"Do these rights count in the home?"

The United Nations Human Rights Declaration: Article 5 - "No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment."

My students understood this article and were quick to state their need for it. They could think of countless examples.

But then one particularly astute student stumbled for his words as he said, "No, I don't know about this. These are all rights for out in public. What about in the home? Do these rights count in the home? If a husband is beating, even torturing his wife, can someone really intervene into the privacy of the home? Don't families have a right to self-determination?"

I held my breath and looked to the rest of the students, thinking one of them would speak. They looked back at me.

Kham Moen, my Shan co-teacher, and I had been teaching this class more in the role of facilitators than instructors, and despite the temptation, I did not want to stop this time. I wanted my students to come to make up their minds on tough ethical quandaries, because they had thought it through, not because an authority figure had told them "the answer."

So we made it personal. We came up with specific examples of domestic violence and sexual abuse. The students listed the rights (even sometimes conflicting rights) of every member of the family in these situations, and we talked about what was the right and moral thing to do in really difficult situations.

And then it continued... for the entire week of the Human Rights workshops. We could not simply talk about human rights in the public sphere, if we did not talk about human rights in the places closest to students' hearts: the home. So we did both: we had examples of government interactions with villages and more intimate interactions within the home. We engaged them both constantly.

I was fully invested in working through the material with my students for two reasons: 1) It is infinitely valuable for these individuals to think through the rights of others, 2) It is the last gift I can give my students.

You see, in two weeks, I will be moving and will begin a new job teaching a fantastic group of Thai second graders. It breaks my heart to think about leaving these Shan young adults, however, and so I've tried in one week to give them everything I could: a sense of compassion, empowerment, and responsibility. Before this class, only one student out of the eighteen had ever heard of the concept "human rights" or even the idea that all people might have certain rights. To talk about the international law, to which Burma is a co-signer, mattered to them.

When I asked the students what they found most interesting to study, I will never forget when a usually meek student, who keeps her head down and rarely speaks, spoke first in the class, lifting her eyes level with the others, "That my body belongs to me." This was in relation to our right to say no to unwanted sexual advances in a discussion the day before. This is what this girl remembered most of all. If that is all she remembers, we have one a huge battle in one young woman's life.

Now, over the next couple weeks, the other English teacher will be giving historic examples of non-violent resistance, as a means others have used to fight for those basic rights. Sometimes I look at my students and wonder if we're throwing fire at gasoline. They are tired of injustice already, and they are just so ready to do something. I can only pray they will have the wisdom to see when and what action is helpful. I also pray that the world will never be black-and-white to them and that they will always see the complexities, even in the midst of choosing action.

Truly I have been privileged to work with these students.

Talking about the Holocaust and reconciliation

Some days I am pretty sure I teach the most incredible students ever. Seriously.

Last week we had a conversation that I still have not gotten out of my head. You see, it started off by reading a story that just mentioned a "senator's wife." But these students are from Burma, and you can't explain even a simple political word without really talking about.

So we talked.

We worked through the different parts of government in the American system as a point of comparison, and then we talked about Burma. So far, I had not had any political conversation with my Shan students, and I was a little nervous about opening it up, but I also felt it was necessary. Because politics in Burma, to migrant workers in Thailand, means everything. It's what determines whether they ever return to the places where they were born.

Amazingly, as I began to ask about the constitution, my students demonstrated incredibly maturity and insight. I asked them what they thought would happen at the next election (when a majority of the seats are going to be contested), and they tackled the issues of whether Aung San Suu Kyi's NLD party might win and what that could mean for the country. They went on to discuss their fears and how sometimes they feel inside Shan State, Burma, as second class citizens.

If we had stopped there, I would have felt the lesson a great success. My goodness, they were incredible--seriously, incredible. They came from many different walks of life with so many different experiences, and yet they held a conversation with mild debate in a respectful and considerate manner.

But the story doesn't finish with talking about government.

One of the more thoughtful students had something he needed to tell the class: you see, on the way to class that day, he had seen a man stranded on the side of the road after a motorbike accident, and he stopped to help him, only to discover this man was Burmese. For my student, who has suffered deeply by the Burmese in the past, he had a decision to make. He wanted to turn away and leave this man to suffer alone, but this student really and truly is incredible. He did not turn away. He stepped in and helped him.  He looked at the class, fresh from the emotions and asked, "Did I do the right thing? I wasn't sure if it was right, because he was Burmese, and the Burmese have hurt our people so. But he was just a person."

