about to pay coffee, just wait 10
minutes...Oh Suzy! Oh Suzy, embrace me!” And he did it again! He dove straight in and went into
immediate high-pitched ecstasy. Nothing like this had ever happened to me, especially with a stranger
in a cafe at four in the afternoon. Neither had I ever come across a man who could pivot like that
between chit chat and what sounded orgasmical. I wondered if Rangoon had a Candid Camera deal
going on, because honest to God while he was wiggling and smooching and begging for more I was
standing there like a confused icicle. Again I ducked away and told him he would be late for work. I
don't know why that worked, but he left. And you better believe as soon as he was gone I (finished the
latté and) skittered out of there and into the first taxi I could and hid in my room for the rest of the day.
* * *
Accupuncture in the Developing World
An interview with German accupunturist Dr. Ulrich Hulhne in Mae Tao Clinic, Thailand. March, 2010.
How many patients do you have?
About 30 in a day. 600, 700 patients in a month.
What's your background?
I'm a GP. That's does everything and knows nothing. My medical studies were in Colombo in Sri
Lanka. I came to know a Sri Lankan professor of rheumatology, that was when I was 44 years old. And
I said 'I would have liked to do medicine, but now it's too late.' And he said 'why? You are young
enough and dynamic enough. I'll help you to get in.' So I went to Colombo to do my studies. I finished
the studies and became an MD, only for the Commonwealth. I'm not supposed to treat in Germany.
In between I went to China for 9 months and studied acupuncture because this professor had been
sent by his government to China very much earlier to find if acupuncture would be a good alternative
for a third world country like Sri Lanka. And it was. And he said 'you should go to help me se this up.'
Is it more common in Sri Lanka now?
Absolutely. See, you don't need any medicines. It doesn't have any side effects and the way of treatment
is in many ways much more successful.
How does it work better than Western medicines?
You know that is a question which is not solved until now, though Western scientists as well as Chinese
scientists are trying to find out why acupuncture works. And they can't come to any conclusion. The
fact is that it works, and the Chinese have developed that over 4,000 years. So it is not something that
can be cracked.
Can acupuncture be used to treat the pain around the wound of an amputee?
Yes, even phantom pain. We can treat that and cure that phantom pain. And we can also anaesthetize
for big operations. See, I have written a book called Acupuncture. This was taken in a hospital in
Colombo, during a hysterectomy in Colombo. See, she is fully aware of what is happening, she is
drinking and she is talking to the nurse. There is no pain during or after the operation.
Is there any trial and error?
There are 10 per cent of all patients who do not respond to acupuncture, and you do not know before
who. We treat patients and we do not realize until after three or four days there is no reaction. We tell
the patients we are sorry, you are one of these ten per cent and we cannot help you. See that is another
open question, nobody knows why it doesn't work.
When you came to the Mae Tao Clinic three months ago what was the state of the acupuncture clinic?
It was down more or less to zero. There was a lady from that organization, there, see it? North
American—something. She was here only for short periods and she was teaching the basics of
traditional Chinese medicine, and some that she was teaching were absorbed in the clinic later. For
example here in the surgery. When I came here and saw that only one gave acupuncture I thought that
this would be a good opportunity to build up an acupuncture board. We had a gathering of all those
who were trained and I said 'would you like that we continue that?' And so there were eight fellows,
two girls, six boys, and I was teaching them in the afternoons and in the mornings we started treating.
We started with two or three patients a day, and now you see there are 30.
Is it a very precise practice?
There are very precise points. Every point is identified, and they have to learn that. I have taught them
about 350. Now, see how we do it. This is the name of a patient that we treat, and we compose a socalled
cocktail of points. These are the abbreviations which everybody here should understand. This is
the DU channel. This is the urinary-bladder channel. This is extra points, stomach channel, gall bladder
channel and lung channel and the numbers. So if I write this cocktail they have to know where to find
these points.
Do patients ever protest against the pain?
No, there is no pain. If you sit here and watch for a while you will see. You saw how thin the needles
were.
How far in do they go?
It depends on the point were you put it. For instance the point on sciatica. You put it in the buttocks,
and the point there is this deep about (he holds his fingers about six inches apart) to the sciatic nerve.
See these are the longest needles. They go right in.
Can you buy these needles here in Mae Sot?
In Mae Sot nobody knows about acupuncture. I went to a pharmacy at the beginning and asked 'do you
have needles?' He said 'needles? For what?' I said 'acupuncture.' He said 'acu-what?' He's never heard
anything. So we see that we get donations. I get them through donations.
The first set through that organization, but they stopped supplying us, so the next lot I got from an
Italian organization because they have an NGO here. And we treated a lady from this NGO for
migraine. You know what migraine is? The most terrible headache that you can imagine. This woman,
this young lady had one attack every week. And when she had it for two days after she could not work.
Be it for the side effects of the terrible pain killers she had to take, the highest doses and the strongest
doses you can imagine for migraine. Paracetamol and such nonsense does not help.
And she came here and she turned 'round and she said 'I feel vomitious.' And I said 'better do that
outside. And she came in and we gave her the needles and after five minutes she fainted. That was
needle shock. We have that off and on. Especially when patients get the first time needles and we give
three or four needles. The average they get is 15 needles.
She laid down for five minutes and she got up and said 'miracle, my headaches have gone.' Totally
gone after five minutes of treatment. So she said 'I will go back to office and if I can continue working I
will phone you.' Because normally after an attack she goes home. And she phoned me from the office
and said she's so well she does not have to go home. And that was since the beginning of February and
in that time she has not any attack. So the boss was so happy that he donated us 15,000 needles. This is
how we replenish our needles.
Do you have any desire to go into Rangoon or work within Burma legally?
No, here I can work much better, much more.
* * *
Rangoon Internet
The worst thing about Yangon is ____. For the expats it's the Internet. It's slow, websites are blocked,
but not always the same ones, a minimum of a dozen power blackouts every day make it excruciatingly
annoying to download anything, and these problems don't exist for the natives.
Internet cafes are fairly common and averaging 50 cents an hour are reasonably accessible. For net
savvy Burmese no site is inaccessible. A man I was with explained how to switch from one proxy to
another, and the countless backdoor entries into any website that Burmese web users know about.
Being seen on sensitive sites isn't the problem we're led to believe either, since Internet cafes advertise
private rooms for anyone who wants them; usually men looking for pornography.
This man says that when Burma VJ out (everyone knew it was out) the government forced video
rental shops to close for a week (whyyy? Just don't let them stock the video). It doesn't matter,
everyone just watched it off the web. It double doesn't matter because everyone remembers the protest,
it was only three years ago.
* * *
SSA and Amputees
An interview with Shan Health Community Representative Yee Tip, February, 2010.
Do you have an age in which people are allowed to work?
An age?
Yes, like children, or an age?
We don't use children.
How old are you in Shan to not be a child?
Eighteen. And also in the army too is 18.
How old is too old to be in the army?
Forty-five. Is mean that they can join between 18 and 45, and they can stay until 60 or 65. And also
sometime, some of the children when they come with the SSA soldier they want to be a soldier, but we
just send them to the school. Because some of their parents have been killed by the SPDC so they want
to join the army.
Who is the funder for this farm project?
They is funder from CPI from America. (the anti-landmine organization Clear Path International)
How many amputees are there?
Here at this camp has 37 amputees. And then we choose from them who want to do this farming. And
then we form a small company to look after this farm.
How did they become amputees?
Most of them are old soldiers from the MTA (Muang Tai Army, the predecessor to the current rebel
SSA).
Land mines?
Land mines, and some in battle.
Do you get many new amputees?
Not, I did see a new one, some of them I think are new.
Does the SSA have people go out to look for land mines like in Loi Kaw Wan?
No here it's dangerous for them. If you don't know technically exactly how to search for land mines.
* * *
Shan Village Representatives Interview
February 15, 2010, Loi Tai Leng, Burma
Village heads from central Shan state travelled to the SSA camp for a secret conference on the future of
the nation. Four of them agreed to meet for an interview, no pictures. With them at the table in a dark
SSA hut was the English interpreter, two SSA soldiers who took thorough-looking notes, and me.
All of this entry is exclusively what they told me, drawn from my written notes of the interview.
The village reps all speak, often in unison, responding strongly to certain questions. They had come to
the camp to discuss issues of Shan unity, and unity between the Shan and other ethnic groups fighting
the junta. Unity, they explain, is one of the six policies of the Shan movement. The others are freedom,
democracy, independence, development, anti-narcotics and peace.
