Bamboo People

“Their ‘father’ is standing in a corner. The word still sounds strange, but so many boys my age have lost their real fathers. Maybe they’re looking for a replacement.”

Given Burma’s chaos and instability, Chiko and Tai aren’t the only children who have lost parents or been forcibly removed from their homes and families. Many boys seek role models elsewhere. Chiko and Tai see through the captain’s propaganda and manipulation, but not all boys can. Instead, they seek the captain’s approval and praise, turning to him as a role model and replacement father figure; this reiterates the theme of The Importance of Strong Role Models. However, not all father figures and father/son relationships are healthy—the captain’s favoritism is a clear example of the toxicity and grooming of such a manipulative relationship.

“I’ve been taught not to believe anything the government says about the tribal people. But the other new recruits didn’t have someone to tell them the truth. All they have is this captain’s version.”

Again referencing the theme of Education Versus Propaganda/Hatred, Chiko mentally resists the military government’s lies about other ethnic groups. While Chiko observes and understands that not everyone learns to see alternate perspectives, Chiko doesn’t yet feel the effects of this propaganda as personally as he does later in the novel. Chiko—and many other conscripted boys—are still immersed in the idea that a wholly Burmese Burma is the ideal solution to this eternal civil war. This hints at the symbolism of the body as Burma, which becomes more evident with the Shan boy’s beating.

“Mother always told me not to judge people by their appearance. She was certainly right in Tai’s case.”

This reminder hints at Chiko’s budding friendship with Tai, touching on the theme of Friendship Without Borders—in this case, crossing the boundaries of social class. Chiko’s proper way of speaking and constant revelations about basic survival skills reveal his privileged upbringing. While Tai isn’t as influential as Daw Widow, they have similarities, including illiteracy. Tai’s adaptability, acting, and resourcefulness remind Chiko not to assume that book smarts are the key to success.

“Tai smiles. ‘I don’t mean to make you feel bad, Chiko,’ he says. ‘I can’t read and write, so I’d never make it in school. But if I were going to stay in this place, I could survive. I’m just not sure you’ll be able to.’

[...]

“[...] Tell you what—if you teach me how to survive this training, I’ll teach you to read and write.”

This quote again speaks to friendship overcoming class boundaries. Tai and Chiko are now comfortable enough to be candid with each other; Tai bluntly reminds Chiko that book smarts and a privileged, homeschooled education aren’t everything. Their deal suggests that they can be role models for each other—Tai helping Chiko survive the present, Chiko helping Tai plan for his future. At the same time, Tai’s single-minded stubbornness is evident—he wants to escape and find his sister yet looks only at short-term goals rather than long-term ones.

“I lunge to try and catch them, but it’s too late. I hear a crunch under his [the captain's] feet. Those glasses cost my parents a lot of money. Now I can’t focus on things that are close; I won’t be able to read or write.”

The theme of Education Versus Propaganda/Hatred is constantly referenced in Chiko’s interactions with the captain. The captain, an illiterate farmer, is a bully who revels in the power that his military rank and propaganda give him, and seeks ways to feel superior to others. He bullies Chiko because he recognizes that Chiko’s intelligence and upbringing make him immune to the captain’s manipulations, so he forbids and destroys what makes Chiko superior to him—Chiko’s education and literacy. Here, Chiko’s glasses and the captain’s attempt to destroy them symbolize the captain wresting away Chiko’s power by removing the tool that allows him to use his literacy skills. Instead of using Chiko’s skills for his own gain, the captain—much like the military junta—prefers to destroy his opponent rather than cooperate with him.

“Tai reaches out and clasps my hand as we head to the river, where the other recruits are gathering. It’s a strange sensation. This is how men walk with a good friend, a best friend: hand in hand. A first for me.”

Chiko has difficulty making friends with his peers (26). Tai is his first close male friend—the feeling is mutual. Tai’s gesture of friendship—hand-holding—speaks to the theme of Friendship Without Borders and contrasts with the relationship between the captain and the sergeant: Although the commanding officers share a past, their relationship is hierarchical and toxic, built on rank and control rather than equality and teamwork. Chiko and Tai, however, support and learn from each other, recognizing that they complement each other as people, and don’t define their relationship by social class.

