WTF | Myanmar Military Regime Snubs Aid

I am angry. It is the sort of anger that comes from your own sense of helplessness in the face of injustice and stupidity. Why? I just read this:

The UN food agency on Friday suspended all aid flights into Myanmar over "unacceptable" restrictions by the junta, which has refused to allow foreign relief workers to help desperate cyclone survivors.

...

Kaye said two aid flights had arrived in the country's main city of Yangon but that their cargo had not been unloaded. He did not specify what restrictions the government imposed.

The impasse came shortly after the junta, which has a long history of thumbing its nose at the international community, announced in the state-run press that it was "not ready" to allow foreign experts in.

"The international community can best help the victims by donating emergency provisions such as medical supplies, food clothes, electricity generators, and materials from emergency shelters with financial assistance," it said.

"Myanmar will wholeheartedly welcome such course of actions. The donors and the international community can be assured that Myanmar is doing its best."

...

Critics of the regime have warned relief organisations that if they do not supervise the aid supplies handed over, they may be snatched by the generals and never reach the victims in Myanmar, one of the world's poorest nations.

Excuse me while I try to process this.

REBECCA SOLNIT | Men Who Explain Things

The LA Times has this great essay by Rebecca Solnit. I love the ancedote (quoted below) about how a pompous ass tried to talk down to her, and ended with the proverbial egg on his face. But most of all, I agree with what she has to say about the people who talk over us -- and how we allow our own voices to be silenced. The essay is worth reading whether you are male or female.

For the Ladies: Read it, please, because this is about you.

For the Gentlemen: Read it please, because you are fair-minded and you have a conscience. Most of all, read it because you might have daughters, wives, mothers, and sisters -- and this is their story.

But first, Rebecca Solnit tells a story about something that happened to her at a party:

He kept us waiting while the other guests drifted out into the summer night, and then sat us down at his grainy wood table and said to me, "So? I hear you've written a couple of books."

I replied, "Several, actually."

He said, in the way you encourage your friend's 7-year-old to describe flute practice, "And what are they about?"

They were actually about quite a few different things, the six or seven out by then, but I began to speak only of the most recent on that summer day in 2003, my book on Eadweard Muybridge, the annihilation of time and space and the industrialization of everyday life.

He cut me off soon after I mentioned Muybridge. "And have you heard about the very important Muybridge book that came out this year?"

So caught up was I in my assigned role as ingenue that I was perfectly willing to entertain the possibility that another book on the same subject had come out simultaneously and I'd somehow missed it. He was already telling me about the very important book -- with that smug look I know so well in a man holding forth, eyes fixed on the fuzzy far horizon of his own authority.

Here, let me just say that my life is well-sprinkled with lovely men, including a long succession of editors who have, since I was young, listened and encouraged and published me; with my infinitely generous younger brother; with splendid male friends. Still, there are these other men too.

So, Mr. Very Important was going on smugly about this book I should have known when Sallie interrupted him to say, "That's her book." Or tried to interrupt him anyway.

But he just continued on his way. She had to say, "That's her book" three or four times before he finally took it in. And then, as if in a 19th century novel, he went ashen. That I was indeed the author of the very important book it turned out he hadn't read, just read about in the New York Times Book Review a few months earlier, so confused the neat categories into which his world was sorted that he was stunned speechless -- for a moment, before he began holding forth again. Being women, we were politely out of earshot before we started laughing.

Am I a feminist? Probably not in the academic sense of the word. But I am a woman, so I know how it feels like to be treated as a woman. To have my abilities doubted -- simply because I am a woman. To be ignored or patronized -- simply because I am a woman. To earn less than my male colleagues doing the same job with equal or greater competence -- simply because I am a woman.

This is the reason why I am a battling ram, because I resent being dismissed and I demand to be heard. Idiots will always try to belittle you, talk down to you, make you feel small and insignificant. If you believe them, or allow them to convince you of that, then they win. Rebecca Solnit reminds us that we can't allow the Mr. Very Important of the world to silent us:

Men explain things to me, and to other women, whether or not they know what they're talking about. Some men. Every woman knows what I mean. It's the presumption that makes it hard, at times, for any woman in any field; that keeps women from speaking up and from being heard when they dare; that crushes young women into silence by indicating, the way harassment on the street does, that this is not their world. It trains us in self-doubt and self-limitation just as it exercises men's unsupported overconfidence.

As Solnit reminds us, in its most extreme form, it allows unjust laws in certain countries, "where women's testimony has no legal standing; so that a woman can't testify that she was raped without a male witness to counter the male rapist. Which there rarely is." No self-respecting women would want to live with this kind of unfairness. And I don't believe any man who loves his wife, his mother, his sister or his daughter -- would allow the women in his life to be treated like this.

