Yangon Love Letter #1
When my old friend Pamela Blotner asked me where I'd be in June, I probably said, "Kathmandu". I can't imagine I'd say, "France" or "Borneo". France is lovely; Borneo I don't know. But Pamela dropped a nugget about Artists Beyond Borders sometime ago and she similarly dropped it yet again, to the effect that ABB would be assembling an exhibit at the American Center in Yangon and promoting collaborations among Burmese artists for about three weeks.
I don't think she was fishing for me to volunteer, but if she was, her subtle powers certainly worked because I asked when I should be there. Easy-peasy. I arrived a few days before Pamela and her colleagues, Mie Preckler and Elizabeth Addison and over the course of time, I would fall for Yangon (and by extension, Myanmar).
From a human rights perspective, I'm not a stranger to Myanmar's place in - particularly - the latter part of the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. I think the first time I became of Burma as a historico-political entity was in the late seventies/early eighties when I - like a lot of young people - read E.F. Schumacher's Small is Beautiful; Economics as if People Mattered. Among other insightful approaches like intermediate technology and Buddhist economics, Schumacher set his test population in Burma. This was canny and unfortunate. It's entirely possible that Fritz was unaware of the horrible times that would befall Burma/Myanmar as time wore on, but he loved the land and the people and it was there that he learned firsthand that first world solutions are not always appropriate for local populations.
As a Buddhist, I was aware of the vipassana and insight lineages that had their roots in Burma, principally those of Mahasi Sayadaw and to a lesser (though later, prominent) degree, U Ba Khin and his pupil S.N. Goenka. As a human being, I was wrecked throughout the nineties and early oughts as more and more news came out of Burma of atrocities by the military against its own society. My friend Simon Billeness convinced me to support the U.S. Campaign for Burma and I was happy to do so. The Umbrella Revolution tipped the scales and with Daw Aung Suu Kyi granted freedom from house arrest, it appeared real change was taking place.
I still believe it is taking place and I have great hope for Myanmar. The treatment of minorities is still abhorrent and of the Rohingya, particularly. I'm not sure I know what to make of The Lady's silence on this matter, but I do know that I don't like it.
All of that aside, I do know this. I love what I've seen of this remarkable country. There is a spirit in the former capital of Yangon that I've seen elsewhere of an urbanity that's equally open to a welcoming, cosmopolitan perspective and approach and to the change that must inevitable come. Not so differently from Nepal, the Burmese that I met - from cab drivers to restaurant owners - were outspoken about government corruption and ineptitude, but I have to admit that I was more impressed (by far) by Yangon's infrastructure.
I was also and remain, highly impressed by the artists I met in the course of working for ABB. Brilliant, smart, and talented are inadequate words for much of the work I saw and people I've met, some of whom I'm so very happy to call friends.
I'm not going to go too in-depth about too much stuff. These "love letters" are recaps of a time in recent memory that I want to preserve and share. It was a wonderful month of exploration and engaging and indulging in some of my favorite vices; hanging out, chatting with colleagues, hanging out some more, playing tourist, and hanging out some more.
For each of these "love letters", I'll drop a few photos, but I'll ask that if you want to see more, head over to the gallery and look for "Love Letter #1", "Love Letter #2", and so on. I took a shit-ton of photos and won't publish all of them, but I'll try to drop some of my favorites into the mix. I'll try to make some kind of sense of what I do over there in the gallery by adding some description. In the meantime, over here, I'll use this as the notice for any corollary narrative.
My early days in June were originally spent in Chinatown in Yangon, not too far from the Sule Pagoda
Pagoda. I was kind of all set to stay until I got word that there was a good chance that Pamela's husband and I might need to be roomies. The place I was staying in was fine for me. Hostel room, shared bathroom, not exactly elegant, but fine for my purposes. As I thought about it, Eric could hack it, but two of us in one room wasn't going to work (small room) and frankly, I didn't want to subject my friend to a less commodious experience than necessary. So I opted for moving closer to the
Shwedagon Pagoda. The Hotel Lavender was a great place to decamp for a month and I consider it auspicious to be close holy places.
Plus, I could spring for a second room or we could move a cot in, or what you will. The first week was mostly ambling around and just taking in the sights. I like getting a feel for a place and a sense of location and what's going on in the different neighborhoods.
Admittedly, the first couple of days were pretty much just getting oriented and adapting. My Burmese was and remains rudimentary, but a little bit goes a long way.
Yangon is a great mix of modernization, vestiges of British colonialism and traditional custom. This is reflected in manners as much as architecture and I sense subtleties and complexities that it would take a lifetime to unpack. It's ever thus, and despite more extensive familiarity with South Asia, more and more nuance obtains with each day. One of the first victims to the hubris of colonialization is the demise of local customs and signifiers; in and of themselves, these may not strike people as important, but what is missed in the discussion is the havoc wreaked by invasion and occupation on the social fabric of any given community.
Admittedly, we humans the world over, are an adaptable lot. But it's absolute shit the terror we inflict on one another. And the Burmese people have had more than their share of shit. Despite that, they endure and thrive and have seen far more ugliness than most Europeans or Americans can imagine.
I chalk some of this up to the devout strain of Buddhism and cultural bonds that hold different parts of the country together. Most people I met have a strong sense of community and while that in itself, isn't unusual, I get the short-cuts in communication and a shared sense of humor that isn't mordant or fatalistic. There's a wicked acceptance of whatever the current situation is, but there isn't the "ke garne/what to do" surrender you run into in Nepal (or certain parts of India, for that matter).