They all want Shan state to be an independent country, as they claim was promised to them when
Burma gained its independence from England. There are 26 ethnic groups in Shan State (the Shan
compose about 60% of the population), but they have faith the 26 will cooperate to build a democratic
country. They are even willing to work with the majority ethnicities of the other warring states: the
Chin, Karen, Mon, to build a new country from all their lands. Any configuration is acceptable as long
as it doesn't include the Burmese. This would result in a state shaped like a horseshoe wrapped around
the Irrawaddy delta, but they are confident it can work.
They say it's always been the policy of the military government—the SPDC, to pit the ethnic groups
against each other. Now that the election is coming and the SPDC needs to guarantee it will go
smoothly, bribes are everywhere. Cars, houses, business opportunities and women all appear where the
SPDC wants support. Suddenly, the SPDC has started holding weekly pep meetings in places they
never visited peacefully before, laying out food and fine promises for all the villagers who turn out.
The reps say everyone inside knows the gifts are meant to buy submission.
The same thing happened in 2008 before the constitutional referendum, in which nobody needed to
vote and an appalling constitution was adopted.
They say they never see international aid, NGOs, or foreigners. Only in Taunggyi, the capital city of
Shan where tourists are allowed to pass through on their way to Lake Inle, are foreigners ever spotted.
But these men can't hang around Taunggyi, and they say they're alone out in the countryside. Not only
does the SPDC forbid tourists from going anywhere they want to, foreigners are warned against
venturing into the countryside, where they're told the Shan guerrillas will slaughter them.
The reps say come, someone please come and see the situation. They promise that a visitor would
see the Shan aren't dangerous, they are friendly and ready to tell the truth. In particular, the men say, if
a journalist comes that person would be worshipped for their daring.
One says the reason he came to the IDP camp conference was for the chance to meet a foreigner, and
tell these things. They hope that in getting exposure, maybe humanitarian aid will come to Shan. They
repeatedly ask the SPDC for health and education supplies, but nothing comes. Nothing but the army.
Since 1962 the army has always meant beatings, lootings, forced labour, extortion and death. If on
their way home any are caught having come here they are certain they'll be arrested, they aren't certain
of the consequences after that. Whatever happens, they say they are accustomed to being threatened
with jail, injury, arbitrary fines and threats to their family. They will pass many checkpoints on their
way back inside, and their only plan is to tell the military they were travelling to find work or visiting
family on the Salween river.
It's common for Shan to cross into China, Thailand and Laos to find work, usually construction or
farm labouring. This is because even without the military a family rarely makes enough at home to
subsist on. So many people have crossed the border to work illegally that some Shan villages are made
up entirely of old people. These village reps are trying to teach the youth about the independence
struggle, but most choose to leave.
Another, almost final way to make enough money is to grow opium. After the fall of the Muang Tai
Army in 1996, the SPDC took over the MTA's opium business, forcing farmers to continue growing it.
and charging taxes on it. Despite its control of the opium trade the SPDC will also arrest people for it.
If life is hard without the SPDC at its worst, it's nearly impossible when it's on the attack. When the
army arrives in a village without an outpost, it orders people away from their farms in order to act as
slaves, building a base and carrying army equipment to the next site. It seizes food, supplies and
accommodations, punishing anyone who opposes them. A few months ago the army burned two
villages to the ground.
Rebel forces aren't thought of as a fighting resource equal to the SPDC. The SSA won't battle the
Burmese near a village, as villages suspecting of helping rebels have been severely punished. Instead,
rebels are all guerrilla fighters, ambushing government forces in the mountain forests. They say the
SPDC hate the Free Burma Rangers the most, because the FBR carry a satellite Internet connection and
post pictures of SPDC destruction online immediately after they find it. No matter what, the Shan reps
feel like there is no way out. They believe their countrymen living a good life in Rangoon or Mandalay
don't know the reality of life for the Shan, but they do know the SPDC are an evil force.
Why is the SPDC doing this? The consensus among the village reps is that this is ethnic cleansing. It
always has been. The Burmese in power want the Shan and all the other ethnic groups to disappear,
whether by assimilating, leaving or dying.
What the Shan want is the world to know, including the UN, so that they can't get humanitarian aid,
and eventually freedom. Some of the truth of what life is like in Burma was revealed during the
democracy movement and massacre of 1988, but it's always been extremely hard for the Shan's voice to
be heard. They say what the world sees of the Shan is just a shadow, not the body.
* * *
SSA Foreign Affairs Officer Sang Wan
Sang Wan was the interpreter for the Shan village reps interview. He's 34 years old, and he perfected
his English by living in India for ten years. Apparently, for Shan who can afford higher education,
going to India is a common way to study abroad for cheap.
After India he lived in Rangoon, then worked in Bangkok for a year and a half as a Thai-English
translator before moving to Loi Tai Leng nearly a year ago. Now he's a member of the Shan army,
working in the foreign affairs office and interpreting for foreign visitors.
He's a nice little man with wide-spaced teeth and a brown leather jacket. I first met him on the main
road through Loi Tai Leng. It was evening and after a day of driving to camp we were finally there, so I
walked out to have a look at the place. Sang Wan passed by and immediately began chatting,
introducing himself, asking when we were likely to meet again. He wasn't the first English speaker I'd
met in camp, so already I was impressed at the difference between people here and in Loi Kaw Wan.
After the interview finishes he and I walk with one of the soldiers who monitored me, whom
happens to be a former member of the Free Burma Rangers and a friend of Sang Wan's from training
days.
“If you extend your visa for six or seven months and come back here, you can go to the front lines.”
“I've been asking to go with the SSA for a year. I don't believe you.”
“You want to go?”
“Of course. I can't see anything from just the camps.”
For some reason the three of us began to joke around and do mock kung fu moves on each other.
“But in the jungle, you have to go like this,” said Sang Wan as he put me in a head lock and
pretended to break my neck.
* * *
Elvis E'hgay & refugee education
Elvis' father liked The King, so he named his son “Elvis.” He's from a Karen village near Rangoon.
The Tatmadaw (Burmese state army) burned his village down in 2008, driving Elvis and his wife into
the jungle. They walked through the forests for a month with a group of 55, aiming for the Thai border.
The Karen National Union (KNU) army provided what help they could to get the group to Mae La
refugee camp, several miles from Mae Sot and the Friendship Bridge that funnels tourists into Burma.
Mae La is the largest refugee camp in Thailand—40,000 people live here. It's also the oldest at 24
years. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) is the umbrella administrator
for the refugee camp, however it's presence is barely palpable. Instead, it is the KNU that involves
itself in the daily life of Karen refugees. Elvis explains “they help. If they do not help all refugees then
all have no hope. All die I think...Now many people are running in the jungle...so we pray for them.”
With a year's experience teaching in Burma, he was hired on to teach at one of Mae La's many
schools (the camp has eight high schools, 18 primaries, three colleges and “many” kindergartens. None
of these are sophisticated education centres. Rather, they are bamboo long houses. If they're lucky they
have concrete floors and tin roofs, otherwise they have dirt floors and thatched roofs). The KNU
organizes a curriculum close to that in Burma. As in many other Burmese refugee and IDP camps, half
of the curriculum is devoted to learning languages. The subjects taught are English, Thai, Karen,
Burmese, Math, Science and History. This seems to apply around the entire border, with only the ethnospecific
language changing. Despite the difficulties of life in a refugee camp, many Burmese send their
children their for education, a type of war zone boarding school where children are relatively safe and
the standard of education is slightly better. Many return to Burma for the holidays.
Some problems are easy to guess – there is never enough food. Water can be tight, housing is very
crowded and there's only a rudimentary economy. Of the nearly 2,000 homes in Elvis' section of the
camp, 10 have electricity.
The reason there isn't enough food is partially due to the fact that the UNHCR office is not
permanently open to register refugees. Instead, registration only occurs every four to five years. The
Thai border authority (TBBC) registers newcomers immediately, but it's the UNHCR that administers
food rations, and it sets a limit on how many will be registered for rations and an ID card that allows
them in and out of camp. Elvis says between 13,000 and 14,000 of Mae La's 40,000 residents are
registered with the UNHCR. To make up for the shortage the KNU and smaller NGOs bring in extra
supplies, and registered residents share what they have. In general, everyone gets two basic meals a
day.To Elvis, the biggest problem is resignation, especially among those growing up in the camp. Some
have spent their entire life here. They can't understand life in Burma, Thailand or the magical “third
country” on which everyone pins their hopes.
