Archive for February, 2009
PLEASE DON’T SAY MY NAME: a diary exploring the lives of Burmese refugees in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
please click to listen to trailer:
pleasedontsaymynametrailer23mp3
please_dont_say_my_name_expt_1
I think life is always changing. This is not my life forever. It’s like the river. It is always flowing. I cannot touch the same water again. – “Tu Kyaw”
Last year I visited Burma in the immediate aftermath following the brutal military crackdown on the monk-led protests. While what I heard and saw was heart-wrenching the story that compelled me most was the one I learned once I had left Burma and was staying for a few days in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.
On my last day in KL I met a young Burmese man named “Jack” who had been a human rights activist in Burma working for two NGOs. For his advocacy he was imprisoned and tortured. He fled from Burma at the request of his mother. When i met him he was a waiter in a French restaurant in downtown Kuala Lumpur with strong aspirations that one day he would receive resettlement and be able to continue the work of advocating for human rights–without having to risk his own life–and the life of his family–by doing so.
We stayed in touch over the last year and in that time I came to know more about his daily existence in Malaysia and the lives of other refugees in his circle that share a similar fate. I decided to make a radio documentary to tell their story. I’ve been in Kuala Lumpur now for six weeks. I believe it will take me one month more to complete the project. Many things have happened that i didn’t expect.
My name is KZ. My Burmese friends’ names are changed for their protection.
The documentary centers around a small group of Burmese refugees working in a restaurant together in downtown Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. The interviews are intimate in tone and record many aspects of their lives both inside and outside of work, highlighting their continued vulnerability in Malaysia where they are referred to as “illegals” by the government. Although they’ve escaped the harsh regime in Burma their lives still lack fundamental human rights.
Though by now they were all close friends, no one knew Tu Kyaw had just returned to Malaysia from 3 years of slavery–sold to traffickers by the Malaysian authorities. In the year that he worked with them in the restaurant, Tu Kyaw never spoke to anyone about being held captive along with 12 other boys on that fishing trawler in the middle of the sea.
“Tu Kyaw,” was a ferry boat driver in Burma who helped other Burmese escape Burma before he also had to escape himself when the junta chased down his ferry and shot two of his passengers in the middle of their crossing. Tu Kyaw lived in Malaysia for one year when he was picked up by the RELA and after suffering a period of detention was taken to the Thai border and sold to an Indonesian fishing trawler. He was a slave on that boat for 3 years, never seeing land, before escaping via the sea in the middle of a bad storm.
“Jack” was a human rights activist inside of Burma and was imprisoned and tortured before escaping to Malaysia. He has a college degree and speaks fluent English. Here in KL he has been arrested and detained by the RELA (Malaysian government-sponsored vigalante citizen brigade) three times despite having UN High Commission for Refugees protection (UNHCR). He has been waiting for resettlement for three years.
“Sin Ya” escaped Burma recently–just after the protests–because he was being hunted down by the junta for his participation. In the 16 months he has lived in Malaysia he has been arrested by the RELA 5 times. The last time he waited in detainment for 2 months only to be sold to Thai gangsters by the Malaysian police. He is 21 years old.
“Rick” is a young Burmese activist who also works in the restaurant and was the one who was able to secure Sin Ya’s release from the gangsters. When the gangsters kicked Sin Ya out of the car at Jalan Alor, Sin Ya, barely conscious, fell into Rick’s awaiting arms.
“Lila” is the sister of “Rick,” Lila left Burma legally, purchasing a passport through an “agent” for a large sum. Once in Malaysia, the agent took her directly to her new employer. She was forced to work in a factory and live in a dorm with 30 other girls and one toilet for all of them to use. The agent picked them up in the morning and locked them into the dorm after work. They took 2/3 of their salaries. Lila was rescued by her brother, but since the agent kept her papers, she was forced to join the ranks of the 46, 600 “illegals.”
