[420 Girl]

Camp Thay Baw Boe, 1988-89: Marijuana abounds in the jungle—much to the delight of some students in our midst on the border. I had tried it once or twice while drunk and usually in the company of my convivial friends in Rangoon. But I never liked it, especially after I burnt my new sarong with a ganja cheroot after a night out.

It was said that local Karen people fed marijuana, mixed with tamarind, to elephants to control them when they are in heat or pulling logs. And we did, in fact, often see elephants in the jungle slowly pulling felled trees, as if they were stoned. I don’t know if they really were high but I always wowed foreign visitors to our jungle camp when I told them this believe-it-or-not “fact.”

When I once wondered aloud how come the Basa—the Burmese slang for drug users—discovered the availability of ganja so soon after arriving on the border, someone replied, “The more you search the more you discover,” mimicking a popular BBC Burmese program. Indeed, they did look and found a treasure trove.

Illicit narcotic use was banned in the camp, just as it was in Burma. But like other camp rules and as was the case inside Burma—where drugs were common if technically illegal—the ban was difficult to enforce, as people could simply go into the jungle to smoke, which did not technically violate the rules. But there were only a few hardcore ganja users, and unlike the drunks, they were quiet and often unnoticed—except for the giveaway smell—and rarely caused serious problems.

Back at the university in Rangoon, the Basa were known for singing sentimental songs in girl’s hostels at night, usually to enthusiastic listeners. But their peaceful evening serenades were often interrupted by the arrival of rowdy and boisterous drunks, like my friends and I, who were equally eager to entertain the girls.

The Basa were proud of their role in the pro-democracy movement, often claiming they were instrumental in the 1988 uprising. Almost everyone—from pro-democracy leaders to hawkers to the Basa—had a role in the uprising, but in the camp their claims were often dismissed as a cheap joke. Still, we even had a group of students who called their unit “Basa Tat Khwe” or the drug users division.

We also had light moments making puns on the word “Mote-cha,” which in Burmese means “must” and is frequently used in slogans at pro-democracy or government rallies, as in “Our democratic revolution must (Mote-cha) win!” But in Burmese slang it also means ‘smoking ganja.’

Each year, we joined the Karen for their martyrs’ day parade or other ceremonies related to the resistance, marked by shouting slogans such as “The Karen revolution must win!” Yet many students would say “must” or “Mote-cha” doubly loud, changing the meaning to something like “The Karen revolution must be won by smoking ganja!”

Initially the Karen were pleased with the students’ enthusiasm, but when they realized the students’ pun, they were quite upset and reprimanded us, saying, “You guys are out of control.”

Still, drug abuse, mostly of cannabis, was less of a problem than drinking, and it never came to my attention until I became the camp secretary.

Everyone in camp knew who the Basa were. They would sit around a fire in the early evenings, especially in winter months, smoking cannabis, singing songs or talking quietly.

On my nightly rounds of the camp to check that everything was in order, I often walked straight to the Basa bonfire. From the distance, I could see the light of a cheroot with marijuana passing from hand to hand in the semi-darkness, and I could smell the ganja in the wind. But when the Basa saw me draw near, the cheroot was put out and the smell disappeared—not in deference to me, but in respect, or rather fear, of the jungle law.

I would sit with the Basa around the fire for a while, joining in the singing or talking. Not everyone there smoked ganja; many of them were there to listen to the songs and keep themselves warm in the winter chill. No one used cannabis while I was there, but I knew the cheroot would be lit again soon after I left.

I had reasons for vigilance against drug abuse. Like any other regulations, the restriction on drug abuse had to be maintained in the camp. Revolution was a serious business and despite the freedom the students enjoyed in the camp, it had to come with some responsibility. We also had visitors all the time and were concerned that the camp should not be seen as a place where one could get free dope.

Local Karen had also warned that marijuana use had side effects. They believed that smoking ganja in December or January, when the teak trees blossomed, reduced one’s immunity, making it easier for cannabis users to get malaria.

While we had no way to know whether this was true, the camp hospital was already overwhelmed by malaria patients, struggling to cope with around 150-200 outpatients each day and 20 inpatients at all times. Hospital resources were stretched and we were always concerned about the shortage of medicine—so that seemed to give our stricture against drug use a solid public health rationale.

Despite widespread cannabis use and its easy availability, only one student was jailed for its abuse during my tenure as the camp secretary. It was prompted by the visit of a lawyer from New Zealand.

I had met the visitor while heading out for some work outside. The lawyer told me he wanted to stay for a week and I offered him a place at our house, which we called “Mirror House.” My work kept me away from the camp for two nights, and during my absence, my housemate, Myo Tun, offered the visitor two fat marijuana cheroots.

On my return, my most trusted assistant from Pegu reported this to me, and when I confronted Myo Tun, he immediately confessed the crime. I was outraged that this had taken place at my house and a foreigner was involved. It could tarnish the camp’s image; besides, it happened at the camp secretary’s house. So I asked the camp committee to do something about it. They put Myo Tun on trial and gave him two-week jail sentence.

Upon hearing that Myo Tun was on trial for “offering ganja to the foreigner,” the lawyer immediately packed his bag and left, cutting his visit short. He was clearly worried that he might be implicated.

Looking back, though, I could not do much to stop marijuana abuse in the camp but was pleased that there was no serious problem. For this, I give credit to the draconian jungle law.

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