Saving Fish From Drowning (47 page)

called the cabinet office to say it was advisable that Myanmar clear up this delicate matter speedily and certainly before the next ASEAN

summit meeting. They were like a family in ASEAN, and this could be a family embarrassment. Had it been a mistake to admit Myanmar into ASEAN? Should trade with Myanmar be curtailed, and development aid suspended?

The Office of Strategic Studies met at all levels to discuss how to deal with this “temporary situation.”

And luckily for Harry, the unexpected happened. At the risk of sounding self-congratulatory, I admit that I had something to do with it. I visited a few people in the Land of Sleep. I had discovered that I could enter dreams quite easily with those who were predisposed to magic. As Rupert had said on the dock when showing his card tricks, magic could happen, but you had to believe. Even in the higher echelons of the Myanmar government, many believed in Nats, ghosts, and signs. My idea was quite ordinary, anyone could 3 3 5

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have thought of it, so I am not suggesting that I be accorded credit for what followed, not in the slightest, or at least, not all of it. I simply wanted the tyrants to feel that it was a good thing to safeguard the tourists and also those harboring them. Garrett had put it best:
The world is watching
.

Suffice it to say that several Myanmar ministers suddenly came up with the same, rather startling suggestion, one that was highly unorthodox to their usual way of doing things: Why not use this free media attention to showcase our country’s beauty, its wonders, and its friendly people—yes, even its caring and friendly government?

The generals were taken aback, but ten seconds later, each in turn said, Why indeed not!

Now that the concept was enthusiastically embraced, a little preparation would be needed, of course, to spruce up and make sure the image was carried off with perfection. For one thing, as the ASEAN

leaders had suggested, they might release a few hundred prisoners—

or even a thousand, one general said, why not be magnanimous?—

to emphasize that no people were jailed for political reasons, only detained for their own good. The Lady, for instance—let us speak openly of her—though she may be popular with a small and sentimental portion of our people, she is clearly not in favor with most of our happy citizens, who praise the tremendous progress we have made in the last decade. We fear for the safety of our little sister—

yes, that’s excellent, call her “sister”—for we know there are those who disapprove of her, and sad to say, they might wish to cause her harm. Better that she remain in the comfort of her own home than risk assassination, like her father. And perhaps a daily delivery of fresh fruit and flowers would further underscore the concern for her health? Oh, didn’t everyone know she had been ailing? Wasn’t this the very reason she was not roaming freely and creating her usual ruckus? Not that they minded if people made a little ruckus—

children did it all the time—but it should not cause unrest. It should 3 3 6

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not lead to insurrection, violence, and widespread disrespect of leaders. After all, no government could tolerate that.

A good government had to guide its people, sometimes gently, sometimes strictly, just as parents did. It could allow certain freedoms, but in a
style
that suited the country. Only the leaders knew what that style should be. It was like fashion. In some countries, the women wore practically nothing, exposing their breasts, their bellies, the ugly creases of their buttocks. They were not critical of that style. But in their country, it was more beautiful to wear a longyi. It was a matter of cultural difference. For that reason, a country had to handle its own affairs. China handled its affairs. Why shouldn’t Myanmar? China governed with its own style. Why should Myanmar be singled out for criticism for doing exactly the same?

This new campaign would work very well, the generals and the ministers agreed. Most important to its success was the demonstration that every effort was being made to find the missing people. The tourism office would be in touch with the military police to create a methodical plan. The world would be shown how hard the warmhearted people of Myanmar were seeking the group’s whereabouts—

searching high and low among the two thousand two hundred sacred temples and beautiful stupas of Bagan; in the intriguing monastery outside Mandalay, with its world-astounding collection of Buddhist statues; on a jetty taking in the most scenic part of the Ayeyarwaddy.

When the cameras were turned on southern Shan State, where the tourists had last been seen, they would zoom in on photogenic

“giraffe-necked” Padaung women in native costume, a dozen choker rings pushing down on their shoulders and giving them that elongated look—all tourists marveled at this. And the ladies, who would have been rehearsed in expressing concern for their foreign friends, would bob their heads gracefully above their ornamented throats as they waved, or rather, wept.

And if the tourists were found to be dead—not that this was

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likely—it would be explained in an acceptable way, that it was misadventure, for example, that it was the tourists’ own fault, but the good people of Myanmar did not blame them.

The officials with the Ministry of Hotels and Tourism decided to bring in an international public relations expert—not, however, the firm that helped them devise the failed “Visit Myanmar” campaign in 1996, or the one that helped give them their new, friendly name. The ministry found a consulting firm based in Washington with an impressive list of clients: Samuel Doe of Liberia, Saddam Hussein of Iraq, and Rwandan president Juvénal Habyarimana. The consultant would help create a multipoint plan to saturate the news with positive images.

The consultant arrived, and at first, the ministers were skeptical.

He was a fairly young man, who smiled all the time, so who could take him seriously? He also made some insulting remarks about their standing in the world. And then he came up with an astonishing suggestion: Plant the words “the new Burma” and associate the phrase with “Myanmar.”

“The situation, as we now know,” the young man said, “that is, from discussions with high-level tour operators in other countries, is one of inadequate understanding of your country and its tourism potential.” He cited research figures showing that upward of ninety-five percent of people polled outside Asia had no idea where Myanmar was. They did not recognize the new name of the capital, Yangon, whereas they still recalled Rangoon.