“‘Not everybody is as smart as you are,’ I whisper back. In fact, hardly anybody is. I think of Daw Widow—it’s uncanny how much Tai reminds me of her.”

Although Chiko is aware of Tai’s intelligence and resourcefulness, he still needs the occasional reminder that literacy isn’t the only kind of intelligence. However, he now simultaneously recognizes and values Tai and Daw Widow’s brand of smarts. Like Daw Widow, Tai can influence higher-ranking officers; both of them understand their worth and their abilities—and use their wiles to help others even if it risks their own well-being. Tai’s patience and empathy are still developing; although he’s sympathetic enough to secretly help the sergeant, he becomes annoyed when the sergeant can’t keep up with the plan and maintain the secrecy of the ruse. As a teacher, Chiko is more empathic and mentors Tai like Daw Widow mentored him, signaling character development and growth.

“My longing to see them [Chiko's family] is growing more intense as the weeks go by. And Lei’s picture is an addiction. I’ve started carrying the photos in my pocket under my uniform; the button keeps them safe.”

The photographs in Chiko’s pocket symbolize hope (Lei) and resilience (Father). He carries them at all times, for both emergencies and comfort. Although he misses his family, he’s learning resilience, so he’s more comfortable sharing Father’s photograph with Tai. Lei—Chiko’s hope—is more delicate; Chiko desperately needs hope to survive his military conscription (hence often looking at Lei’s photo) yet is terrified of losing it (and thus keeps the photo in his securely buttoned pocket).

“Tai and I are friends now, but it’s too soon to show him how beautiful Lei is, or to reveal my hopes for the future. Do I even have a future? When this group of soldiers heads out to battle, we recruits will become soldiers in their place. Some will help [Sergeant] U-Tha-Din run the camp. Others will join the captain to round up and train a new group of recruits. And then it will be our turn to run through the jungles with rifles, fighting tribal people.”

Although Chiko clings to hope and tries to stay resilient, it’s not easy. The photographs help sustain him, but still doubts creep in. Chiko is aware that his education stops him from being brainwashed by propaganda, but it can’t save him from continued warfare. He doesn’t yet fully comprehend that Burma is a broken body. He begins to notice the cracks in the military facade, but only sympathizes—rather than empathizes—with the Karenni. Nor does he fully grasp the importance of diversity. He remains focused on how the consequences of propaganda affect him, rather than on how they affect others, like the Karenni.

“He takes a deep breath. ‘I never had a brother,’ he says. ‘Who knew I’d find one here, of all places?’

[...] ‘Who knew?’ I echo.

‘My brother may not be much of a fighter, but he’s a decent teacher. Or maybe it’s that I’m such a great student.’

I flick him lightly on the skull. ‘You still have to learn to write. It’s not enough just to read.’

‘I will, Ko,’ Tai promises. I catch my breath—he’s called me ‘older brother’ for the first time.”

Here, Tai and Chiko’s friendship reaches its most intimate level—brotherhood. They value and complement each other’s skills and have fulfilled their roles as mutual mentors: Chiko can survive a fight, and Tai is now literate. Tai uses the term “Ko” to represent his closeness with Chiko; it’s a term already dear to Chiko because Lei uses it, too—though for her, it has a romantic connotation.

“‘Besides, you should be proud. A boy who can read is getting rare in Burma these days.’

‘Reading doesn’t help you do everything, Ko,’ Tai answers, taking the box of matches from me. He has a fire blazing in two minutes flat.”

This passage speaks to both friendship and education. Chiko praises Tai on his educational—and literacy—progress, while Tai calls Chiko “older brother” (“Ko”). Chiko’s progress in physical training brings him closer to Tai’s skill level. Although Chiko has elevated Tai to Chiko’s social class, he also must meet Tai at his level; in this regard, Chiko still has work to do.

“‘The boy’s changed,’ Peh said. ‘He’s full of anger.’

‘It’s that new friend of his,’ Mua whispered. ‘He’s a bad influence.’

[...]

