Even after Samy was arrested and then released, it would be weeks before he could get home to the refugee camp. Which is why I’d insisted on sending him a little money—the equivalent of $90 U.S., which would be enough to charter a private car back to the camp and bribe Thai authorities if he got stopped on the way.

He reluctantly accepted, and we figured Western Union would be the best way to go. Since a government-issued I.D. makes it easier to collect the money, Samy arranged for his friend Sutar to act as a proxy. I tried to arrange the transfer online, but kept getting an error message that told me I’d have to go to a brick and mortar location. And so I did.

I’ve never wired money before, and never received it. So I couldn’t help feeling a little stupid as I walked through the doors to the empty location in the Lower East Side, and asked the agent behind the bulletproof glass if I could wire some money to Thailand. He wordlessly gestured towards the stacks of forms on the counter behind me, and went back to reading the Post.

The form was simple enough—in the age of identity theft and pin codes and passwords, I was surprised that something involving money trading hands could be so easy. I filled out the form and returned to the teller.

“It’s out of order,” he told me flatly.

“What is?”

“Western Union service,” he said.

“Then why did—” I began, but seeing as he wasn’t paying attention, I stopped. A white piece of printer paper with ‘WESTERN UNION OUT OF ORDER TODAY’ scrawled in huge letters was written on the window. I asked if there was another branch nearby that I could use, and he told me there was one somewhere on 14th street that might work. I sighed.

As I walked the 14 blocks or so to the next branch, my shirt was soaked from the 90-plus Manhattan heat, it occurred to me that Samy would probably kill to be complaining about what amounts to a minor inconvenience—having to walk a couple blocks in the heat.

The truth is, my moralizing came unnaturally: I had to tell myself to tell myself to quit my whining. It was almost as if I’d seen so many TV shows or films that taught this lesson— don’t complain when people out there have it so much harder than you!—that I couldn’t help but contemplate the life lesson

But I think it's absolute impossible for me to truly empathize with Samy’s predicament. Yes, Samy was having a terrible time cooped up in a crappy apartment, waiting day after day to go home. I knew that. But at the same time, I didn’t. Here was a situation that I can recognize as terrible, but one that is so far outside my realm of experience that I can only guess.

Which is why I certainly don’t feel like I’m doing anything close to noble, or even useful as I stagger towards the storefront on 14th with the wire service. And when I see that it’s closed, the expletive I let loose has little to do with Samy. I head for home.

The next day, at the Western Union in Times Square, things go more smoothly. The transfer goes off without a hitch, and I email Samy to tell him so, along with the necessary details. A few days later, he calls to tell me that everything looks to be in order, that he got the money, and that he’s ready to leave. He’s finally ready to get out of Chiang Mai, to head back to the refugee camp.

Now we have to get back to the business of getting him out of there, too.
 

For over a month now, Samy has been stuck in the city of Chiang Mai. Broke, alone, at constant risk of deportation, and bored out of his mind, he sits in a room, waiting for a friend to bring him enough money to charter a van back to his home in the refugee camp.

He ended up here because he grew stir crazy enough to venture a trip to the market, where he was promptly arrested for not having citizenship papers. As a Burmese refugee, he faced deportation for being caught outside his camp. After that close call, it was back into hiding (the next group of Thai officers that pick him up might not be as easygoing) and back to the waiting game.

This might not be the worst fate imaginable to a seasoned refugee who’s spent much of his adult life in the margins—stateless and accustomed to such tensions. But to me, it seems excruciating.

The problem is that since Samy is technically in Thailand illegally, he can’t travel around the country on cheap public transportation, or take buses or trains. There are checkpoints between major cities and the border cities, like the one outside the refugee camp where he happens to live. Refugees and illegal immigrants apprehended at these checkpoints can be jailed or deported.

Which is why Samy is still waiting. With enough money, he can charter a private van with a friendly service that knows the backroads around the checkpoints, but the risky trip isn’t cheap, and with no way to earn any money, Samy is out of options.

