Let's talk about Sox, baby

Let’s talk about Sox, baby
By David Calleja 22 Dec, 2010 Welcome to the Holy Grail for Boston's baseball fanatics.
In the front office of Fenway Park, home of the Boston Red Sox, Barney (not his real name) is standing in front of me. He is a large, oafish man in his early fifties who possesses a hearty laugh and friendly smile, not too dissimilar to the late John Candy’s lovable character Uncle Buck in the 1989 film of the same name. I would learn that Barney’s first marriage ended in divorce after 15 years, one which he says interfered with his lifelong love, the Boston Red Sox. “It’s hard to be married and not cheat by seeing a sweetheart who has stuck by me throughout all these years without asking for anything more than my company,” referring to his number one team. Being forced to choose between favourite team and domestic bliss presents an awkward dilemma for male sports lovers, and some habits are hard to break. “My Dad arranged my marriage with the Red Sox. He took me to my first game when I was a kid. One of the first pieces of advice he gave to me was, ‘Be faithful to this lot no matter what you go through in life.’ Over the years, it has taken a lot out of me, but when you love something or someone so much, money becomes no object.” I asked him what led to the end of his first marriage. “That’s easy,” Barney said to me. “The 1986 World Series, Game 6.” Raising my eyebrow, I let him elaborate further. “When I got married the first time, my wife told me that she supported the New York Mets. I didn’t particularly like it, but for me it was the lesser of two evils because at least it was not the New York Yankees. However, when the ball went through Bill Buckner’s legs at first (base), which led to the Mets scoring the winning run, she changed. For her, the Mets winning was like a rite of passage to mock every single thing that I did. From that moment, our marriage started to fall apart.” After the stock market crash of 1987 hit Wall Street, Barney lost thousands of dollars in investments, as well as his job. One of the first decisions he made was to sacrifice his baseball attendance for the sake of saving money, instead watching games on television. He missed the atmosphere and magic associated with being in the stands. “Eventually, she confessed that she was not a Mets fan, but a New York Yankees fan. Considering everything else I had been through, hearing this was like having a final pile of horse manure being dumped on my head. I didn’t care about Game 6, about the name-calling, and even her admission about having a fling on the side when our marriage was on the rocks. But gees, a Yankees fan going undercover just to get under my skin was too much. She said I was cursed with bad luck, like my baseball team. Eventually she decided that the only way she could fix everything was to leave. So we parted company.” Barney admitted that it upset him for a while and it put him off finding Miss Right. “I promised myself that I would only marry again when Boston won another World Series. Back in the 1990s, it was a safe bet that I would remain a bachelor forever.” Then in 2002, he went on a double date with a work colleague who fixed him up. “My first question to her was, ‘Are you a Boston Red Sox member or fan?’ When she said yes, I said, ‘prove it.’ She did, and we got married in 2005.” Unconditional love and passion are traits readily associated with the Boston Red Sox fans. They have even been the subject of a reality television dating show, Sox Appeal, where devotees step up to the plate for a chance to increase their average and find true love, like speed dating at the ball park. Boston’s global legion of fans, known as Red Sox Nation, extends to countries as diverse as Brazil, South Africa, Australia, Israel, China and Albania. It is said that a true supporter sticks by their team through thick and thin, and in Boston’s case, for too many years, patience was more of a curse rather than a virtue; an 86-year old drought between World Series victories known as The Curse of the Bambino (second to the Chicago Cubs current winless streak of 102 years). The curse, allegedly placed on Boston following the decision of Red Sox owner Harry Frazee to sell Babe Ruth to the New York Yankees. Following his debut in 1920, Ruth would be part of a line-up that won the World Series 4 times. In that same period, Boston won nothing. For decades thereafter, whenever Boston failed, the curse seemed to come to life. Exact details of the curse’s origins and legitimacy have been covered by a number of baseball analysts and are prevalent in popular culture, with Leigh Montville writing about it in his 2006 book The Big Bam: The Life and Times of Babe Ruth. There is an attraction to supporting the underdog, whether in fiction or real life. Neutrals love an unfashionable winner; witness Rocky Balboa overcoming insurmountable odds to defeat Ivan Drago in Rocky IV, or the ‘Crazy Gang’ of Wimbledon, led by Vinnie Jones, beating the all-conquering Liverpool in the 1988 English F.A. Cup thanks to goalkeeper Dave Beasant saving a late penalty from John Aldridge. There is something addictive about the sweet taste of success, but to fully enjoy this euphoria, you need to be a loyal fan, and devotion is a quality in abundance amongst the Fenway Park faithful. This probably explains how I found myself in Boston, eager to view this piece of sporting legend, standing behind Barney in the queue. Suddenly his mobile phone rang. In an attempt to take the phone out of his pocket, Barney dropped his membership renewal bill. It landed by his feet. I bent down and grabbed it as quickly as I could, hoping that it would reap rewards in the form of a free ticket. “Excuse me, mate,” I said. “You dropped this.” He nodded at me appreciatively without losing track of his phone conversation, looked at the bill and clutched it tightly in his spare hand along with his credit card. After he terminated his call and put the phone back in his pocket, he turned around. “Do I detect an accent?” he added. I told him that I was from Australia, visiting the city for a few days. “Well, I’ll be – a kangaroo shagger. Sorry to say, but you picked the wrong time to visit us here in Boston. The weather is lousy and it’s off-season. We also failed to beat Tampa Bay and get the pennant. In the last 12 months, we went from being World Series winners to nothing. I paid $31,000 a season to see the Red Sox lose the American League to a bunch of cow-bell ringers.” ‘Did he just say $31,000? That’s insane,’ I thought. “Are your seats covered in gold?” Barney gave me a hefty laugh. “Not quite. What brings you to Boston anyway? If you’re a Yankees supporter, this is the last place you should be.” I explained to Barney with a child-like innocence that I had spent only a day in New York City and had to take the bus from there to get to Boston for a five-day visit. I also mentioned about seeing Washington D.C. He accepted my answer. “What do you think of our nation’s capital? It’s an exciting