The students stared back at him. They did not rush to tell him he had done the right thing, because I suspect all were wondering if they would have done the same thing. After a short silence, I told him that I thought what he had done was extremely brave and good, but I would tell them a story and see if my story helped them decide for themselves.

I told them about growing up, knowing of my Jewish heritage and therefore learning early on about the Holocaust and all those that died. Since my students did not know what the Holocaust was, I gave them a history lesson and showed photographs. As I paused, you could hear only the constant whir of the fans in the students' silence.

Then I confessed the fact that I came to know sometime later than I came to know my Jewish heritage: that's the Nazi war criminal past as well. That "other" cousin.

You see, I share in my blood the blood of many who died but also of one who did much to assure that more died. That's my heritage. Both.

I have since lived in Germany and come to speak German fluently, and my sister lives in Israel and has married an Israeli. We never walk away from the understanding of humanity's deep capacity for incredible good or evil, and, knowing that terrible evil has existed even within our family, we have no choice but to walk in forgiveness. That is why I went to Germany, and that is why I learned German. That is also why I chose to love what is German. Forgiveness is my heritage.

And it's precisely that understanding of my heritage which has translated into a passion for justice and reconciliation and sent me off to work with those who have suffered most by the Burmese regime's discriminatory and violent practices. I then turned to my student, who had helped the Burmese man, and asked him if he understood why I was telling the class this story.

"Yes," he responded and smiled. "I believe in helping him too."

The next day the class continued the conversation, adding that the only chance Shan State has for true freedom exists through forgiveness and valuing all people. I was floored. This is not normal Shan speech, and my students said it, not I. This may sound like ordinary Western meaningless fluff, but this kind of speech is completely foreign here and most definitely has meaning. We watched some videos about the Holocaust, and the students talked about both what was similar and different to what the Burmese have attempted against the Shan and the incredible risk of what the Shan could attempt against its minorities if ever given independence, if they do not first deal with their own hate, fear, and other issues. I. have. never. heard. anyone. actually. say. that.

I have hope today, because my students will one day be leaders, and these leaders will lead well.

As I said, I have incredible students. I am so incredibly privileged to be their English teacher.

Tantalizing dreams of the future

Tomorrow I head back up the mountain to my Shan community after nearly a month in Chiang Mai. I had not planned on staying this long, but getting a work permit delayed me and caused a longer stay here. I cannot even say how much I have missed it and how much I long to return.

Which is odd, perhaps. The rainy season has begun, and everything will be cold and wet. Perhaps nothing will dry. Perhaps my underwear will grow mold like last year. Certainly my feet and ankles will be perpetually covered in mud, and sometimes I will have total wipe-outs on this slippery substance that will leave my entire body a red-brown color and force me to do laundry earlier than I planned, because I still cannot figure how it is that even five-year-olds in Shan State seem to walk in the mud effortlessly and cleanly. I feel like a total buffoon in the mud.

But this community is a part of me now, and all my hopes and longings ride with the people of this community. That's what all my more political postings lately have been about--that deep, deep longing for peace and stability.

Yet there's more to it than a longing for a peace deal and stability and autonomous rule and human rights, etc... What about education? I don't just dream of children being allowed to speak their own language in school (that would fall in the category of "rights"), but I dream of fourth graders reading on a fourth grade level. I dream of Shan State meeting the regional standards of education, maybe one day exceeding. I don't just long for women and children to no no longer fear that fathers will be taken away and forced to be porters (again a human right), but I long for women and children not having to fear that their babies will die due to poor nutrition and preventable disease. I long for systems to form in which to help families who have no water source during the dry season. I long for enough economic development that opium isn't the only way for a farmer to feed his family.

What am I saying? Yesterday I had a conversation with a woman responsible for a lot of the communications from Partners to rest of the world, and we discussed how frustrating it is when everyone thinks things are okay now. First off, the conflict isn't over, and human rights are not really being fully honored.... BUT it is reasonable to be excited by all the positive moves that have occurred in Burma. OF COURSE we should write about those and expect others to be as excited as we are. YET that's not the end of the story. We're talking about a country that's been devastated by over six decades of war... and before that was their independence war and WWII... and before that was colonization, which wasn't exactly the best rule either...

You don't rebuild overnight.

So I'm asking that you continue to remember Burma. Remember the Shan people, whom I talk a lot about, but also the Karen, Kachin, Chin, Lahu, Lisu, Mon, Rohingya, Rakhine, Burmese, etc. Remember all 135 ethnic groups of Burma. Hold us in your thoughts and prayers, because so many hopes and dreams are pinned on being able to finally approach the many development challenges.