New arrivals know what life is in Burma, so they decide to work as hard as they can to make a new
life. Elvis' new students work harder in school, believing if they do it will improve their chances at
being accepted into Thailand or for emigration to a third country. Students native to the camp know the
third countries, usually the US and Australia, only take a few dozen out of 40,000 every year. They
know a life of boredom and free food.
“Some students have a high value of learning,” says Elvis. “Some are not interested because if
you're born in camp you get your rations and no working. It's not a lot but... if you're used to eat that
much, so, it's OK.” He says he tries to coax them into hope. “Don't prefer your life for your rations.
You should try hard.”
* * *
Mae Tao AIDS Group
For the past seven years the Mae Sot clinic has run a voluntary HIV counselling and testing program.
Every month the clinic hosts a get together for the HIV program members, usually to the Tai
Watanaram monastery. Today about forty patients came, some brought their families. They took a yoga
class at the foot of the monastery's three story reclining Buddha while their children ran around the
compound. Naturally the program members are all HIV positive, and many have additional problems
like tuberculosis, liver disease and “gynaecological” problems, but they al look young and healthy.
They're in their twenties, with children, many with families. Of course those who are too sick
probably don't come to the group outings, nonetheless all the vibrant looking people here are infected.
Saw Than Iwin is the program manager. He's an angular young man from Burma, living here and
working for the Mae Tao Clinic illegally. He says that when the program started between 60 and 80
people volunteered to be tested for HIV every month. For the past few years it's levelled off at 100 at
month. Since the Mae Tao clinic caters to the Burmese border community, it's Burmese who are in this
AIDS group. About half of them live in Burma and cross over for treatment, and outings like today's.
“A very small percent knows about HIV and how it's transmitted,” says Iwin of the patients coming
from Burma. There is some HIV-AIDS education within Burma, but it is only delivered by NGOs like
UNICEF, mainly on TV. “Still not enough,” he says.
Iwin and the program's staff are busy with counselling, explaining treatment and organizing program
events. The members are like people anywhere else in the world. They complain if outings aren't
interesting, make excuses about not using condoms. As each patient is different (some have other
illnesses, some less diligent about taking the anti-retroviral drugs supplied by the city hospital, some
can afford a better diet and comparatively more relaxed lifestyle) no one can predict how long any of
them will live.
The commonest way to become infected in the Mae Sot-Myawaddy area is through sexual
transmission, but some others are victims of poisonous blood transfusions. That's how one 14-year-old
girl in the group became infected several years ago. Iwin says her family brought her in for testing after
she became mysteriously ill following her transfusion. The tests came back negative, but she continued
to get inexplicably sick. When the family brought her back for another HIV test they learned she was
indeed infected. Still, Iwin says the patients are all counselled not to worry about the future.
* * *
Thai Babies
The families in Loi Kaw Wan know there are advantages in their children having Thai citizenship.
Citizenship isn't something countries just hand out, and in Thailand even the newborns have to work
for it.
When we arrived in Loi Kaw Wan early Sunday morning, Homm Noon was waiting to greet us. She
was at the end of her pregnancy, her face had become fat and freckled. The greeting was brief, because
she was holding out just long enough to see us and then with her mom climbed into the tinny pick-up
truck that dropped us off at the border post, and was driven away to the nearest Thai hospital to give
birth.
Since she and her mother are the only trained midwives in the village, it made sense that she
wouldn't want to deliver her first child alone in Loi Kaw Wan. The other benefits were realized later on.
If Homm Noon's children are born in Thailand, they're Thais. In an area where you're either a Thai or
an illegal refugee, the choice seems obvious.
It isn't a simple matter of being born in Thailand though – the babies need a Thai parent. There are
men in Thailand, usually old men, who each take money to claim he is the father of a woman's baby.
Homm Noon and her husband found such a man to do this for them, as did every other family in Loi
Kaw Wan who's children are Thai citizens.
It must be a terrible choice for these families, for the father to give up any official connection he has
to his own children, replacing his name with some grasping stranger's. Surely it isn't a secret either. The
doctors who register the births can't believe for very long that the old men who come in with young
Burmese women are really the fathers of all those children. The Thai government must be aware of the
trick as well, still it continues. After the birth the women return home with a newborn, probably hoping
never to meet the official father of their child again.
At the end of our time in Loi Kaw Wan we returned to Thailand and paid a visit to Homm Noon.
She had delivered a baby boy and was resting in a safe house in Thailand until the baby could get some
vaccinations. The safe house is used for Burmese patients sent to use the Thai hospital. It's a small
warehouse among a line of other warehouses and loading docks.
Homm Noon, her husbadn and the baby had blankets laid out on the floor of the empty storage unit,
with some clothes hung up in the corner. She introduced her healthy little baby. We asked his name, and
she gave one but said it's only his Thai name, for the birth certificate. He doesn't have a real name yet.
* * *
The ABSDF medic trainer in Mae Sariang
He's a 37-year-old Pa-O. Handsome with a square face. This is what he said: He joined the ABSDF 21
years ago, when it was brand new. He has worked out of Mae Sariang for seven years. Before that he
was in Mae Sot for a time, and for years in Katchanburi. He was on the front lines for seven long years,
as both a medic and an ABSDf soldier.
The front lines were and are still busy places for his gang. They would like females to go out there,
but it's hard to convinve them to. They don't like it. In general, the girls with the movement stay in We
Gyi, the ABSDF headquarters inside Burma's Karen state.
He was there for seven years, until one day of a battle in which he was shot by a tatmadaw soldier.
Twice. One bullet went through the left knee. The other met him in the front of his left ankle and
passed out through the bottom of his heel, which is quite a crippling experience.
He says that as a medic, he was prepared for his comrades being shot. They would say to him, “I've
been hit,” and he would go over and have a look at the wound and say “OK, no problem.” However,
when he got hit, being the medic he had no weapon at the time to return fire, all he could do was think
aloud “oh, I'm shot.” His comrades made a phone call and got him to safety in Thailand.
Once he got to the hospital in Thailand he was lucky to be seen to by two doctors; a Brit and a
Canadian. They put a steel pin in his ankle and today all he has are scars. His belief is that had he
ended up with a Thai doctor they would have just sawed his foot off.
He's been pulled from front line duties because he can't keep up anymore, despite looking strong
overall and having no limp.
Today, he is based in Mae Sariang, working at least in part as a medic trainer. Sometimes he goes in
to Mae La Oon refugee camp, because there are things to do there too.
* * *
Wyntint Han
Wyntint Han looks like nobody else. Really, there are people with eyes you've seen before, familiar jaw
lines. Wyntint might be an original. If he were on a scale, and the scale said “100 lbs,” no one would be
surprised. He's tall and thin and harried. He always wears a longgyi—a sarong, and wears it snug. His
arms are marked by long muscles. His face is wide, his eyes are Asian, but so big, out of proportion
with the features on his face, which are all big features. Wide frowning mouth. Big turned up nose.
Skinny neck. He chain smokes green Burmese cigars.
He is an ABSDF veteran who lives in the refugee camp, with a special pass to go outside
sometimes.
“I'm not married,” he says. “I have no time to find, no place to put. Within seven years I live in my
backpack. Normally no women want to live in backpack.”
He refers to others in the ABSDF as “comrades.” He says he likes the refugee camp compared to the
ABSDF base in We Gyi: “Refugee camp better than We Gyi because can get rice, vegetable...In We
Gyi, meat is very rare, and vegetables are very expensive...Very difficult to grow, very difficult to plant
the vegetables. So we cook the papaya fruit.” They're everywhere, but when there's nothing but papaya,
you can have too many.
* * *
Hlah Tay
Hlah Tay has a smooth broad face, thin lips and yellow teeth that seem to suit him. He's not tall but
he doesn't look weak. He is Karen. He tends to wear a sarong and a tan Lufthansa cargo crew ball cap,
the ABSDF has not made him rich. But his best feature is his bowl-cut hair. A full black helmet of hair
beginning to show flecks of grey. His English is good, with just the slightest east-Indian accent to it
compared to the others. He has a wife and a one-year-old son who live in Mae La Oon refugee camp,
and he loves to play with his little son. When he's in camp he'll play with the baby until it's late at night,
they see each other so irregularly. This is what he said:
In 1988 Hlah Tay was studying botany, in his second year at Rangoon University. To the express
disappointment of his family, he got involved in the democracy movement. He took part in the 1988
protests, and that is how the government came to know his name. When the protests failed Lhah tay ran
for his life, never looking back. He ran to the border to hide escape the fairly terminal revenge the
government had ready for him. He joined the All Burma Students Democratic Front as soon as it
existed.
