December 13, 2008: That wonderful Ashley. She just e-mailed me a photo of baby Mena standing all by herself. Baby Mena had a dangerous look on her face, like, “I’m standing now. Don’t mess with me!” Baby Mena was fierce. Oh crap. She’s going to be walking by herself by the time I get home and I will have missed it.
Last night I did a lot of soul-searching about how I could possibly step up my “Benefit Sentient Beings” game. Not a clue. I think that just blogging and visiting war-torn countries isn’t producing enough good deeds. Plus doing that only leads to ego dreams of being famous. Reality check. I’m NOT in this life to be famous. I’m here to be nice. I wish I could think of more ways to make this world a better place.
Then my guide loaded me into his van, we kissed Bagan goodbye and drove off to the airport to fly to Mandalay. “This flight will take 20 minutes,” said the stewardess -- but apparently if you drove to Mandalay it would take at least seven hours over extremely bumpy roads.
I saw someone wearing an army uniform at the airport, someone obviously going home on leave. But still. It was the first military person I’ve seen so far here in Burma.
At lunch yesterday, I met an American who told me stories about serving in the American army in Burma right after World War II. “Aung San was the leader of the protests against the British right before World War II and he contacted the Japanese, thinking that they might help get rid of the British. The Japanese helped all right, but Aung San soon learned that the Japanese had their own agenda too.” And the Japanese turned out to be worse colonialists than the British.
“Aung San then switched allegiances back to the British, becoming the only person ever to serve as a general in both the Japanese and the British armies.” Then apparently Aung San was assassinated after Burma finally gained its freedom. “Aung San was assassinated when his daughter was only two years old. Her name is Aung San Su Chi.” I didn’t know that.
Now my plane is flying over a whole bunch of farmland and clouds. “We will be cruising at 7,000 feet.” There’s the Irrawaddy. It’s winding and snaking and huge – with many separate watercourses and islands, large islands, covered with farms. The Irrawaddy looks like an old river that has been around for a long time. My terror of flying is only counter-balanced by the spectacular view.
Crap. The second I took a photo out the window, the plane engines made a really weird sound. I’ve done it now. My electronic device has scuttled the plane! Holy crap. But it turned out to be only the airplane starting to make its decent. Whew. I shoulda taken some photos of the Irrawaddy.
A whole lot of people speak English here and a guy on the plane spoke excellent English. I asked him about the typhoon. “We had never experienced a storm like that. We just had no idea. We stayed in our house in Rangoon as the winds raged on and on. Trees were down everywhere but it didn’t look like anyone was killed. Then the radio announced two people were killed. Then we found out that in one area south of Rangoon, 7,000 were killed.”
“But why did the government refuse outside aid?”
“Because the government didn’t want any armies or even NGOs in Myanmar except their own because they are afraid of the public. They want the people to be poor so the people will be busy with their own problems and subsistence so the people won’t turn on the government. They especially don’t want the international community here or to see any foreign military presence.”
The official number who died in the typhoon is 150,00 but apparently the actual number is much higher. But the generals apparently do not care how many Burmese die because it doesn’t effect them. They are currently receiving three billion dollars from selling natural gas resources and none of that is going to pay for government services. All of it goes to the junta.
“Everyone in Burma hates the generals,” said this guy.
“Should you be saying this to me?” I asked him.
“I don’t care if something happens to me. I don’t care if I die. Things have reached that point in Burma – no one cares if they die if it will free the country.” That’s huge. I wonder if any Americans would die for their country if it meant we’d get rid of the corporate neo-con corruption in Washington that is currently eating America alive. Probably not.
“But if the generals don’t want internationals in Burma, why do they let in tourists?”
Last night I did a lot of soul-searching about how I could possibly step up my “Benefit Sentient Beings” game. Not a clue. I think that just blogging and visiting war-torn countries isn’t producing enough good deeds. Plus doing that only leads to ego dreams of being famous. Reality check. I’m NOT in this life to be famous. I’m here to be nice. I wish I could think of more ways to make this world a better place.
Then my guide loaded me into his van, we kissed Bagan goodbye and drove off to the airport to fly to Mandalay. “This flight will take 20 minutes,” said the stewardess -- but apparently if you drove to Mandalay it would take at least seven hours over extremely bumpy roads.
I saw someone wearing an army uniform at the airport, someone obviously going home on leave. But still. It was the first military person I’ve seen so far here in Burma.
“Aung San then switched allegiances back to the British, becoming the only person ever to serve as a general in both the Japanese and the British armies.” Then apparently Aung San was assassinated after Burma finally gained its freedom. “Aung San was assassinated when his daughter was only two years old. Her name is Aung San Su Chi.” I didn’t know that.
Now my plane is flying over a whole bunch of farmland and clouds. “We will be cruising at 7,000 feet.” There’s the Irrawaddy. It’s winding and snaking and huge – with many separate watercourses and islands, large islands, covered with farms. The Irrawaddy looks like an old river that has been around for a long time. My terror of flying is only counter-balanced by the spectacular view.
Crap. The second I took a photo out the window, the plane engines made a really weird sound. I’ve done it now. My electronic device has scuttled the plane! Holy crap. But it turned out to be only the airplane starting to make its decent. Whew. I shoulda taken some photos of the Irrawaddy.
A whole lot of people speak English here and a guy on the plane spoke excellent English. I asked him about the typhoon. “We had never experienced a storm like that. We just had no idea. We stayed in our house in Rangoon as the winds raged on and on. Trees were down everywhere but it didn’t look like anyone was killed. Then the radio announced two people were killed. Then we found out that in one area south of Rangoon, 7,000 were killed.”
“But why did the government refuse outside aid?”
“Because the government didn’t want any armies or even NGOs in Myanmar except their own because they are afraid of the public. They want the people to be poor so the people will be busy with their own problems and subsistence so the people won’t turn on the government. They especially don’t want the international community here or to see any foreign military presence.”
The official number who died in the typhoon is 150,00 but apparently the actual number is much higher. But the generals apparently do not care how many Burmese die because it doesn’t effect them. They are currently receiving three billion dollars from selling natural gas resources and none of that is going to pay for government services. All of it goes to the junta.
“Everyone in Burma hates the generals,” said this guy.
“Should you be saying this to me?” I asked him.
“I don’t care if something happens to me. I don’t care if I die. Things have reached that point in Burma – no one cares if they die if it will free the country.” That’s huge. I wonder if any Americans would die for their country if it meant we’d get rid of the corporate neo-con corruption in Washington that is currently eating America alive. Probably not.
“But if the generals don’t want internationals in Burma, why do they let in tourists?”
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