Living in Limbo: Reflections on the Thai/Burma Border Trip
Susan Vincent, Thailand Spring Break 2013
It seems that we all crave a sense of safety, identity, and opportunity. But so many of the people who walked alongside us in Thailand are living in limbo, finding comfort and community in what tenuous ways they can. In an environment characterized by uncertainty and rife with oppression, the hope of a better life can seem distant and vaporous.
A refugee's life is--by no fault of his own--dependent on others. The host government
provides protection and information (not always well), outside donors and governments
provide food and necessities, immigration services halfway around the world decide
whether family members will be granted permission to relocate, NGOs and universities
sometimes make educational opportunities available. Ideas and phrases like career
path, upward mobility, life plan, bucket list, and retirement have no context.
For the Karen refugees in the Mae La camp, returning "home" hardly seems much better.
With the threat--real or perceived--of violence in Burma, the concern of ethnically-based
subordination/discrimination, the difficulty of education, and the uncertainty of
land rights and vocational opportunities, the older refugees on the Thai-Burma border
looked "homeward" with significant trepidation. Others, for whom the small island
of Karen refugees had been their whole childhood world, had no place in Burma with
any special claim to their hearts. All spoke of justice, equality, and peace, but
only some could offer suggestions as to what these terms would look like in their
situation. Most wanted "autonomy" for their Karen people, and many appreciated the
improbability/impracticability of this desire, but few appreciated the political maneuvering
and difficult compromises that would be necessary to achieve a durable form of self-government.
For victims of trafficking and prostitution, no less than those displaced by ethnic
and political violence, a "way out" seems elusive at best. With a million tribal people
in Thailand denied the right to land, citizenship, education, and sustainable work,
the potential for exploitation is apparent. Thai cultural practices and beliefs regarding
women often result in a blind eye being turned when girls enter prostitution--so long
as they are able to send money back to their parents and thus fulfill the "duty of
daughters" that is their birthright. Undocumented Burmese immigrants--including the
10,000 Burmese girls who arrive in Thai brothels each year--have few protections from
those who would take advantage of their poverty and invisibility.
The pallor of these injustices stood stark contrast to the vibrancy, beauty, and hospitality
that Thailand is rightfully known for. On our first full day in the country, we wandered
through the streets of Chiang Mai, were introduced to Khao soi, took in the mystic
beauty of a Buddhist temple, encountered the long agricultural history of the hill
tribes and strolled in their beautiful gardens, climbed up and slid down a tumbling
waterfall, and finally explored a sprawling night market. We met Thai nationals engaged
heart and soul in restoring children who have been sexually abused, American professionals
dedicated to providing essential health services to Burmese who could not otherwise
receive care, the Free Burma Rangers of diverse ethnicities dedicated to documenting
human rights abuses and bringing hope to places where no one else is able to go, diplomats
engaged in the essential intergovernmental work of analysis and persuasion, and a
lawyer-turned-advocate who spends her days working to help more effectively combat
sexual exploitation.
This trip made me consider again the role of outsiders in situations like these, where
a terrible equilibrium has settled and trapped a disempowered group beneath the crushing
weight of the status quo. Attempts at quick reform may result in formal changes--as
when Thailand "abolished" prostitution in 1950--but entirely fail in their substantive
aims. Engagement with the Myanmar government may eventually result in a more free
and democratic society, but may inadvertently (or inevitably) ignore the rights of
those who have been long victimized, disenfranchised, and dispossessed by the military
regime. If we dare to acknowledge that our ultimate aim--justice for all, but particularly
for those victimized--requires the reordering of a society, how can we ensure that
our motives are pure and our means are appropriate? When 97% of the people visiting
brothels are Thai nationals, what voice do outsiders have? Conversely, when tens or
hundreds of thousands are working in the sex industry--many refugees or aliens drawn
into Thailand by its economic promise but kept by more nefarious threats--how can
anyone justify remaining silent?
On a more personal level, I realized again what a privileged life I lead. While I
may sometimes feel inclined to complain about the uncertainties and questions in my
own life -- what's next after law school? what should my life look like? what kind
of person do I want to be, and is that who I am becoming? -- I was poignantly reminded
how much I have. I know that even if I have to work at a job I'm over-qualified for,
I can take care of myself without having to sell my body or family members. (The idea
of being over-qualified even exists because of the tremendous educational and experiential
opportunities available to me.) My conception of the world has been shaped, not only
by the people and who have come to me, but also by the places I've travelled (along
with the joys and challenges of returning home). Neither going outside their small
community nor returning "home" are possibilities for many of the refugees in the camp
we visited.
I've returned from this whirlwind trip with more questions than answers. Perhaps that
is as it should be. I am home with a renewed sense of gratitude--both for the daily
life I lead and for once-in-a-lifetime opportunities like this. I've also acquired
an deepened sleep deficit, a greater awareness of this fascinating part of the world,
a group of quickly-bonded classmates, and new insight into the complexities and necessity
of pursuing justice.