'This Is What Our Life Is'

A Buddhist monk reads aloud from a list of names. One by one, a representative from each of 53 families comes forward to receive plastic bags of rice, instant noodles, biscuits, blankets and traditional sarongs, called longji. The monks trucked these donations to this fishing village in Kungyangon, three hours from Burma's former capital, Rangoon, on unpaved roads. The Buddhist monastery is one of the few places in the area where victims of the cyclone that hit Burma on May 2 can find shelter. As monsoon rains pelt the leaky roof, refugees huddle in a hall built on wooden stilts, each family occupying a single straw mat. Zir Mar, who will soon give birth, shares a mat with her husband, a fisherman, and six-year-old son. She fears she will have to deliver her child in the monastery. The nearest clinic is too far away and the roads are muddy. "We have nothing left, and this is what our life is," she says.

Two weeks after the worst storm in Burma's modern history, desperation is still commonplace on the Irrawaddy Delta. Yet there are also signs of hope. People have righted bamboo and rattan shacks toppled in the winds, and they've begun to thatch rooftops. Food, though, is still scarce, and no government workers or doctors have yet paid a visit to the area to offer relief.

The monks, distinct in their saffron robes, lament the absence of outside help. They've given what they can to the town, where about 500 residents—one in four—were killed in the storm. Monks now provide a vital lifeline to this part of the delta. This particular group—10 men from the main monastery in Rangoon—filled their vehicles to the brim with sacks of rice and other goods for a mission begun on Monday, a holy day for Burma's Buddhists. Police manning checkpoints let them pass, as well as most local taxis and private vehicles heading south into the disaster zone. Along the way people lined the road in an eerie scene of misery, waiting for vehicles to stop and hand out provisions. "They can't stop us now," said one of the female volunteers who joined the monks, collecting foodstuffs for this mission. "We are here to help, and the government is not doing anything, nothing at all."

Every day on television the Burmese military junta shows footage of its visits to resettlement camps. Things seem to be orderly and clean, with tarpaulin tents for families and first-aid clinics. One scene had generals giving children stuffed toys and other volunteers wearing Red Cross vests distributing loads of food in a systematic fashion. The camps were obviously a showpiece meant to cast the generals that run the country in the best possible light. But elsewhere on the ground it is as if the government does not exist. In one township just east of Rangoon the government built a refugee camp that features a blue tent, DVD films for children and coffee served at the entrance. Less than three miles away, a farming village has not received any official assistance. There, a Christian group hands out rice, potatoes, and salt.

The English-language New Light of Myanmar, a government-owned paper, published a series of stories showing Sr. Gen. Than Shwe and his subordinates visiting shelters and briefing foreign diplomats on the state of the country. Officials are quoted saying that the "recovery" stage has begun. The paper also ran a cartoon that said, "We were hit by the unavoidable storm, but don't get misled by rumors"—a barb at foreign media coverage of the cyclone and its aftermath. A source with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees relief operation in Burma said the government has asked all international agencies to open their warehouses for inspection and declared the delta off limits to foreigners. "They cannot manage this," the source said. "Something has got to give. They should at least move the survivors to someplace dry and allow us to give them food and shelter."

The electricity still hasn't been brought back on in Kunyangon. After dark the queue of vehicles heading back to the city provides the only light. Due to heavy rains and poor road conditions, the trip is grueling. Along the way one of the monks' two trucks breaks down. A family invites them for lunch in their wooden house by the side of the road, serving the monks steamed rice and green vegetables and prostrating themselves before them. In the truck some of the volunteers expressed outrage that the generals who run their country have taken so long to help. It is this kind of anger that led the Buddhist monks to stage mass demonstrations last September. That is still fresh in everyone's minds, "But people are tired and weak now, and [the monks] just want to help the survivors," said one Burmese writer.

Politics won't stay below the surface for long. The monsoon is intensifying. Although harvest time is approaching there isn't much of a rice crop left in the delta's flooded fields. Local rice stocks could soon run out completely unless the government steps in with massive aid for cyclone victims. "Sometimes I think God is not fair," a volunteer said to the monks on the drive back to Rangoon. That sparked a long political discussion, with cigarettes passed around and fiery voices raised against the government. It went back and forth until someone asked what should be done, and one girl answered, "I don't know."

© 2008