[dropcap letter="M"]
yanmar, formerly Burma, is one of the six states crossed by the Mekong, a wide, murky, and quiet river that forms its natural border to the southeast. The country rests on three silences. The silence of the stones along the majestic valley of Bagan, the silence of fear that blinds its people and dresses them in a rare weakness, and the silence of contemplation, meditation, and rest.
The silence of the stones deserves a peaceful visit and, at a minimum, a sunset from the top of one of the pagodas that someone considered dispensable due to strange circumstances of history.
The second silence, that of fear, has accompanied them for 200 years. Before July 17, 1947, when a group of paramilitaries assaulted the meeting of the Executive Council of Burma (for the transfer of powers once independence was agreed upon), everything suggested that the old taciturn was about to be defeated. But during the attack, President Aung San and six of the ministers were assassinated, and silence, deep and dark, once again prevailed. Forty years later, the daughter of the deceased president, Aung San Suu Kyi, returned to the country to care for her convalescing mother. She was then 42 years old and unexpectedly found herself compelled to lead a new revolt aimed at opening up the country, which was stagnant in a complex ideology that News Week magazine had already labeled an amalgam of Buddhism, Marxism, and superstition – February 1974.
The revolt was promoted in Rangoon (now Yangon) by students and soon spread. It was August 8, 1988 – the 8888 revolution –. A few hours later the raid was placated and the old silence returned in the form of a Military Junta. Even, despite the victory of San Suu Kyi's own party in the 1990 elections, fear has remained until today. Faced with the dilemma of staying in Myanmar (formerly Burma) or returning with her family, the activist chose to stay in the country. The feat has earned her a handful of recognitions, including the Nobel Peace Prize. Even so, the international scope of the demonstrations led the military regime to subject the activist to 15 years of house arrest. Given over to the poverty and misery of a house with significant damage, San Suu Kyi surrendered to the third of the silences, delving into Gandhi's ideals of non-violence and the practice of Buddhism. However, in recent times, the virtuous silence of San Suu Kyi and, in general, that of the Buddhist community has been altered by events that have come to light and that have called into question the coherence of the Burmese process. They are reproached for occlusion and complicity with the repression against tribal groups in the country. Especially that referring to the Rohingya people, of Muslim ethnicity. When the international media and community have asked San Suu Kyi for explanations, the Nobel Peace Prize winner has argued that it is a current of opinion – to be exact, she has spoken of an iceberg of disinformation – that favors the interests of Islamic terrorism. I myself also inquired about the issue to the population during my stay but all questions ended in a dead end behind which apprehension hides.
The very map of ancient Burma is a cluster of dead ends. A network of trails closed to travelers for reserved reasons that stitches together a territory sometimes wild and beautiful. Even so, it is still possible to travel to remote villages. One of these villages is Kyuat Su, of the Pa-Oh tribe, which means "broken eggs." Legend explains that the Pa-Oh are descendants of the cross between a man and a dragoness who, without recognizing each other due to the darkness, lived together for a time inside a cave and conceived two eggs. The eggs were abandoned when the couple realized their incompatibility and were later moved to a Buddhist monastery by two monks who found them.
I arrived in Kyuat Su as it was getting dark. It was cold and raining. I was welcomed by Tu and May, he 64 and she 88 years old. I was treated to an exceptional dinner and some time around the fireplace that presided over the central room of the house. They explained that they were pleased because the government had promised them that in the coming months electricity would reach the village for the first time in history. They spoke to me as if the light was going to transport them to an unknown orbit of happiness. After the evening, once inside the blankets covering the futon spread on the bamboo floor, I heard them converse in the adjoining room. They spoke calmly. The tone was one of explaining things to each other. Now one, now the other. Perhaps they were commenting on how the day had gone. Sometimes they smiled. I don't know if we fell asleep at the same time. That peace settled me into the third pillar of ancient Burma, close to the silence in which San Suu Kyi had managed to place herself during her house arrest. But I fear that the irruption of light in Kyuat Su will only hinder it and move it a little further away from what the new Burma may one day become.