I offer to wire Samy enough money to pay for the van, but he tells me no, thank you. “I think my friend will come soon,” he says. He must have said that a half dozen times by now.

I’ve written about Samy’s optimistic disposition before, but this takes it to a whole new level. Samy and I have spoken once a week since he’s been in Chiang Mai, and besides saying that he’s bored, he doesn’t show any frustration about this situation. Here he is confined to a room and he’s telling me, "Nah, let’s wait it out."

It’s always struck me as one of the great cliches, the protagonist turning down help in the face of serious adversity because he’s too proud—but I think some variation on that theme is going on here. It’s more than just not wanting to be a charity case; Samy has genuine confidence in his own self-reliance. He has never asked for money before, and he’s refused it the very few times I’ve offered.

But time goes by, and the friend never shows up. And though I’m not really worried about Samy’s immediate safety—why not is hard to say, and maybe I should be, but I guess I’ve grown confident in his ability to handle this stuff with his trademark nonchalance. I just think the situation sucks, and I want to help. I get pissed off when I’m stuck on a subway platform for too long; I can’t imagine bouncing off the walls of a dingy apartment room for weeks on end. I hope he’s got A/C.

Another motivator behind this new development may have something to do with all the noise coming from Arizona. I’m not going to get into politics here, but I will say that considering Samy’s predicament, I can’t help but draw parallels: Samy was arrested because he was actively working to lift himself out of a life where he’s constricted to a couple square miles of muddy village.

It’s a good exercise in empathy, and it makes me wonder whether we as Americans, who value freedom above all else, would wish these circumstances on anyone. Are we willing to cultivate an environment of fear for people in situations not so disparate from Samy’s? I mean, nobody—with the possible exception of convicted multiple felons—should have to live like this.

And so I want to do something, and seriously, paying for Samy’s way out of Chiang Mai is about as expensive as, say, dinner for two at a casual restaurant here in Brooklyn. If I stay home and make pasta next Thursday instead of going out, we’re even.

Thankfully, Samy finally agrees to let me help him out this once. He tells me he’s going to give his friend a few more days to come through, and then we’ll try to figure out if Western Union can help me deliver a couple bucks across the globe. I'll let you know how that goes.

Embassies make problems go away. In both practical matters (a patient clerk helping a tourist with a lost passport) and popular imagination (a silver-tongued ambassador smoothing international relations), embassies seem like the designated fixer in foreign-affair snafus, which is why I thought that maybe, by contacting the U.S. embassy in Bangkok, I'd get some help getting Samy out of Burma. Of course, thanks to the turmoil in Thailand, getting in touch with the right people at the embassy would be easier said than done.

Thailand is just now recovering from the chaos that gripped it for months, wherein the violence got so dire that the United States had to evacuate much of its staff from the embassy in Bangkok—which probably explains why they weren’t returning my calls.

The embassy was one of the most important players in the refugee resettlement process, so I was delighted when, the other night, an officer for the Refugee and Migration Affairs agreed to speak with me. Unfortunately, the conversation was off the record.

It was an interesting talk, vastly different from those I’ve had with other entities and organizations. The officer spoke carefully, elusive about some things, candid about others. It was entirely understandable: It is the embassy’s M.O. to keep relations with its host country amicable, and negative press about Thai refugee affairs makes their job harder and impedes the progress of their working together.

I learned some things I didn’t already know, and since I can't quote the officer, let me just reiterate some facts that I have previously reported in this space:

The recent trouble in Thailand has disrupted an already disorganized and lowly prioritized (but slowly improving) refugee resettlement process. Thailand is strict in its dealings with refugee affairs, and doesn’t appreciate prodding from outside nations or the media. The Provincial Admissions Board, the body that registers individuals fleeing Burma as "displaced persons," absolutely must do so before any further action is taken. Any attempt to resettle a refugee to Canada (or elsewhere) could be thwarted by the PAB.