place, right?” “A bit bland,” I replied. “A boring place for boring people – that’s Washington for you.” “You mentioned something about a $31,000 membership bill,” I said. “Oh yeah. I have 6 seats which I share amongst 15 friends during the season. Since my job involves travelling across the country, I find myself giving tickets away a few times during the season. Everybody chips in a few dollars for the membership, like a syndicate. I have three really good seats and three next to the Green Monster. You will learn about the Monster when you see the place." “How do you decide who gets tickets to the play-offs? Do you have a competition amongst your friends, like in Survivor?” I asked. He laughed heartily. “I might start doing that, but usually it’s first come, first served. Of course, they don’t get them for free. Sometimes they do favours for me.” “Re-tiling your roof?” I chimed in. “Nope, usually stuff that is done throughout the year. Of course, big favours do help,” he said with a grin. I immediately jotted down my first idea, ‘get Australian visa’. That should earn me some good seats. When I mentioned The Curse of the Bambino, Barney laughed it off and told me what he said was a more accurate description of what the Red Sox meant to him. “Before 2004, generations of families in Boston had become used to the Red Sox missing out on so many occasions. It got to the point where we did not want to make it to the World Series.” Barney went into considerable detail about just how deep baseball ran in his family. Every October when he was young, he said, his father would call the family around the dinner table and tell everyone to get supplies and enact their survival strategy; that is, head for the basement. “Dad would say for a joke, ‘The Red Sox are going for the pennant – let’s go down to the attic, and don’t come out until a week after Boston has been beaten.’” Did he follow these same instructions in 2004, the year that the Red Sox famously broke their drought? “No, I watched the whole thing with my missus, our kids and Dad. He is in his eighties now. We talked about the drill and nowadays it seems funny, but we used to get a lot of stick from New York Yankees fans and we honestly thought we were cursed forever. Then the day we beat St. Louis, it was unbelievable.” Pausing for a moment, he went on. “For us, waking up the following day and reading that we had won the World Series, just did not seem real.” If the world had ended the following day, Barney said, he would have left the planet a happy man seeing the Red Sox win a World Series in his lifetime. “There were parties in the streets. Families flocked to cemeteries and visited their grandparents’ tombstones and just spent time talking about what happened to their grandfathers or grandmas,” Barney said. “Sons and grandsons gave thanks to giving birth to them and re-lived the thrill of watching Boston winning the World Series. All I can remember saying is, ‘We did it, the curse is gone. I wish you were here to see it with me, Pops.’” “What happened if Fenway Park had been closed down and relocated?” I asked. “The owners tried a few years ago, but a petition went up to save Fenway Park. For us this is a sacred spot. It’s our home. You can’t just build a new Green Monster or a new Fenway Park somewhere else in Boston.” Putting his index finger on the amount owing, he continued, waving his bill. “Well, you see this? This $31,000 bill is my ticket to attend this site where we stand right now. This ground is where I attended games as a kid with my Dad, it is where I bring my kids, and it is where they will continue to bring their children for as long as the Boston Red Sox exist.” With that, we said our goodbyes. One hour later, I commenced my tour of Fenway Park. Our guide promised us “the ride of their lives.” The thing is, however, I had already learnt so much from one devoted member. “Forget everything you know about New York Yankees and all of their success; history starts at Fenway Park,” our guide began. “By 1918, we had won 5 World Series championships and that obscure team to the south still had not opened their account. From now on, I will refer to the New York Yankees as The Evil Empire. D’yall understand?” “Yes,” everybody said in unison. “I can’t hear you!” “YES!” we shouted back emphatically like a drilled army unit. “What’s that other team we hate called?” “THE EVIL EMPIRE!” we all shouted in unison, which the guide decided was good enough, so the show could commence. “Here’s a brief history. In 1918, the Boston Red Sox decided that due to being so awesome, we would take an 86 year break from winning and let The Evil Empire (queue imitation of a spit denoting disgust at mentioning the Yankees’ name) win a few, just so they could stop whinging about everything that they do,” she continued. “Y’know what they talk about – bad traffic, overcrowded subways and streets, bad kawfee (sic), and anything else worth complaining about. But then we woke up and pulled off the greatest comeback in baseball history.” It's been a long time between drinks, but the sweet taste of success was worth it, say Red Sox fans. With a single click, highlights of the 2004 American League Championship League (ALCS) started playing. Our guide acted like a narrator, taking us through the emotions of what it was like to be a Red Sox fan 3 games down to the Evil Empire and facing immediate and inglorious elimination. With each subsequent victory, however, her husky voice changed, reflecting the elation of pulling off the near-impossible. By the time the last play of Game 7 had been called, I thought we were all expected to jump out of the glass window to celebrate. Nobody needed reminding of the results of the subsequent World Series in 2004, which Boston ultimately won; just a sentence from our guide saying that “Boston were back and loved the feeling of success so much, they repeated the achievement in 2007.” When it came to the subject of dealing with the Bambino’s Curse, the explanation was simple. “Have you ever heard of a Broadway show called No, No, Nanette?” When none of us answered, she said, “Good. That is how much attention it deserves.” The speech then mentioned a few things about the owners’ commitment that Fenway Park would remain in its current location, but was in the midst of a facelift to enhance the experience for fans and guarantee that the rich traditions built over nearly 100 years would not be lost. Laughing off The Curse of the Bambino is a part of this tradition. My visit was not discovering about facts, statistics and fixtures; it was about meeting the Barneys who epitomise the spirit of a true sports fan. Any team can put together an impressive run of victories and claim bragging rights, but it takes an eternity to craft a legion of fans whose faith will never waiver in the face of adversity. In this city, Fenway Park is the temple, and the Boston Red Sox are the knights of Camelot that will soon deliver the Holy Grail known as the World Series once again. Copyright © 2010 David Calleja

