n the edge of a war zone, the border town of Mae Sot Thailand is a gateway for people trying to escape the fighting and economic problems inherent in war torn Burma. The vast majority of these people are traveling illegally, and as a result there are checkpoints set up on the roads all around Mae Sot where vehicles are stopped and I.D. cards are checked.
I wake with a start as the lights on the bus are turned on. For most of the overnight trip sleep has eluded me, and I am bleary eyed and unrested. Ahead on the road I see the peculiar row of naked fluorescent tubes that lights up the police checkpoint, and a uniformed policeman waves us to the side of the road with a flashlight. I look around me at the faces of the other passengers, trying to guess who will be taken off and arrested. For certain some of the people around me are Burmese migrant workers returning home to Burma after a stint in a Bangkok sweatshop.
Though I have traveled on the night bus between Mae Sot and Bangkok many times I have never gotten used to running the gauntlet of checkpoints, to the interruption of the journey, having a light shined on your face, the arrests. As a foreigner there is nothing to worry about, but it is unnerving to exchange a friendly word with a policeman who wants to practice his English, while people around you are being arrested.
The bus is boarded by a cop who is wearing a surgical mask against the fumes of the highway and the stark white anonymity of it gives him an ominous look. He moves down the aisle scanning the faces of the people with a flashlight, his eyes predatory. He is searching each face for the fear that will tell him which are the Burmese illegals and which are the Thais; I can tell from the practiced way he moves that he is very good at this. When he comes to the woman across the aisle from me he grunts: "Mee baht pratcha chon my?" (Do you have an ID card?)
"Yes," she answers, but the woman next to her does not. They are holding hands. "We are friends," she explains, "we work together in Bangkok and I am taking her to visit my home."
"Doesn't matter, " says the cop, motioning toward the door. "Off the bus."
The Thai woman begins to plead her story and her grip on the other woman's hand tightens, but the Burmese woman is calm. I can tell she is used to this, as an illegal migrant worker this sort of thing becomes a fact of life.
"Its okay" she says, trying to comfort her friend.
"You're wasting time." says the cop.
With a look of resignation the woman makes her way down the aisle and steps off the bus. Several other people are paraded off and arrested. They will be shaken down for their pocket money and thrown in jail and in a few days they will be loaded into cages and driven in trucks to the border. I have seen convoys of these trucks with people jammed in so tight they cannot sit down. They will be sent back across to the Burmese side, but inevitably they will return, and business will carry on as usual.