From 1991 to 1998 he was a rebel soldier on the front lines. There he crept in the jungle, slept in a
hammock, saw foreigners, rarely, who arrived to give military training, even a few video journalists.
“They are very very strong. When they take video it's between the battle.” He was at Manipor.
21-years later he is still working for it, not tired, not disillusioned, even as it's membership has
shrunk to a mere 1,500 scattered along the border. After the front lines he was recalled to teach in an
ABSDF grade school. With nine years of that under his belt he has been assigned to be headmaster in
the refugee camp, but before that must fulfill his duties at the office in Mae Sariang.
He knows the War on Terror has made armed revolutionaries unpopular, but insists they are
necessary. They are as necessary as is publicity and diplomacy in the struggle to free Burma. “I believe
that we push at the same time as the armed struggle, the diplomatic ways, the media ways.” Only using
every method at their disposal will they win this fight. He doesn't want to be hamstrung by only using
peaceful demonstrations. Burma has had too much slaughter come of peaceful demonstration. The
student uprisings of 1962, '74, '88. The workers' uprising in 1975. The monks uprising in 2007.
“If you demonstrate, they kill.”
He won't give up, he's not tired of this waiting. “No tired, because I believe that we must get
democracy in Burma. But I don't know if quickly or slowly. But I believe that one day we will get
democracy. Our people will live peacefully, with human rights...I understand that first we remove the
military junta, then we establish the general federal union. At that time we'll have many problems with
the ethnic groups and the general government. But I believe we can sit at the table and make the
dialogue. If we sit at the table there can be understanding. But the first is we remove the military junta.”
Hlah Tay has his own family now, a wife and son. He's dead to his past family.
“I never contact with them, because I'm afraid if I contact with them the military generals will
know...My mother, she is alive or not alive? I don't know. Also my sister and my brother, are they
married or no? What is their situation, I don't know.”
* * *
Mae La Oon Refugee Camp, NW Thailand
Hlah Tay says, “everything here is under the table. Like we are travelling today, it is under the table.
You saw the driver give the guard the money.” Whether he likes it or not, Hlah Tay has come to
appreciate the corruption that allows the refugee camp to function. The understanding is perhaps that
nothing that is forbidden is actually forbidden,so much as priced out. Coming and going has a price,
operating a business has a price, construction has a price, all that must be paid to the Thai authorities
who would are supposed to be preventing it.
Mae La Oon is a city of 16,000 people, situated between the site of a major battle between the rebels
(who lost) and the junta, and a four-hour drive over dirt road to the nearest Thai city: Mae Sariang. The
camp lies within steep mountain jungle, much to the discontent of the refugees. In 2003 it and its
16,000 inhabitants were transplanted entirely from the old location. There are always 16,000 people
there because that is how many are allowed to register before it is considered “full,” although ABSDF
members say there are more than that and it will continue to grow.
Hlah Tay says that even if the Thai Border Control authority refuses to register more than 16,000
people, “more and more refugees will come this year and next year because the SPDC has a new
election.” They come at their peril, because food rations are only given to those who are registered. Bad
news, because Wyntint Han says the rations are already too small; there is never enough food around
here. Devin Welch says he has seen camp orphans given whole meals of dry flour.
Camp feels tight. With 16,000 people and their livestock packed on the mountainsides everything is
too close together and too hard to keep clean. No one is allowed to leave the camp into Thailand, and
not many can afford it under the table. They can go back to Burma, if they want. There is little point
trying to walk into Thailand, this is completely, deliberately, the middle of nowhere.
This is officially a temporary rest area, not a camp much less a city. Therefore permanent structures,
ie concrete, is not allowed. Everything is made out of bamboo, every roof is thatched with newsprintgrey
leaves. The refugees will be arrested if they cut any timber or bamboo, so they must buy it from
the Thai. One dollar for each pole, plus transportation costs.
* * *
Elaine
Elaine is 70, a Canadian. She looks, acts, as though she could live in a bungalow with dachshunds. She
has a grey bubble-cut, speaks no other languages, can't take spicy food, and walks very slowly over
rough terrain. However provincial her personality, she has come to the Thai-Burma border and worked
on either side of it with her husband every year for 18 years. If she acts old now remember that she got
old waiting for Burma to change. What Elaine said:
She is tired of watching the struggle in this struggle. Watching the unchange. “It just makes you
weep when you see the inhumanity...I think a lot of people in North America feel helpless, but if you
join an organization or write letters it does make a difference, even if it just makes you feel like you've
made a difference. But some people I think just think about their next golf game. The ones who have
any real power to do anything.”
* * *
Uncle Sam
“Don't take my picture. Don't say where I take you. Don't call me my name, call me 'Uncle Sam,' I have
enough problems before with foreigners.”
Uncle Sam began his life when he was born in Rangoon in 1951. That was before the military junta.
His mother was a midwife and his father was a health assistant working for the government. Even
though they were Shan, they had little to fear from the government because of their jobs, and because
things weren't so bad then.
When he finished high school and had to choose a career, Uncle Sam chose jade trading. Moving
gem stones out of Burma was a popular business. His dad gave him some start-up funds, which Sam
quickly ran through. Jade trading wasn't as easy as he thought, so rather than face his father with the
bad news, Sam went to work construction in Bangkok for three years.
His father wasn't an idiot. He entreated Sam repeatedly to come home and try something else. “You
don't have a head for business Sam. My friend will set you up with a job in the hospital mixing drugs.”
Sam took the job. Although he wasn't impressed with the pay he found he liked being in Health.
Eventually he became a health administrator for the government as his father had been.
As such, he was assigned to government convoys sent to the countryside of Shan state, forcing
development along the way. Much of what employees like himself told the Shan about development
projects and what they would receive was just propaganda. They never received much.
Shan nationalism was growing then. The people weren't happy, not with the government, not with
the union, not with the starvation. Kun Sa's rebel Maung Tai Army was growing in strength, really at its
peak back then. They had real weaponry, real training, strong volunteers. And of course, such a
charismatic leader. Uncle Sam began to help them secretly. As a government employee, the son of a
government employee, from Rangoon, he was above suspicion. He wasn't counted among the Shan,
except he was now with the Shan. He stole medicine from the government and gave it to the Shan.
Things were going fine and he wasn't particularly worried about being found out, until Kun Sa
surrendered to the Burmese in 1996 and went into house arrest in Rangoon. The Maung Tai Army
broke into pieces, and in the crumbling Uncle Sam's activities were exposed. He fled to Thailand.
When he arrived there he found a reunion of rebels.
A little lost, he served briefly as a soldier in what was left of the rebel army. By 1997 he knew
soldiering wasn't for him any more than gem trading. He learned of the medic training centre in
Thailand, further south along the border. The Shan sent him there, where he trained for two years to
become something of a rough and ready doctor.
He was good at that, and ambitious with it. Before too long he brought his skills to camps of
displaced Shan scattered along the northern Thai-Burma border, where the Shan were pushed by a
furious Burmese army. Those refugees are still there. Uncle Sam still sends them medicine. Today he
lives permanently in Thailand. Canadians bought him a migrant worker ID, and as long as he has that
he can stay. He is happy in his young career. Trains Shan teenagers to make field medics of them. Butts
heads with rebel commanders who stew along the border in new villages of displaced ethnic minorities.
Butts heads with well-meaning foreign doctors who come to help him train. Can't ever go back. He
betrayed the Burmese government, and then was betrayed himself, so he cannot go back.
* * *
The Commander of 30 Mountains
Another illegal trip into Burma, using what the local connection calls “positive corruption” (whiskey),
another dusty refugee village, another SSA commander.
Since the rest of the party moves like a glacier, and because I tend to wander off, I soon became
separated from the others and didn't know where in the village I was or they were. Behind a weak
bamboo fence was what was obviously a mini military compound, because it was painted. I saw a truck
in there that looked like ours, so, well, they must have driven in and be waiting.
There is a compound guard in a little thatched gazebo at the fence, with an MK balanced on his lap.
When I walked in, surely the first blonde in months, he looked at me, and I looked at him, and neither
of us admitted anything was unusual.
There's an army troop truck inside, and a set of flags, so it's a place for some important person. After
moseying around long enough a woman motioned me in to one of the hot, dark houses, or offices, or
whatever. Inside was a man sitting crossed-legged on the raised floor, obviously eating his lunch—rice
and dark brown stuff and dark green fluid with black mounds of stuff. He looked at me and I looked at
him. I said hello. He said something authoritative to the women, who showed me to sit down, and
scurried off. A walkie-talkie buzzed on the table in a corner of the room, which was heavily decorated
with maps of Burma and pictures of military processions. I sat down across from him and we looked at
each other.