Yet there are generations of women who have been brought up to believe in their inferiority. Not knowing any alternatives, these women teach their daughters the same values -- of their inferiority by default of gender. Our society enforces this.

Nothing is sadder than the victims who perpetuate the crimes done unto them. Nothing makes me angrier than abuse victims who believe what happened to them is their fault.

Yes, this is personal -- not just because I am a woman -- but because I am also a daughter: My mother was brought up by traditional Chinese parents who favoured her brothers. She believes she is worthless compared to the sons. It worn down her self-esteem. Later in her life, she would marry my father, a critical, emotionally distance man who castigated her in front of her children. She stayed silent through the verbal abuses. She never learned to talk back.

Miraculously, I did. I swear I would never become my mother.

Growing up, my own mother tried to teach me this same bullshit -- I rebelled and I never stopped resenting her for it. Even now, when I hang the laundry out to dry, she would remind me to keep my underwears away from my brother and my father. It is taboo for men to walk under women's underwears, she tells me, because women's underwears are unclean.

"I can't believe you're telling me this!" I almost screamed. My mother still had no idea what was so wrong with what she said. This happened just last year.

When I was very young, my mother would make me help out with the housework. I asked why did I have to help, when my brother did not. It is not fair. My mother's million dollar answer?

"Because he is a boy."

My mother is still the only one doing the housework. If I can, I help.

I help not because I believe women should do the housework. I help because the men in my family wouldn't. I help because my mother is old, and I can't bear her doing housework all by herself.

This is not about being a feminist. This is about fairness, respect and dignity -- and I believe these are universal human truths.

-------------------------------------------------

Rebecca Solnit wrote several books, among them, A Field Guide to Getting Lost, and Wanderlust: A History of Walking. I admire Wanderlust and would definitely recommend it -- but it is A Field to Getting Lost that occupies the place in that special bookshelf of my heart.

Say, have anyone read River of Shadows? It's "the very important Muybridge book" in the story quoted above. It's very important, so I better read it soon.

54 Illegal Migrant Workers From Myanmar Suffocated To Death

Caught this piece of news today off Yahoo:

BANGKOK, Thailand - Fifty-four illegal migrant workers from Myanmar suffocated in the back of an unventilated truck Thursday, while the rest of the passengers being smuggled to Thailand pounded on the container and screamed in vain for the driver's help.

More than 100 of the migrants were packed into a 7 x 20 foot container area of a truck normally used to carry seafood. They were being trucked to Phuket when they started collapsing. According to sources, the air-conditioning broke down and temperature reached around 93 degrees that day.

The migrants finally managed to get the driver's attention by pounding and screaming from inside the container. When the driver saw what happened to the migrants, he ran away, and left them there.

BE FOREWARNED, RANT AHEAD

I'm a little affected by this piece of news. The unfairness of it, the unnecessary waste of life -- it makes me sad, but most of all it makes me angry. That the political and social conditions of so many countries around the world forces people to take this risk of looking for work outside their country illegal. They died trying to find a better life.

Meanwhile, there are so many people around me, with good health and a steady job that actually allows them a comfortable living -- maybe not a lavish living, but a comfortable one -- whines and complains about how unhappy they are with their lives. Oh, how high the interest rate on their bank loan (for their condominum) is. Oh, you studied law because you didn't know what you want to do and now you're unhappy being a lawyer. Oh, how unhappy that it cost so much to buy a car these days.

All I want to say to them right now is: Shut the fuck up.

A lot of us are unhappy with our lot in life. But the truth is -- a lot of us have a choice. Sometimes it may mean taking a paycut to be happier. No matter how bad the situation is for many of us, we are not desperate. We do not have to pay thousands of dollars to snakeheads to leave our homes for a foreign land packed like animals with a hundred others, inside the container of a truck. All of it just for a chance to earn a little more money for the family.

You don't need that 50th pair of designer shoes. You don't need branded, expensive underwears. You don't need to dine at Four Seasons. You don't need to live in an expensive apartment. These are luxuries, and the fact that you have a choice to luxury is a blessing.

Be grateful for your family, your good health, for having the financial means to support yourself and your family. Think of the 54 people who died for nothing here, the people who would love your lot in life, and stop whining like a spoilt child denied a toy.

My Mother's Progress

Thank you everyone for the very kind words. Right now my mother is focusing on my grandmother's condition instead. I think it helps her avoid thinking about her own illness.

I've been ranting a bit recently due to the emotional roller-coaster. At work, I'm trying to keep frustrations under control. To keep sane, I've been going online to look at crazy cat pictures. You will see a lot of them on this blog for a while, I think.