Let's talk about Sox, baby

Challenges facing Burma with the release of Aung San Suu Kyi

Challenges facing Burma with the release of Aung San Suu Kyi

4 December 2010

http://www.foreignpolicyjournal.com/2010/12/04/challenges-facing-burma-with-the-release-of-aung-san-suu-kyi/

In Charlie Chaplin’s satirical look at World War 2, The Great Dictator, the comic genius lampoons Adolf Hitler in his memorable role as Adenoid Hynkel, leader of the Double Cross. More touching, however, is his character of a Jewish barber fleeing a German concentration camp for the Austrian border and getting mistaken as Hynkel. Refusing the title of emperor, all he wants is peace and an end to unnecessary fighting. His impassioned plea of asking everybody to stop fighting is not only a cinematic masterstroke for its time, but is still relevant today. Chaplin’s final call for everybody to lay down their arms for the true meaning of democracy is moving.

Wouldn’t it be great if such a storyline could be replicated so that a country like Burma could be rid of its tyrants and dictators? Imagine the country’s military leaders and armed forces agreeing to lay down their arms for the sake of peace, and begin talking openly with monks, civilians, and political opponents — particularly the recently freed Aung San Suu Kyi — about developing a real framework for democracy; one acceptable to all Burmese, where the constitution would allow for the military to serve Burma in the spirit intended by the nation’s founding father of independence, General Aung San, rather than have the national army fighting several wars at once with its own people. If Senior-General Than Shwe would take the time to watch The Great Dictator, he may just learn something about the consequences of his vanity and obsession with ruling with an iron fist.

Burma is a land with resolute, friendly residents who can do little more than watch as their once bountiful lands are stripped bare of its natural resources. Its ‘new’ parliament will be dominated by the pro-military Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP) after their emphatic victory in farcical circumstances, claiming more than 75 per cent of the votes.[1] The few parties representing ethnic minorities will not be able to forge an effective alliance, although the possibility of the USDP courting an ethnic party for token representation may yet still arise. A quarter of the seats in Burma’s parliament are reserved for the military, where a minimum of 75 per cent parliamentary majority must be secured for any changes to the constitution must be made. Yet there is one voice of hope that gives us all something to savor – the release of Aung San Suu Kyi on November 12.

We are all likely to have seen images beamed live around the world showing her supporters flocking to the gates of her residence in Rangoon, ready to hear the address of a woman they had been denied for so long. But at the same time she is aware of the threat posed by the military, with spies watching her every move. One guarantee is that Aung San Suu Kyi does not get fazed easily; she has a job to do and she will complete it. Her message for the crowd was to be brave and work together to achieve positive change, for she could not do it alone. The atmosphere surrounding her arrival, coupled with the massive weight of expectation, was a sight not seen since Nelson Mandela’s inaugural speech in Cape Town in 1990 following his release after 26 years imprisonment jail sentence. Like Nelson Mandela, Aung San Suu Kyi is a wonderful orator, eloquent, brave and inspiring.

As much as we would like to think, Aung San Suu Kyi’s release from detention is not a “Mandela moment.” Firstly, the path to a true democracy in Burma has not been established. The military leadership’s “discipline-flourishing democracy” is little more than a smokescreen for their plans to remain in power. Individuals who have borne the brunt of poverty and suffering for enough years can easily tell the difference between window dressing and genuine reform. In South Africa, President F.W. De Klerk accepted the reality that black majority rule would eventuate, and negotiated for changes that went beyond window dressing. Secondly, the apartheid policy discrimination in South Africa had clearly segregated individuals along the clear lines of race, making it more obvious as to what laws needed redressing. Aung San Suu Kyi herself noted, “it is Burmese discriminating and oppressing Burmese.”[2]

In declaring her number 75 in their annual Top 100 Global Thinkers List, Foreign Policy noted that following her release, “(Aung San Suu Kyi) made a remarkably levelheaded call for long-term reform of the sort that comes from within: “value change,” as she put it, “not regime change.”[3] This reflects the need for Burma and the rest of the world to take a deep breath, consult, and then get on with the job without resting on laurels. Like her father General Aung San, she is a leader who speaks of political unity and who speaks of Burma’s people like a large family, while recognizing the sensitivities facing ethnic minorities who have suffered immensely as a result of the junta’s war against them. The world’s longest ongoing civil war, between the junta and the Karen National Union (KNU) shows no sign of stopping, human rights abuses against the Shan people continue to occur at an alarming rate, and the Rohingya people in Arakan State are discriminated against as a consequence of not being allowed citizenship rights. Most of the estimated 200,000 Rohingya population in neighboring Bangladeshi camps such as Chittagong and Cox’s Bazaar Plaza are undocumented[4] and would only consider returning if Aung San Suu Kyi were leader of Burma, for they chances of more equitable treatment would be higher than compared to living under the military junta.

In an era where the fast dissemination of news and exiled communities transport details quickly, Aung San Suu Kyi finds herself speaking for the voiceless and stateless. She has lost none of her poise, eloquence and charm to inspire ordinary Burmese civilians and leaders worldwide. Her release comes at a time where multimedia and Internet technology is as its peak and will only continue to grow. This is an opportunity to spread her message calling for cooperation from all sides even further; to the Pentagon,

10 Downing Street

, and to the United Nations Security Council. What defines Aung San Suu Kyi as a visionary is her willingness to embrace new ideas from those who have known freedom during her incarceration, new ways to reach out to the younger generation, all the while keeping to her core message of working together for a common goal – achieving democracy without violence.[5] With the simple message of working together, she brings the international community into focus reminds to be part of a force for democracy, peace, reconciliation and genuine change; and it needs a peaceful army of millions, for one person cannot be so influential. She has extended this message of friendship to the military regime who kept her in house detention for 16 of the last 21 years. In an exclusive speech to the Washington D.C.-based periodical Foreign Policy, Aung San Suu Kyi added that her idea was not a new one but rather one as old as humanity itself – “working together to improve any situation”[6]. This will mean re-registering the National League for Democracy and having the right to investigate concerns about the electoral process. This is where the political will of the new administration will be tested. When asked what question she would pose to Senior-General Than Shwe, Burma’s reclusive military leader, Aung San Suu Kyi simply replied, “it would be good if we could talk to each other.”[7]

So how will the new administration respond? Will they play mind games or accept the invitation? In the days leading up to her release, USDP secretary-general U Htay Oo reportedly said that the military wants ”to co-operate (with the NLD and Aung San Suu Kyi) for the betterment of our country,”[8]. These words, while not a direct endorsement of for an all-inclusive roundtable discussion, at first glance appear to be the most positive statement delivered in some time. However, nothing has been heard from Senior-General Than Shwe on the matter, a man who seethes at the mention of Aung San Suu Kyi’s name and has never fully explained why. It is not clear whether his feelings are shared by the USDP or indeed other members of the military. Regardless of their personal feelings towards Aung San Suu Kyi, it will not stop officials from harassing civilians, in particular the most at risk, as typified by the recent targeting of HIV/AIDS patients at a clinic on Rangoon’s outskirts.