“Kline” is the youngest. She is 19 years old. She escaped Burma after witnessing her father being beaten to death, then shot, by Burmese soldiers. She rarely leaves her apartment besides coming to and from work–she is “too scared, too fear” that she will be arrested by the RELA or Malaysian police.
audio files-rough edit–click to listen (more files later in blog):
irene fernandez on refugees in malaysia
jack talks about lack of rights
“invocation,” by bobby mcferrin and gil goldstein
As a writer I came here prepared to hear harrowing tales of suffering, and I have. But also I have learned something else. I have seen how human beings can create family and bonds no matter where they are and what the circumstance.
I came here because of my friend “Jack” who is now co-manager of the French restaurant where I first met him. The people im coming to know and who are moving me so greatly are the friends and co-workers of Jack. The family of workers, unrelated by blood, but tied by circumstance, in this one small restaurant. We’ve shed tears, we’ve witnessed some of the group get arrested by the RELA, and we’ve laughed a lot as well.
What’s fascinating to me is that no one knows the other’s story. We are learning the personal histories of the group together, which I hope strengthens the bond of this new family. Unfortunately that adhesive is threatened by their continued vulnerability: None of them are protected against future RELA and police raids, or the fear of deportment back to Burma, or that if they make a mis-step in this country their family in Burma will suffer for it. At any given moment they must never be so careless as to forget to look over their shoulder.
According to Ishak Mohamed, The Enforcement Director for the Malaysian Immigration Department, “Every foreigner in our country must have a proper passport. As far as immigration is concerned there are no refugees in my country. That is quite clear. Period.”
Yet the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) has registered over 46,600 refugees living in Malaysia—90% of them are from Burma.
And these refugees are commonly referred to as “illegals,” as if the refugees were the criminals instead of the other way around.
For to be sure, it is the criminal behavior of the Burmese dictatorship and its soldiers as well as the nearly equal criminal behavior of the Malaysian RELA and the police–both of whom the government openly allows to raid the work and living sites where the Burmese refugees are in order to exhort money from the most impoverished and threaten the refugees with detention camps, deportation, rape, even murder if they do not pay the bribes–that define the true criminals in this plot.
While they have successfully fled the abusive military dictatorship of their country, these Burmese girls and boys, women and men are still very much without fundamental freedom and still without basic human rights. They cannot go to the hospital for fear of the RELA. If they are hit by a car, it is they who have to flee. If they are offered a better job in Singapore or Brunei, they cannot accept the offer—because they cannot leave. They are not able to apply for higher education–or even a driver’s license. They cannot file a complaint against any individual or organization for mistreatment. These “illegal” Burmese refugees have no papers and it leaves them extremely vulnerable in a hostile environment where those that are meant to protect view them as easy prey.
The majority of Burmese refugees are not migrant laborers but asylum seekers. They flee to Malaysia because they are escaping imprisonment, death, and/or extreme poverty as a result of being born in Burma.
Some of them were strong advocates for human rights in their country but had to flee in order to protect the lives of their the families and their own lives. Others were persecuted for voicing political dissent. They choose Malaysia rather than Thailand, which shares a border with Burma, for two reasons: The first is that they can make more money in Malaysia, especially if they can speak some English. The second reason is that if they are deported they will be sent back to the Thai border, rather than to the Burmese border, where for many they may face death and certainly imprisonment.
But what often happens at the Thai/Malaysia border is nearly as tragic.
Recently the U.S. State Department made public a probe in which it has been gathering alarming evidence that confirms human trafficking at the Thai/Malaysia border and which suggests the Malaysian governments complicity in many cases. Often it is Burmese refugees who have been arrested by the RELA or police in raids. They are brought to detention for a period of time, forced to stay up to 20 in a tiny room on the floor with the space so tight they have to sleep cupped into one another, and then sold into prostitution or to Indonesian fishing trawlers.
The night I escaped from the fishing boat I was very scared because if they see I am gone they will look for me in the sea and shoot me. They will kill me on the spot. So I am very scared and I do not swim. I hold the fishing buoy in my arms and do not swim. I only float quietly.
