Someone Else is Living Your Parisian Dream

This is an e-mail I sent from abroad after a journey in the Burmese jungle….

WHAT: A perspective of Burma little known to anyone..even the Burmese.

Where: Burmese jungles to stay with people of the Karen nationality, and KNLA’s Brigade 5  

When: April - May 2003

Why: Because it’s our responsibility to know the goings-on in the world. How: Trucks through riverbeds, and washed out, muddy roads, Boat down the beautiful Salween between Thailand and Burma, Foot up and down mountains and everything that comes with silently and cautiously trekking through the Burmese jungle.

…….and after a few weeks of all that, i’m not dead, so i must be stronger at this point. The hike in was difficult. And vertical. So, so, so vertical. Switchbacks don’t exist in the mountains and jungles here, but even if they did, the time spent to take a switchback is far too dangerous. The preferred alternative is to go straight up and down the mountains. We were caught in a false, but convincing start into rainy season, so it was river-like muddy and vertical. Bamboo forests, teak forests, slash and burn, climbing over trees, under trees, up mountains, and despite my newly discovered fear of leeches that wrangle and wriggle through those tiny vents in my shoes, I don’t think I’ve ever seen/experienced anything so inherently beautiful. And natural. And rich. The people, the territory…all of it.

I spent a few weeks with the ‘Karen’ (Ka-yin) in their Burmese jungle villages, and was reminded at every turn of how different my world at home is from that of theirs. From transportation, or lack thereof, to eating on their feet quickly and silently ‘just in case’ there’s an ambush by the Burmese military where their villages are burnt down, and family members either murdered, gang raped, or taken as porters to both carry Burmese military supplies, as well as human mine detectors.

Imagine living everyday of your life for 54 years, if that’s your age, in fear that you could lose your home, husband, wife or children today - in the most violent of ways. One man in the KNLA told me that he joined the Karen Army after his village was attacked and burnt down. From his hiding place in the trees, he saw a close friend shot after being taunted and forced to rape his own mother. The friend was laughingly called a “mother fucker” by the Burmese soldiers before they pulled the trigger, he said.

They have no belongings aside from the most absolute necessities -minimal cooking and eating utensils - mostly cut from bamboo. They are clearly resigned to the possibility of an imminent attack - it is evident in lifestyle and in their stories. Some villages haven’t been attacked for up to 3 years, but this doesn’t mean that they won’t be ambushed today…some are attacked multiple times yearly. Some were most recently attacked last week. As we were on our journey out of the jungle back toward the Salween, we were held back for the night because the KNU had intercepted a signal from the Burmese military revealing plans to launch an offensive on a Karen village two hours ahead on our path. This is a frequent occurence. Some people have resorted to living under trees, rather than rebuilding their huts because the attacks are so frequent. Others are more persistent, building and rebuilding their lives. Carving more utensils. Weaving more clothing. Slashing and burning for more soil. Reaccumulating the essentials for life.

Imagine living everyday of your life on your toes, ready to leave your home to be decimated at a moments notice. One 70 year old woman told us,

“We work everyday, rain or shine, from sun-up til sundown. We’re dark and dirty, we can’t afford meat, and we pick whatever vegetables we can find to eat. We work hard, make (weave) our own clothes, but the only thing that bothers us of all this, is the Burmese military.”

My westernized mind naturally put this into the perspective of an American…Fresh, organic vegetables, a deep dark tan that so many of us strive for, and the craft of weaving some of the most beautiful, colorful, vibrant clothing that I’ve ever seen. Another 73 year old man said to my Burmese friend, ‘If you were to become the next oppressive ruler, I would have to fight you too.’ At 73, this man will not give up the fight for his people. I think often of how we would handle these adversities…..We can’t quite know, can we? We can’t imagine….

These people are resilient. And committed. They have a choice…move to the Thai side of the border into a refugee camp where the dangers are a little less (though the Burmese have decimated a refugee camps in the past), or stay and defend while they wait out this war of 54 years. Either way, they aren’t nationalized - neither Burmese, or Thai, the Karens seem to exist in some type of purgatory, waiting. Tyson, a 22 year old young man who seems to inexplicably pick up everything taught to him: film making with Holly F. (film maker also on the trip), command of the English language, guitar playing, singing, building and who knows what else said to me, when I asked about college, “Of course I’d like to go, but I don’t see how. I have a 10th grade certificate from a refugee camp.”

In this world, one would think that the wheel hadn’t been invented; nothing is wheeled. No bicycles, much less cars, no horse carts, and everything that must be carried on the hike from ‘town’ into the jungle (2.5 days for us not including 4 wheeling for 9 hours total, boat rides for 4 + hours total) is done so by the Karen with large baskets that are suspended from their heads, mounted on their backs. In those baskets are clothing, firearms, food, and sometimes, even chickens. To get anywhere, one treks the 80 degree mountains. I think that basic living for them, is still an outrageously, unimaginable different kind of basic for us. If I were reading this, I don’t know that I could envision a life basic enough. Or hard enough. Or frightening enough.

I got an email from Tyson just last night, saying that a KNU officer that I knew stepped on a land mine a few days ago, and lost his leg. Tyson was also sick with malaria for 2 weeks in the jungle. While we were there, another soldier had a land mine explode in his face. The nearest clinic is rigorous 2 hour hike and climb away from the camp, in either sweltering heat or pouring rain at this time of year. This note doesn’t do much justice to accurately paint a portrait of 54 years of Karen life in the jungle….the Karen war. I realize in retrospect just how lucky I was for not contracting a deadly illness as so many do. For not stepping on a landmine and losing a limb. Or encountering burmese military in this **’black’ warzone, for this is an open hunting area and hunting season lasts all year long. Every year for 54 years, to be exact, and even an American has no influence in this corner of the world. A passport is just paper, and those of us caught with the Karen are supporters. For the mere 3 weeks that I was there, I was relatively safe, though not fearless. There are so many Karens who know this as as a full blown fear, and as a way of life. They don’t hike out of the jungle and hop a plane to the Bay Area to resume their lives.

** Karen controlled territory. Burmese military regularly infiltrate the land, burning down villages and terrorizing the residents.