Just one day after Aung San Suu Kyi’s visit to a health clinic highlighting the need to give greater attention to the issue of HIV/AIDS in Burma, authorities ordered the facilities to close and threatened residents and staff with eviction. Upon the surfacing of details that the clinic’s owner, Phyu Phyu Tin, was a colleague of Aung San Suu Kyi’s in the National League for Democracy, came calls of “political” motivation for the center’s closure. After international exposure, authorities relented, saying that the residents could stay on. This incident has become a source of embarrassment, for it demonstrates just how out of touch authorities are. The World Health Organization (WHO) have named Burma as one of 11 countries deemed “worst-affected” by HIV/AIDS, where 0.5 per cent of government spending is allocated for health care.[9] What does this say about the authorities’ attitude towards vulnerable people?  More importantly, what will become of the patients once they have moved? They will be added to the growing list of Burma’s forgotten people, whose lives will slip through the cracks of ill-equipped and understaffed government-run hospitals.

Despite all of this, the junta has failed to dampen her willingness and enthusiasm, and the joy of watching Aung San Suu Kyi undertake the role she undoubtedly misses the most; as a mother. One of the more wonderful moments since Aung San Suu Kyi’s freedom is the time she has spent catching up with her youngest son, Kim Aris. Mizzima Television showed footage of mother and son taking a stroll through Bogyoke (General) Aung San Market in downtown Rangoon last Monday, with hundreds or thousands of onlookers cheering her every step. In one poignant moment, a woman greeting Aung San Suu Kyi to fulfil a lifelong dream of meeting her idol, could not be spoiled even with the presence of the sign “Government Registered Jewelry Shop”, a sign that the presence of government is unshakable in Rangoon.[10] But this cannot take the gloss off the 5 minute visit that traders and customers alike, living in fear for so long, will treasure forever. In a world of political scandals, public relations stunts and seemingly pre-scripted interest by politicians worldwide, this one bit of footage is a reminder of what politics should really be about; connecting with the people.

Aung San Suu Kyi is regarded in a light that most leaders in western countries dare dream of. This is because she cares genuinely for the people who have stayed loyal to her, without casting aside anybody who has made life difficult. Her vision is simple; a peaceful, democratic and fair Burma where restoring the country’s past does not involve the use of force. The time has come to end this ongoing bickering, which innocent residents pay the ultimate price for. The ban on the National League for Democracy must be lifted so that representatives of Burma’s diverse community can hear what each other has to say without bias or fear. Aung San Suu Kyi needs to be present simply because she will always be the voice of hope, one that adds weight to the drive for national reconciliation and peace. And if the new administration really wants to, they can become part of a force of good and not evil by adhering to the words mentioned in The Great Dictator’s closing speech.

Notes
[1] Democratic Voice of Burma, Final election results announced, 18 November 2010, http://www.dvb.no/elections/final-election-results-announced/12942 Viewed on 21 November 2010.

[2] Doherty, B. (2010), Change to come from the people, The Age, Saturday 20 November 2010,  http://www.theage.com.au/world/change-to–come-from-the-people-20101119-18131.html Accessed 22 November 2010.

[3] Ibid

[4] Thai Burma Border Consortium, Burmese border refugee sites with population figures: September 2010 – http://www.tbbc.org/camps/2010-09-sep-map-tbbc-unhcr.pdf, Viewed on 20 November 2010

[5] Foreign Policy Top 100 Global Thinkers, December 2010, http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2010/11/29/the_fp_top_100_global_thinkers?page=0,42 Viewed on 1 December 2010.

[6] Ibid

[7] Interview with Zoe Daniel, Aung San Suu Kyi thanks Australia, ABC Radio – A.M. WITH TONY EASTLEY, Monday 15 November 2010, 8.03am AEST,   http://www.abc.net.au/am/content/2010/s3066062.htm Viewed on 28 November 2010.

[8] Davies, J., Uneasy Burma awaits Suu Kyi, The Age, 9 November 2010,  http://www.theage.com.au/world/uneasy-burma-awaits-suu-kyi-20101108-17kgr.html Viewed on 18 November 2010.

[9] Kaew, Nang Khem and Wade, F., Children ‘most at risk’ from HIV/AIDS, Democratic Voice of Burma, 1 December 2010, http://www.dvb.no/news/children-%e2%80%98most-at-threat%e2%80%99-from-hivaids/13161 Viewed on 1 December 2010.

[10] Mizzima Television, Aung San Suu Kyi and her son take a stroll through Bogyoke Market, 30 November 2010, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=juFKtLSLrgg, Accessed 1 December 2010.

Challenges facing Burma with the release of Aung San Suu Kyi

From soldier to motorcycle guide in modern Vietnam

From soldier to motorcycle guide in modern Vietnam 

By David Calleja, 21 Dec, 2008

 http://www.foreignpolicyjournal.com/2008/12/21/former-vietnamese-soldier-shares-his-war-stories-for-friendship/

From the roadside on a hilltop overlooking a cornfield and a disused bridge with a large gap in the middle that once linked the two ends, Van's face grew serious as he transformed from being a professional motorcycle guide and historian to a soldier recreating a bloody battlefield in the 1970s, following the withdrawal of American forces from Vietnam. He was a young man fighting for the U.S. backed Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN), defending against the National Liberation Forces of South Vietnam, or the Viet Cong.   

"The bridge you see over there," he started, simultaneously pointing to my left and gesturing to the structure approximately 300 metres away, "is Phu Yao Bridge. It was destroyed by North Vietnam bomb during the war. I was in a battle here once, a very big fight that went for 3 days. Sometimes I still hear the shelling at night when I am sleeping and I wake up thinking I am still in combat."  

"What did the fields look like back then?" I asked.  

"You see the corn fields ahead," Van continued, "no crops existed back when I fought here. It was all bare earth and surrounded by landmines, and we were caught in the middle of a Viet Cong ambush."  When I quizzed Van as to whether he was caught on the same grounds when the attack started, he elaborated further.  

"I was platoon leader. Initially I was stationed in the bunker with my troops 200 metres from the bridge, but when the fighting started, my job was to get to the tower, take cover and fire my bazooka at the enemy. I simply wanted to kill as many of them as possible." Van averted my eyes to a bullet riddled brick structure that was partially destroyed, but like many relics from the Vietnam War era, is still standing. The government, in its attempt to provide a living history lesson as well as attract the tourist dollars from visitors flocking to the country, sees the benefits from cashing in on the legacy of the country's bloody civil conflict that killed millions of Vietnamese, as well as instilling national pride and simultaneously reminding the world of Vietnam's resilience.  

