Here it is already March 1.
Lots of birthdays around this time, including my lovely mother-in-law Ann (Feb
28) who died over twelve years ago, and my father Adrian (Feb 29) who died in
1969 at a too-young age. There are lots of still-alive people, close friends
and some relatives too, to celebrate as well, but they should probably remain
anonymous…a lovely collection.
The turn into March feels
momentous every year, perhaps a little like the turn into September. It’s not
yet the end of winter, but the promise is there, of springtime and renewal.
Of course I am writing all
this with pictures of winter and spring in my mind’s eye that don’t at all
match what I see out my window. For I’m in Chiang Mai, where it’s already hot,
with a haze from stubble-burning greying the sky and thickening the air. On the
other hand, this dry season blending into hot season is also, like winter, a
kind of dead-plants time, that will end with the “spring” that early rains
bring, greening the ground and the trees.
Meantime the first durians
have appeared in the markets, a little stenchy in an inviting way, and mangoes
and papayas are showing up too. Yum. Every season has its disadvantages and its
compensations. I’m inclined to focus on the compensations, especially the
seasonal foods, for they need to be appreciated while they’re available.
And I leave here on
Tuesday, so my awareness of the glorious fruit that I’m about to miss is acute!
Toay I dropped by Akha Ama
coffee for a cup of some of the best coffee anywhere (no, I know I’m not an
expert, but I have to say it…) and there was Lee, the man who started it all.
He’s Akha, young and loaded with creative imagination and energy, and some
years ago he persuaded his family and his village to start growing coffee commercially.
They’re doing very well. I can only imagine the strain and effort it took to
persuade the village to embark on all this. After all, the Akha haven’t
survived for centuries by being pushovers or flighty adopters of each new thing
that comes along. Instead they have been tenacious survivors, brilliant and
thoughtful agriculturalists with a rich material culture.
And now here they are
growing world class coffee in Northern Thailand.
I wonder what this will all
look like in five years…
I stopped in for coffee
because I was in the area, having pedalled out to Niemenhamen soi 13 for a
meeting at the best Friends Library. They are the sponsors and arrangers of my
two BURMA book speaking events tomorrow. The afternoon session is small, at the
Library (which has very little space). In the evening there will be more room –
it’s at Documentary Arts Asia. Garrett of the Library and I met today to talk
about room arrangements, food (he is doing most of the cooking, with help from
friends), and the timing of the events.
It was hard for us to get
focussed on those details, since we had so much else to talk about, mostly
centred around the current crises in Burma – the war in Kachin State and the
ongoing Rohingya situation in Rakhine (Arakan) – and the seeming failure of Daw
Aung San Suu Kyi to be effective or even speak out with any clarity, about
either. There seems to be a problem, and perhaps it’s to be expected, that the
qualities that made her strong and dynamic as a persecuted opposition leader in
a kind of internal exile are not ideal for dealing with the complex realities
of ongoing politics. A leader needs people who argue and disagree with her/him,
and needs wide-ranging discussion. She also needs a team to deal with the day
to day practical details, handlers of various kinds. But Saw Suu apparently
refuses to have handlers. And a leader needs to develop sophistication and
strength in a team, so other people can carry part of the load and develop necessary
skills. This also seems not to be happening.
It is heart-breaking to see
how let down by and mistrustful of Daw Suu the non-Bamar peoples of Burma have
become. It weakens the country.
Of course there is often
let-down after the first euphoria of success or freedom or election. But this
is deep distrust and dismay. It makes all of us who worry about Burma feel
great concern.
So if you are interested, I
suggest that you read news from the Irrawaddy and from Mizzima. Both are
independent papers, published outside Burma.
I hadn’t intended to write
about all this. It is a subject people talk about amongst
themselves, but not out
loud in public much, not yet.
Instead I had intended to
write about the people I saw today at the Haw market in Chiang Mai: the older
Shan woman who works at the soup place I like, who walks awkwardly on legs a
bowed from malnutrition in her childhood and yet works non-stop; the young
women of various kinds in their platform shoes teetering through the market;
the Muslim woman by the gate with a wooden leg and a baby, waiting for alms
from passers-by without asking or even looking up; the mountain-grown
vegetables green and bursting with life; the many languages, most opaque to my
ear, though I recognise northern Thai, Yunnanese, other Chinese, Shan,
Burmese… It’s a rich brew, every Friday
morning, this market opposite the mosque. There are stories and stories, I am
sure.
And like most things in
life, all I can do is look inquiringly, try to tune in, and know that all I am
seeing is the surfaces of things. For each of us has our own story and
perspective, and how much of anyone else’s can we hope to understand?
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