Saving Fish from Drowning - Heal Burma

SAVING FISH FROM DROWNING
friends to look his way. Onshore were the vendors who sold more
practical goods to the local people: yellow melons, long-stalked
greens, tomatoes, golden and red spices, clay pots of pickles and
shrimp paste. The colors of the women’s sarongs were those of a
happy people—pink, turquoise, orange. The men squatted in their
dark-colored longyis, the ever-present cheroots clenched between
their teeth.
“What’s with them?” Moff said. On the dock were a dozen sol­
diers in camo-gear with AK-47 rifles slung over their shoulders.
Heidi immediately felt nervous. She was not the only one. It was an
ominous sight. The group noticed that the locals paid no attention
to the soldiers, as if they were as invisible as I was. Or were the local
people watching as cats do?
“They are soldiers,” Walter said. “Nothing to be concerned about.
I can assure you there has not been any trouble with insurgents in
quite some time. This area—much of southern Shan State, actually—
was once known as a red zone, a hot spot for rebel warfare, and no
tourists were allowed then. Now it’s been downgraded to white,
which means all is perfectly safe. The insurgents have fled high into
the hills. There aren’t many left, and those who are hiding are harm­
less. They’re afraid to come out.”
For good reason, Black Spot said to himself.
“Then why all the rifles?” Moff asked.
Walter laughed slightly. “To remind people to pay their taxes.
That’s what everyone fears now, new taxes.”
“What are insurgents?” Esmé asked Marlena in the nearby boat.
I noticed that Black Spot was listening intently, his eyes darting
toward the daughter, then the mother.
“Rebels,” Marlena explained. “People against the government.”
“Is that good or bad?”
Marlena hesitated. She had read sympathetic reports of rebels who
were fighting for democracy. They claimed that their family members
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