Hla Phu sits in the middle of his five-by-five-foot shop in Mae Sot, Thailand, among discarded old clocks, battery-less flashlights and rusty pots and pans. Everything is for sale, he tells me with a smile that reveals a missing tooth, even a pair of bamboo chopsticks—the kind they give away for free in noodle shops. With his wispy white hair that reaches below his shoulders and “vermicelli” beard that dangles from his narrow chin, the short and thin 84-year-old resembles the stock hermit character in an epic Asian film. But in real life, Hla Phu has been a pioneer, patriot and physician. He is one of the Burmese migrants who made the border town of Mae Sot what it is today—the closest thing to Burma one can find in Thailand, complete with shady characters, danger and intrigue.

Mae Sot sits on the banks of the Moei River in western Thailand, opposite the town of Myawaddy in south-eastern Burma. To reach Mae Sot from the Thai side, it is necessary to navigate a snaky road through the mountains where sharp turns are frequent, errant drivers don’t keep to their side and heavily-loaded trucks often roll over on the steep slopes. Caution must be exercised. You should expect the unexpected when approaching Mae Sot, beginning with the three checkpoints manned by the military, police and border patrol along the road leading into town.

If the checkpoint personnel think you look suspicious, you will be stopped. Whether that means you’ll be asked a few brief questions and sent on your way, or be told to pull over and have your car and belongings searched, depends on the instincts and mood of the officer on duty. Normally, there is a higher risk of getting pulled over, and the searches and interrogations are more severe, when traveling away from the border because the authorities are looking for drugs and illegal immigrants coming into Thailand from Burma. But smuggling goes both directions, and shakedowns take place on both sides of the highway.

Upon arrival in Mae Sot, you’ll know you’re in the right place when you start seeing males and females of all ages wearing longyi (Burmese sarongs) walking by the roadside. On the cheeks of many women and girls will be a beige paste called thanaka (traditional Burmese makeup), and the signboards of many vendors, shops, restaurants and guest houses will be written in Burmese. When you stop and get out to stretch your legs after the long drive through the mountains, chances are you will hear people conversing in Burmese rather than Thai, because over 200,000 Burmese live here, and only 80,000 Thai.

If the Burmese community were not here, it wouldn’t be Mae Sot. In a sense, Mae Sot seems to have assimilated into the Burmese community, rather than the other way around, and depending on which Burmese resident you ask, Mae Sot will be dubbed the town of exiles, the town of dissidents, the town of rebels disguised as civilians, the town of migrant workers or the town of refugees. 

Hla Phu, who was one of the first Burmese to arrive here forty years ago, could be considered a member of most of these categories. He was born in Rangoon in 1927, when Burma was a British colony, and grew up a patriot like many of his era. He was schooled in a Rangoon monastery and never went to college, and when Burma was occupied by Japan during World War II, he participated in anti-fascist political activities. When Burma gained independence from Great Britain, Hla Phu was a fire department officer in Kamaryut Township, and at 4:20 a.m. On Jan. 4, 1948, he and his colleagues hoisted Burma’s flag to mark the historic event.

“You know, when I was pulling the rope to raise the flag, I had conflicting feelings—joy and sorrow,” he says. “Seeing our new flag being raised, I felt joyful. But I felt sad seeing the Union Jack flag being lowered, because I grew up with that flag. But my happiness was so strong that I felt as if I was walking on air above the ground.”

After independence, Burma appeared to be on the road to democracy when U Nu became the country’s first democratically elected prime minister. But in 1962, Gen Ne Win and his socialist comrades overthrew U Nu in a military coup. After being released from prison, U Nu fled to Thailand and in 1969 formed the Parliamentary Democracy Party (PDP) to stand against Ne Win’s military regime. Several hundred people, including prominent politicians, became members of the PDP, and in 1972 Hla Phu left Burma and came to Mae Sot—which at the time had only around 50 Burmese residents and no newspaper—to join the PDP in its fight against dictatorship in his home country.

At Hla Phu’s invitation, we leave his tiny shop and drive to Ho Paing Village, the place where he lived while serving the PDP. The trip takes about 10 minutes by car—but Hla Phu says it took much longer four decades ago, when there were no paved roads to the village. When we arrive at Ho Paing, he appears overcome by nostalgia and mutters under his breath, “Oh what has brought me here again after ages?”

The village sits in the middle of emerald green paddy fields and is camouflaged by large shade trees. Wrapping a red scarf around his head, Hla Phu explains that it was here that he and the other PDP troops made camp in the early 1970s. “One of the barracks used to be there,” he says, pointing to a patch of empty land under a tree. “I lived in that barrack. It had 14 beds.”