Like I said, nothing new. But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't hoped that the embassy might turn out to function as they do in spy films. Instead, it turned out that those high-powered diplomats seem just as frustrated with the limitations of their jobs as I do with mine. But relinquishing the juvenile idea that the embassy could somehow make things happen was disappointing nonetheless, as though yet another of Samy’s few remaining possibilities has been snuffed out on the spot.

It’s been 20 years since an election has been held in Burma. In the last election, in 1990, the lifelong pro-democracy activist Aung San Suu Kyi defeated the military government’s candidate in a landslide, winning nearly 90 percent of the vote. The stunned military junta nonetheless refused to relinquish power, crushed subsequent uprisings with force, and has never recognized the election.

The junta has remained in power ever since, ruling over an undemocratic nation with state-induced poverty, arbitrary laws, threats of violence, and no free press. This is the Burma that Samy grew up in, where citizens live in simmering, perpetual fear. He was forced into the life of a refugee as a direct result of the military’s unchecked power, as was his entire family. And there are millions just like him.

Which is why democratic elections here would be a monumental event. And it’s why the world’s eyes are tentatively on the nation technically known as Myanmar: The military junta has promised free elections will be held for the first time since 1990 this year.

So, while I’m sifting through the emails I’ve received in response to my effort to crowdsource refugee resettlement (keep the suggestions and coming, by the way), let’s look at how a military regime claims it’s going to begin the transition to a democratic government this year.

How a Military Regime Claims It Will Transition to Democracy
The military junta that is currently controlling the nation has designed the entire election process -- yes, the same folks who have been oppressing their constituents for decades. The military set up an Election Commission lead by one of its generals -- instead of a citizen -- to oversee the process. Parties are allowed to register with the commission, as long as they meet the laundry list of requirements put forth by the regime. Officials in this commission cannot be sued or legally held responsible for any wrongdoing at the polls or during the eventual vote tally. The date for the elections has yet to be announced.

Furthermore, the ruling junta refuses to let international monitors into the country to observe the process. And it has implemented seemingly arbitrary guidelines for campaigning and canvassing, creating an environment of confusion and making the parties reluctant to demonstrate—lest they break one of the ill-defined rules. And perhaps most notably, the junta has banned any political prisoners—largely pro-democracy activists—from entering any race.

This means that the icon for democracy in Burma, and would-be clear front-runner for lead office, Aung San Suu Kyi, is out of the running. The other best-known organizers, demonstrators and leaders from the pro-democracy movement of the past are also, ironically, for the most part barred from participating in these ostensibly democratic elections. The military junta’s candidates, of course, are still in the running. This has lead Aung San Suu Kyi and her party, the National League for Democracy, to boycott the election until the political prisoners have been released and allowed to run. Despite all that, dozens of parties have registered to run, including an offshoot of the NLD and representatives of the many highly oppressed ethnic minorities. There’s a great, comprehensive rundown of the confounding process and its myriad rules and stipulations at Mizzima’s Election 2010 page.

Okay, so the "democratic" elections are shaping up to be anything but—yet some still say there’s reason to be hopeful, that these elections are “better than nothing," and are a step in the right direction. Among this camp are international diplomats to Burma like U.S. Senator Jim Webb and a number of U.N. representatives—and many Burmese, who are extremely skeptical but quietly hopeful that the elections will at least amount to progress.

This is how I would describe Samy. He has next to no confidence that the elections will be fair, but he continues to be hopeful that they’ll at least bring change in some small, incremental way. After all, truly free elections, and the retirement of the military junta, would mean he could return to his homeland. In an ideal world. In reality, it’s entirely uncertain what—if anything—will actually be different after the elections.

“I hope for change, but the army controls the election,” he told me. He says that other Burmese and many refugees are hopeful, but like him, they don’t get they don’t believe much will be accomplished by these elections. “Aung San Suu Kyi cannot be part of it, the political prisoners are not free. It’s not good.”