–Tu Kyaw
FEBRUARY 2, 2009
It was the first day we were attempting a “group interview.” We huddled together in a small room where Jack lives with a friend. Our mood was animated. Rick who had been the most zealous about participating had overslept and just arrived, making for the butt of a lot of jokes. Jack was running around fussing over us, Khine and I, because he was unused to having girls in his room. Khine and I shared our coffees with the boys–they all had been working late in the restaurant yet we had set our gathering for 10 am.
After chatting a bit we settled down and got comfortable with the recorder. I explained what we would talk about and I let each one practice speaking and then hearing their own voice on playback. I opted out of using the external mic because it was more natural not to have to pass it around. We used the internal mic in the recorder, everyone agreed it was better. Then I got “Khine” to speak. At last. 19 year old Khine as fragile and beautiful as a feather. It was not easy for her to tell me and Rick, her co-worker and my translator, that she was afraid to look on as the Burmese junta’s soldiers beat her father—to death. They wanted to know where his son—her brother—was hiding. They did not like that the brother was giving aid to the Karen soldiers, though he himself, Khine insisted, was not a rebel. The father refused to tell his son’s whereabouts no matter how often and how hard the soldier’s blows landed on his head, face, stomach and back. Khine was hiding with her mother and small brother and sister in a closet. They heard the loud voices and the sounds of the punches landing on their father’s body. They heard him fall to the floor, still refusing to speak. They heard the shouting of the soldiers. And then there was silence.
“How did you know your father was dead?” I asked. Rick looked at me, “Go ahead,” I said to him, “translate my question.” Khine looked down, her small delicate fingers gripping tightly to the cuff of her jeans as she sat cross-legged on the floor. Rick asked her in his softest Burmese. I turned up the sound level on the recorder. Khine kept her head down. She said something I did not understand and I waited for Rick to tell me. He looked at me, drew his breath. “She knew her father was dead when she heard the shot. When they were done beating their victims, just to be certain, the junta shoots them in the head.”
Kline did not cry, brave girl, only I, was struggling to hold back the tears. It was a few minutes later when I asked her about her mother that her eyes welled up.
“Where is your mother?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said in English. “The junta came after they killed my father, they took her away to work for them.” And then the tale of how Khine came to Malaysia. The uncle who sent her by herself because her siblings were too young to travel. The truck waiting for them at the thai-burma border. The traffickers who had thick mustaches and who covered their faces with dark glasses so that when I asked her if they were Burmese, Malaysian or thai she did not have an answer. She told me how about 40 burmese were packed into a truck meant to hold 6. And then after many days they made it to Malaysia.
“And that’s it?” I said. I was taking a chance. But I knew Khine had more to say. The journeys smuggling people across borders don’t just go like that. especially not for a young beautiful woman weighing about 85 lbs because she is not even 5 ft tall. “Did any man bother you?” I asked. She looked at me. her shoulders tensed. Her head bowed. A sob. A silent sob. Rick looked down, too.
They had been working together at the restaurant for up to two years now, and having no one else in the country they had become like family to each other, yet no one knew the other’s story; they never discussed things like that.
No one knew Tu Kyaw who had only begun working at the restaurant a year ago though he had fled to Malaysia from burma longer ago then any of them. but one day 5 years ago he was arrested by the Rela here in kuala Lumpur, brought back to the Thai border and sold to an Indonesian fishing boat.
They didn’t know that when Jack hired him last year that Tu Kyaw had just returned to Malaysia from 3 years of slavery, being held captive along with 12 other boys on that boat in the middle of the sea.
They didn’t know how the boys had only raw fish to eat for only 3 years, the rotton fish that they could not sell, no one knew about the dead bodies of boys like Tu Kyaw who didn’t make it that he saw floating in the water or a few times that he found tangled up in their nets. No one knew that for 3 years Tu Kyaw couldn’t cry because if anyone saw him do that they would think he was weak and begin to pick on him. No one at the restaurant knew that one night during a terrible storm the captain and bosses demanded that the boys row the boat nearer to shore. That the captain and boss took amphetamines and gave amphetamines to the boys so that they would all stay up rowing because the boat had no engine. That Tu Kyaw and two others didn’t swallow the drugs so that in 36 hours when the drugs wore off and the other collapsed from exhaustion they were able to strip off their clothes at midnight and each holding a small spherical float in their arms which had been used to help keep the nets from sinking, slipped into the rough waves that eventually carried them to shore. No one at the restaurant knew that Tu Kyaw and the other boys were rescued by a poor Malaysian family, because when they reached shore they could no longer walk.