"The enemy were approaching from the Cambodian jungle where they had sought refuge. Most of my soldiers were stranded following a siege as part of the Phu Yao insurgence, so my job was to rescue as many ARVN guys as possible, and drive the Viet Cong away."

“Did it work? How many enemy soldiers did you kill?" I chimed in.  

Phu Ya Bridge (Photo: David Calleja)

"Yes it worked, and I did shoot enemy fighters during battle. But when you are in a life-or-death situation and you want to avoid being hit, numbers and logic do not matter. You just want to survive." Van told me. Around 200 men were killed in the battle.  

 

While I stopped to take some pictures of the original bridge, Van told me about his life as a soldier and the aftermath of war in his shoes. After finishing school at 17, he enlisted with the South Vietnamese or Republican Forces, and backed by the Americans, served a number of years as a soldier and marine in the Central and South Central highlands. He was also stationed on Vietnam's central coast, stretching all the way up to the former Demilitarised Zone (DMZ). 

Once the war ended in 1975 after Saigon fell, Van was arrested and served time inside a concentration camp, toiling for long hours on the farm during the day. For 3 years, Van was surrounded by barbed wire and along with other Prisoners of War (POWs) attended nightly re-education classes designed to remove any existing prejudice Van had previously held about the reunification of a socialist Vietnam.   

Van admits to frequently being tortured during his term of imprisonment but chose to remain silent when it came to diverging specific details, stating that it was standard for everybody to undergo some form of punishment before reconciliation. Upon completing his full sentence, he continued to farm under the close eye of Communist Party officials for a further 5 years, but in 1992, Vietnam re-integrated with the international community. Employment prospects were limited, so Van decided to ride motorcycles and earn an income by transporting residents within and around Dalat. However, he was banned from contacting and maintaining friendships with foreigners for many years.  

Along with a handful of other war veterans, Van became one of the founding members of Easy Riders in 1998. Free Riders are a group of freelance motorcyclists offering a personalised method of viewing, interacting with and breathing in Vietnam, its language, culture and people. Van sees his war legacy experience as a positive attribute, and uses his knowledge to take tourists and give them a first-hand account of life in Vietnam.

"There are many people who claim to be an Easy Rider member but I know who the fakes are." Van says. "They don't have uniforms, registered identity cards or the memories and nightmares of what we endured. We are a brotherhood. Some of the pretenders are either scammers or new recruits in the police force. The young officers are actively encouraged to join in by their superiors, and younger officers do not disobey orders if they wish to advance their career and get a higher ranking in the force."  

"Is it because they can also get a second income?" I asked.  

"Yes, but it means that any individual looking suspicious can be watched closely." added Van. This is especially applicable in the northern part of the country where some suspicion of outsiders is still apparent years after the war reached its completion.  

Later in the day, after riding through the South Central Highlands for several hours and passing vast lands of rice fields and tea plantations, we stopped at a war memorial honouring fallen Vietnamese soldiers who had died defending their land and beliefs by fighting the French, America and their allies, and each other between 1954 and 1975. Fifteen million Vietnamese soldiers died in this 21 year period. "The government got all of the bodies that they found after the war and dumped them in one grave site,'' Van told me after I had returned from climbing the hill, passing the graves and taking some time to pause at a giant silver coloured lotus flower statue and reflect on the legacy of numerous battles played out on Vietnamese soil.     

Speaking with Van gave me a deeper appreciation of the experiences of Vietnamese people who lived through an environment and whose vision centred around getting through battlefields and being appreciative of surviving each day, let alone dreaming of their futures in a post-war scenario that seemed distant. His manner of re-telling war stories was calm, measured and rarely animated, and the way he would conclude his lessons with emphasising how everyone learnt to forget about hatred of ideological differences for the sake of the country, seemed to reflect thoughts I held about the pride Vietnamese felt in overcoming adversity and getting on with life.   

But Van also shared the darker side of the military life, and pointed out that intense rivalries between allied soldiers fighting on the same side in territory safe from incoming raids and gunfire could be as damaging as being in the line of fire during combat.

“I was in a bar one time drinking with my platoon. There were American and South Korean soldiers present too.” Van told me. “They were belittling us Vietnamese, saying that we were poorer soldiers because we did not get paid as much money as them. In the beginning, I stayed calm and just ignored them, but then the U.S. soldiers started pointing me out. I wanted to go after them because they were saying demeaning things about Vietnamese people."  

For the first time, I noticed an increase in his voice's intensity and he closed his eyes, flashing back to the exact moment. "One guy started bragging that our women were dirty whores. Some of his platoon joined in, and then it became a competition about how many women they could have sex with in one night. Then four or five Americans came over and wanted to fight me."   I was beginning to sense a climax but what happened took me completely by surprise.   Van cleared his throat, and raised the tone in his voice.

"Suddenly I had enough. I could not hold myself back any longer. From my weapons stock, I pulled out a hand grenade and took out the pin. All the American and Korean soldiers started screaming and ran out of the bar when I started counting. Four of my own men held me down and then frantically worked to put the pin back in the grenade before the 7 seconds were up. Otherwise, it would have exploded.”  

Van admitted that he remained mad for a long time after the incident and it took him a long time to finally resolve his personal issues related to fighting in the war. Vietnam lost many fine men, but he lost many friends.  

His final admission about life during conflict stuck with me long after I left Vietnam. "War reduces the humanity in us, and it is even worse when you are fighting against your own countrymen because they see things a little differently than you do. Back then I was an angry young man and truly believed that these people I was fighting against were not like me, they were evil."   I asked him about his modern day perspective.   "Now the same people that once wore a different uniform, saluted to a separate flag have only one interest, love, an allegiance that we all subscribe to. Peace and friendship in my Vietnam."

From soldier to motorcycle guide in modern Vietnam

Coaching the Loi Tailang Tigers

by David Calleja, 12 January 2009

http://www.foreignpolicyjournal.com/2009/01/12/coaching-the-loi-tailang-tigers/



Team training at the IDP camp in Loi Tailang, Shan State. Image: David Calleja



“Football is war minus the guns,” declared George Orwell in reflecting upon his lack of sporting prowess while attending Eton College in the early part of the 20th century.
For the hundreds of orphans residing within the male dormitories at Loi Tailang Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camp in Shan State, Burma, football is the fantasy escape from the memories of conflict and forced removal from their family homes which has seen boys removed from the care of their parents.