His English was laboured, but he was the only one around who could speak it, and the only man
about the place. “What country you from?”
“Canada.”
“Hm. Canada.” A woman came with a bowl of rice, for me. “Nam nam nam!” he said, and she
returned with a glass of water. I spooned the broth from the black stuff onto my rice, which made
whoever this guy was laugh. It was strange him being here, since word was all the village men had left
to work in the fields.
“Yum, good. Thank you.”
“You are medicine?”
“Medic? No.”
“No medic?” He looked at me sideways and I hesitated and looked at him sideways.
“I'm...a...journalist. Newspaper.” He raised his eyebrows and frowned and looked at my camera.
Then he laughed but not a happy laugh, rather a slow laugh.
“News. How you come?”
“Someone brought.”
“Who brought?” We stared at each other. I shook my head.
“I don't know who.”
“Sai Sam?”
“No. I don't know. You medic?”
“Ha ha!”
“You're a soldier?”
“Hm, yes soldier.” The walkie-talkie buzzed intermittently, and I accidentally looked at it every time
it did. The woman brought another dish, of green and red crusty stuff, and another bowl of rice.
“For you, I can't eat more,” I told him, but he shook his head and waved me to load up. “OK, you're
big, I'm small.”
“Ha ha!”
“I take half, you take half,” and I did. “You SSA soldier?”
“SSA...You come Dr. Myron?”
“Dr. Myron?” then I breathed relief. If he knew of Myron then whoever he was it was probably OK.
I told him yes yes, with Dr. Myron. He asked how many of us came, whether we were staying the
night, how I liked his food. I ate as heartily as I could to ease the long pauses between our exchanges.
He told me Myron was coming to the compound, and I knew I just had to bide my time and so on.
Of course, the reason this man was still in town when most others had left to farm, was because he's
the regional rebel commander. He's running the place. Jeez, I'm glad he liked me, because eating with
him even before I knew who I was with was a bit of a pickle.
By the way, he gave me an SSA 2009 calendar.
* * *
Aizawl, capital city of Mizoram state, far east India
We've been travelling every day for four days to get here from Calgary. Everybody is jetlagged and
hungry. Half our group is missing—we haven't seen them since we left the airport to drive to Aizawl,
and those of us who are here at the Aizawl Ritz are wondering where they could be and what's going to
happen next.
The Ritz Hotel is supposed to be one of the best in the city, but if you saw Aizawl you'd know why
saying that, this hotel is still pretty ragged. But I think they try their best. It is cold in the Ritz. There's
no central heating. Rooms are about $30 a night, $40 for the deluxe suite. Deryl Comeau was offered
the deluxe suite for her, her husband and son, but she felt it was too expensive.
I think I'm going to have to investigate this “expensive” crap. Why would two doctors argue with a
hotel manager over a $40 room, with a cab driver over 25 cents? It just doesn't sound fair. And the
argument that if we pay them more then they will expect more from everybody sounds like we should
pay them more then. Why shouldn't they get a fair price? Why shouldn't we pay them more if they're
poor and we're not?
The city is unbelievable. It's in India, but everyone on the streets looks east Asian—Burmese.
They're the Mizo and Chin people. Westerners don't come here. It's not easy to get to, and I don't know
what most Westerners would do here if not aid work.
The entire city is built on the top of a group of green mountains. The buildings that can't fit on the
very top trickle down the sides. No road lies on a flat plane, nor even in a straight line for more than a
block. How long it must take to learn your way around. Why on top, and not like every other mountain
city, built in the valley and those who can't fit begrudgingly live on the lower mountainsides?
The area is very mountainous. Low, sharp mountains covered in cold tropical forests. The mountains
are sheer with no real space between them. So, for some reason, people have decided to build their city
on the mountainside. The buildings are narrow, and built on stilts to prop them against the mountain.
It's cool and the air is clear here. People dress like east Asians—well and in western clothes. The water
(for the hotel anyway) is trucked in from quite a distance. Why are they all living here when they don't
even have water? Perhaps they've been pushed up here for generations. Why else would they
congregate on the mountaintops? The streets are narrow, winding, full of moped traffic.
* * *
Champai
Champai is much like Aizawl, just on a much smaller scale. On top of the mountain, misty, roughly
paved roads, many chickens. Many churches. Many human things that look as if they haven't changed
in centuries.
Another day of running mobile clinics into the surrounding villages. It was a long drive to this one
today—nearly two hours each way. I opted to take a break from the volunteers and ride in with the
interpreters. There are three of them that have been with our team, as well as a driver who sometimes
interprets, and a mysterious middle-aged man who seems to speak neither English nor Mizo. Maybe we
have him for ballast. The driver, Dina, is an overweight, baked-looking man of 27. The other three are
flirty guys each around 20, full of piss and excited to have the blonde white girl in their car.
“We all like you very much,” 'My Boy' told me as soon as I got in. I'm not going to say I don't like
being flirted with, so there.
Something about Mizos, and the Burmese Chin who live alongside them: they smoke like chimneys,
appear surgically attached to their cell phones, know the lyrics to altogether too many pop songs, and
should really lay off the betelnut. It's ruining their teeth.
We may not know they're here, who at hone has ever heard of Mizoram? But they are here and they
live like us, and they don't need us around. They don't need us in order to act like us, or to act like
themselves. They have their own concerns and interests that are more important to them than
wondering what we know of them. To them, Mizoram is a place, even though it seems like nowhere we
know of, it's the only place to them.
They're a beautiful group of people around here. Their looks and mannerisms remind me of the
Koreans, whom I love.
* * *
Inefficiency
Inefficiency driven by ignorance is driving Dr. Lopita mad. She came up from dinner this evening
hopping to tell me about something Deryl said that made her blush. Lopita had an 8-year-old patient
today who may have a congenital heart defect. She wanted to know how MMC could raise money for
the girl should she need an operation. The girl had been told she could only have the operation
overseas, which Lopita said was unlikely—it can be performed in Calcutta. Deryl had no idea
complicated surgery could be performed in India. Actually, India is a hub for people from the West who
come for affordable surgery.
There are many things people on this trip are doing that are a waste of time and money, and which
seem born of a stubborn ignorance from our group. They treat this as if it's the end of the earth and
primitive as hell, but it's not. Everyone here has an email address, a TV, a refrigerator. While we work,
they take pictures of us on their cellphones. They're not at the end of the earth, just the other side.
* * *
Zokawthar, India-Burma border
Our first day working the Zokawthar clinic. Half the patients crossed the India border from Burma to
see us, many of the others were Burmese Chin who now live in India. As we began there was already a
teenaged girl and her mother, the girl laying on a bed suffering an anxiety attack. A few minutes after
Dr. Semkuley began attending her, the whole clinic could hear her hyperventilating, until she passed
out and they carried her upstairs.
The people coming from Burma truly are in much worse shape than the poor villagers on the India
side. Two women came in with great goitres, there was a man with a bandage over his deformed face
who had been mauled by a bear years ago and couldn't afford to have his face fixed; a little girl pale
with malaria; all kinds of undernourishment and infections.
The worst thing by far was the birth. We were called up the hill to visit a young woman in labour.
She was laying on a blanket on the floor in her room, attended to well by midwives as the anxious
father of the baby waited in the other room. The midwives were doing an excellent job and we left.
About an hour later they called us back because the baby had been born. We came in congratulating
the mother, but there was a bad air in the room. The mother was resting, wrapped up on the floor, and
the midwife sat on the bed. We couldn't see or hear the baby, it was bundled up completely in the
midwife's arms.
She unwrapped the blankets to show Dr. Lopita and me the baby. When I saw it I thought it was
already dead. It was born at least two months premature, and it was the size of a skinny little guinea
pig. It's skin was grey, its eyes were shut and it's mouth dry and open. Outside the room Dr. Lopita said
she couldn't tell if it was alive or dead, but the midwife said it was still breathing a little. Dr. David, the
Burmese physician we're working with at the clinic, brought an injection of steroids to force the lungs
open. When they stuck the needle in the little baby's thigh, it flinched, and gave us hope that it might
survive the night. But Lopita said there was no hope it would last longer than that. It did indeed die
overnight.