They only knew Tu Kyaw as one of their Burmese brothers working side by side with them, speaking very little. But everyone who comes into the restaurant cant help but notice Tu Kyaw. A soft spoken very skinny young man with a smile that eclipses his entire body and everything else in a room. The smile distracts one from noticing a strange depth to his gaze and a skinniness in his frame that I don’t think he’ll ever overcome.
But they all have stories. The first one I had heard myself was Jack’s last year, and I was realizing, through these group interviews, that I was the only one who knew it.
Jack, who had become their older brother, their tough and tender manager, in charge of everyone and with a growing apetite for the establishment’s fine French food and wine, none of them knew that their benevolent and sometimes short-tempered manager had been imprisoned and sentenced to solitary confinement by the junta, that he was tortured non-stop for 2 months for teaching human rights to villagers.
They have all escaped something. And what they have in common now, apart from leaving their families behind in a country they may never see again, besides having endured the perils of crossing two borders without papers, besides knowing what it’s like to live under one of the harshest most repressive military regimes in the world, is that now they all live in the same fear that at any moment this new family they have made the comfort and lightness that they have found in this bond with one another could be severed at any moment.
Because any day the Malaysian RELA or police can come and take any one of them away.
Even though they all have UNHCR cards which is supposed to protect them but does not. because to the Malaysian government they are all “illegals”. Without papers. And without rights. but these are things they do not discuss.
So when Rick sits in a room with Kline and I ask her if any man bothered her on the trip across Thailand to Malaysia when she escaped burma and she begins to sob silently he has no idea what is coming. But im sure he has a sense as do i. I know the question is going to cause her pain. I know all my questions are causing all of them a lot of pain. There’s a reason why they don’t know these things about one another. A reason why they don’t speak. but I cast aside those reasons. Silence will not help any of them. and I realize what I have done. I get up from where I sit on the floor across fromKhine. and sit down close beside her. I put my arms around her, hold her as I imagined she has not been held in the two years since she has last seen her mother.
No one says anything. The recorder is still running, it’s red light blinking before us like the eye of a beetle. The clock ticks loudly and Jack pokes his head in the door to see how we are doing. I ask him if he has a tissue. Jack and Tu Kyaw have been waiting in the kitchen because we wanted Kline to have some more privacy in which to tell her story. He brings a tissue to me silently and goes back out. I hand Khine the tissue. My own tears are streaming down my cheeks as I gently rock her in my arms. She takes the tissue and tears it in half. Hands me one half, keeps another for herself. We smile at the generosity of her gesture through our weeping. I kiss her head. Rick and I exchange a soft knowing look. We nod at one another with our eyes. “It’s ok to cry now, Kline, it’s really ok.”
We decide to take a break. Tu Kyaw and Jack enter. Jack, a large young man of 29 lies down on the floor and places his head in Rick’s lap. I have never seen this kind of intimacy between them. the complete affection and lack of inhibition makes us all laugh. Rick says to Jack, “I know you are so sad because it’s your last day of your holiday, the hardest day of all.” Jack nods in agreement. Looks at me. we smile. “What a beautiful family you all have made from working in this restaurant,” I say.
“KZ,” Jack says, “you are our sister. You are our family now, too,” he says this as he picks up pieces of my hair, affectionately, just like he would with a sister.
We make plans for more recording tomorrow. We make plans for a barbeque later next week. We go for lunch together. Kline holding my hand all the way through the crowded rain soaked kuala Lumpur streets. Tu Kyaw and Jack in front laughing and speaking animatedly in Burmese. I remember what each of them has said to me in our one-on-one sessions. No matter how many dreams they have of America. Of Europe. No matter how beautiful the country they are eventually sent to when the UN settles them. no matter how many friends they make and what kind of jobs they get. They will only be biding time in a foreign place. The real dream unfolds when it is finally safe to go back to burma. That can be their only true home.