Even less inclined to give the junta the benefit of the doubt are the independent media watchdogs the Democratic Voice of Burma. The organization penned a scathing editorial entitled Stop This "Better than Nothing" Talk, which attacks the support of those like Senator Webb’s as naive and misguided, and downright dangerous:

“Proponents of this approach are in essence accepting the fate of elections; they are conceding to the fact that they will not be free and fair and that this is somehow acceptable ... Without a genuine democratic transition, any election, regardless of how it is sold abroad, will be meaningless, and it will be "business as usual" in Burma ... If this election can not offer the people of Burma a better future then it must be exposed for what it is: a cruel charade.

But you certainly can’t blame the Burmese—who have longed for democracy for decades, and have seen their efforts crushed under violence and oppression time and again—for holding out a flicker of hope.

Even after getting arrested and suffering a narrow brush with deportation, Samy is still hiding out in the bustling Thai city of Chiang Mai. He tells me that he’s going to head home soon, but before he does, an aid group is going to take him to make an appeal to the consulate. Though he’s not exactly sure how much this will help, he says they could have important information and may be able to wield influence over the resettlement process.

I have my doubts, but decide to stay positive.

"Stay positive." I wonder if Samy has a comparable mantra handy. If so, he might employ it when he returns to his home in the Mae La refugee camp, only to find out there’s going to be a temporary, but potentially major, food shortage. Due to a lapse in funding, a central aid group will no longer be able to provide any yellow bean, one of the three major foodstuffs the refugees depend on. For the time being, the refugees will survive, but if more backing isn’t secured, it could be trouble.

This report on the food supply comes from the Democratic Voice of Burma, one of the few reliable sources of independent journalism and good reporting on Myanmar affairs. If it weren't for the DVB and a handful of other organizations like Mizzima, there would be a serious void in our knowledge of what actually goes on inside Burma. (To get a quick idea about the tenacity of the reporters flouting those restrictions, I wholeheartedly recommend the film Burma VJ.)

Thanks to more widespread internet access and foreign servers, undercover operatives working with journalists and locals are able to gather reports and file them abroad—a covert kind of crowdsourcing in an otherwise closed country. It’s inspiring stuff. And it’s reminded me of something I’ve been meaning to do for a while now: It's time for me to ask for your help in getting Samy out of Burma.

Thus far, I’ve received a number of very kind emails from readers voicing support for this effort, offering to help, or seeking to engage refugee issues in some way. I want to thank everyone for writing and to ask you to keep them coming.

As you know if you’ve been following along, I’ve encountered many hurdles en route to securing resettlement for Samy, some of which appear all but insurmountable at times. So if you have any ideas regarding refugee resettlement, or any expertise on the subject, I’d love to hear from you. And if you know anyone that may have such ideas or expertise, please forward this story to them. There may be laws or loopholes or provisions that I’ve overlooked, ideas I haven’t given credence to, and so on. Even though I’ve talked to numerous experts already, there’s always room for new perspectives.

If ordinary citizens can risk their lives to crowdsource journalism in a country run by a military junta, then we can pool our resources to find a way to rescue a young man who’s been persecuted by that country. Right?

I certainly hope so.

Share your ideas in the comments, and send your ideas, suggestions, tips, or thoughts to briancmerchant (at) gmail (dot) com


 

I think it’s time

Let me outline my expectations, abstract as they were: Get on the phone. Do some serious research and investigative work. Make contacts and allies in the appropriate agencies. Keep up with Samy. Cooperate, pool information, and stay abreast of current events in the refugee camps in Thailand.

That’s essentially what has happened. But that’s also where the plan drops off precipitously.

What I hazily anticipated coming next looked something like this: Work hard. Make more calls, maybe. Find out who helps refugees on the ground in Thailand and Burma. Keep working hard. File some paperwork or something. Work with a government agency, maybe. Raise some money to help pay for whatever fees or costs the process might require. Get Samy on track to emigrate. After months, maybe even a year, triumph. Meet Samy at the airport, and firmly shake his hand.

In hindsight, I realize I had this ridiculous, optimistic assumption that there was surely a clear-cut way forward that would result in Samy living in the United States. Maybe I would write a book. Samy and I would be friends. Maybe we'd even do the talk show circuit.