‘He’s sixteen now, my love, becoming a man.’ [...] ‘But what kind of a man is he becoming?’ Peh asked, and he sounded worried.”

While Chiko can resist propaganda and manipulation fairly easily, Tu Reh struggles against similar challenges (resisting hatred), underscoring the theme of Education Versus Propaganda/Hatred. His situation is complicated because his hatred stems from trauma—he’s the oppressed rather than the oppressor. His anger reflects the fractured body of the country of Burma and its civil war, but also a pivot point: Tu Reh is growing up but isn’t yet an adult—he still has time to change, as long as he can move beyond his anger. Although he treasures bamboo, he hasn’t yet become the open-minded person it symbolizes.

“Peh reaches for my bamboo pole, and I give it to him. He holds it in one hand and the rifle in his other. It looks almost like he’s weighing them.

‘A man full of hatred is like a gun, my son,’ Peh says. ‘He can be used for only one purpose—to kill.’ [...] ‘[...] And that’s why I’m going to stay like the bamboo, Tu Reh. I want to be used for many purposes. Not just one.’

Peh releases his end of the pole, and it lands on the ground with a thud. ‘I won’t command you, my son. A Karenni man must decide for himself. Leave him for the animals. End his life now. Or carry him to the healer. It’s your choice.’”

Peh is an influential role model in Tu Reh’s life. Tu Reh looks up to him and wants his approval; however, Peh recognizes that eventually Tu Reh must make his own choices. Peh therefore explains Tu Reh’s options, but leaves the final decision to him. By doing this, he gives Tu Reh the space and opportunity to grow; simultaneously, he introduces bamboo as a symbol of resilience, adaptability, and open-mindedness. He uses Tu Reh’s treasure and roots to guide him past the anger, vengeance, and trauma (gun) that threatens to rot him inside.

“Peh places both hands on my shoulders. I try not to show my surprise, but we both know that fathers only do this once or twice in a son’s lifetime. We stand face-to-face for a long moment. ‘One decision leads to another, my son. God will show you the way.’”

Again, Peh steps back, encouraging Tu Reh’s cognitive thinking, moral compass, and independence. Peh also calls on a more abstract “father figure,” God, to act as a role model for Tu Reh. Peh recognizes that he must give his son the space to grow up but reminds Tu Reh that he doesn’t just have one person from whom to seek guidance—he has his faith, but more importantly, he has himself.

“I know the words the old man intended me to hear: a time to kill, a time to heal. Will there ever be a time for me to kill? What about to defend and protect?”

The grandfather, elderly and wise, is an important role model for Tu Reh (and for Chiko). Currently, Tu Reh is still like a gun: He wants to kill, he wants vengeance, he wants to rage under the guise of “protecting.” The grandfather’s message—“a time to heal”—doesn’t just refer to Chiko and his injured leg; it refers to Tu Reh as well. Unless Tu Reh lets go of (or better manages) his anger, he’ll never move past his trauma. Tu Reh recognizes the message but isn’t ready to listen.

“The grandfather trots nimbly through the hidden mines to where we’re waiting. ‘There’s a right time for everything, my boy,’ he says, noticing my close look at the rifle. ‘A Karenni man must decide for himself when to kill.’”

Although arming himself with a rifle seems counterintuitive and hypocritical to his earlier message, the grandfather teaches Tu Reh an important lesson—balance. While mercy and healing are important, especially when interacting with an enemy, one must also be realistic in a civil war. A gun can only kill, but bamboo can both kill and heal. The important thing is to know how to choose—he therefore must know and trust his own judgment.

“I’m surprised by my own frustration. We dragged that soldier all the way here, escaping bullets and an angry elephant, bringing my loyalty into question, and they couldn’t save his leg?”

Tu Reh addresses the theme of Friendship Without Borders. While he still loathes Chiko’s Burmese ethnicity, he empathizes with Chiko’s circumstances. They’re not yet friends, but Tu Reh now cares about Chiko’s well-being and hopes that he keeps his leg. On a symbolic level, this indicates a growing desire for peace and coexistence rather than a violent crusade of vengeance.

“‘You [Chiko] look a lot like him [Father].’

He lifts his head to see my face. ‘Really? How?’