FEBRUARY 11, 2009
I had just gotten out of the shower and was getting ready for bed at about 1:30 am my cellphone started beeping like crazy.
A flurry of text msgs and missed calls had come in while i was in the shower:
“KZ, Rela and Malaysian police are knocking down doors and arresting people. we are hiding in our rooms.”
“KZ, I was arrested”
“we are all getting arrested they bring us in front of radius hotel”
“come quick”
“call me”
“call me”
“they about take my phone. call me now”
“faster, kz”
“i still across from hotel”
“please come now”
At first I thought it was jack, but then he called me to say he was hiding in his room that the rela (vigalantes in partnership with malaysian police) were outside…i jumped in a cab and went down to the radius hotel where whoever texted me said they were being held. There were about 100 or so refugees all squatted in a small square, the rela and malaysian police had blocked off three streets. I thought william, who had already endured arrests of this type, the last time he was sold into slavery for 3 years, was the one who texted me. I began taking pictures and the rela made me delete them. I got them on audio forcing me to delete the pictures and saying:
“you must delete. delete. delete. We don’t want them[pictures] to end up on foreign tv because it may look like we are harassing and arresting these people [exactly what they were doing], when this is a police operation that your pictures could ‘jeopardize’”.
A few minutes later after the wagons were pulling out I was able to take and save two pictures and the audio of the rela officer telling me all the above is very clear. They hauled off nearly 100 illegal refugees in two paddy wagons. Someone kept texting me: “im arrested, please come” I had jack on the phone and we were yelling at each other trying to figure out who it was and to find out where tu kyaw was. I kept calling his name into the paddy wagons.”tu kyaw. tu kyaw” everyone was staring at me. It was bedlam. It turns out it was rick who was arrested but they let him go, because he has a passport and is legal. They made a red mark on his arm indicating so, a blue mark on the illegal ones arms…we walked around to find jack who left his apt because it wasn’t safe, and was hiding out near the restaurant. The rela began cruising the streets and trying to get into the gates of the apts where the refugees lived. I wanted to take more pics but was afraid they would take the camera or come after jack so we lay back a good distance behind them. They told me the rela would probably raid again in about 2-4 hours, in the middle of the night or early morning. We frantically called the rest of the restaurant “family”: tu kyaw, soe, kline. at first we reached everyone but tu kyaw, whose phone was turned off, a bad sign…we wait most of the night.
.
February 12, 2009
Tu Kyaw was not arrested. He was hiding somewhere and his phone was turned off. the group all chastised him for having his phone “offed.” Back at the restaurant none of the guests knew anything of the night before. They made their same demands: Don’t mix sparkling water with still water; Why do I have to wait 10 minutes at the bar without being served my Chardonnay?; Why do you still not carry the Bordeaux I asked for two weeks ago? I listen to everything and bite my tongue til it nearly bleeds. Later when the restaurant clears out, we roll our eyes and laugh. “These people have such a hard life and work,” Rick says, “It’s my job to make them happy.” …
February 20, 2009
Last night was a rough one. Jack didn’t show up for work and I sensed something was wrong. I received several text messages from him around midnight saying he needed to speak to me right away, yet his phone was turned off. His phone was turned off because he is being watched by the Malaysian police. At the time I didn’t know this. When I was finally able to speak to him a little later in the night he informed me that his dad was arrested yesterday by the burmese junta in burma. The reason: an old girlfriend of Jack’s was supposed to marry a high-ranking soldier. She felt she was in love with Jack so she escaped burma. They are giving him 24 hours to bring her back. They are accusing Jack and Jack’s father of trafficking the girl. It’s a nightmare. I just got off the phone with him. She has been on the run for 5 days with “an agent” and should arrive in KL tomorrow. The sad fact is that I don’t think he wants to marry her and it will spoil his resettlement chances to a large degree as well. more news tomorrow. Im fried.