* * *
Honey
Mizoram in India is where I tasted the best honey I ever tasted. Even now I'm eating it. I'm eating it
rightnow. That's why I decided to write about Indian honey, because it tastes sogood. An ode. It
deserves an ode. Oh Albertan honey is good, yeah, but it's honey-flavoured (I thought) and I can take
that flavour or leave it. But in Mizoram, the honey is dark, like dark ale, or maple syrup, which is what
it tastes like. Maple syrup, with honey mixed, and sweeter still, and a bit of fruitiness. For the first time
in my life I'm happy to eat honey by the spoonful. Now our big rum bottle full of dark Mizoram honey
is almost gone. We've had to lay the bottle on its side to get enough honey out of it. It's so sad, knowing
the last time I experience this taste may soon be over.
Chester the beekeeper from Bluffton bought a bottle of Thai honey of the back of a motorbike to
replace the Indian stuff, but he knew instantly it was imitation honey. This is a crap concoction made
from fruit juice and syrupy sugar water. It's important you know about this fake honey, because it's very
common to end up with it in China. Chinese fake honey is cropping up on the shelves at the store at
home, cheaper than the local stuff. Pay a little extra and get the real stuff.
* * *
Mizo Orphanage
Today we did the seven-hour drive back to the capital of Mizoram. The road just went around and
around. The curves and bumps seemed to never end, with unchanging green mountain scenery. A hard
drive back. At 3 o'clock the truck dropped some of us off about a mile from a roadside orphanage that
was expecting us to run a health screening. This “Good Samaritans Church” orphanage takes
abandoned people in from all over Mizoram state.
The place was hopping by the time we arrived, with children running around outside and doctors
running around inside. This is a terrible orphanage, but the staff try, I'm sure. Still, it's the worst
orphanage any of us I talked to about it have seen. Perhaps the one on the Thai-Burma border will be
worse.
The place smelled of urine, the children were filthy, and disabled and retarded people who had been
abandoned by their families hobbled among the crowd. Inside one big room near the entrance a child of
maybe 12 laid on the floor, propped up on their elbows, with their crippled legs twisted uselessly
behind. I couldn't tell and only found out later it was a girl. Her name is Rua, her hair was cropped
short, I guessed it was a boy.
Rua was excited to see us and tried to pull herself closer when I walked in. Her arms seemed strong
enough but she didn't have anything to get around by, just laid on the concrete floor surrounded by
splintered wood he used to play with. She couldn't talk either, all he could say was “bee,” and the
meaning changed with how loud and excitedly she got the word out.
It seemed terribly lonely in there for her in that big dirty concrete room. I knelt down and began
taking pictures of her face and turning the camera around to show her the picture, which she loved.
“Bee? Bee! Bee!” I couldn't take enough for her. I had to go to take pictures of the doctors at work
and the other orphans, but I felt terrible leaving her alone like a dog in a kennel still wanting company
and unable to follow me. “Bee? bee?” I went back to Rua again and again.
The other orphan children visited with Rua as they passed through her room on their own business.
There were others just as pathetically disabled as Rua, and some so smart and clean and eager to
practice their English.
The youngest was a preciously stunned four year old girl in a purple crinoline dress. The oldest was
in her 80s. The old ones were the retarded ones. An old woman, barely four feet tall, wandered around
with a doll strapped to her back the way women strap babies on. A man with Downs Syndrome groaned
and pointed to a rotten black tooth as he passed people.
Since there were too many of us volunteers to run the clinic, I got to spend the entire time
photographing. It didn't take long for the abled children to get the nerve to ask me to take their picture,
and of course to then go nuts to see how they looked in the photos. Kids are always beautiful, but I felt
sorrier than usual for these ones. They were so poor, and with only three staff members surely they only
really had each other. They were dirty but dressed in their best, with the little girls all pinning their
short hair away from their faces with little clips. Those who knew English used it if only to tell me their
names in complete sentences. Those who couldn't strained to show me how excited they were. They
crowded me, led me around, sat me down and petted me. Then they noticed my white skin against
theirs, found the one with the darkest skin and held our hands together to compare. They unbraided and
rebraided my hair, thanked me, hugged me, and lined up to give me five and get their pictures taken all
over again. It was terrible, because I had to leave them.
When the doctors were finished the staff begged us to stay and eat. Dr. Semkuley refused over and
over, and told us it was wrong to stay because we were in a hurry and the children needed all the food
that would be given to us. He was right on both counts, but once we saw what they had prepared for us
we all knew it would have been just another tragedy for that place to turn our backs without eating with
them.
They didn't eat. The children were sent away and the staff watched us. What a spread. They had
things we hadn't seen since we left North America, and much too much of it to feed the 11 of us.
Apples, pineapple, pudding, fried chicken, sliced bread, cheese, nuts, chocolate bars—they had
everything for us. It was a terrible meal, knowing how much anticipation had gone into it, and how
much they should eat it instead and how hurt they would be if that happened.
Two ancient women had their beds in behind the table and as we ate they petted our shoulders and
motioned to their mouths for us to share our food. At the end, our plates were cleaned but the food still
on the platters looked barely touched. We gave them some money, and the clothes we had at hand but
didn't need, and the pastor who runs the place told us about his ambitions to add a chapel to the
orphanage, which is the last thing the orphans need. We drove away in the dark.
* * *
2010 Election, as of 2009
The election the SPDC has scheduled for spring 2010 hangs over this town like a doomsday. What is
the SPDC's plan, because surely they have one. They know right now what the outcome will be, if only
we did. I can guess. So can the townspeople. Homm Noon wants to have a baby, but she and her
husband are waiting until the 2010 election is in the past, just in case it brings war to Loi Kaw Wan,
they'll have one less life to protect if they wait to have the baby.
We're working to save money to buy Homm Noon a Burmese passport. It will cost about $1,000. It's
$1,000 if she mails her ID card into the government and they mail the passport back, about $650 if she
travel to Rangoon and applies in person, plus $350 in bribes to get there safely. I don't want her to go to
Rangoon. She lives here under an assumed name, but it's still risky to travel. What if there are spies
who know her? What if it's enough to be Shan to get into trouble on the route she takes? We have to get
her that passport before the election, just in case.
Maybe anticipating the fallout of the election is the reason the Commander wants the hospital
expansion to be so big. A lot of new people may be moving to Loi Kaw Wan. Maybe it's for them that
he wants it big, but maybe he wants MMC to pay for an operations office for his army. We don't know
and I'd have to visit with him every day for months before he'd tell me, and we only get one invitation a
year to visit him.
* * *
I'm not afraid of this Shan State Army
I'm not afraid of this Shan State Army. They're peasants and teachers, spread too thin over too much
jungle to scare anyone. Every man in the village owns a machete, but they're still just school teachers
and skinny farmers in uniform. I would give a lot if I thought it would get me embedded with this army.
Kung Hseng says growing up in Taunggyi he'd never heard of the SSA, not until it was time for him
to pick a career and his uncle told him about coming here to be a medic, under guard of the SSA.
They have few weapons. A pair of MKs seem to be floating around town for special occasions, that
and gardening machetes is about it for Loi Kaw Wan. A radio tower, a small cinder block house for the
Commander, one flat bed truck, that's all I've seen.
How could they get more? They don't have international support, or do they? Why should they?
They make money only from taxing the people they mingle with, and corruption, like opium traffic,
maybe some lumber like all the others.
Corporal Hsuo said he didn't know how many SSA soldiers exist. I guessed 25,000 for him and he
agreed that was possible, and that 50,000 isn't possible. The vice principal says it's hard to get new
soldiers, and I think it was hard to get them from the start. The intention is good, but with no pay, no
food, no clothes, no strength, how many can they entice to join? That's why there's only 25,000 illarmed
farmers spread from Chiang Mai to Yunnan.
Many, or most of the women here are married to a soldier, meaning most of the men here are
soldiers, even the ones who look too old and hard-lived to be.
All day long they trickle by. One, walking, ambling. Two if by motor bike. Sometimes wave,
sometimes salute, and smile when they realize who they saluted. The SSA guard the Thai-Burma
border before Loi Kaw Wan, posted in a sunny grass hut, with a lazy dog. I think they they let anybody
in, including the Thai guards. How can those two teenagers stop the Thai guards from walking down
the road to take pictures of the whites in Loi Kaw Wan who aren't supposed to be here.
* * *
Vice Principal Hsur Kham Leng
Hsur is the vice principal of the village school. Why he's not principal I can't guess. He's another
refugee from inside Shan state. A wiry, small set guy who looks taller than he is. He was born in
Yunnan, in China, and to his family's misfortune they immigrated to Burma. Hsur still speaks perfect
Mandarin. When his father died, I think he was about 17, maybe a couple years older. Should ask.