He went on to point out that such people were, of course, uninformed and behind the times, and thus did not associate Myanmar with the famous glories and beauties of its past, all worthy of many visits and the spending of discretionary income. They did, however, remember the old name, Burma. To Western tourists, “Burma”

sounded fun, friendly, and romantic.

One of the ministry staff added, “In that terrible way associated with British colonialism.” They had already spent vast sums to 3 3 8

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promulgate the idea that “Myanma” had been the first name and a more egalitarian one, whereas “Burma” referred to the Bamar ruling class. Damn those people who said “Myanma” and “Bama” were

merely variants of the same word! And it was a lie that most Burmese considered “Myanma” to be associated with the old ruling class. Where were those Burmese liars who said so?

“The research doesn’t lie when it comes to public perception,” the young man said. “That is why I suggest a bold strategy—and that is to
go backward
to keep step with the backward world perception, and in this way, you can then lead the world
forward
into the new Myanmar. Start with the tagline: ‘The new Burma is Myanmar.’”

This proposal was met with silence. Everyone glanced about to see how to answer.

But then the senior man who oversaw propaganda nodded with a bland face and said, “It’s unorthodox, yet well reasoned, forward-thinking even. The world is backward, and we must get them to follow us. The new Burma
is
Myanmar. That is the message. I like it.” Loud bursts of acclaim sounded in the meeting hall. “The new Burma!”

The senior man fell into further contemplation and scratched his chin. “Or did you say, ‘The old Burma is the new Myanmar’?”

Everyone grew silent as the boss thought about this. He nodded.

“Yes, that was more the idea.” And the room burst into fervent accord. “The old Burma is the new Myanmar! Excellent! A very wise refinement, sir.”

And thus began a campaign by the military regime to recruit

Harry as their spokesman for tourism. And of course, the visas for Mary Ellen and other members of the search party were granted forthright. But you already knew that.

HIGH IN THE RAINFOREST, Marlena, Vera, Heidi, and Moff

tended to the sick. Marlena and Vera were in charge of Esmé, Bennie, 3 3 9

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Wyatt, and Wendy. Heidi cared for Roxanne and Dwight, and Moff hovered over his son. The past few days had shaken them to the depths of their souls. For a while, it seemed impossible that they would be able to provide any relief beyond water, which they poured over their senseless charges to quell the brain-damaging fever. And when their patients’ fever was exchanged for bone-shaking chills, they wrapped their arms around them, and rocked and cried. There was nothing more they could do.

While returning from the loo one day, Heidi caught two old grandmothers feeding Wyatt and Wendy a strong-smelling liquid. One of the women explained matter-of-factly what she was doing, but Heidi understood none of it. The woman drew out some leaves from a pouch, pointed, and smiled, as if to suggest, “See? I told you. It’s only this.”

Heidi inspected the leaves. They were green and feathery, looking very much like parsley or cilantro. She took a leaf to Black Spot and asked him what it was. “It is good,” he said. “A plant, I am knowing the Burmese name, not the English name. But it is medicine for jungle fever.” Heidi next sought Moff, who was sitting quietly next to his son. The boy was unconscious and moaning. She dropped the leaves in his lap. “What do you think this is?”

Moff picked them up, looked at them, with their slim bifurcating stems, then smelled them. “Ah yes, the telltale balsamic fragrance. In the States, you see this growing around garbage dumps and along the sides of roads. Also known as sweet wormwood,
Artemisia annua
.

There are many species of
Artemisia
, and this one I’ve never seen before, but the leaf structure is characteristic. Grows fast and turns into a plant the shape of a soft-limbed Christmas tree. The fragrance is also typical.” He put a leaf in his mouth and smacked his lips.

“And the bitter taste. Where did you find it?”

“One of the old ladies made some kind of concoction and was giving it to Wyatt and Wendy to drink.”

Moff’s eyes lit up. “Brilliant! Dear God, she’s absolutely right.

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Artemisia annua
does have an antibacterial property, maybe even antimalarial. Where is this woman?” He stood up. And then he and Heidi hurried off to find the lady with the herbs.

“TODAY, JANUARY FOURTH ,” the Myanmar official announced to TV cameras and the crowd at the airport in Mandalay, “the unified people of Myanmar proudly celebrate our Independence Day, our liberation in 1948 from British colonial rule. Today we will feast, hold festivals, pay respects, and give offerings, as well as play music and dance in our native dress. We will visit our holiest of pagodas and our greatest monuments in our beautiful golden land. And today we welcome at the new and modern Mandalay International Airport our honored guests from America, who join with us in looking for their compatriots and family members.”

An interpreter translated the words into English for Mary Ellen Brookhyser Feingold Fong and Dot Fletcher. The two women were staggered by the size of the crowds. Were all these television cameras actually for them? They made Mary Ellen suspicious, but Dot was touched by the outpouring of concern from the Myanmar officials.

“Soon,” the speaker continued, “we hope we will be celebrating the happy whereabouts of your family members, who can resume their visit of our beautiful country.”

Dot Fletcher’s boyfriend was openly impressed. “Can you beat that?” Gus Larsen said. And Saskia Hawley was happy to see that her two dogs had made it past customs without quarantine or even a glance at their health certificates. “They are search-and-rescue dogs,” she explained to the interpreter, and the deputy minister of information exclaimed, “Search! Yes, we want you to search our lovely countryside. Search everywhere. We will help.” And he pulled out brochures of some of Myanmar’s most scenic spots, at each of which a camera crew was waiting.

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• •

14

THE INVENTION

OF NOODLES

By the end of the second week in No Name Place, my malaria-