February 21, 2009
I called Jack on my way to the restaurant. He said his phone was wired and that he would meet me there. When I got there I was greeted by a very upset Tu Kyaw. He said his family was in trouble back in Burma. Why, I asked. He told me that Jack’s girlfriend had hid in their home on her way to the Burmese Thai border. Somehow the military found out and they were now threatened with arrest as well. When Jack showed up he had dark circles under his eyes. His face was drawn and his clothes were rumpled. Not at all like he usually looks when he arrives to work. He told me things were worse than last night. He said he has now received phone threats from both the Junta and the Malaysian police. He said someone said he is being watched and that he is accused of human trafficking. He also told me they said they knew he went to Cameroon Highlands with an American woman (that would be me). His brother arrived and he asked if I would go with them to speak to the girl’s father. First Jack’s brother called the girl’s sister to plead for the father’s address. He told her Jack had nothing to do with her coming to Malaysia and that they would return her to Burma at once. I told Jack this last night and he said when he spoke to her on the phone he told her she had to go back, that his father had been arrested. She cried in protest saying she would not go, that she had just risked her life to come to KL and be with him. In the end we decided it was better if I didn’t go to see the girl’s father. It may anger him and jeopardize my radio project. I am nervously awaiting their call to see how it went.
February 21, 2009–Evening
Jack finally got in touch with me late afternoon. The phone kept cutting out so it was difficult for me to ascertain exactly what was happening. He and his brother had gone into hiding. The girl was arrested at the border and we do not know where she was taken. Burmese gangsters have been calling Jack and telling him he has to divulge the girl’s whereabouts or he will be deported back to Burma, where he probably faces life imprisonment. If not just for the bogus trafficking charge but for having been a political dissident and human rights advocate when he was living there. I do not know what is happening with his father. I asked if he wanted me to get the US Embassy involved but he said it would only further anger the Burmese who are working for the junta. He is afraid to go outside right now. He is afraid to tell me too much on the phone because he is sure his phone is tapped. I can do nothing but wait. Even if he were to call me now, I’m not certain what i could do. To be picked up by the Malaysian RELA or police is one thing. To be picked up by Burmese thugs working for the Burmese government is something altogether different. I doubt even the UNHCR can help him in that regard, unless we can keep him safe for a few days for an immediate resettlement. These are my thoughts now. Ive not finished the documentary and have a few more interviews with officials and advocacy people. and of course the monstrous task of the edit. I wonder if Jack will be here when I’m through. He was the reason i came in the first place. My heart is full of rocks. Despite their weight, they are trembling.
February 24
Jack so far is ok. The girl has been arrested at the border. It is not a good situation for her to say the least. The best chance they have is for her to be sold to traffickers. In this way they can purchase her freedom. His father has been let go. He now fears for his own safety but that fear is eclipsed by the worry for hers. To be sure, she is the one most at risk at the moment. ive done all i can and now i must step back. I spent Monday afternoon at the UNHCR office to see if i could get her some help. I was not successful on that account and in the end Jack was fearful that bringing in the UNHCR would jeopardize their ability to free her from the authorities if the possibility exists of buying her way out.
On a bright note i did see one thing at their offices: two burmese families wheeling in suitcases with american cities markered on their sides: indianapolis, indiana USA; nashville, tennessee USA. I swear my eyes filled. A strong wave of emotion passed through me and caught me wholly by surprise. This is the end they are all striving toward, short of freedom in burma that is…Such extremes ive become privy to these last days.
February 25
Today I interviewed an incredible woman: irene fernandez who runs an NGO called Tenaganita. Google her: she’s quite remarkable. She is the most visible and loudest voice for migrants and refugees in malaysia. She was arrested in the mid 90s for “maliciously publishing false news” through the issue of a memorandum entitled, “Abuse, Torture and Dehumanised Treatment of Migrant Workers at the Detention Camps“ and was not acquitted until late last year. I have been using the text of her book: The Revolving Door: Modern Day Slavery Refugees as my guide. She spoke to my recorder for 30 minutes and it is all there. Everything I needed someone to say. Monday im interviewing the head of UNHCR here. He’s supposed to be a decent guy. UNHCR is in a tough position, they are here by invitation. The malaysian govt is not so dissimilar to the burmese regime. shades of black separate them. no grey. There is no light to make grey.
