A man who fled Myanmar tells of the endless struggle Rohingya face in finding a place to call home
Noor
Muhamad was barely 10 years old when a soldier flew into a rage and
used the buckle of his belt to whip him, causing a gushing wound and
leaving a mark that he still carries on his back.
Having
lived in Thailand for 25 years, Noor Muhamad, a Muslim Rohingya, still
lingers in a state of uncertainty and permanent transit. (Photo by
Thanarak Khoonton)
Born
into a middle-class farming household, he recalls how as a child,
soldiers falsely imprisoned women and children for crimes they didn't
commit.
Noor managed to sometimes convince the soldiers to take him in their place.
Like
so many Muslim Rohingya, Noor fled the persecution in what was his home
in Myanmar to Bangkok during Myanmar's student uprising in 1988. Here
he's had to face a kind of permanent transience, despite his white
immigration card, and risks suspicion, and even run-ins, with Thai
officials.
Every
morning Noor, who looks cheerful and happy, goes out to the streets of
Ramkhamhaeng to hawk Indian crepes, or roti, on his pushcart, ekeing out
a living and hoping for a better future for himself, and for his people
adrift in the void of statelessness _ or worse, homelessness.
"While
growing up in Myanmar's Rakhine state, my family were subjected to all
forms of persecution for being who we are. Running from the authorities
has become part and parcel of being a Rohingya, no matter where we are,"
he said.
Noor
says his personal struggles so far are nothing compared to what members
of his ethnic group are facing. This has made him all the more thankful
for the opportunity to call Thailand his temporary shelter _
perpetually temporary perhaps _ despite the adversities. Nevertheless,
he has fought tooth and nail to live an existence in Thai society which,
he says, is befitting a human being.
His
eyes quickly well up with tears when he proudly displays a pocket-size
calendar with a photo of His Majesty King Bhumibol Adulyadej, given to
him by a charity under royal patronage that he volunteers with.
Back
in Myanmar, many Rohingya are considered officially stateless by the
government _ despite the fact that they have lived there and toiled the
land for centuries. Since Noor's earliest recollections, he was told
that his lot are illegal immigrants from Bangladesh, thus denied
citizenship. During his childhood, he recalls the sense of trepidation
he felt whenever soldiers marched in front of his family farm in Rakhine
state, for that only meant bad news in the form of physical abuse,
forced detention or having sacks of farm produce forcibly taken.
Noor Muhamad’s family picture. He doesn’t live with his wife and children. (Photo by Thanarak Khoonton)
"The
current surge of Rohingya boat people fleeing their homeland is not a
new phenomenon," stated Noor. When his hopes of getting refugee status
faded, he had no choice but to stay in Thailand. The 25 years that have
elapsed since can best be described as tumultuous, marked by having to
play hide-and-seek with Thai immigration police.
"My
fate seems no better off than that of my fellow Rohingya brothers
today. Rohingya are a forgotten people. I can put myself in their shoes
because I also live in constant fear of being caught by Thai
authorities, who look at me as an illegal migrant. Some even kick and
beat me, not to mention take money from me when an opportunity arises."
And
yet there are also other, brighter opportunities. To beat the odds set
against him, Noor began to volunteer at charitable organisations, from
flood-relief programmes to orphanages.
''I
hope that the deed would form a positive impression of the Rohingya
with locals, and break any stereotypes they might have of us,'' he says.
His
humble demeanour, polite nature and willingness to help made him a hit
with everyone he's met _ and also with the regulars of his roti
pushcart.
When
they need a helping hand, the charity invites him to come and assist,
for instance during the big floods of 2011. As a form of gratitude, they
have given him a certificate of appreciation each time he has taken
part.
For
Noor, at the least the paper serves as credentials with which to boost
his self worth to live with his head held high in society. This passion
to get involved in charitable causes also played a pivotal role last
year in enabling him to receive a temporary ID card.
Despite
his status, Noor also talks about how he has realised his penchant for
martial arts and acting when he landed a job as a stunt extra in a
handful of Thai films. He has also resigned himself to the fact that
people cheat him of his acting fee because they know he can't stand up
for his rights. Such ambiguity _ Noor looks at it as both good and bad _
seems to characterise the limbo most Rohingya have to endure.
Over lunch _ Noor cooked lentils and Indian spices _ he spoke nostalgically about his childhood in Rakhine state.
The
situation is always complex. Noor's personality and willingness has got
him acquainted with a certain branch of Thai law enforcement and the
media, who use him to update them on the latest developments in the
Rohingya migrant crisis. With his relatively proficient spoken Thai, he
also doubles as a translator when the need arises.
Unfortunately, this has done little to deter corrupt law enforcement officers from extorting money from him.
''
I still get picked up by police,'' said Noor. ''They tell me the white
ID I have doesn't give me the right to reside in Thailand legally. So
it's back to playing cat and mouse with the police, a situation which
has kept up since I first stepped foot in Thailand.
''So
far I have had 10 serious run-ins with the immigration police, which
once resulted in my deportation to the Thai-Myanmar border town of Mae
Sot. Before they left us in the forest, they physically abused us.''
More
than physical pain, the bruises left by the beating reminded him of his
torture at the hands of Myanmar soldiers during his childhood.
Being
an active member of the Burmese Rohingya-Muslim Association of Thailand
_ plus his work as an informant _ have put the well-being of his wife
and two children, who reside in Mae Sot, in danger as he is now closely
monitored by Myanmar authorities.
For
their protection, he keeps in contact via phone. The last time Noor
made attempts to reunite with his family was four years ago when,
according to him, he was almost arrested during an illegal migrant
round-up in Mae Sot. Not a day goes by that his heart doesn't ache to be
with his family, he said.
With
the recent arrival of the estimated more than 1,000 Rohingya boat
people in the south of Thailand, Noor's take on the refugee crisis of
his fellow countrymen is pretty simple: stop treating the Rohingya as
refugees in their own country and give them citizenship. Getting
resettled in a third country is not out of choice, he said, it is out of
necessity. As the coming together of the Asean Economic Community (AEC)
nears, he believes it will reflect positively on the Myanmar government
to accept the Rohingya as its own people in the eyes of the world. He
said whatever follows that shouldn't be an issue because all they want
is Myanmar nationality.
''Despite
being treated with disdain, the Rohingya still feel strongly connected
to Myanmar,'' Noor says. ''A stray dog is treated better than us because
the dog can at least fight for a spot under the bridge. We don't have
that privilege.
''Human trafficking is on the rise,'' he says, adding to the suspicion that officials are sometimes involved.
''They can do what they want with a Rohingya because our lips are sealed for fear of reprisals.''
After he cooks lunch, Noor sings us a song he's written about the plight of the Rohingya.
The
lyrics are in Thai and talk about a forgotten, lost people who have
nowhere to go and no place to call home _ a pitiful race that should
never have been born. Blighted and shunned for no fault of their own,
that's what he sings and that's when the song ends.
It sounds like a lamentation, but in fact it's a plea.