And if you are in a position to be able to help financially right now, I encourage you to do so. The work is really just beginning.

But that's not the point. Remember Burma. Talk about Burma. Don't let us slip out of your daily conversation please, because that's what I fear. If Burma "democratizes," people will forget us. So, please, keep talking and reading and asking questions.

The Burmese Military apologizes.

Today, while sifting through the news on Irrawaddy and the SHAN Herald, I saw one that struck me. Recently in a staff meeting at Partners, one person lamented the destruction of the new peace agreement already.

You see, on May 19, the Shan State Army and the Union Peacemaking Work Committee (UPWC - the representatives of the Burmese government) came to what I would have called impossible nine months ago: an agreement, not merely to stop fighting as they had decided in December (with many skirmishes anyway), but to begin working toward a new future (see: The 12 Point Agreement). Everyone cheered, and there was a sense of breathless excitement (and also fear that it would all turn out to be a sham, because I think nobody ever loses that fear) among those of us working in Shan State, while waiting to see what the follow through would look like.

Four days later, the follow-through appeared to be more fighting.

And so this staff member lamented that the peace deal lasted a mere three days. That it was over.

Hearing those words really pained me deeply, and I went back to my room that night and remember feeling strongly that we, especially outsiders and guests, could not be the first to give up. If no official media was announcing that the peace agreement had already fallen apart, we had to be those that held it up in the greatest hope. I believe, we must be the last to despair and the first to hope, no matter how audacious, because truly no good can come without hope. That was Monday.

Today, Wednesday, I discovered the unthinkable: an apology  from the Burmese Army and a decree that went out to all its troops to cease hostilities toward the SSA. An apology!

Please be as excited as I am about this historic event. It's not perfect, but it's enough to keep hope alive. Nobody is ready to give up on the push for peace in the region, therefore I will not despair.

Maybe, just maybe, the time is coming when we can stand beside our Shan sisters and brothers in every way possible in the enormous efforts of rebuilding communities after decades of war. There's so much work ahead, but I wait expectantly for the day when we will be allowed to begin this work.

When child mortality rates take on flesh and skin...

Back in November, those of us staying in the village experienced what felt like a miracle. On vaccination day, a mother with an eight day old baby showed up at the clinic. The baby weighed only 1.2 kg and looked like a skeleton. The mother reported he had been born tiny (possibly a few weeks premature but not much) and was refusing milk. Thankfully, at that time, a Norwegian midwife was with us, and while the rest of us could at best make recommendations (a doctor present even nervously considered the pros and cons of putting a feeding tube into this small baby), Liv provided concrete help to the mother, working with her on how to extract her milk and put it into the very weak baby, who simply was not strong enough to latch onto the breasts.

Two weeks later, the baby was still alive. Still small, still weak, but alive and struggling to live. The mom appeared tired, but she did nothing else in the day but attend to this child, and the baby lived.

Then the baby made it to the one month mark, which is important in Shan culture, because he received a name: Tsam Hurng. He was a live, and he had put on another 100 grams, and he weighed 1.6 kg, still far too small, but he was making it.

Then in February, I went to visit the mom and baby again and was amazed by what I saw: a healthy, thriving little boy with an extraordinarily devoted mother. I sent these photos to Liv, the Norwegian midwife, and felt so proud to have witnessed something so good and extraordinary happen. I thanked God.

Then yesterday I received a phone call from my Shan brother (I'm in Chiang Mai right now, waiting on a work permit). Tsam Hurng had caught chickenpox and died.

Everyone had worked so hard to watch this child live and grow to be a man. His mother had devoted herself to him, and he had seemingly come out of the woods and was okay.

But he died. From chickenpox.

I feel angry at the injustice. Children living on the Thai-Burma border have terrible mortality rates. Unfortunately, I cannot find an online source for the actual mortality rate, but I've seen in print anywhere between 1/3 and 2/5 children die before their fifth birth.

As I share the joy with many Shan friends of mine who are about to have babies or just had theirs, I feel the shadow of the mortality rates. I suspect they're a little better in the village where I live, because we do have a clinic with a mother-baby department that works tirelessly to combat many common causes of death in children. Still, Tsam Hurng reminds me of how far from perfect the situation is.

Please pray for and remember Tsam Hurng's family, and do not forget Burma. Do not think for one moment the struggle for the ethnic regions is over. Some things are improving, but the work is just beginning. And some places, like Kachin State, still wait to see any improvement from the government changes.