A Burmese Christmas

I have had transpacific Christmases a few times in the last five years. I’ve spent Christmas in a small town in South Korea. I’ve brought a Japanese friend home to share Christmas at my mother’s place. This year I will be spending Christmas in Taipei. There are a few Christians here, but really, I have found that Christmas is only celebrated on the surface in East Asia. While parents might give their small children some presents and new lovers treat it as an occasion to swap romantic gifts, Christmas is no more than a Hallmark holiday in these parts. Their decorations have all the cultural significance of a cupid-clad Hello Kitty poster. At home, people complain about the commercialization of Christmas, but I think even the most over-indulgent Christmases in the West contain at least some spirituality, tradition and ritual tied up in the ribbons. I often believe the core of those traditions is not being picked up by other cultures. When I encounter Buddha-themed bars in Las Vegas and little plastic Santa Clauses in Taiwan, it confirms to me that we are at the very shallow end of globalization.

Two years ago, however, I spent Christmas in a Buddhist country that had very few Christmas decorations and hardly enough electricity to illuminate a tree. I spent the month of December backpacking alone through Burma, exploring Buddhist temples under the palms and tropical heat. Christmas had been the last thing on my mind. However, by the time Christmas Eve rolled around I began feeling a little more nostalgic. I was well off the tourist path and had scarcely seen another foreigner in days. The solitary hours made me a little more aware of the date.

I woke up on Christmas Eve expecting to catch a ferry up the coast to a remote temple site, but the trip to the boat landing through the rain and mud ended in a shrug. The ferry wasn’t allowed to leave due to a typhoon in the Bay of Bengal. That meant I would have to spend Christmas Eve in a sightless little town, and Christmas Day on a boat instead of at a temple site.

On the previous day, I had learned that the town actually had a church somewhere in its midst. The Chen, an ethnic group to the north, were usually Christians and a few of them had set up shop in town. I decided to see if I could witness a local Christmas Eve service, so after a bit of searching I was pleased to find the anonymous-looking church. Some children who were gathered in the yard saw me and quickly dashed off to fetch a young Chen nun who greeted me with a Merry Christmas and an offering of tea. She showed me around the orphanage and the small worship hall, but she told me there was no Christmas Eve service. There would just be a service on Christmas Day at a time that was after my scheduled departure. Before I left the church, I found her donation box and slipped in a twenty-dollar bill. It wasn’t much, but it was two days travel budget for me and nearly a month’s salary for the working poor of Burma. It would probably feed the orphans for two months.

Sometimes, karma is returned more quickly than other times. I befriended some local men who felt it was their duty to show me a good time in their town. They drove me on their motorbikes to a neighboring village just to eat and drink with their friends. They took me back to their humble homes and entertained me by singing the Western folk songs that they knew. And then they took me out to one of the two restaurants in town where they ordered many dishes and a bottle of whiskey.

I met many beautiful people in the few weeks that I had been in Burma. For such a poor and frightened people, the Burmese show off great character and intelligence. However, like many poor countries, the Burmese in the more touristy areas can frustrate you with their incessant salesmanship and requests for personal donations. In a country where many people work for less than a dollar a day, potential tourist dollars light up eyes brighter than a Christmas tree. A smile of friendship can often be followed by an open hand. Sometimes people expect money just because they showed you the location of the nearest toilet. Hustlers will follow you around all day and then give you a bill for their tour. I even encountered some monks who had ulterior motives in their friendliness. This guile is less a characteristic of the Burmese as it is a testament to what people will do when they can do nothing for themselves. The poverty in Burma is so bad that few people have the energy to challenge the corruption of the government. Yet still, I found people who risked imprisonment just to whisper to me all the bad things that had been done to them.

Mass protests took place this year in that same little town. I am sure the men who took care of me on Christmas Eve also took part in the demonstrations. On that day two years ago, I had tried all day to pay for the gas that we used and for our food and drinks, but the men wouldn’t let me. It confused me, and even made me a little suspicious after all the hustlers I had met. At the end of the night, I was sure that I could make things even by paying for the meal at the restaurant. The price would’ve been just a few dollars for me, but a few days pay for them. Despite my insistence, these young Buddhist men held firm in their hospitality. They met my words with a smiling denial, a strong handshake, and a Merry Christmas.