Now, for the record, I didn’t seriously consider the latter. The point is, idealism and naivete struck me with a misguided attitude from the onset, with the belief that if I had enough good intent and fortitude, I could make this happen.

But now, after talking to various aid groups and human rights lawyers and agents at the U.N. and spokespeople at the U.S. embassy and Samy and the I.R.C. and reps at the State Department and so on and so forth, it has become quite clear that there is nothing resembling a clear path forward. There’s no outlined procedure for dealing with cases like this, no precedent for advocating for a specific refugee here in the United States. This isn't Canada; there’s no blueprint.

Obviously, I wasn’t expecting for the task to be easy or uncomplicated—I certainly anticipated the way to be mired with bureaucratic complexities, and I was up for enduring frustrations and setbacks. But I also expected to find some more direct course of action, other than donating cash to the general cause (which, don’t get me wrong, is a very worthy cause). You know, something I could do.

During a number of my talks with the various players in the resettlement process, the other party, sensing my frustration, would sometimes say that I’m helping just by writing on the topic. That this story needs to be told. I’ve heard that a few times, and I appreciate the sentiment, and I do think that it’s true—but it’s certainly not getting Samy out of Burma. And that’s what matters at the end of the day. This isn’t about me.

Which is why it’s time to dig in, with renewed vigor. And I have some ideas. Samy's getting arrested sent me back to the drawing board. It’s time to get aggressive, to really start prying and pushing and see what kind of opportunities can be opened up. It’s time to get creative—and to leave the empty assumptions behind.

Last week, Samy was arrested by the Thai police.

A few days before, he had left the refugee camp to make a rare clandestine trip to the city of Chiang Mai. He wanted to see an old family friend about getting help with immigration papers. Leaving the camp and nearby town always carries a severe risk: If Samy gets caught, he faces deportation to Myanmar, where he’s wanted by the military junta.

It’s especially dangerous to travel great distances, past checkpoints on the Thai highways. A few months ago, when Google Latitude alerted me to the fact he was suddenly in Bangkok, I panicked, and immediately feared the worst. He turned out to be fine; he was making an (unsuccessful) appeal to the United Nations for resettlement.

This time, in Chiang Mai, Samy spent the bulk of his stay hiding out at his friend’s house. Chiang Mai is the largest city in Northern Thailand, a hub for commerce and tourism. While he was there, some unrest struck the city, as the bloody riots erupted in Bangkok, and security probably continues to be a top priority. Nonetheless, after days of laying low—and likely in dire need of a change of scenery—Samy made a mundane trip to the market to buy groceries.

Samy is from a northwestern region of Burma, closer to the border with India, and is clearly not of Thai descent. He could be picked out of a crowd with relative ease, if the authorities opted to engage in racial profiling. That's exactly what happened.

He was standing on the street corner when the Thai police approached him. They asked him if he was a Thai citizen. He said, "No." They asked him if he had migration papers. He said, "No." Then they arrested him.

By now, Samy has been in so many tight spots, and had his life threatened so many times, that I wonder how he felt as they brought him to the police station for questioning; as they led him to the detention cell. He's been in Burmese jail—after being wrongly accused of thievery by an unhinged military officer—and he's escaped. He eluded the military for years as they came after his family before being forced to flee. He’s crossed the border, eluding armed guards and patrols on both sides.  

Like most of you reading this, I am totally incapable of empathizing with the kind of fear he must have endured: Samy has lived, for years, with a true existential threat. Every day, he has had to cope with a fear that the military would find his family, kill his family, and then kill him. He had to do something with that fear, respond to it somehow. It was there, unrelenting.

And after Samy successfully made it to Thailand, that omnipresent fear of getting killed was maybe, after time, replaced with a fear of getting caught, getting thrown out of the country—where the fear of getting killed was waiting for instant reprisal. Having lived with the former for so long, perhaps, in a twisted way, made it easier to cope with the latter. It’s maybe why he’s willing to take risks like these cross-country trips.