When his father died he joined the rebel Shan State Army.
Once he became a soldier his family destroyed his identification and pretended he was dead, to save
themselves and him from more SPDC wrath than they were already liable to suffer. For ten years Hsur
was a soldier in the forest.
There was never enough food to make him full. From the looks of him there wasn't enough food to
grow on. He looks like his body never grew to its potential. He says as a soldier it was always sleeping
in the forest, eating from the forest, hiking in the steep mountains with Chinese army boots that fall
apart in three weeks. Suffering in the rain season from the mosquitoes and malaria and mud. I believe
him, because he looks like dried sinew.
He says the SSA doesn't take on soldiers under 18, which I don't know if I can believe. Either way,
he's against using child warriors. He's fought against the SPDC's child soldiers, he says 15-year-olds.
he feels guilty about that. Children, he says, don't know right from wrong. Adults do know, and if he
was given an order that was illegal, or wrong, he would know it, and could refuse. Children don't know.
They just become killing machines that nobody wants to attack.
He's been here in Loi Kaw Wan for five years, working as this and that, now teaching and the vice
principal, still a soldier, waiting in reserve for a call back to the field. If I didn't know he was in his
early, maybe mid thirties, I wouldn't believe it to be told. The army has been hard on him.
He comes up to the clinic every couple of days to visit us with another development project he's part
of. Another person working too hard. When he gets a chance to talk about something else, especially
local politics, he's an eager one. Tells about the Wah army along the Burma Yunnan border. About the
relationship between the Shan and Laos language, about the Commander. He's friendly, and willing to
talk, but he's sad. In a sad state. There is no wife, no family, not even his own grass hut, just a bed in
the office. Even when he laughs he looks alone.
* * *
Bay Da
We arrived in Loi Kaw Wan in the afternoon. Once we came through town to the medic compound, we
stood and looked around at things. Suddenly a tall young man running at full tilt leapt onto Dr.
Semkuley and hugged him with his arms and legs. That's the most emotional reunion I've ever seen
between two men.
The man was Bay Da, whom everyone knows has the biggest smile since Eddie Murphy, and much
nicer than Murphy's. Especially since the corners of Bay Da's mouth curve up, even when he stops
smiling, which he eventually did. He smiled so much those first few days anyone would think he was
the happiest man in the borderlands. Of course, his smile fell into disrepair over the next two weeks.
It began with slow fractures, changing from joy at having Myron back, to worry, nervous smiling.
Beaten dog smiling. Shorter smiles, frowning in between, right in front of us.
It took two weeks for Bay Da to stop being formally gracious, open up, and say enough for me. Two
weeks to say something to me that could make me cry. When the woman watching her mother die of
AIDS in the clinic down the road only made me angry.
Bay Da climbed down from the frame he and the others spent all day building to hold these mega
big solar panels, so the clinic will finally have night light. We sat on the grass together and he took off
his Chinese army boots, inside which his feet had stewed all day without socks. Man what a stink! Like
grade C ham left under the deck for a week. I moved to sit up wind and we joked about the smell. He
said I should write about how people in Loi Kaw Wan are too poor for soap so donors would send some
for his feet. Then we headed off to bring the tools someplace for safe keeping.
“Sometimes when we walked in the forest for four or five...or seven days, very difficult to get clean.
No soap and got very dirty.”
“You mean you were in the forest for that long?”
“Yes”
“What were you doing in the forest for seven days?”
“Hiding, from Burmese soldiers.”
“Oh. You were one of those people.”
“Yes.”
“What would happen if they caught you?”
“They want to make us porters. Porters carry their weapons and food, and big bombs. A big bomb...
They burned my father.” My skin crawled.
“They took cigarettes, pressed on his face. You know when cigarettes burn, and the end is red? They
burned on his face, here,” he traced his finger along his cheeks, “here.”
“They tortured.”
“Yes, tortured. I was seven...or six. I never forget that in all my life.”
Earlier we had also joked about how he would like to be president. The things he would do, notably
enact litter laws. Bay Da is an environmentalist, dislikes litter, and takes the decimation of the local
teak forests by the SPDC personally. As he should, the SPDC are raping his people in order to rape his
land. Anyway, his president talk ends with a smile and he says “in my next life.”
“I want to have some coffee.”
“I want my freedom.”
“And what will you do with your freedom?”
“I will travel, and present about Burma's politics and the environment.” I didn't expect him to have
an answer so ready. After we put the tools away, and after he told me about his father's torture and I
tried to keep my head tilted up so tears wouldn't fall out of my eyes and perhaps he was doing the same
thing, he told me more.
“I will tell you my real dream. This is real, what I wish. I want to go to a small village and teach
English. Have maybe 50? students. I teach English and improve my English. At my home town we
have waterfall,” he showed with his hands, “a beautiful waterfall. And land is flat and soil is
very...good.”
“It's no good here?”
“No. Very hilly, and difficult to bring water.” The Shan aren't a mountain people. They are
traditionally farmers who are used to rich plains where they can grow just about anything. This place is
Akha land. The Akha like the rugged land, but they had to move aside here to make room for the Shan
refugees.
“I want to have a house, and around the house, trees, because I like the environment. I would have
trees. That is my real dream.”
“Do you want this in Shan, or Thailand?”
“Shan. If I can, I don't like in Thailand.” The whole time, his nervous smile would flicker by. It's
surprising how a face constructed to fall so naturally into a wide grin can drop into such exhausted
despair. He'd mentioned even on the first day that he doesn't think about worrying things because it
would just make him depressed. But I knew when he said that, even though I didn't know him, that he
must think about those things all the time.
* * *
AIDS
Bay Da said in 2007 he saw about 10 HIV positive patients. That he generally sees “a lot,” and they
are typically male, under 40, and soldiers. I don't know why he said “2007” instead of “2008,” unless
he hasn't counted up the 2008 cases yet. The first AIDS patient I saw was on February 11. She was,
well she still is at the moment, a 52-year-old woman who had been in the week before (although this
one looks so shrunken that I find it hard to believe it's the patient they're referring to) with an infected
tooth socket. This patient is very wasted, certainly under 100 lbs and probably around 75 lbs, black lips
surrounded by sores. Her daughter is with her, a healthy-looking, distressed woman, also a young man
and a bunch of same-aged kids who may just be in for the show. The daughter is so upset that she won't
let me take pictures, Khang Seng is busy putting her IV in and he looks up to tell me to stop. So I'll
wait until the family leaves the In-Patient ward for awhile, if they do at all.
The photo is necessary. Why is the photo necessary? Because she's part of her people's genocide.
Burma has enough money to have kept her safe and well if it wanted to. Her death is a victory for them.
Word is, the woman will die within days without medicine, which can only serve to hold her on a
little longer, slow the deterioration. That much is probably obvious to anyone. Amy says that her
daughter said that this woman's husband died a few years ago. “Of the same thing Mom has now.”
The next day she's still alive. She has tuberculosis and pneumonia, and what all the medics call
“CD4,” which is code for HIV. I ask Homm Noon if people here understand the phrase “HIV.” She says
they do. I ask her if they've told the woman's daughter she has HIV. She says no. I ask her if it will
embarrass the woman's daughter if they say “HIV.” She says like she always does when I wish she'd be
precise. “Yeah sure.”
“But they must guess that she has AIDS.”
“No I don't think they guess it.”
“Why did they bring her in.”
“Some abdominal pain.
The air around her bed smells dangerously rotten. A terrible smell around her, but it's not that she's
soiled herself. I don't know what can take the nasty smell of death off her body. It's not the same as
feces or vomit. It's unnatural decomposition. Like something breathing of a dead body. Anyway. The
next morning I come in to take her picture if I can. She's awake. She nods when I show her my camera,
and she pushes down the comforter and lifts up her blouse so I can see her emaciation.
* * *
Shan Tattoos
Most of the Shan men have blue-black tattoos on their arms; tattoos of writing in Shan. One line of
writing with other lines of writing branching off like domino chicken foot. Many of them have
explained these tattoos to us. They are a magic charm that will protect them from violence; knives and
bullets. They admit the charms won't really make them invincible, but they make them a little braver
when they need it. They get them up a monastery when they're teenagers. The women and the other
ethnicities don't have tattoo charms.
* * *
Ignorance
Elaine's ignorance, inaccuracies and generalizations are driving me crazy. I think I'm focusing any
stress and bitchiness I feel on that, because it is so annoying.