February 26
A friend has warned me to be on the look out for spies. He told me exactly what to look out for and sent me a photo even. I remembered when i showed Jack my photos of Burma just after the protests and he looked at one and exclaimed: KZ you were being watched. that man is a spy. clean white shirt, dark pressed lungyi and the little tan bag where he has handcuffs inside. yesterday i looked at that photo again. the man matched my friends description of what to look out for here, in the malaysian context. a shiver ran up my spine as i remembered a man approaching me out of nowhere on the food hawker street near my hotel. he struck up a conversation and his features, too, matched those im told to look out for. i hate to advocate stereotypes but in the case of informants working for some of the darkest governances in the world it’s a not so guilty pleasure.
burmese spy for the junta watches me at the sacred shwedagon pagoda
irene wants to meet tu kyaw, the young man who was sold to traffickers by the malaysian immigration when he didnt have the money needed to pay them off. as a result he spent 3 years as a slave on the fishing trawler. She made quite a point of telling me this and so i wonder if she’s able to help his case. That alone would be tremendous and make everything im doing worthwhile. Because to tell you the truth lately ive wanted to throw it all into the humid night and run as fast and far as my lungs might take me. luckily —so far anyway–the moment passes.
March 5
Yesterday i spent at the Arakanese Community Center. i was brought there by Rick. The Arakanese are one of many ethnic groups from Burma. Earlier I also visited the centers for other groups: The Chin, The Mon, and the Karen. these centers offer temporary shelter for refugees without a place to live. also for refugees coming from other parts of Malaysia for their interview with UNHCR. the centers are the heart of UNHCR outreach programs. the community leaders meet with UNHCR officials and through them the resources available to refugees albeit limited are disseminated.
at the Arakanese Center i sat in on a phone call to an Indonesian detention camp official. one burmese refugee who was part of the Arakanese community was arrested by the Rela and sent to detention despite having a UNHCR card. he was then sold to traffickers at the Thai border who sold him to a fishing trawler. he was on that trawler for two years. he witnessed several young men like himself shot on the fishing boat when they could not perform their duties due to illness. after witnessing one of these killings he escaped one night and ended up on a shore of Indonesia. he was arrested immediately by indonesian officials. he has been held in a detention camp in indonesia for one year now and just yesterday managed to get a hold of an officer’s cellphone to make a call to the Arakanese community center here in kuala lumpur. we called back that number and was told by the official that there were no burmese refugees in his prison, only migrant fishermen. it is vital that the UNHCR counterpart in Indonesia pay a visit to this man and register him. this is his only hope.
Aung Nyi, a young Arakenese man from Burma, has been arrested twice by the Malaysia authorities. The last time, after a period of detention, he was being brought to the Traffickers by Malaysian officials. The Thai authorities began to shoot at the group and he and another refugee ran into the jungle. They lived there without food or water for one week before being rescued when they approached a taxi driver who helped them. He shows me his UNHCR card, which he had to apply for all over again after he came back to KL. Each time a refugee is arrested and has his UNHCR card confiscated (torn up in front of the refugee often with a snicker by the Malaysian officials) they have to re-apply for a new card. they are put at the back of the queue for resettlement. some of them had already been waiting for up to two years before they were arrested and forced to restart the lengthy process. there is no protection that they will not experience the same cycle of arrest, detention, trafficking.
One man at the center was lying on the floor next to his mat. he seemed oblivious to what was going on around him. i was told that he was dying of HIV Aids and also Tuberculosis. the local hospitals would not treat him because he was a refugee with no money. he had no where to go but to this center. the center admitted to me it was a problem because if he were to die there, which is very likely he will within a month, they will be in trouble with the authorities if they are seen taking out the body. the center is not zoned for residence and could be shut down. if the police go inside they will all be at risk of arrest.