Encouraged to get an education as an alternative to joining the Shan State Army, the only lethal shooting performed by boys aged between 10 and 25 years would be achieved courtesy of their deadly accurate feet and an imitation leather ball on the makeshift dusty football pitch overlooking the dense forest. While each student has more than likely experienced the loss of relatives as a result of the frequent incursions into their village homes by the Burmese military junta, not every person is an orphan in the strictest sense. Some have lost their mothers and fathers, some one parent and others have lost whole families. There are students that have simply been away from home for so long, their own relatives may no longer recognize them. The fate of some parents is unknown and some have gone years without knowing whether their mother or father may have been murdered or remain alive.

Parents shift from one village to the next in search of food and work in relative safety, trying to remain out of sight from the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC) troops ruling Burma with an iron fist. The diverse ethnic minority residents of Shan State attending either the primary or high schools located on the Burma-Thai border three kilometers away have bonded together because without family support, all they have is each other.

The other attribute they have in common is a love of the world game, football. Every day after attending classes, studying for upcoming exams, and well as completing all required domestic chores, up to 30 students gather to play football on the large pothole-filled dusty track that leads up the mountain. If the ball happens to go out of play, there is race on amongst the players to prevent the ball from rolling down the steep hill and dropping approximately 200 meters down the cliff face where only one walking trail exists.

To the right-hand side, younger children have their own smaller pitch to undertake their games. And squeal with delight as they chase a ball around a pit 20 approximately meters long and 10 meters wide.

With all kindergarten classes finished for 2 months, and having recently moved into the teacher's quarters of the male dormitories, several older students approached me with a special request, one that took me by complete surprise.

“Teacher David, every night our school team plays here, but we do not have anyone to train us. Please be our coach.”

Before I had a chance to even consider the request, I was immediately surrounded by 20 students of all sizes aged between 10 and 23 years old. The decision was practically pre-determined prior to me being asked, so I considered this as an honour, in spite of my lack of ability with the ball. However, my responsibilities now extended to being the most confident person anywhere near the ball, and this had to rub off on anybody interested in playing. Otherwise, there would be no interest.

In Loi Tailing, several males in their late teens and early 20s are still at school completing their basic education. Back in their homelands, attending school was considered impossible because of constantly being on the run from the military junta, or taking on the task of looking after the family farm, tending to the crops and buffaloes, or simply being disallowed from turning up at all by the SPDC. Shan language is banned from being taught at all schools in Shan State by the military authorities, but every student can safely learn their native Shan tongue. Each grade contains a great disparity in ages amongst students. Students can take advantage of the chance to go to school rather than move from their villages into towns, on the run from persecution and being captured by the SPDC to become porters and worked until exhaustion and death.

In the squad of players standing before me, a handful of students never went to school until their 16th birthday just so the family could continue to live. One squad member commented that his mother, if still alive, would not recognize him because he left his homeland so long ago and to risk a return would heighten the possibility of arrest and torture for being associated with the Shan State Army, or SSA.

Motivating a team that really does want to improve is not difficult. Football is a game that brings people of all walks of life together even in the most adverse circumstances. The challenge is to find effective strategies that assist with improving ball skills and fitness in isolation and gradually incorporate them into a fully fledged match. Also, exercises have to be fun. The life for students here is difficult and considering the hardships faced in living, attending classes, affording school materials and keeping abreast of all other tasks, recreational pursuits should involve learning and laughing. Nobody was expecting me to be a supercoach. The students wanted somebody they could enjoy their favorite pastime with. While teaching in the classroom requires measurements such as testing to demonstrate effectiveness of communication and teaching capabilities, sporting activities involve predominately listening and watching. However, in both cases, keeping and maintaining their attention is the key to a successful session. That means simple explanations, less non-essential talking, and short drills that constantly change before boredom sets in.

In a 60 minute session, the squad and I would open up with a warm-up lap around the perimeter of the orphan dormitories. I viewed my participation as a means of encouraging everybody to do their best, although I deliberately stayed behind the pack. We were all being watched by interested on-lookers, curious as to why a farang (foreigner) was barking out instructions in a fun nature like an army general. One group of students played rakktan with a bamboo ball and string for a net on a small makeshift court next to one dormitory; another group played a form of bocce with disused and leaking batteries, and men and women trudged up the mountain and cut through the open path, weary from their day in the forest hunting wild animals, and collecting vegetables, firewood and bamboo tree leaves.

Setting a maximum number of six exercises, each between five and ten minutes in length, I improvised for a lack of equipment that I would normally have access to. Any tasks involving running were shorter than ball control exercises because of the impact of the hard surface on players' legs. Everybody played without shoes, which to me represented resilience and aversion to pain. Also, there was no tackling. Firstly, the risk of injury was simply too great (although anybody who did fall and graze themselves or sustain a slight knock simply got up again); secondly, it went against the spirit of the game; but most importantly, for students to instigate confrontation and fight would make life in the dormitories exceedingly difficult and result in a loss of face.

In the open-aired environment, I felt no pressure to achieve miracles, as one would normally be expected when teaching English in a classroom. Whatever materials were available in the yard would become my coaching tools. To compensate for a whiteboard and marker, I would draw simple diagrams in the dirt with a stick, using x to represent a player, o for their opponent and a line to represent the direction of the ball or player in drills. This simple yet effective method provided the background for instructions such as “I want everyone in two lines”, or to highlight positioning. I picked out team members that I observed were confident with English speaking to take my simple instructions and translate them in Shan language for the benefit of everybody else, and demonstrated key terms in English such as pass, cross, shoot, 5 yards, man-on and one-two. Logs of firewood substituted for orange witches hats to practice ball dribbling skills and older students voluntarily offered their shirts to be used as goalposts. Players were even encouraged to choose their own nicknames in English so I could call them out and remember their faces. Consequently, the team contained three members named Rambo, whom I labeled Rambo I, Rambo II and Rambo III.

This makeshift football pitch on a mountainside located in a village barely recognizable on the map was my de facto open-aired classroom, and the team of orphans were my students. A few months before, I had been working in South Korea as an English teacher, using my laptop to design lesson plans, play DVDs and prepare Powerpoint presentations for multimedia displays. I could not have picked two differing scenarios.

