Regret

7 March 2021

[Above photos:  The pier at Robben Island, with Cape Town and Table Mountain in the background. It is appropriate for here and now, I think. It is also hopeful, if the world vigorously supports the protest movement.]

The birdsong in the mornings and at twilight has become insane. Perhaps the breeding season is upon us. Astounding music broadcasts from the jungle behind the house. It is very difficult to view the  vocalists, since that side of the house faces a wall of mango trees. Mangos have very dense foliage and birds rarely perch in ours. A bittersweet consequence of leaving is that we, sitting on our patio 15 feet above the ground, have been watching an incredible crop of mangoes mature. If we actually are able to leave in 2 weeks we’ll miss the harvest. We even bought a clipper designed to attach to a long pole; I was going to fashion a net on another pole so we wouldn’t have to play outfield, catching them on the fly. Still, it is remarkable, even inspiring, to hear the birdlife simultaneous with the grim sound of gunfire and flashbangs at some distance.

I got the numbers wrong in my last post, as often happens in a combat zone. The UN estimates that 38 peaceful protesters were killed on Wednesday, not 52 as I was first told. Many others were wounded. The Tatmadaw has their own Uzi factory here. As you can imagine in this smartphone-infested country, gruesome videos are put immediately on Tic Tok or Facebook. One showed a compliant young protester, having been taken into custody, being bludgeoned with a rifle butt until dead. Needless to say, I don’t  feel compelled to watch these. It has been relatively quiet since Wednesday with only one or two deaths.

The general staff surrounding Sr. General Min Aung Hlaing are rumored to be unhappy with his performance; they feel he has not cracked down hard enough. Over 50 are dead across the country and many are wounded. How many will they kill if the CDM and protests continue?  Hundreds? Thousands? The military has a 60 year history of this, suppressing several general uprisings (1988 and 2007), as well as constant civil wars in several states. Oh, and then there is the Rohingya genocide in 2017. They may not grasp empathy, compassion, fairness, or other civilized emotions but they certainly do understand power, brutality, and intimidation. And yet, I cannot say that the white apartheid government in S. Africa was any less skilled at the brutal arts or any less determined. They did seem more persuaded by outside pressure.

I’ve managed to pack and repack, so I now am able to take most of what I want with me. Yesterday a trip to the Pro 1 Global Home Center to buy a PVC tube to protect a rolled-up canvas took me on a very circuitous route.  The taxi moved quickly down twisty lanes, avoiding the main streets. Many of the major streets are blocked off by military and police, with trucks full of the same waiting in readiness. The taxi driver made shooting gestures and noises, laughingly. Protests are few and scattered as everyone regroups following Wednesday’s slaughter. I needed 42” of tube to pack my rolled painting but had to buy 19’ and have it cut into shorter lengths.

For a dash of normality, we revived our Saturday dinner/poker game last night. Since there is a 6PM-6AM curfew, Connor spent the night and we played with only 4. As the game allowed, we had an additional “dead” hand; that “person” was forced to bet on every hand and they lost their shirt.  I made a spaghetti sauce—it is so easy and quick—and both fettucine and rice noodles, as Irene has a gluten sensitivity. My pasta sauce “recipe”: saute lots of garlic, a large onion, and oyster mushrooms in olive oil. Add a pinch of salt and abundant oregano. Add two jars of the local marinara sauce, half a bottle of red wine, and abundant red chili flakes. Simmer for 45 minutes at least. It was great, even if we didn’t have parmesan.

The poker was lively, with many embellishments to standard games, including combining Texas hold ‘em and draw poker, adding a “kicker” [which can turn one of your cards wild] or a “reamer” [which makes one of your cards disappear] at the end. The betting was all over the place and I won big-time, taking from all 3 players plus the dead hand. However, for the first time, since the ATMs are empty and cash is short, we simply put in IOU’s and kept a record of my winnings on a slip of paper with the chips. I doubt I’ll claim it before I leave. About $10. It was a fun break.

And speaking of fun, I’m finishing How To Watch Basketball Like A Genius by Nick Greene. He is married to Laura Spiekerman, a close friend of my daughter and a former neighbor. They have a new book and a new son, Nico—lots of birthings.

Reading the book is engrossing. Nick is smart, playful, witty, and has a wide-ranging intelligence. At 5’7” I never cottoned to basketball, having enjoyed the elbows of taller players a few times too many in high school. However, understanding its evolution, artistry, and mechanics from this book has made me an instant fan. I begin to see what Steve Kerr was trying to accomplish with Stephan Curry, Klay Thompson, Harrison Barnes, and the rest of the Golden State lineup when I watched them occasionally on TV in the mid-teens.   Reading it is like watching, or even playing in, a good pick-up game. There is an agility to his writing, with feints, flops, and ever-surprising moves. The narrative is propulsive and expansive and I am constantly eager to see the next play. I highly recommend it, which surprises even me!

The most difficult topic for me today is regret. I have many regrets in my life. I suppose many people I admire have made missteps or not taken maximal advantage of their opportunities. My regrets stick with me like red wine on a white shirt at a dinner party, never to be completely expunged—-at least from my memory. I thought that with this, likely my last major act, I could cast off this mortal coil and conclude my life without a final regret. T’was not to be.

I feel terrible leaving these smart, generous, loving people, who have so graciously befriended me, in their time of need as the country descends into —–what? Chaos? Civil war? Slavery? It is slavery when you are forced to work when you don’t want to and for virtually no pay, in this case as a highly skilled professional with lots of responsibility for individual lives. As I’ve said, a government specialist doctor (an internist, pediatrician, psychiatrist, etc.) earns $150/month. My professor, who is also the Director of the Myanmar Mental Health Hospital, the President of the Myanmar Mental Health Association, and the National Program Manager for Mental Health, earns a whopping $200/month. Many doctors have gone into hiding because they participated in the Civil Disobedience Movement. 30+ have been imprisoned. The military is trying to force them to work for slave wages, and that isn’t even the cause of their refusal to work. Living in Myanmar is very inexpensive; however, a person can barely survive, let alone support a family, on those wages.  The remuneration is similar to the tenant farm system in the US after our civil war. Or to many “minimum wage” jobs in the US today.

Anyway, I feel considerable regret. There is no escaping it in this life, I think.  It would be worthwhile for me to reflect a bit on that, however.  I suppose regret is feeling that one should have done more or less or different than one did. And I simply have to live with it. If I stay and it gets awful, I get ill or injured (I’ll feel no regret if I’m killed or otherwise die.), or there is no way out, I’ll regret that choice, as well.

We choose. How best to do so that we can live comfortably with our decisions? The most difficult for me is the balance between what is best for me as an individual and what is best for others. When I simply shoot myself in the foot, it hurts but not as much.