I'm going to space these "Love Letters" out a bit. I've been going through photos and there's so much to cull from and I want to commit what I can because - while I'm pretty sure I'm not going to forget too much - I do want to share all this while it's still fresh in memory.
On the other hand, I have a nice week coming up in Delhi and Amritsar. I feel like I'm going to wind up doing a lot of posting ofver the next few days.
I don't think she was fishing for me to volunteer, but if she was, her subtle powers certainly worked because I asked when I should be there. Easy-peasy. I arrived a few days before Pamela and her colleagues, Mie Preckler and Elizabeth Addison and over the course of time, I would fall for Yangon (and by extension, Myanmar).
From a human rights perspective, I'm not a stranger to Myanmar's place in - particularly - the latter part of the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. I think the first time I became of Burma as a historico-political entity was in the late seventies/early eighties when I - like a lot of young people - read E.F. Schumacher's Small is Beautiful; Economics as if People Mattered. Among other insightful approaches like intermediate technology and Buddhist economics, Schumacher set his test population in Burma. This was canny and unfortunate. It's entirely possible that Fritz was unaware of the horrible times that would befall Burma/Myanmar as time wore on, but he loved the land and the people and it was there that he learned firsthand that first world solutions are not always appropriate for local populations.
As a Buddhist, I was aware of the vipassana and insight lineages that had their roots in Burma, principally those of Mahasi Sayadaw and to a lesser (though later, prominent) degree, U Ba Khin and his pupil S.N. Goenka. As a human being, I was wrecked throughout the nineties and early oughts as more and more news came out of Burma of atrocities by the military against its own society. My friend Simon Billeness convinced me to support the U.S. Campaign for Burma and I was happy to do so. The Umbrella Revolution tipped the scales and with Daw Aung Suu Kyi granted freedom from house arrest, it appeared real change was taking place.
I still believe it is taking place and I have great hope for Myanmar. The treatment of minorities is still abhorrent and of the Rohingya, particularly. I'm not sure I know what to make of The Lady's silence on this matter, but I do know that I don't like it.
All of that aside, I do know this. I love what I've seen of this remarkable country. There is a spirit in the former capital of Yangon that I've seen elsewhere of an urbanity that's equally open to a welcoming, cosmopolitan perspective and approach and to the change that must inevitable come. Not so differently from Nepal, the Burmese that I met - from cab drivers to restaurant owners - were outspoken about government corruption and ineptitude, but I have to admit that I was more impressed (by far) by Yangon's infrastructure.
I was also and remain, highly impressed by the artists I met in the course of working for ABB. Brilliant, smart, and talented are inadequate words for much of the work I saw and people I've met, some of whom I'm so very happy to call friends.
I'm not going to go too in-depth about too much stuff. These "love letters" are recaps of a time in recent memory that I want to preserve and share. It was a wonderful month of exploration and engaging and indulging in some of my favorite vices; hanging out, chatting with colleagues, hanging out some more, playing tourist, and hanging out some more.
For each of these "love letters", I'll drop a few photos, but I'll ask that if you want to see more, head over to the gallery and look for "Love Letter #1", "Love Letter #2", and so on. I took a shit-ton of photos and won't publish all of them, but I'll try to drop some of my favorites into the mix. I'll try to make some kind of sense of what I do over there in the gallery by adding some description. In the meantime, over here, I'll use this as the notice for any corollary narrative.
My early days in June were originally spent in Chinatown in Yangon, not too far from the Sule Pagoda
 |
| After the congestion and dust of Kathmandu, clean, orderly streets were a shock. |
Plus, I could spring for a second room or we could move a cot in, or what you will. The first week was mostly ambling around and just taking in the sights. I like getting a feel for a place and a sense of location and what's going on in the different neighborhoods.
Admittedly, the first couple of days were pretty much just getting oriented and adapting. My Burmese was and remains rudimentary, but a little bit goes a long way.
Yangon is a great mix of modernization, vestiges of British colonialism and traditional custom. This is reflected in manners as much as architecture and I sense subtleties and complexities that it would take a lifetime to unpack. It's ever thus, and despite more extensive familiarity with South Asia, more and more nuance obtains with each day. One of the first victims to the hubris of colonialization is the demise of local customs and signifiers; in and of themselves, these may not strike people as important, but what is missed in the discussion is the havoc wreaked by invasion and occupation on the social fabric of any given community.
Admittedly, we humans the world over, are an adaptable lot. But it's absolute shit the terror we inflict on one another. And the Burmese people have had more than their share of shit. Despite that, they endure and thrive and have seen far more ugliness than most Europeans or Americans can imagine.
I chalk some of this up to the devout strain of Buddhism and cultural bonds that hold different parts of the country together. Most people I met have a strong sense of community and while that in itself, isn't unusual, I get the short-cuts in communication and a shared sense of humor that isn't mordant or fatalistic. There's a wicked acceptance of whatever the current situation is, but there isn't the "ke garne/what to do" surrender you run into in Nepal (or certain parts of India, for that matter).
I'm going to space these "Love Letters" out a bit. I've been going through photos and there's so much to cull from and I want to commit what I can because - while I'm pretty sure I'm not going to forget too much - I do want to share all this while it's still fresh in memory.
On the other hand, I have a nice week coming up in Delhi and Amritsar. I feel like I'm going to wind up doing a lot of posting ofver the next few days.
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