Mingalaba!

Note on the names: The government of Burma changed the country’s official name to Myanmar in 2011.  The UN recognizes this but the US and some other nations don’t, and even Aung San Suu Kyi claims she still prefers “Burma” as the new name has not been approved by the people. But the locals I spoke to all referred to their country as “Myanmar” so as a reflection of this confusion, I will use them interchangeably here.  

Mingalaba! This sing-song Burmese greeting (stress on the first syllable) elicited the biggest, brightest, most genuine smiles I have ever seen – unless the local was a betel-nut chewer, in which case (s)he tried to greet with lips covering the stained, ruined teeth, but still the eyes lit up with pleasure.  

 

Every single one of the longyi-clad, thanaka-smeared men, women and children I encountered everywhere I went in Myanmar was truly warm and friendly and helpful.  I was never ogled or hassled, leered at or threatened, always felt safe (except perhaps in Mandalay traffic).  The Burmese affectionately call each other brother and sister, uncle and auntie, and their touching allegiance to their family, religion, and community is obvious even to a passing visitor. 

It was easy to sense that they are a gentle, respectful, pious, curious, considerate, loving folk, and so I have been struggling mightily to reconcile their peaceful nature with their horrific history. 

It is a history of centuries of rebellion, revolt, riots, and uprisings; of assassinations, coups d’état, and juntas.  It has been well reported how the opposition was repeatedly crushed and imprisoned over the years, and Burma is infamous for its miserable human rights record.  There are still regions subject to ethnic strife that are off-limits to foreigners.

But in this gorgeous country full of golden pagodas, stupas, and monasteries; where monks and nuns are afforded movie-star status and ultimate respect; where beatific Buddhist tenets pervade everyday life, it was impossible for me to imagine its citizens brandishing arms or waging warfare against each other. 

An ancient land only recently free of colonial rule (1948), just out from under the iron fist of a series of military dictatorships, Myanmar is taking baby steps toward democracy.  After 50 years of being effectively shut off from and to the outside world, it has been encouraging modern tourism for about five years, and I am so grateful to be here now. 

Where we were allowed to go outside of the cities provided a glimpse of one of the most authentic lifestyles I have ever witnessed, back into a timeless world where the traditional ways of life remain unchanged.  An unspoiled tableau full of iconic images of an Asia of the past:  farmers plowing fields with water buffalo; oxcarts and horse carriages transporting goods and people; women washing at the river’s edge; the countryside dotted with weavers’ looms, potters’ wheels, open hearths. 

Three-quarters of the population lives this kind of rural existence, their days filled with meeting fundamental human needs: suckling babies, gathering and preparing food, drawing water from the well, bathing in the town pond, thatching bamboo roofs, visiting the temple, feeding livestock, tending to the elderly and infirm. Only 30% of the country has reliable electricity (Myanmar is one of the big black areas on the world night light map) and yet the Burmese go about it with an inspirational dignity and no sense of entitlement whatsoever.  

So moved by the spirituality of it all, I even found myself wondering: Is this life as it should be lived?  What good are modern conveniences and faster cars and fancier clothes when it means we have less time for the things that count? When the time gained from all our appliances is used to run a crazier rat race? When we hire nannies and au pairs to care for our children so we can go out and sell goods to strangers?  When we seal ourselves in huge houses away from others and then “communicate” per social media?  When we consign aged parents to impersonal nursing homes?  When our overprocessed food comes in cans and boxes and makes us ill and fat?  

Sure, you can make an argument for indoor plumbing and washing machines and advanced medical care – though I think most of us agree that being kept alive beyond reason just because science can is a contrivance we don’t necessarily condone – and the rose-colored version of life in Myanmar certainly has its drawbacks, but hey, I’m just sayin’….