characteristically faultless version of the goings-on at the airport and documented the arrival of aid in detail. The newspaper ran numerous photographs of planes at the airport with the oft-repeated headline “International Relief Supplies Continue to Arrive.” The paper also displayed cargo lists for each craft. One U.S. plane, for instance, flew in 9 tons of relief supplies (including 6,340 bottles of water, 3,150 blankets, and 4,200 mosquito nets). Most of the descriptions ended with an unconvincing final sentence stating that all goods were being “immediately sent to the storm-hit regions.”
Few people were taken in by this alternative reality. Foreigners and Burmese alike had little faith that the authorities were able to conduct an adequate emergency operation or handle donated goods in a trustworthy manner. An American working at the U.S. Embassy in Rangoon told me that even the embassy’s staff was unsure where the supplies were being taken. “Five C-130s landed yesterday,” he said. “Their contents should be loaded onto big trucks, taken down to delta towns, transshipped into smaller trucks or boats, and headed to villages. Instead, they are being loaded onto Burmese military vehicles, and we have no idea where they’re going. No one is telling us anything. We’re bringing in all this stuff and it’s all going into a big black hole.”
Theories as to where the aid was ending up abounded. Some thought the goods were being repackaged and sold off as regular commodities at distant markets in places like Mandalay, a day’s journey north of Rangoon. Many believed the regime was letting soldiers hand out the aid so that the military could take credit for the donations. It was also suggested that the wives of the ruling generals were out at the airport laying claim to the imported goods, though it was hard to picture the well-heeled women standing on the tarmac picking over stiff blankets and vitamin-fortified biscuits.
Once aid supplies made it past overzealous customs officials and covetous wives, it was still a long and convoluted process to reach survivors. My friend Ko Ye, who had an encyclopedia of stories to share each time I met him, told me about a gem company owner who had raised K40 million (in the Burmese currency, kyat , around US$40,000) for donations but had been forced to give K10 million to the Rangoon regional commander. The commander promised him that the money would be turned into aid. (“Yeah,” smirked Ko Ye. “Aid for his own family.”) On his way down to the delta, the donor had to hand over sacks of rice at military checkpoints in order to be allowed past. Disgusted by their greed, he eventually gave up and returned to Rangoon.
Donors who did persevere were careful not to channel any donations in cash or kind through the authorities, preferring instead to work with monks and monasteries. Aung Thein Kyaw, the man who had closed down his tour agency to help with the relief effort, described how he had gone to a delta hospital to donate medicines and was told by the nurses to come back at night, because during the day soldiers were often sniffing around for commodities they could sequester. To avoid having large amounts of food snatched by the authorities, one crafty restaurant owner in Rangoon divided her donation of rice and curries into five thousand small bags to hand out to individual recipients.
In addition to hurdles set up by the government, aid agencies also had to deal with the formidable logistical challenges of delivering supplies across a vast flooded area where much of the infrastructure had been damaged or totally destroyed. As there were no roads in the southern stretches of the delta, a significant portion of the deliveries had to be made by boat, but many boats had been sunk or rendered useless during the cyclone. The daily storms also conspired to make water routes dangerous, and there were frequent reports of smaller vessels capsizing due to waves or
Few people were taken in by this alternative reality. Foreigners and Burmese alike had little faith that the authorities were able to conduct an adequate emergency operation or handle donated goods in a trustworthy manner. An American working at the U.S. Embassy in Rangoon told me that even the embassy’s staff was unsure where the supplies were being taken. “Five C-130s landed yesterday,” he said. “Their contents should be loaded onto big trucks, taken down to delta towns, transshipped into smaller trucks or boats, and headed to villages. Instead, they are being loaded onto Burmese military vehicles, and we have no idea where they’re going. No one is telling us anything. We’re bringing in all this stuff and it’s all going into a big black hole.”
Theories as to where the aid was ending up abounded. Some thought the goods were being repackaged and sold off as regular commodities at distant markets in places like Mandalay, a day’s journey north of Rangoon. Many believed the regime was letting soldiers hand out the aid so that the military could take credit for the donations. It was also suggested that the wives of the ruling generals were out at the airport laying claim to the imported goods, though it was hard to picture the well-heeled women standing on the tarmac picking over stiff blankets and vitamin-fortified biscuits.
Once aid supplies made it past overzealous customs officials and covetous wives, it was still a long and convoluted process to reach survivors. My friend Ko Ye, who had an encyclopedia of stories to share each time I met him, told me about a gem company owner who had raised K40 million (in the Burmese currency, kyat , around US$40,000) for donations but had been forced to give K10 million to the Rangoon regional commander. The commander promised him that the money would be turned into aid. (“Yeah,” smirked Ko Ye. “Aid for his own family.”) On his way down to the delta, the donor had to hand over sacks of rice at military checkpoints in order to be allowed past. Disgusted by their greed, he eventually gave up and returned to Rangoon.
Donors who did persevere were careful not to channel any donations in cash or kind through the authorities, preferring instead to work with monks and monasteries. Aung Thein Kyaw, the man who had closed down his tour agency to help with the relief effort, described how he had gone to a delta hospital to donate medicines and was told by the nurses to come back at night, because during the day soldiers were often sniffing around for commodities they could sequester. To avoid having large amounts of food snatched by the authorities, one crafty restaurant owner in Rangoon divided her donation of rice and curries into five thousand small bags to hand out to individual recipients.
In addition to hurdles set up by the government, aid agencies also had to deal with the formidable logistical challenges of delivering supplies across a vast flooded area where much of the infrastructure had been damaged or totally destroyed. As there were no roads in the southern stretches of the delta, a significant portion of the deliveries had to be made by boat, but many boats had been sunk or rendered useless during the cyclone. The daily storms also conspired to make water routes dangerous, and there were frequent reports of smaller vessels capsizing due to waves or
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