He shows me a well, now covered by bushes, which they had used for drinking water, and while we walked along a small path between paddy fields, he continues to point at different places and recall life as a PDP foot soldier. “Our troops were several hundred in strength, so for lunch we had to start cooking at 2 a.m.,” he says. “We used four or five very large woks.”       

Life was simple then, Hla Phu says, explaining that their houses were built with bamboo and thatch and they bathed in a creek. But this was apparently too simple for some of his comrades, as Hla Phu tells me that 50 to 60 percent of the troops he served with had not joined to sacrifice for their country with genuine revolutionary spirit or conviction, but rather because they heard that U Nu’s army was rich and paid in gold coins. Eventually, these sunshine patriots ran away when faced with having to live in the jungle and wake up at 5 a.m. to go through military training.

Seeing this, Hla Phu realized that the revolution would either take a long time to succeed, or would be short lived for lack of properly motivated troops. So he prepared for both—soon after arriving in Mae Sot, Hla Phu began studying under a senior medical student, both with the aim of serving the troops as a medic and earning a livelihood if the army disbanded.

“I saved several lives here,” he says when we arrive at the creek. “One incident involved a former monk in our troop named Than Myint, who we called Phone Gyi (monk) Than Myint. He took poison after feeling depressed about his relationship with his girlfriend. We had no medicine, so I told my colleagues to catch a duck swimming in the creek. They had no idea how a duck could help with the poison, but I knew that a duck’s blood can make a person vomit—it’s a traditional method.  I cut the bird’s throat and threw the blood into Than Myint’s mouth, and he immediately emptied his stomach. We sacrificed one duck to save one person’s life.”

Prior to 1979, when he moved into Mae Sot, Hla Phu was the only “doctor” for many villagers in Ho Paing, and he personally won over the hearts of Thai villagers by treating their medical ailments. “Having compassion and sympathy, I think I became a good medic,” he said. “Those qualities are the foundation to become a good professional in every field.”

When he moved to downtown Mae Sot, Hla Phu made a living providing medical care to Burmese, including many ethnic Karen, and some Thai people. “My patients used to wake me up in the middle of the night. I lived on that profession until 1992, but it was illegal as I held no certificate. There was only a clinic run by a Thai doctor and he charged 100 baht at that time. I just charged about 20 to 40 baht, and earned roughly 12 baht per head,” he says as we drive back into town.

In one incident, Hla Phu was almost arrested after police officers found him treating a Thai patient. Fortunately, a Thai businessman intervened with the police and convinced them not to arrest him. After that, Hla Phu gave up his secret profession and opened a teashop, which he ran for many years with the help of a friend. But the teashop business eventually failed and he became a vendor of used items.

Not surprisingly, he doesn’t get many customers these days—in fact, during my several visits I see only one, an Indian-Burmese who buys an old electric water boiler that still manages to work if the cover is forced shut. The asking price is 150 baht, but the customer says, “Here’s 120, big brother.  I had to pay some money to the police this morning, I’ll pay you 30 baht later. I promise.” Hla Phu nods okay, but when the customer leaves he smiles at me and shakes his head, knowing he may never see the extra baht. He’s used to this, he says, customers often owe him money. But when they delay payment, he must do so as well, postponing the 600 baht due to the shop’s owner for rent.

When he first came to Mae Sot in hopes of helping to reclaim freedom and democracy in his home country, Hla Phu never imagined he would end up selling used items to survive, and neither did he imagine sleeping, as he does now, in a two-foot-wide space in the rented home of a Burmese couple. He was one of the first to arrive in what has become a minor boom town on the border, and could have set up a successful business. But he kept anticipating a return to Burma.

“I always thought that ‘Maybe this coming Thingyan (the Burmese water festival), or that coming Buddhist holy day, I’ll go back,’” he says. “However, now, it seems I’ll be buried here with that dream.”

“But who knows,” he adds with a smile. “I might get that chance to go back home one day, because my life will be long. I’m pretty sure I will live to be 120 years old.

Mae Sot wakes up early, especially in the markets. One of the liveliest is known as Zay Gyi (big market) among the Burmese, and as markets usually do, it paints an accurate picture of the town’s character and inhabitants. This morning, many Burmese teashops in and around the market are crowded with Burmese customers, including me and Moe Kyo, who in 2004 founded the Joint Action Committee for Burmese affairs, which is mainly focused on protecting the rights of Burmese migrant workers... 


This is an abstract of Kyaw Zwa Moe’s article that appears in The Irrawaddy’s latest e-magazine. To read the full version visit: http://issuu.com/irrawaddy/docs/irr_vol.19no2_june2011_issuu/20?viewMode=magazine&mode=embed