Although my textbook drills were not always working out the way I had originally planned, one of the best exercises I came up with to reinforce agility and quick movement of the feet also ended up being one of the funniest.

Laying eight logs vertically one after the other approximately half a meter apart, players ran through one by one and returned to their original starting point, starting with a slow jog and then gradually increasing their speed. Then I changed the nature of the exercise by slowing narrowing the gaps and reducing the time in which everyone had to pass through. “If I see anybody move any of the logs, the entire team stops and the offender has to sing 'I Believe I Can Fly,'” I instructed, followed by an example where I deliberately tripped on one of the logs and proceeded to sing. Roars of laughter appeared from the squad, who were keen to see a foreigner embarrass himself and not feel so awkward in case they were caught out. Only three players made the same mistake as me.

Changing the emphasis to teamwork, everybody linked up in a circle and ran through the obstacle. Whenever somebody tripped up, squad members would quickly point out who broke the chain and subsequently call the guilty parties to the front to sing good-naturedly. This exercise created a bond between the players and myself, but in addition broke what I thought was a major barrier by overcoming hesitation to perform in public, a skill that is necessary for them to one day to speak out about the plight of the people living in the IDP camp.

The final 20 minutes before sundown would be devoted to a fully fledged game as a way of letting everybody play their natural game and serve as a reminder for everyone to feel comfortable, enjoy the experience and play their natural style. At the end of the game, I called everyone together for a group huddle.

I asked, “What do you want to call your team?”

Several suggestions came up, and finally everybody agreed upon Loi Tailang Tigers.

When I queried the choice of animal, 'Rambo I', who was 22 years old and completing high school, explained with the aide of a translator, “The Shan animal is the tiger. In life, we are tigers fighting the Burmese army. They have caged us, but we can still roar. One day, when we are free, they will run scared.”

Another player added, “Tonight we all study for Shan language exams, so we feel proud to learn our language and history, and practice our culture here.” I came to realize that everybody is making the best of their allotment in this less than forgiving environment that few people outside of their own village are aware of. Being part of this football team and partaking in drills and having somebody guide them, even if only temporarily, creates an identity that results in belonging to an association, much like the SSA band together for a common cause.

With a final shout of “One, two, three, TIGERS ROAR!” led by me and followed instinctively by the team, we all clapped to congratulate each other for finishing training, ran a lap together and then, with the sun fading behind the distant hills, the Loi Tailang Tigers transformed back into students, eating and washing dishes collectively, before settling down to study for the following day's exam by candlelight in their dormitories.

In an ideal world, football would be their beacon of peace in a land seemingly hidden from the eyes of the international community, where far too many young people have been exposed to a lifetime of war and the trail of physical and psychological damage left in its wake. For these young men, returning home to find peace, loved ones, and freedom is the cup of life.

Experiencing Health Care in Rural Laos

Experiencing Health Care in Rural Laos

By David Calleja,

http://www.foreignpolicyjournal.com/2009/02/01/experiencing-health-care-in-rural-laos/

The Bolevan Plateau in southern Laos is reknowned for its vast plantations of tea and coffee.

 

In the village of Kok Phong Tai, a short, softly spoken 40 year old man with leathery skin appears from behind an upright bamboo pole which is used to hold buffaloes earmarked as a sacrifice for village weddings. He slowly slinks up to me and begins tugging at my arm with a hint of urgency and desperation. Pointing to a window in a hut on stilts in the background, he places his palms together, raises his fingertips to the heavens and whispers, "Please help my wife."

 

Following the completion of these words, a stocky woman painfully climbs down the stairs of her hut and moved towards me. Each step seems to be a struggle. I stand perfectly still and smile nervously, unsure what to expect and how I should react. When she reaches within 10 metres sight of me, any doubts as to why she looks apprehensive are immediately dispelled. A large lump the size of a tennis ball appears inside her mouth and upon closer examination, it is obvious that she has had difficulty in obtaining treatment because of her location and psychological state of mind. This is her venture outdoors in over a month.

 

My guide and translator for the afternoon, Phu Khaen, is sitting down and listening carefully to the scenario, and slowly begins to feed news back to me so that I can inform everybody else travelling with me that afternoon, four other Dutch nationals, of the situation's seriousness. Throughout the conversation, the husband relayed the details in Lao, and his wife made inaudible grunting noises because it was the only way she could communicate without grimacing in pain.

 

About three months ago, she developed a minor irritation on the upper part of her gum. Instead of seeking treatment to prevent the infection from growing larger, the woman picked at the sore with her fingers and used sticky rice as a remedy to treat the infection and accompanying itchiness. For some months nothing happened and it appeared that nothing more would become of the incident. However, the growth returned with a vengeance and not only grew on her gums, but also spread to the back of her head and neck.

 

Upon the completion of the story, Phu Khaen and myself were surrounded by members of the woman's family.  Several children had bloated stomachs. In Laos, malnourishment is a serious problem amongst children, and according to the World Food Programme, 40 per cent of child in the country have stunted growth due to malnourishment as a result of not having enough to eat. Seventy per cent of Laos' population survive on less than 40 cents per day.

 

"Has the lady seen a doctor about the infection?" I asked.

 

Phu Khaen shook his head solemnly. "No, they cannot afford the cost of transportation and treatment, and the next round of free basic village check-ups will not be for another year."  

 

Laos is a country of 5.1 million people, 80 per cent of whom reside in the rural area. Life expectancy is 59 years of age, one of the lowest in Asia. There is a strong belief in the use of traditional medicines and it is now being incorporated into the public health system and newly emerging private practice. The first private hospital is due to open in Laos some time in 2009. 

 

An investigation into the use of traditional medicine in the province of Champassack by Sydara et al (2005) reveals that faith and practice in traditional medicine is quite common due to the lack of affordability and accessibility to pharmaceutical products. In 2007, the World Health Report indicated that total health expenditure in Laos reached $USD19 per capita per person. Households contribute 80 per cent of this figure, 10 per cent comes from donors and 10 per cent is provided by the government. Lack of household affordability for treatment seems to be a long standing phenomenon.

 

Back in 1997-98, total drug expenditure amounted to $USD6 per capita per person in Laos, with the government allocating $USD1 million in the budget for drugs, or 20 cents per capita per person. Nowadays, hospitalisation and drug costs are still too expensive for the average working family in Laos. The result is that serious ailments go untreated. Although the public health system covers fees of the poorest families, individuals with seriously ill conditions such as the woman in Kok Phong Tai must also overcome psychological factors in getting to hospital, far from their families in the village. Nor does it give an accurate representation of the struggles faced by families working on farming plantations such as tea and coffee.