I take a moment to study the photo again. Their features aren’t the same, really. So why is there such a strong resemblance? ‘You have the same look in your eyes. It’s like…like maybe you’re thinking about the same kinds of things.’”

Father’s photograph returns as a symbol of resilience. By now, Chiko has experienced his worst trial yet—losing his leg and surviving in hostile territory. However, he’s determined to survive. Chiko is no longer the passive coward at the training center; he’ll do what it takes to return home. Tu Reh empathizes with this; their relationship is improving, crossing cultures and intergenerational conflict to create a Friendship Without Borders.

“[T]he doctor says wearily[,] ‘[...] The men leave me alone because I’m old and I’ve treated so many of them—Burmese, Thai, Karenni. They’re starting to seem the same to me. Boys, all of them. Boys in pain.’”

Tu Reh resists this idea, but the Auntie Doctor makes an important point: Despite the cultural, political, and power differences between ethnic groups, in the end everyone is human. The war is devastating to everyone involved, not just the Karenni. The doctor only cares about their youth, not their ethnicity. This speaks to the symbolism of the body as Burma: When its citizens (of any ethnicity) suffer, so does the nation as a whole.

“But he’s [Chiko] not done yet. ‘Your teacher any good?’

‘He’s not bad. In fact, you should meet him. He stepped on a mine years ago. Lost his knee, too, but he can still chase and catch the little ones just fine.’”

Chiko and Tu Reh’s friendship has progressed and solidified. Tu Reh consoles Chiko and encourages his dreams, despite the setback of his trauma. Tu Reh knows that prosthetics and amputations don’t preclude Chiko’s desired career. By telling Chiko about the teacher, Tu Reh reminds Chiko that his literacy and education are still tools of power. At the same time, Tu Reh and Chiko bonding over a prosthetic reflects the body as Burma symbolism: Although the prosthetic and physical body are created from separate materials, they’re still two parts of a functioning whole. While the Karenni and Burmese have different cultural and ethnic heritage, together—respected and unified—they make stronger, better, more diverse allies.

“This council meeting is my last chance to prove that I’m still a Karenni fighter. I have to show them all that I’m the same Tu Reh I was before I left on the mission.

But am I? That night, as Chiko talks about his home, family, and dreams for the future, I can hardly believe this is me, Tu Reh, listening to a Burmese soldier. Am I forgetting? I close my eyes to picture the soldiers who threw the burning torch on our house and bamboo grove. Sadness comes winging back like an arrow. I’d still do anything to get our village back—anything to keep my people alive. But somehow this boy isn’t a part of that anymore.”

Tu Reh’s identity as a Karenni boy is extremely important to him—his place in his community is a source of both pride and anxiety, depending on the circumstances. However, he has grown and changed from the beginning of his narration. Although he remains traumatized and angry, he’s healing by moving past his hurt and loss. He now sees Chiko as a person, not the representative of a loathed entity. In this way, Tu Reh begins to resist the blind hatred created by propaganda, and he resembles his treasured bamboo through his resilience.

“‘I’ll call that one [the prosthetic] my Karenni leg,’ he [Chiko] tells us. ‘It’s going to prove to everybody how good you’ve been to me.’”

Chiko embraces multiple themes in the novel: He values his newfound Karenni friendships and wants to express his respect and gratitude to them; he fully rejects the Burmese military propaganda after personally experiencing and observing Karenni life. He intends to use his power as an educator to fight for peace and to use his social privilege to protect and defend the oppressed group. Additionally, he accepts and values his prosthetic—in symbolic terms, he supports the idea of diverse, peaceful coexistence with the Karenni through valuing differences and mutual respect.

“‘Good-bye, my brother,’ he [Chiko] replies, leaving me with a gift of three words, all in Karenni.”

Language is an important part of cultural identity. The Karenni were forced to learn Burmese in order to interact with the Burmese people and government—it was a way of survival, not of choice. Chiko, conversely, doesn’t need to learn Karenni—he chooses to do so to befriend the Karenni refugees. By making the effort to learn, he demonstrates that he values the Karenni people and culture and wants to build relationships to find peace.