Election day in Myanmar.
The long awaited elections are a new experience for the Burmese. A long awaited way out of isolation and poverty. The end of a corrupt regime.
But will it happen? I have my doubts. But first things first.
Colored Fingers
How can you tell that a Burmese has voted?
Every Burmese of voting age can be recognized on the days after the election by a single common feature: a colored fingertip. Sometimes reddish, sometimes blue, sometimes black. It means that the person has already voted. This is intended to prevent multiple voting.
The funny thing is, no one can tell exactly how long the paint will last. One week? One month? Until the next election?
Enthusiasm
In any case, people are utterly thrilled about their new rights, especially, of course, about their future president, Aung San Suu Kyi.
Everyone, really everyone, sits in front of the TV on Sunday evening, breathlessly following the first vote counts, taking note of the results with increasing euphoria. For the the first time, the faces show signs of hope. The joy is apparent everywhere, as if a wave has swept through the country.
Young people in particular are fed up; they want freedom.
Mitch, our guide, has given us a lesson in democratic awakening. According to him, there is no going back. They want participation, they want to provide a future for their own tribes like the Shan, the Palong and the other ones. It made a very convincing impression.
Even if it is - according to the cynical logic of the Westerner - a little naïve.
So was I mistaken? It looks like it. If, after the final count, the success of the Iron Lady holds. But I still can't believe that the hardcore military will admit defeat so easily. After all, what has actually happened?
A History Lesson
Until just about five years ago, Myanmar was ruled by the army with an iron hand. The country had been under military rule since 1962, until on 4th February 2011 a civilian president was installed as head of state. It was a corrupt regime in every sense of the word that kept its people under the thumb for decades. Myanmar, although potentially one of the richest countries in Southeast Asia (raw materials, minerals, gems, timber, etc.) became the poorhouse of the region.
The influence of the north
And not to be forgotten: the big brother in the north turned the weak country of Myanmar into something like a colony in a short time. Which, in my opinion, it still is today. Just like Laos. A democratic Myanmar is a danger per se; it is much easier to do business with a corrupt regime. So I am extremely skeptical about the future.
Influence of Tourism?
On my first visit to 2004 I had to face a lot of accusations regarding travelling to a dictatorial country. I was already – and still am, – of the opinion that tourism can have a positive influence on society. The government's homogeneous dictate of opinion is undermined by contact with strangers. However, it is unclear how great the influence has been on the opening of the country.
Changes?
The only thing that is clear is that everything changed a good five years ago. Or hasn't it? Of course the pressure from outside – from the USA, the EU and the other western states, became stronger and stronger, for the economy more and more disastrous, but was it really the triggering factor? I am not sure. In my opinion, the heads of the army just exchanged their uniforms for tailor-made Armani suits, painted themselves with democratic ideas (a joke in itself) and – a symbolic act of special significance – they allowed their greatest opponent Aung Sau Suu Kyi to engage in political activity. Perhaps the biggest mistake in the otherwise well thought-out game of chess.
A bad joke?
Now we have a strange constellation. Aung San Suu Kyi's party can celebrate a landslide victory, but how and whether it will truly be able to govern, how much the military wants to sit on its political advantages and benefices, is written on the stars. I maintain my opinion. As long as I am not proven wrong, the same still applies to me (albeit less convinced than ten days ago): It's still a bad joke, Man!
And a disenchantment in 2021
We are no longer in 2015, but in the peculiar year 2021, which has followed an equally peculiar 2020. Many things are in motion, the world has fever. And now of all times (or because of it?) my worst fears about Myanmar have come true.
I hate to be proven right, and yet, what is going on in Myanmar right now is pretty much exactly what I was worried about in 2015. The hard core military heads, full of fear that the increasing democratization of the country will cost them power and sinecures in the long run, have played their last card and pulled the plug on democracy. Right now (9.2.21), people are taking to the streets to stand up for their rights, but will they succeed?
I hope so for them, but once again I am very pessimistic ...
Flood from the Sky
A noise wakes me up in the middle of the night. A kind of rumbling from the throat of a prehistoric monster, a muffled roar on the roof. In any case, something that is not part of Hsipaw's usual noise level. It is indeed – rain. Of course not just rain, as we know it, oh no, it's a spring tide, an avalanche of water plunging out of the black sky. Almost a bit scary. But rain in November?
Everything is possible here, even rain in November. On the one hand longed for, but also feared, because nobody knows if it means a gift or a misfortune. But I feel safe, in the dry room, in the cosy warmth of the bed.
Memories surface in half-sleep. Of a night in Bihar, in the north of India. The first rain in months. The initial gentle drops on the roof of the VW bus, surprising and unexpected, then suddenly, as if the sky was collapsing, a flood and a roar like the end of the world. And then, indeed, what a surprise - the roof leaked, and we got wet ...
Traces of the nightly Assault
In any case, the traces of the nightly assault can still be seen in the morning. Everywhere deep puddles, children joyfuly splashing in them, and motorcyclists driving carefully around them. But the air, my God, it smells so wonderfully clean and aromatic. You almost feel like being on an alp in the mountains. Definitely an unexpected experience in diesel-impregnated Myanmar.
Goodbye to Hsipaw
Anyway, it's time to say goodbye. From the friendly staff at Lily's Hotel, from Greg, my temporary buddy from Wisconsin, with whom I spent many hours arguing, laughing and drinking during the last few days. These are the rather depressing moments of these trips: you get to know a lot of interesting people, you almost become friends - and you have to say goodbye, knowing that you will most likely never meet again. You have to get used to that.
And I have to say goodbye to the English lady, which I met at the reception, just checking in, which had terrible worries about the Brexit voting. My attempts to calm her were unsuccessful (and as you now know in retrospect, her worries were justified).
Monosyllabic Entertainment
Well, on my way then. They squeeze me into a shared taxi, surrounded by Burmese of all ages. I am once again the only foreigner. So the conversation will be a bit monosyllabic again. But I don't care, I'm dozing off, while it's pissing outside again. After all, the driver uses the windshield wiper, not as in the Andes, when the chauffeur didn't want to use his windshield wiper for reasons of battery conservation, even when the dense snowfall completely blocked his view.
The usual Stop in no man's Land
I love these stops somewhere in no man's land. There is no better way to get close to a people's mentality. How people deal with each other. How they shop, eat, drink. How they show or hide their tiredness. Whether they are friendly with each other. Or suspicious.
It's worth taking a close look.
The moments of mutual understanding
But sometimes, in spite of language barriers, these little subtle moments of mutual understanding arise. Next to me sit two old ladies, completely mute (which, by the way, applies to the whole bus), only sometimes they whisper a few words to each other, rummage in the shallows of their bags, occasionally take out something to eat.
And once, after maybe four hours, they give me a handful of sweets, just like that, with one of those broad smiles that you see here very often. Wonderful. I am touched and suddenly I know again what magic these countries have and - what we have lost.
Swiss Chocolate, oh yes!
Later on, an old, shriveled, but very dignified man sits next to me, he wears a Heisenberg hat just like Walter White in Breaking Bad.. He gives me the opportunity to return the favor by giving him something, including sweets, the last piece of chocolate from Switzerland. He takes it just as dignified, nods to me, chews, nods again. Swiss Chocolate, oh yes ...
P.S. Matching Song: James Brown - Funky President
And here the journey continues ...
