The New York Times - Don't Moon Over Burma

Op-Ed Contributor
The New York Times - Don't Moon Over Burma
By MARIE DOEZEMA
Published: June 26, 2009

DOHA — It doesn’t take a trip to Myanmar to see that measures taken by the international community against the Burmese junta are not working. Recent headlines and the trial of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi indicate that Myanmar continues to be mired in repression.

I recently took a trip there nonetheless. I have friends there, Burmese and foreigners, and I wanted to visit them in their country, a place they described as both beautiful and tragic.

Two days into the trip, I found myself eating fried tadpoles and drinking Champagne with Tay Za, one of country’s most powerful businessmen and a close ally of the military junta.

My friends and I had been en route to Putao, a mountainous region in the far north sandwiched between China and India. Abundant in wildlife and natural resources, the area is unreachable by road and visits require government permits. We took three flights to get there from Yangon. The owner of the airline, Tay Za, was on board with us.

As he exited the plane, Tay Za invited us to his lavish tourist lodge the following day. It felt less like an invitation than a summons. We had the feeling that he wanted to size us up.

At dinner the next evening, the normally elusive Tay Za was effusive, giving us a crash course on how things work in Myanmar.

On international sanctions: Who cares? Why bother with Europe and the U.S. when China and India are right next door?

He described his plans for Putao, which include developing infrastructure and another luxury resort. What this will mean for the region isn’t yet clear.

Once our trekking trip got underway, we spent days hiking through clouds, drinking from mountain streams, staying in small villages, sleeping in elevated huts woven from rattan. The night air wafted in through the cracks, mingling with smoke from the fire.

The forests were tangles of mushrooms, wild strawberries and orchids. We met hunters and gatherers who spent their days in the woods. In the last village we visited, mail came three times a year.

One night, we met with a village elder and a medicine man. Every year, they said, ice on the nearby mountains recedes farther into the distance. We talked about the plans to build a road to the village.

Tay Za loomed large over this part of the country, and we had the sense that his name would follow us everywhere. A few days earlier, back at his lodge, he had talked of his hopes for the road. For him, a road would mean easier access to a region he’s hungry to develop. For the locals, it would make life easier, but could also bring changes that threaten traditional resources and livelihoods.

If development brings catastrophe, locals will do what the birds do, the village elder told us: “We’ll fly away if we have to, go deeper into the forest until it’s safe.”

After the trekking trip, I also visited the ancient city of Bagan, home to thousands of rust-colored pagodas. Here, too, Tay Za had left his mark — a garish tower among the temples: a cocktail lounge with a view.

The town was eerily empty. Guesthouses were all but vacant and rows of restaurants were deserted. Horse carts lined the sides of the roads, waiting for passengers who never seemed to come.

A few kids peddled postcards, others begged for money, food, or anything that might be of value. Anti-child prostitution signs hung on trees and buildings around town. “Our children are not for sale,” they read.

I also visited Mandalay but missed most of the city. The trekking trip had left me covered in bites from leeches and insects, and my body was swollen and feverish. Instead of visiting sites, I searched for a pharmacy. Having been warned of the dangers of counterfeit meds, I wasn’t sure where to go.

Looking for medicine that night felt like the situation in Myanmar. You don’t know what’s real and what’s not; who to trust, who to avoid. You’re stuck in a limbo of justified paranoia.

At the end of the trip, I returned to Yangon. I visited some of the places that had been special to a Burmese friend who now lives abroad. He left almost two decades ago and hasn’t returned. Most of his family is still there.

After years abroad, my friend manages to maintain optimism rather than bitterness. As he wrote to me before I left, “I hope you will still see the amicable smiles of our people. We always find something to lighten our gloomy lives worth living.”

Marie Doezema is a freelance writer.