darfur, sudan video:

Burma: Why We Must Help

read the full article here: http://www.burmanet.org/news/2006/12/15/south-china-morning-post-world-shuts-eyes-to-juntas-ethnic-cleansing-nick-meo/
To help, Please Contact the Burmese Goodwill Assistance Project, myspace.com/burmesegoodwill

South China Morning Post: World shuts eyes to junta’s ethnic cleansing - Nick Meo
Fri 15 Dec 2006
Filed under: News, Inside Burma

Karen state, Myanmar: First they killed his neighbours, shooting them as they were gathering the rice harvest. Then they set fire to Saw Tah Wah’s village. Finally the Myanmese Army soldiers planted landmines around the burned homes to maim anybody daring to return.

This year thousands of Karen villagers like Mr Saw Tah Wah have fled to the refugee encampment of E Tu Hta, a collection of bamboo huts in a forest clearing on the Myanmese bank of the Salween river, on the border with Thailand. The camp was thrown up overnight in April when villagers began streaming out of Karen state clutching their children and whatever possessions they could carry.

At the end of last year the Myanmese Army began a series of offensives around the new capital Pyinmana, where the junta moved the seat of power from Yangon last year.

Nearby were areas where the Karen National Liberation Army is active - called black areas by the junta - so soldiers attacked villagers who could support the guerillas, forcing around 18,000 to flee to camps like E Tu Hta. Far more are believed to be hunted refugees inside Karen state.

The Karen, at war with Myanmar’s rulers for 58 years, now fear new offensives in coming weeks as the dry season begins.

Mr Saw Tah Wah, a 70-year-old farmer with gentle eyes who believes he has fled the Myanmese perhaps a hundred times in his life, spent nine days trekking across mountains during the rainy season to make it to safety.

He said: “We were scared of running into army patrols and we were scared of landmines. They plant them everywhere now - in paddy fields and on paths.

“Before the soldiers weren’t like this, they didn’t shoot to kill. Now they do.”

Two of his neighbours were shot dead in Chaw Wa Der village four months ago and two others were wounded. One of them, a 30-year-old mother of three called Naw Mu Tu, was hit in the throat by a bullet. She was not able to go to a hospital because Myanmese soldiers occupying the village stopped anyone from leaving.

The bodies of his neighbours were recovered at night after lying in the paddy fields for two days.
“We were very scared that they had planted landmines around them,” Mr Saw Tah Wah said.
Landmines are being sown indiscriminately in Karen state as a terror weapon.

Sae Kae Der, a 39-year-old woman, said: “When we run through the jungle we are afraid. We want to keep our feet on our heads. If we could fly, we would.”

Ahrleh, a 32-year-old farmer with one name, stepped on a landmine in February while foraging for food for his pregnant wife after they fled into hiding.

Karen medics amputated his leg in the jungle, then friends carried him to Thailand where he was fitted with a prosthetic limb.

He wants to return to find his wife and find out whether the child he has not yet seen has survived.
Refugees still arrive at E Tu Hta daily. Htee Mo Klo, 38, heard about the camp from fellow refugees after he fled with his nephew when their village was attacked by hundreds of soldiers.

He said: “I saw a poster left by the 16th Battalion saying they don’t want to see the face of a Karen and all the Karen people should go.

“They hate us and they are ruled by dictators who want control.”

Mark Farmaner from the Burma Campaign said: “The regime is deliberately targeting civilians to drive them out of the country. This is ethnic cleansing and the international community looks the other way.”

The Burma Campaign’s website says the Myanmese Army began the offensive in the second week of last month. As a result, 60 families from Mone Township in the northern Karen state, left their villages.

“The families have begun to run out of food and there is no chance of getting more food supply,” the website says.

“They have been running and hiding for a month now, so their supply is running out. They cannot return home because of the landmines planted by the army and its continuing patrols.”

Theresa’s in town for holiday, and it’s so wonderful to have all of Sarasota surrounding me, my home, and the effervescence of a good friend all in the same place. palm trees plus her powerful laugh do a happy moment make.

