educational paradise

Inside a Myanmar prison block of teachers' apartments

reminding him of Chinese reform through re-education schools

in Sichuan and Fujian

where he lived, taught and breathed years ago

hearing underpaid, undersexed and overworked teachers smash sticks on podiums

using fear as a motivator screaming

wake up idiots

near five-story class tombs

surrounded by walls, dirt, silver strands of barb wire

removed from glowing rice paddies, soaring white herons

Burmese pythons constricting choices and consequences

freedom of speech with Big Brother in deep shadows

near goats foraging in trash as village women lugged buckets of water on thin shoulders

or balanced stacks of bricks and rocks on heads to build a new wall

a new tomorrow, forging new futures for the monied class

a man read a newspaper after 50 years of censorship in Myanmar

as sunlight streaked morning clouds above Shan mountains

inhaling a glorious day in educational paradise.

Repair time.

Salute the sun.

 

living things

Julia and Montessori friends explored living things using plastic objects.

Living things need air, water and food, she said. Like animals. Like us. We are talking animals.

As we live and breathe, said Aiko, scribbling in her creative notebook. She read the fine print. Don't be fooled by cheap imitations. Education is a business. Parents paid. Managers/teachers managed.

Eat fear and stay dependent, said a parent spoon feeding their child past their bedrhyme. Here, she said, let me carry everything for you. 

The child said, how much does conditioning cost?

Now or in the long run, said the parent.

During class on a balcony overlooking a plastic playground, security guards and kitchen women shucking peas, an administrative woman stood silent as a 7th grade girl cut her nails. Why, said Aiko. They didn't conform to school policy, said the woman. We must have standards. 

I'd rather be a hammer than a nail, said Julia.

Nelson, another five-year old genius said, yes and we need stories. Our brains are wired for stories.

Am I safe?

What is the sound of one hand clapping?

What happens next?

What's essential is invisable to the eye, said a boy on a planet with a flower.

Don't think. Look, said Julia.

Helper

Once upon a time there were many small people.

They went to a Montessori school in Myanmar.

Their parents drove big cars down a private road owned by the school.

They dropped off boys and girls and helpers.

What's a helper, said Julia, five.

It's a young girl from a village who lives with you. 

Why does she live with us?

She needed a job. 

Oh, I see, said Julia. She's the one who washes our clothes, cooks our food and cleans our house. In math we learned that 26% of our people are unemployed. That's a big number.

Yes. Here's another number. 16% of the population has electricity.

Power to the people, said Julia. I carry my own stuff. I know how the world works. I am independent. Why does she have to carry the kids' books and bright plastic basket of rice, vegetables, fruit and drinks to the classroom?

She doesn't have to. She does it because some parents are afraid of letting their child carry it. They tell the helper to carry it. You've seen helpers dragging wheeled book bags across cement for primary and secondary kids.

Yes I have. They look sad. Why are parents afraid?

Excellent question. Maybe because the kids are small. Like us. Ask them.

Ok, bye. I'm going to meditate on this question now.

Bye Julia. Nice to see you. 

Sitting kids

Kindergarden kids sit in a circle.

Hands on knees.

Fingers curled.

Touch whorls.

Meditation.

Posture.

Breathe in-out. Slow and easy.

Ah. Om. Mmm. Long exhale.

Smile.

Glock's Perfection

Jack walked up to Sister's II - All Day Breakfast & Bakery in Kampot, Cambodia, a sleepy old French port town.

American, slim, late 50's, chiseled face, crooked front teeth, in a Marine style camouflage cap with fake gold insignia, stained camouflage pants, dusty rubber and canvas military boots and a worn black t-shirt with a picture of a Glock automatic and ammo clip featuring a stenciled bullseye target and words, Glock.Perfection.

He stood in front of a display case. Baked goodies. Cinnamon rolls, brownies, banana cake, carrot cake, biscotti, chocolate fudge pie, chocolate chip cookies and apple pie.

One sister came out.

"Good morning how are you,"

Jack mumbled, "Does the apple pie have raisins in it?"

"No," she said.

"Let me have one slice."

"For here or take away?"

"Take away."

She put the pie on the glass counter, sliced a piece and put it in a styrofoam box. She slid the box into a plastic bag. She offered it to him.

He showed her a $10 bill.

"Oh, don't you have small money?" she said.

"That's a you problem, not a my problem."

She left to find change.

Jack turned to a stranger throwing bread crumbs to sparrows, "You'd think by now she'd have a float in the morning."

"Life gives you the test first and the lessons later," said the stranger.

"Yeah," Jack said, "they need more education and experience."

Two sparrows pecked at curbside crumbs.

The sister returned, handed him change and said, "I hope you enjoy the pie. It's fresh this morning."

An experienced Vietnamese woman collecting plastic and cardboard wearing a bamboo conical hat protecting her from intense sun pushed her daily savage salvage wagon past Sister's.

Jack took the bag, curled a lip in gratitude and walked in a different direction.