Stranger in a Strange Land

Life Without Duties

As soon as I crossed the border from Ruili, China into Muse, Myanmar, I was greeted by the General in charge of the border, a film crew, and a group of photographers. The General, who was distinguished from the other Army officials by his slightly lighter green uniform, was a short, squat man whose few remaining teeth had been stained red by betel nut, the chewing of which seems to be a national pastime in Myanmar.

As the cameras rolled and crowds gathered to stare at the fair-haired American with the local governmental leader, the villagers quietly whispered and joked among themselves. I found out later they were discussing how much time the encounter would take up on the local news programs that evening and if my picture would be in the paper the following day. After stumbling through his welcome speech, confirming that I was an American citizen, and lightly chastising me for not bringing any of my friends along, I was allowed to proceed into a car and travel for several hours past jeeps with large machine guns on my way to Lashio, the first city after the border in which foreigners are allowed. This was my introduction to Myanmar, a land of stunning beauty, crushing poverty, friendly people, and a strong, authoritarian military government.

Mr. Smith, (alias, as will be the case with all names) is a tall, slightly paunchy, and extremely proud man of 48. Although a lawyer by training, he currently owns a successful computer shop in a bustling city in the Shan Province. He lives in the flat above it with his wife, who was an English major but cannot speak the language, and his son. A member of the upper-middle class, he owns a scooter, a jeep, and a cell phone—all of which are signs on wealth in Myanmar, which has one of the most expensive car markets in the world and is in the midst of a period of rampant inflation. In fluent English he explained that after the military junta re-seized control of the government in 1962, “Lawyers such as myself became obsolete.” After spending an hour in his shop drinking coffee and engaging in idle chit-chat, he decided, after consulting with his wife, to invite me upstairs for dinner with his family.

I spent most of dinner talking with his impressive 10-year-old son. The boy speaks fluent English; saves his money in order to buy Harry Potter books in Yangon, which retail for $50; plays piano brilliantly; and has an insatiable thirst for knowledge about America and the West.

“Why didn’t you ride the London Eye when you were in England?” he asked.

“Too Expensive,” I replied.

“Whatever… So, do you believe in aliens?”

“Yeah, I think that there has to be something else out there.”

“Really? I don’t.”

After dinner, Mr. Smith invited me to the living room so that we could continue our discussion which, until then, had been laced with innuendo but had not dealt with politics directly. “You know that I can go to jail for talking to you,” he smiled and silently regarded me, and after he seemed sure that I wouldn’t do anything to endanger him or his family, he continued. “Without duties there can be no rights; without rights there can be no duties. If a man wishes to fix the road in this country, he will not dare to initiate construction nor will he petition the government to fix the problem. The reason is simple: he has no citizenship rights and is afraid that he will be labeled as subversive to the state if he tries to alter the status quo in any way.”

Yet he believed that the lack of political rights did not concern most Burmese people. “Since the majority of the population lives in a hand-to-mouth fashion in which it is a struggle to survive, the common man has no time to think about the government. He has no time or energy to worry about democracy—he is focused solely on his daily survival. This is part of the evil of our government.”

As we sipped from our second glass of imported Whiskey, Mr. Smith’s thoughts turned to his son, who was sitting with us, listening attentively and trying to interject when he could. “I try to give my son a good education, although it is hard to do in this country.” In his mind, a good education is composed three attributes—English, music, and golf—all of which have their roots in the colonial era.

Mr. Smith proceeded to ask his son to play something on the “piano,” which was nothing more than a Casio keyboard. As his son played a range of pieces from Mozart to the Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel and Bach, his father swelled with pride. Yet for all of the pride that shown on his face, his eyes also glistened with tears. Mr. Smith knew that, despite all his labor and sacrifice, he would not be able to give his son the future he deserves in Myanmar. In fact, he consistently tells his son to go abroad, to find a better life, to fulfill his promise and leave his country behind. When asked where he wanted his son to go, he immediately responded, “America, because America is the land for dreamers.” As he once again told his son to study hard, forget about his family, and move abroad, it was obvious that saying these things to a 10-year-old child killed him inside. It killed him he could not give his son the life, opportunities, or education he deserved in the country that was his home.

J.R. Siegel lives and works in Beijing. His trip to Myanmar took place in April and May of 2007.

© 2008 The Hypermodern.