Friday morning we took a Bikram yoga class. We pulled up right at 10am, and I was really hoping that the doors were locked. I was not really in the mood, and was more inclined to sit outside the breakfast café and drink coffee than I was to do intense yoga in a heated room with a dozen other sweaty strangers. So I dropped off Theresa and parked the car, leisurely walking around the studio building to the back door, where I was faced with 20 half-clothed men and women, stretching out, some sweating already. I joined them, feeling out of place in my gym shorts and tank top, laid out my mat, signed my name on a waiver, and waited for instructions.

An hour and a half later, I was lying face-up on the same mat, not sure if I had been beaten or shown God. During the class, I had been so close to a woman next to me I could see the beads of sweat collect on her thighs. When I looked around the room, I would catch the movement of a lithe, sinewy woman that sent a stream of sweat down to her towel. The instructor had helped a man with an extremely defined upper body, to push his feet behind his back, nearly touching his head. All the while, I stared at myself in the mirror, feeling slightly pudgy, pale, ungainly, wondering where this self-effacing has come from all of a sudden. The beauty of bikram is that the poses flow so quickly, there is little time for my head to get in the way. That said, the judgments pop in so fast it’s hard to catch them.

Judgments or no judgments, we took brunch at C’est La Vie, the French café on Main, and then showered and finished the day shopping, taking Pho at PhoCali, and meeting Tim at Shakespeare’s for some billiard late that night.

i was wrong about the weather yesterday; it never cleared up, rather, it rained for the better part of the day. rainy days have such a personal feel to them, like they’re all mine. the day felt very still in the midst of everything going on in it. i stood on my porch for a moment in the early evening, under the Christmas lights i’d wrapped around the beams, and the air was cool, wet and thick. the sky was that deep blue, and the silhouettes of the trees were black. for a moment, i was taken to a climbing trip my friends and i went on in high school, one of the most magical times of my life, southern Kentucky in the mountains, camping behind this pizza shack, rained out and huddled in a one room hut, watching cirque de soleil on a black and white set with 15 other smelly climbers. i remember the fog, thick and heavy like soup, the campfire, sneaking up to the gravel car park to have a smoke.

the moment on the porch wasn’t lost because of my memory, rather, it stood on ground as testaments to the freedom i have. there are people in the world who will never have the opportunity to stand on their porch, catch a moment after the day, and relive beautiful memories. there are people who will never have that because someone takes it away from them or because their own fear stops them in their tracks. we are so lucky in this.

a few days ago, i had a telephone conversation with a friend that shook me and pissed me right off. and, apparently, it was just what i needed. i feel as though i’ve acted like a shithead lately, to myself, to my boyfriend, to my fellow drivers. i woke up this morning from a mostly peaceful sleep, the first out of a string of fitful nights, and i feel more like myself than i have in a while. i feel taller. it seems as though i have been shrinking myself down every day, feeling fat, being too critical of myself and everyone else, settling into some comfortable places that aren’t where i need to be. eating poorly, not having compassion, not being active. i don’t give myself enough credit for being cyclical in my emotions, the ebbs and flows, although i feel much better to be on this crest of feeling than in the—what’s the word that describes the bottom part of a wave? well, than to be there.

14/12/06

experience is learning me that neither casinos nor boxing matches are as glorious as they’re hyped to be.

this morning in southwest florida is cool and grey. i’ve killed my hydroponic basil, mostly, so i took it to the lanai this morning to see if it wasn’t the indoor environment that was making it die. the smell of the air is the very same smell i’ve had lodged in the back of my head since i was a little girl. it’s a round green smell, slightly salty and sandy, with some dirt. despite the sounds of the morning, it’s very still outside. these are the mornings when the sun rises and with honors burns away the fog and damp and quiet.

contemplating the holidays and bgap and work and my hormones. i want more money to buy presents. i haven’t been nearly as diligent with bgap these last weeks as i feel i ought to be. i enjoy the npo i’m working for this month. and as nature courses forward, my shifting hormones drive me closer to defensiveness, argumentation, and outright shithead-dom.

my dreams at night are fraught with challenges and difficulties and surprises, making my nights fitful to the observer and restless upon waking. this change has occurred in the last week, and i’m not really sure what has brought all of this on.

deep, bitter coffee and cool breezes are a great way to begin the day.

13/12/06