As a white, financially secure, middle-class American, I have no fear like that fear—any nightmare, any horrifying incident I’ve ever had, any brush with death, even, has always resolved into a safe, routine existence where I and my family and friends are not at risk of being rounded up and separated from our loved ones, and certainly not pursued by a death-dealing regime. I hate the idea of even writing about this (if Hemmingway’s "write what you know" policy were to have any merit, this page would be blank. But that’s part of this). Samy does have to live with the fear of getting killed, of getting caught—and addressing that, even with a few striving, unavailing words, at least feels like somewhere to start.

That is why I want to know how scared Samy really was, when he explained to the officers in Chiang Mai why he was there, that he was a refugee, that he posed no danger to anyone. Was it the fear we might feel when our car breaks down on the highway late at night? Was it the will-I-make-it fear? Or has he stopped feeling the fears we know altogether, as situations like this one became too routine in his life? Was this just white noise? Or did he let out a whooshing sigh of relief when the authorities decided to let him go, to leave him with just a warning?

He is perfectly calm when he tells me over the phone that “Oh yes, I was frightened.” His tone barely fluctuates as he speaks, betraying no hint of an answer. Like I would know what to do with one anyway.

First, you have to live in Canada. Our neighbors to the north live in one of the few places in the world where citizens can take the initiative to help refugees move directly into their country. Even though the Unites States relocates more refugees every year than all other nations combined, Americans can’t choose individuals they’d like to help out. Which is why it’s a good thing Samy bumped into William.

William David Ritchie met Samy at the same place I did, at the Thai restaurant in Mae Sot where Samy works part time. He had traveled to Thailand to try to track down the family members of some Karen refugees he'd already helped resettle in Calgary. The Karen people are a persecuted ethnic minority in Myanmar, and they comprise the majority of refugees in the camp where Samy lives. Before William left for home, he offered to add Samy to the list of people he was helping to apply for resettlement in Canada.

Ritchie hails from Calgary, and has long been involved in refugee and immigration affairs. He’s studied refugee policy and law, and is an active player in refugee resettlement operations in Calgary. Basically, he’s in a way better position to help Samy than I am.

Samy put us in touch, and I’ve been keeping up the best I can with Ritchie’s progress up north via email. When I called Ritchie in Calgary for the first time one Sunday evening, the voice that answered was archetypically Canadian: helpful, kind, and soft-spoken. He told me a little more about how the process works, and how, exactly he hopes to get Samy out of Burma.

First, he tells me that he’s formed what’s called a "Group of 5" to arrange for the resettlement of the Burmese refugees, including Samy. That’s the first step in pursuing private sponsorship in Canada:  

“We decide we want to help these people, and help them settle into the country,” Ritchie says.

This Group of 5—five or more friends and colleagues working together to help—chooses individual refugees, or other  persons of humanitarian concern, and essentially sets out to prove to the federal government that they need to be resettled in Canada, and that the Group is capable of helping them do so.

“A Group of 5 is typically either a church group or a group of friends who have gotten together to help,” Ritchie says. The government requires that the group build a case for the resettlement hopefuls, and acquire admissions applications directly from the refugees. They then need to detail a settlement plan— where and how they will work and live—and prove that they can provide $10,000 for each of the refugee applicants to cover the refugees’ needs as they acclimate to the country. The amount required up front can be reduced if the group partners with an NGO or another group, such as the East Kootenay Friends of Burma, which Ritchie has teamed up with.

As I write this, Ritchie is finalizing the application for Samy and four Karen refugees—he may even be done. It’s a complex and intricate process, and he wants to make sure that it’s in top shape before they turn it in.

“We want to have all the history, applications, information on the individual, how come they had to leave their countries, the 'chickety-boo' so to speak, before we submit it to the immigration department, so they have the largest chance to be accepted.”

Once all the paperwork’s been filed, there’s still a long ways to go, however—the applications must be processed and approved. That includes a Canadian immigration official making a trip out to the refugee camps to interview the candidate—something that likely won’t happen for at least a year, Ritchie says. And hangups are prone to occur at any point along the bureaucratic pathway, just like anywhere else; which is why I’m going to keep trying to get Samy into the United States, and help Ritchie if I can—who knows? There may be some unique opportunities for cross-border cooperation. After all, the odds are still against Samy, even considering Canada’s more progressive system.