 

The cost of hiring a tuk-tuk to make the two hour journey from Kok Phong Tai to the nearest town of Pakse takes 2 hours and costs the equivalent of a week's salary. The woman in this instance had not worked on the family coffee farm for 3 months since the emergence of this growth inside her mouth.

 

With the cost of pharmaceutical medicines high for regular families, increasing numbers of people have instilled their faith in traditional medicines such as herbs and plant roots, which are administered by a village healer. Field studies conducted by Sydara et al involved a survey of 460 residents throughout Champasak Province and centered around the use of traditional medicines to treat illnesses and conditions. Nearly 50 per cent of participants stated that they used traditional medicine only to treat fever, gastritis, diarrhoea and malaria. A similar number of people surveyed used a combination of both traditional and modern medicine to treat such illnesses (Sydara et al, 2005.)  The findings suggest that residents profess some belief in the work undertaken by traditional healers substituting for health professionals in the absence of trained medical personnel. In 2005, the ratio of professional health workers employed by the government to the population was number at 3.21 employees per 1,000 residents. in 2005, the average annual salary of a health worker in Laos was $USD405, or under $USD8 per week.

 

For this woman to have any chance of improving her quality of life, and at least finding out about her condition, the four Dutch nationals that accompanied me to Kok Phong Tai village developed a plan to have treatment organized in the nearest large town of Pakse. This meant dealing with an ethical dilemma and the real possibility that a terminal illness may be confirmed, and the task of informing the woman's family would not fall upon a group of strangers that could walk away and deal with a guilty conscience, but upon the woman or her husband that had to actually deliver the news in Lao. As a team, we attempted to justify our action plan by arguing that early intervention and action is better than living with a potentially deadly medical secret. 

 

The second issue of taking the woman from her village into a major town for an examination without immediate treatment and permission also weighed heavily on the minds of everyone. The compromised solution was to request a photo of the offending visible symptom. This image would be taken to a private pharmacy or the hospital in the hope that all five of us (The four Dutchmen and myself) could return to the village the following day with some medicine to commence treatment. If we could somehow obtain the necessary medicine, it would eliminate all associated fears in taking a petrified woman from her home village into a large town, away from the security offered from the darkness of the family home.

 

At this stage, nobody had in fact figured about how to return to Kok Phong Tai the following day, or if any tuk-tuk would indeed be available.

 

The greatest obstacle was legal responsibility in the case of any unforseen consequences arising. With nobody having a medical background, a list of clauses was drawn up, similar to a contract and signed by the 5 foreigners taking part (4 Dutch nationals and myself.) These points set the conditions for providing any assistance, and included the following:

 

1) The five foreigners involved will pay for petrol spent for 2 return trips between Pakse and Kok Phong Tai and for the cost of one X-ray to be taken at Pakse Hospital;

2) In the event of an operation being deemed necessary by a medical authority, the foreigners would not be held responsible for any medical malpractice or for any accident occurring during the transportation between Kok Phong Tai and Pakse and;

3) The parties will not be responsible for any raised expectations on behalf of the patient or her family as a result of any errors in translation between the English and Lao languages or vice versa.

 

Even the best of intentions require some form of legal agreement.

 

Upon returning to Pakse that same evening, the Dutch team and myself walked around the town of Pakse, raising money by requesting as many donations from all foreigners in the city centre. The ultimate aim was to pay for not only the x-ray, but for all medication and hospital after care. Initially we budgeted for an overnight stay following the operation, although we were prepared to accept the possibility of a much longer stay if doctors requested time to monitor the recuperation process. Within three hours, a total amount of $USD195 was raised. The vast majority of donors expressing sympathy for the plight of the woman, but not everybody believed in the necessity of donating aid, with some criticisms being directed over the provisions of a band-aid solution that would not actually benefit the family in the long run and encourage a cycle of dependency.   

 

As expected, coaxing the lady to attend a hospital in a major town required extra assistance. Covering our bases, we were accompanied the following day by two uniformed police officers, invited to help transport the patient and provide "protection for the foreigners." Later in the day, I learned of why the officers insisted upon coming along; to place psychological pressure on the woman and her family to accept any assistance being offered to her through gentle persuasion, and prevent her from having a change of heart by refusing to come along to seek treatment.

 

Eventually, the lady did agree to accompany us with her husband in tow. He carried several blankets and clothing items, and it seems that he was prepared for a lengthy stay, as well as providing moral support. As the tuk-tuk made its way along the bumpy roads, he sought to smother his wife's nose with a rag containing methylated spirits for short lengths of time. This helped to contain her painful screams as a result of the growth inside her mouth. For that afternoon, the discomfort showed on everybody's faces showed; the husband spent much of his time praying to Buddha as he tried to comfort his wife.

 

Inside Pakse Hospital, the doctor confirmed with us that the woman had an infection with her cheek muscle. He immediately announced that there would be no need for an x-ray and set to work at the operating table, making an incision where an operation would take place. Following the operation, and most probably against the husband's wishes, the lady was ordered to have a 10 day resting period, firstly in the traumatology unit alongside victims of motorcycle accidents, amputees and patients waiting for skin grafts, then intensive care, and finally in a private ward.  Just having located a bed within the hospital proved to be an achievement. In 2005, the World Health Organization reported that just over 5,000 beds were available throughout Laos, with the country in the grip of a bed shortage, and it seems that the situation had changed little over the time that I was in the country, something most evident in Pakse Hospital.  

 

The resulting breakdown of costs is as follows, with the exchange rate at the time being 8,800 Lao Kip to $1 U.S. Dollar.

 

Transport - 550,000 Kip

Hospital surgery after care and initial 1 night stay - 260,000 Kip

Extra 10 days hospital accommodation - 500,000 Kip

 

TOTAL COST - 1,310,000 Kip ($USD150)

 

The remaining $45 was donated to a local village school for minority groups in Kok Phong Tai.

 

Since the operation, news has filtered through that the woman has since returned to the family tea and coffee plantations near her home village. Giving the gift of renewed hope towards recommencing a livelihood needs never hold any boundaries.

Experiencing Health Care in Rural Laos