Burma (Myanmar, but I shall call it Burma because I refuse to recognize the illegal military regime) a land full of tears, a tourism industry with a dark twist, built on the backs of slaves, defectives who decided to use the internet, took video of the oppressive regimes cruelty, or merely used the freedom of speech that we take for granted, to voice an opinion for his starving neighbors.
Although I could only stay a short time near the border, as the constant turmoil made this area unsafe, and the borders closed frequently, I decided to take my chances and go into no mans land. I caught the city bus and my knees hit the seat in front of me as I sardined my 5’6” frame into seat next to a man who could desperately use a shower. The hour ride was beautiful, with standing room only. Catching another form of transportation, a sonteaw, we made our way to the border. My stomach did a flip as the men in uniform drilled me with questions about my purpose, how much money I had, if I was bringing luggage, and took my photo. They also confiscated my passport, assuring me that it would be returned upon departure. My friend and I made our way through the ally’s of pickpockets, hagglers trying to sell cigarettes, and dirty kids selling Fendi purses.
We were warned not to take any taxi, or go visit any temples that locals tried to advertise as they were most likely fraudulent and we would end up in a heap of trouble. Sure enough, trouble came, I had only turned my head for a minute when my friend was offered a baby to purchase. I knew I shouldn’t have left her alone. I quickly told them that we were not interested and gave a few choice words that caused them to “lose face” when a group of monks approached. These were the guys we were looking for. These monks patrol the border, searching for signs of kids being trafficked. Monks have a revered history in Burma, in the 1980’s, the monks of Burma marched in peaceful protest, refusing to collect alms until the government fed the starving people. It was met with hostility, Many monks were murdered, their temples ransacked, elders arrested, never to be seen again. Because of this display for the people, and the torture that ensued, monks have an even higher place of respect in society than they did before. When a monk gets in your way to making money by selling a kidnapped child, or sneaking a drugged girl across the border, you give up.
These monks introduced themselves, and we went on our way. With my broken Thai, and their broken English, we were somehow able to communicate. Within a half hour we came across a shifty looking man with a scared looking boy of about 9. The monks asked the man for alms, which made him nervous. They started to talk to the boy, and quickly determined that this boy was not related to the man, and until recently, had no idea who the man was. His uncle told him to go with the man and find work. The monks called the border official over, and the man was placed under custody. The boy was free to go in the care of the monks. We found out later that the official was merely trying to save face in from of the foreigners and the monks; that the trafficker would give some money to the officials, and be on his way. The monks had seen him before, but never was he arrested. I guess my friend and I accomplished something? We got the boy some food and hung around and laughed and joked and played until the monks took him back to their monastery.
The situation in Burma makes it nearly impossible to patrol all the border crossing for defectors and the disenfranchised, merely seeking to feed their family by any means necessary, even if it means sacrificing a few children, or a teenage daughter, the devils fate.
For more on Burma's Monk Uprising, current and past, visit http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/30/weekinreview/30mydans.html
