Long Winded

Oh Little Blog I have neglected you. But not out of lack of love, or stories. Simply as a result of the thick Bamboo Curtain that has shielded Myanmar from the modern world for the last few decades.

Right now I sit in the military occupied city of Bangkok. This is not the country I know. But this morning I sat just across the border in the former Myanmar capital of Yangon.

Helen and I (for those of you who don't know, Helen is one of those spectacular and irreplaceable friends I've had since babyhood) traveled through Myanmar/Burma for 10 days. I wish you could have been there. I wish everyone could be there.

I could fill this post with countless of those classic "traveling through Asia" moments. Bus rides I wish had never happened, scorpion filled roads, rats in places you never want to see rats, the calamity of miscommunication. But what my trip to Myanmar deserves is an attention to the people who live there.

Crash history courses (and Lonely Planet "background" sections) will tell us that the people of Myanmar have lived with what can only be described as a military dictatorship for the last two decades. Their elected leader, The Lady as she is called, has been put under house arrest by the government essentially for winning the election and so the people of Myanmar are forced to endure communism and a military presence that threatens their very existance. Their is extreme poverty, which sadly becomes routine as you travel, but their is also extreme oppression and humanitarian crises which under no circumstances ever become routine. A few examples. The countryside is ripe with unfound landmines. The military will take villagers and have them march through areas of suspected landmines, so when the villager blows up the military will know where the landmines are. People are killed and captured on a routine basis. Speaking out against the government is not an option. And years ago when a democratic political party was elected to office the current leading party had all of the newly elected officials either captured or killed. There is nothing fair going on here.

The people we met were often ready to talk. A local man who we met in a restaurant called "Pancake Kingdom" began a conversation with us saying, "perhaps one day our government will be as intelligent as dogs." He then went on to tell us about the Burmese's record for zero political prisoners. "This is not true," he said. "In our country you are not allowed to own a television. But if you obey the leaders no one will disturb you for owning one. If you speak out against the government you will be arrested and imprisoned for 7 years. But not for speaking out against the government, they will say it's because you own a television." For this reason the Burmese government is able to tell institutions like the UN that they have no political prisoners.

Even with this as their life backdrop the people of Myanmar were some of the warmest I've ever met. To give you a visual the land is virtually untouched. Or, as it seems, forgotten. Men and women all wear skirts, and everyone walks around with a thick layer of face paint in a multitude of designs, triangles on the cheeks, stripes by the eyes, which they use as sun protection. Electricity is scarce and I will say there is nothing eerier than walking through a huge metropolis at night in pitch black. As soon as you leave the city all homes are thatch roofed huts. And everywhere you turn are people bathing in the street. Using the only water they can find. Lathered from head to toe and always laughing or singing.

Helen and I were novelty items. Western faces are definitely new, (even though I saw more Ah-Nold movies in Myanmar than ever before in my life.) Everywhere we went mothers woke sleeping children so they could see us, entire families would crowd around us for photographs and this was always followed with "hello!" "what country you!" We would say "USA." They would say "Obama!" or "good country!" and then give us presents. Food, little stones, hats. Anything.

A rickshaw driver asked me where I was from. When I said "New York" he looked at me very solemnly and said, "I'm so sorry for 9-11." When you are standing in a blacked out city in the midst of men bathing in the streets and barefoot babies playing with whatever they've found, that condolence means more than I think it ever has before.

One night we went to see a comedy troop which has been repeatedly imprisoned and put on house arrest for speaking out against the government. As the group of 60 year old brothers who comprised the group made jokes in their front room (no they are not allowed to leave their house) it was impossible to ignore the reality of the situation. Here are people, performing by the light of a generator, on house arrest, forgotten by the rest of the world, physically, financially and even emotionally oppressed by their government. And all they really want to do is laugh.

Santiphap

In Thai the word for peace is santiphap. At this point it is something that everyone here is wishing for.

If the news is something you avoid the headlines here are the red shirt protests in Bangkok. Sparknoted to it's most vulgar simplicity the Red Shirts (a group of Thais mostly comprised of the lower and middle classes) are unahppy with the current prime minister and are holding protests until he steps down, or a fair election is held. Their foes are the wealthier and more elite Yellow Shirts. The current prime minister is supported by the yellow shirts, the previous prime minister (who was ousted and fled the country) is supported by the red shirts. Over the last few days the situation has escalated more and more. Over 900 are wounded, 21 have died and the red shirts have taken over numerous buildings, streets, hotels, malls in Bangkok and government buildings even here in Chiang Mai.

From where I sit in my apartment things appear normal. Bangkok is a 12 hour drive away and the streets of Chiang Mai are bustling as this week also happens to be the biggest festival of the year, the Thai new year. However, it is impossible to avoid the truck loads of red shirts barreling through the city, or the red flags waving from car and taxi windows. Chiang Mai is comprised almost exclusively of red shirts and although they won't shout it from the roof tops they will quietly wear a red wrist band, or red bandana to show their support.

Thailand is usually a place of such softness and peace that this new current feels unsettling and wrong. All we can do is hope for a resolution.

So, paix, paz, pace, peace, ukuthula, hedd, damai, ashtee, santiphap.

In whatever language you've got, please ask for it.