Reality check

Tonight I listened to the sound of war.

As I stood in my kitchen preparing dinner I heard a rumbling in the distance, and suddenly became aware that it wasn't thunder. It was a sound I remembered, buried in my subconscious from years ago when I lived by Fort Sill, Oklahoma. The sound of mortars exploding.

I was sure without a doubt, but because I wanted to be wrong, I called a friend of mine who is the research director for a local human rights documentation organization. They track troop movements, and I knew he would be aware of any impending offensives. He confirmed that there were rumors of an upcoming DKBA attack, just south of Myawaddy (the town just across the river, connected by a bridge to Mae Sot). And he felt sure we would be able to hear it, because when a motorcycle bomb exploded last week, it was clearly heard in Mae Sot.

This confirmation obtained, there was nothing more to do but stand in my doorway with a knotted stomach listening to the sounds of destruction reverberating from across the river. What an odd feeling, to know a war is going on so close by, and yet to be utterly unaffected by it, and unable to do anything about it. If (when) refugees come across, my organization and our partners are ready to provide humanitarian assistance and medical care. Human rights groups are documenting the events. At this moment, there is nothing I can do. I eat the orzo salad I just made, a treat imported from America, and sip glass of wine, while Josh Groban continues to sing in the background. How surreal.

In America, it was easy to ignore war. Our country, engaged in two wars, was so little impacted at home. The battles being fought, and sacrifices made were so far away, it was easy to not think about them on a daily basis. Here, the war is just a few kilometers away, and yet, my life is similarly unaffected. With the exception of my occupation, which is chosen, I would hardly know. I'm grateful, of course, to be out of harm's way, but it is also deeply disturbing that such a terrible reality can be unfolding so close, and yet so apart.

As I write this, I am proven wrong - we are not entirely unaffected - the power just cut. In a way, I am glad. I have no idea if this is related to the events across the river, but given the timing, I can't help but suspect. I am glad that we here are affected, involved, even if just a little. I wonder if the residents of Mae Sot are moved by this connection, or merely feel inconvenienced.

I feel guilty, sitting here so comfortably, when so nearby people are running from their homes. To eat dinner, when some will not eat tomorrow. To get ready for bed, when some will sleep in the jungle tonight. Just across the river. How can I sit here, and yet, what can I do?

The explosions have stopped. The power has returned. The battle may have ended, but the war continues. As disturbed as I feel, I can only imagine the reactions of my Karen friends and colleagues, who have family and loved ones across the river. And how long they have been living with this. And how much longer they will have to.

Why is it okay? Why does the world continue to ignore and let rage a hundred tiny wars, a thousand battles, a million lives irreparably damaged, more. Because China and India want cheap energy, and America wants cheap oil and gas. Because we don't care where our gems come from, or the minerals in our electronics. Because we are so unaccustomed to being inconvenienced by war, even when its our own country, that we wouldn't be inconvenienced when its merely some other country, a developing one, that doesn't import our products, or do anything that forces us to listen. Even now, when I'm trying to care, I find myself unable to do anything. Why are there so many lives that don't matter as much as our comfort? How can we possibly end this madness?

As Burke said, or at least as many misattribute to him, "all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing". But what the hell am I supposed to do? What can I do? For tonight, nothing.