“The medics don't have a TV.” Yes they do. We can see it and hear it every night when the generator
is on. “Monks eat once a day.” No they don't. We were at the monastery yesterday afternoon and a
senior monk told us in perfect English that they eat twice a day. “I wonder what's wrong with those
boys, they look so thin.” The monastery boys are the healthiest, meatiest-looking bunch in town.
In Zawkathar she told us our interpreters would get hungry before we do because no one in the area
eats breakfast, which is absolutely ridiculous because if you go walking in the morning the entire town
is busy making it and eating it. That one bugged me so much that I asked every interpreter I could at
the Zawkawthar clinic if they had breakfast, and they all said “yes.” “You don't want to go out after 6
without your flashlight.” Wrong. “They don't know how to take a lid off a bottle.” Wrong.
“We all have to buy a complete set of bedding for our stay at Loi Kaw Wan because they will have
nothing for us but lice-infested sheets on a hard bamboo bed.” Of course, when we arrived, they had
prepared perfectly good beds for each of us with their own modern, new, clean comfortable bedding.
Ours is just an insulting extra.
“Eat more than that or you'll get hungry.” Is that so? You know how much food I need to avoid my
own hunger? “You won't see any Shan soldiers here.” Except for the dozens who pass by every day.
“Mizoram is cold.” Hot. “Thailand is always hot.” No. “Nobody else comes to this place to help these
people,” except the three other international NGOs that come every year. These people know nothing,
understand nothing and have never been anywhere or heard of the outside world. Absolutely wrong.
It didn't take long for me to start taking everything Elaine says with a grain of salt—at best. Lately if
I don't ignore what she says I indulge in being annoyed at it. She's given me no new information.
Everything she says is either regurgitated or wrong. It bugs me to no end because she has been doing
this work, in this area, for nearly 20 years, and yet she has no original insight and most of the time, as I
keep saying, she's wrong. She assumes she knows more than any of us and so she regularly delivers
tidbits of trivia, but of course nobody could know as little as her and so she's telling us the wrong
information about a subject we already know a lot about! Wrong wrong wrong.
* * *
Kang Hseng
Within three days of arriving in Loi Kaw Wan, we all had a Kang Hseng crush, and he knew it. Kang is
hot to begin with, but being one of the few city boys in Loi Kaw Wan, he possesses unusual charisma.
This is what he said:
Kang was born and raised in the capital city of Shan state: Taunggyi (Dong-chi). He has two older
sisters, both of whom have been to college and now have relatively good jobs in retail. His father was
an opium addict for 25 years. He paid for his habit by dealing. It's a little fuzzy, but he may have been a
bootlegger too. The work put Kang's family squarely in Taunggyi's middle class.
When it was evident Kang was on the verge of growing up, he had to decide what to do with his life.
He's Shan, but because they lived in the city and his father had a mind for business they never felt
threatened by the Burmese. At first Kang wanted to be an engineer, but he fell 5 per cent short on the
entrance exam. His uncle in Singapore offered him a job.
“Come work for me in Singapore. I'll set you up with a position and you can make a good living
here,” his uncle told him. No. Another uncle is a monk in San Francisco, but Kang didn't want to be
there either. A third uncle told him about the rebel Shan State Army, which he knew nothing of before,
and the medics who bring aid to the Shan huddled along the border. That was the job 19-year-old Kang
took.When Kang first told me this I thought “well you're a good guy Kang, but you're the only one here
who can go home anytime you want. It doesn't have to be a serious thing for you.” Then I realized how
much it meant. He could have chosen so many other lives. He was one of the rare ones; safe,
comfortable, educated. He chose to go in when the others ran out.
Almost three years later. He likes Loi Kaw Wan. He's a good medic and when the supplies hold he's
the town dentist. He'll only leave if he wins a spot in the Mae Sot training clinic. And after that he
would come back. Plus, he's staying because he's fallen in love with a 20-year-old student down the
hill.H
e's a clothes horse with a choker of black beads like the surfers wear, and a black motorcycle
jacket. His motorbike lust is strong, but with the honorarium salary he gets it will take him years to
save up for one. He has an elfish face, likes to smile and show-off. His anime haircut makes him look
like Bruce Lee and he loves it when people tell him that.
He has no desire to be a soldier, but he calls the SSA “our organization.” Many Shan change their
names when they escape or become rebels. Kang didn't change his, because he wants people to know
it's him doing these things. Dangerous.
He has his own private house; a bamboo and thatch hut the size of a backyard tool shed, with a dirt
floor. There's a bare light bulb in the thatch that works for the two hours a night the generator's running.
Between the bamboo cot and the rest of the house is a rack of clothes that acts as a wall. The door
hangs onto the upper corner of its frame literally by a thread. He loves his house, because it's his only
private place. In a few months he and the other two single male medics will be moved into a dorm, and
he's not looking forward to it.
Early every morning he took Cody and Sanjeev down to the clinic yard to teach them kung fu. Now
and then he'd find one of the medics' guitars and play, which he was good at, and sing, which he needs
to brush up on. Every night when all the others went to bed, Kang and I stayed up together to talk. We
would play cards and tease and flirt. He told me all his secret gripes about how the Commander runs
the town when there are no strangers to see it. Talked about politics and the genocide in Shan and how
it's all going to end. And what happens after the end.
This year, when I returned to Loi Kaw Wan, Kang Hseng had gone home.
* * *
Dr. David
Dr. David has a soft business card with his entire Burmese name on it and his parents' address. He is 26
years old. He became a doctor about a year and a half ago. The rule in Burma, if you become a doctor,
you work where the government tells you to work for three years. Then, I think, he can apply for a
passport. Where the government tells you to work can easily be someplace horrible, for (I think) a
horrible wage. Dr. David didn't want to work where they said, and began to look for a job with an
NGO, of which he says there are many inside Burma and they pay well.
Against the odds he decided to go to the fringes of his home state, working for a Canadian NGO on
the India side of Burma's Chin state border.
He's the only medical staff in the clinic on this growing border town. It grows because it's
contiguous with Burma's town across the river. Burmese refugees are still relatively welcome in this
part of India, so they cross the border to contribute to the population, and as traders, casually smuggling
Burmese goods all day long (especially alcohol, since the Indian state of Mizoram is dry).
Dr. David is very soft, shy. He is tall, and still young-looking even for a 26-year-old Asian. Asians
on the whole look young for a long time. They just do and we all know it. He is tall, thin, his hair is cut
flat on top and too short on the sides, and he doesn't gel and spike it the way a lot of the others do. He
wears glasses. If you know what Frank Grimes looks like, he looks like Frank Grimes.
He's a difficult man to joke around with because he is so shy. Teasing makes him nervous. Spies
make him nervous. Sometimes he crosses the bridge to shop in Burma, sometimes goes a little further
in to treat people in the countryside. He hasn't had trouble yet. If the Burmese stop him he lies and says
he's a government doctor. But he's worried about the spies. They cross into India as easily as he crosses
out. They visit his clinic, ask questions, watch him and tell on him. They suspect him and he doesn't
know of what or what's going to happen. He wants to go to Canada, or Australia, or back home to his
parents in Burma. Somewhere away from this place.
“What will happen if you go back to Burma?”
“I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe put in jail. Maybe a few years or 20 years. I don't know because
there is no law. It depends on the government.” He has a loft above his clinic, but he's too lonely to
sleep there. He sleeps on the couch at the next door neighbour's.
His way of talking is to smile and squirm. He's self-conscious about his nasal English because he so
rarely speaks it, but his English is really quite good despite his agonizing. He gets this story out with
difficulty. Not language difficulty, but shyness. Dr. Lopita tells him if he can come to Canada she'll give
him a job in her clinic.
Eventually he's brave enough to say something to his Canadian bosses. In all he does say to them
there is an air of grasping for excuses to leave this job without angering them. He wants more money.
True, he deserves more. He only makes about $400 dollars a month. Good enough in this town but not
good enough to send any home to his retired parents, and not as good as he could have made with an
NGO on the inside. The organization can't afford to pay him like a Canadian, but he deserves at least
$1,000 a month, even if that is twice what other professionals make in town. They give him a raise,
$500 a month.
Next, he says he doesn't feel qualified. He's such a new, young doctor. If only he could return to his
home town for another two years of training. Then he will come back. He knows other doctors from his
graduating class who might replace him. They tell him wait, bide your time, it took long enough to find
him. What if you don't come back? Just stay a little longer. Maybe they were on to him.
A few weeks later, Dr. David emailed me. He had gone back home.
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