My mother will be having some tests done before her next doctor's consultation. That's when we'll know for sure what's in store. I insisted on being there with her; she insisted on going to the doctor's alone. We argued over it. She think she's winning but I'm going to take leave from work to show up anyway.

My mother believes parents should protect their children from the bad things in life. Part of my difficulties with my mother is how I felt smothered by her over-protectiveness. Even now, when I am in my (very early) thirties, my mother still feels she has to protect me from her illness.

As for the dispute about my grandmother's hospital bills, I told my mother the other day I will meet her family with her. She told me that was no need. I rebutted, with emphasis:"No. You're nice. I'm not."

But she went alone anyway. (She felt I will make things ugly for Eldest Uncle - yes, that's the point. I enjoy making things difficult and ugly for people who bully my mother).

So, what came out of the meeting: It seems we are going to forgo the painful and unnecessary surgery for my grandmother. Instead, it will be hospice care - to be paid for by my mother. My mother agreed to it. My grandmother is dying and she was too tired to fight over money and hospital bills.

Meanwhile, I have started looking at my own expenses, and trying to cut down. That means less book buying, less movies - and eating at cheaper places. The greatest concern right now is my Turkey trip, which will be my biggest expenditure. But it will also probably be one of my last major holiday for a long time. Let us see how it goes.

My Anger

After my aunt passed away a few years ago, her flat was sold and the majority of the proceeds went to my mother. What was left unsaid was that for the past few years while my aunt was alive and battling cancer, a good part of the medical bills were paid for by my mother.

My mother's side of the family were left with the impression that she inherited a LARGE sum of money. They did not know the exact figure, and they chose not to believe my mother did not care for the money.

What was further left unspoken was that my mother used part of the inheritance to pay off my Eldest Uncle's debts. My Eldest Uncle is a gambler, and sometimes he borrowed from family friends. When he did not pay up, some of them went to my mother. She paid them, because it was her brother's debts. And when her sister-in-law (my Eldest Uncle's wife) needed an operation, my mother loaned $10,000 to the family. She never got the money back, but she never expected it back in the first place.

I asked her about the unpaid loans, and she simply replied, "We should only lend out money that we are prepared to give away." My mother is this sort of person. Too kind for her own good sometimes.

My maternal grandmother has been ill for many years now. I found out recently that my Eldest Uncle and his family have dumped all the medical bills on my mother's lap. Their excuse was the HUGE inheritance she received from my aunt.

Recently my grandmother's condition is heading for the worse. The mounting medical bills is also starting to worry my mother. Two nights ago I found her tabulating exactly how the inheritance from my aunt had been used. I questioned why, and she explained how hurted and frustrated she felt because her family (including my grandmother) always assuming she was rich and ready to pick up the bill.

She is not rich, and when she showed me how my aunt's money was used, I realised how much of it went into my aunt's own medical bills, her funeral - and to my Eldest Uncle and his family. Only about one-third of the money is left, and the family still insist my mother is rich.

I have been seething with rage and resentment since that night. Partly because I realise none of the other children of my grandmother has paid a single cent for her medical care. My Eldest Uncle has always been the Apple of my grandmother's eye. In the family drama, my mother has been cast in the role of the unappreciated Cordelia. It enrages me, how my mother has been taken for granted.

I told my mother how I felt, and she just sighed, "Is that so?" It has not yet occurred to her that she has been badly used. Guileless to a fault, is my mother. I want so much to protect her from her own family.

Last night my mother dropped a bigger shocker on me: She went to the doctor's earlier in the day, and they informed her that she's suffering from some form of kidney infection; her kidneys are unable to purge the waste material. We do not have the details because my mother was too stunned to ask question. It might be kidney problem, and she might have to go for some form of long term treatment. Maybe long term dialysis. We will not know until more tests are done.

And now I think, the money from my aunt would be very helpful for my mother's own medical bills. But too much of it has been wasted on my wastrel Eldest Uncle. I do not begrudge my grandmother's medical expense. As my mother told me, "When we are young, our parents raised us. Now they are old, we take care of them." My mother has never harmed anyone, and her first instinct has always been to help. She is too often afraid of being an inconvenience to another, and so she often does not confide her own suffering and unhappiness. She is a good person, better than me, and life has been unfair to her.

My anger is what is holding me up right now. It is what is stopping me from crying last night when I found out about my mother's condition. But the rage comes from the sense of a lack of control of our lives. I have been angry my whole life. It is a powerful energy and it offers an illusion of strength in the face of adversities. It took me a very long time before I finally understood that anger is a self-devouring emotion; it leaves you spent, and you are no closer to solving the problem in the end.

But right now I am still angry, and trying hard not to break down in front of my mother.