And Ritchie, well acquainted with the difficulties and frustrations inherent in this long process, keeps his head up. “I'm optimistic,” he told me, “things are moving forward.”

Samy doesn't live near the Thai capital of Bangkok, but his fate rests largely on the government that resides there-and that government has recently been plunged into utter chaos. Dozens have been killed and hundreds injured in the past weeks, as negotiations between political factions failed and the army resorted to force to quell a long-standing protest.

So before we delve deeper into one Canadian's plan to save Samy, it makes sense to look at the current turmoil in Thailand, through Samy's eyes. After all, he lives in Thailand, and his prospects of finding a new home are intimately bound to the Thai government's decision-making power. And a state caught in the midst of violent crisis tends not to put refugee affairs on the top of the agenda. Yet the immediate impact on Samy has been so great, not just because the clash disrupted government operations, but because it's something he's seen before.

Samy tells me that what's happening in Thailand reminds him of life in Burma: He's again seeing a military-backed, authoritarian leadership use military might to crush protesters calling for democracy. The military junta in Burma has routinely used violence to shatter pro-democracy movements for the last two decades.

"In Burma, it's the same thing: The army has been killing people, scaring people. And when I got here, I thought this country was freedom, and that people had a power," he says. "But they're killing people."

Though the story behind the deadly standoff is long and complex, an abridged version goes something like this: A huge populist grassroots organization, made up largely of the poor and champions of the poor, took to Bangkok en masse two months ago. Known as the "Red Shirts," the faction consists of followers of Thaksin Shinawatra, the democratically elected prime minister who was deposed in a military coup in 2006. (He's been living in exile ever since.)

The Red Shirts occupied Bangkok's posh commercial districts, calling for the resignation of Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiv. According to the L.A. Times, they claim his "government is illegitimate, that it came to power by manipulating the courts and cozying up to the military, and that it embodies an elite indifferent to the plight of the poor." Negotiators sought a democratic solution, and Abhisit eventually promised new elections. But talks broke down around two weeks ago, and the military moved in to quell the uprising: 35 were left dead, and hundreds injured. Most were Red Shirts.

Now, even though the Red Shirts have retreated, pronounced fears of a greater conflict remain. Some have voiced concern that a full-on civil war might break out. Others murmur about totalitarian rule and economic collapse. To be sure, incalculable damage has been done to Thailand's tourism-heavy economy.

Samy mentions all of this, and though he says civil war seems possible, he's characteristically optimistic: "I think that they'll fix the problem. But it's still a big problem, and if they don't fix it now, it will become bigger and bigger. I think they have to fix it very soon."

He says there are only a few Red Shirts in Mae Sot, the city he frequents, and that there hasn't been much trouble. But he does wonder whether the tumult will delay his hearing with the PAB-the important meeting in which the Thai government could finally officially label him a displaced person.

"They say next month, but because of the political situation is very bad, I think maybe longer," Samy says. He's received no further word on the subject.

Most of all, Samy is disturbed by the military's use of force, and the fears he sees stirred in the Thai people. While commentators thousands of miles away may be relieved it wasn't as bad as Tiananmen Square, the magnitude of the tragedy is still resonating in Thailand.

"I will show you one video-you can watch that one. I was really, really mad," Samy tells me. He later emailed me the video, made by English-speaking journalists, and told me to share it. 

I can't pretend to understand what it's like to be someone who's fled one eminently hostile government, only to watch his sanctuary country erupt in violent conflict. But I imagine news of the Thai army turning its guns on its own citizens must have been gut-wrenching. Nonetheless, Samy believes things haven't gotten as dire as they are in his home country, and that democracy will eventually win the day.

"It's not like in Burma. There, tthey can talk. And they can fix it with dialogue, and not with a gun anymore."