Skip to content
Join our Newsletter

Feature - Following the path of Aung San Suu Kyi

A Whistler writer’s search for hope in Burma

I couldn’t believe my good fortune. United Nations envoy, Tan Sri Razali Ismail, was on my flight from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia to Rangoon, Burma. The Malay diplomat was making his sixth trip in 18 months to pursue negotiations between the military junta and Aung San Suu Kyi’s democratic party.

Ismail told me, "Change doesn’t mean elimination, that’s our message to the junta."

"Is there hope?" I asked.

"If I didn’t think there was hope I wouldn’t be here," he said. "I have many other things I can do with my time."

Burma is one of the most brutal and corrupt military regimes in the world, with of course, competition from China, North Korea and Iran. There is a big social debate over ethical tourism to Burma. Several activist groups outside the country advocate boycotting any travel and foreign investment. They argue that the generals who ruthlessly rule the land use the hard currency to buy arms – and they’re right. I was fully aware of the political situation; however, informed travellers provide vital information in and out of the country, and for me, that was the lure to visit. I chose to go and write.

In 1989 the military government changed the nation’s name from Burma to Myanmar. Myanmar had been the name of the country since the days of Marco Polo; the British changed the name to Burma during the Raj. Officially the United Nations uses Myanmar, but most Burmese will not accept Myanmar because the name was changed under the junta.

Aung San Suu Kyi, perhaps the most courageous and principled person of our age, encompasses the hopes and dreams of her people. In May 1990 her party, the National League for Democracy, won 392 out of 485 seats. The junta ignored the results claiming that the election had not been held to chose political leaders, but to elect representatives to a national convention that would draft the country’s constitution. Eleven years later there isn’t a new constitution and several NLD representatives are still in prison.

Burma is also a land of water buffaloes, golden-topped pagodas, marooned robed monks, and busy tea shops. I wondered how I would feel travelling among the betrayed people. My answer came within 24 hours of arriving in Rangoon. I faced the desperate need of two former journalists wanting outsiders to understand the horror of their situation.

A shifted gaze. "Will you meet us?" they asked.

Without any hesitation I answered "Yes." And so began the start of our clandestine meetings.

Travelling can be risky, but I never thought of my travels endangering my life. I’ve always been an advocate for basic human rights, and Aung San Suu Kyi has been my hero for years. The risk factor was never an issue, I would have made whatever contribution to the cause that I could.

Paul Theroux wrote, "True travel is launching into the unknown."

As I walked down the gridded streets of Rangoon, I thought to myself, Theroux is right. On the sidewalk a woman sat on a red plastic stool selling sliced watermelon. She waved a feather duster back and forth to keep the flies away. Beside her an older woman sold kernels of corn, set out neatly in wicker baskets. Her purchasers hoped that by feeding the pigeons (other beings) they would earn better karma in their next lifetime. While I stood eating my piece of watermelon, I watched an old man selling old books and magazines, their covers faded from the dust and sunshine. Over on the corner tri-shaw drivers lounged under the shade of the Neen trees. Tri-shaws are unique to Burma. It is a bicycle with an attached side-seat built to hold two passengers.

"Tri-Shaw mam?" one driver called out to me.

"No thanks," I answered.

"Welcome price!" he offered with a grin.

"No," I repeated. I just wanted to feel the streets of Rangoon.

I strolled into a music shop, Michael Jackson and Britney Spears CDs were for sale. No evidence of U2’s latest CD, All that you can’t leave behind , dedicated to Aung San Suu Kyi. (Bono was recently chosen as European of the Year for his campaign of debt cancellation for developing nations.)

Also on the streets there are "thandinpays" – stooges – in every neighbourhood throughout the city. For many locals the arrival of foreigners is a partial remedy to the lack of world news, and the government wants to see, who is talking with Westerners. Citizens are forbidden to discuss politics with foreigners. I was told, "It can be fatal."

At one time Burma had one of the freest presses in Asia. Before the military take over in 1962 there were more than 30 daily newspapers, in English, Chinese, Burmese, and in five different Indian languages. It all changed in 1962. The military regarded free press as a threat to the nation’s stability. "Irresponsible journalists and editors" were arrested and put in prison.

Today every newspaper, magazine, calendar, and book must pass through government censorship. The nation’s only newspaper, New Light of Myanmar, is published by the Ministry of Information. While Afghanistan was being bombed, the headlines of the New Light complimented generals in uniform, with their shiny medals, donating funds to a pagoda.

Newsweek

is available, but it costs 350 kyat, about 80 cents. The expense may seem minimal, but when the average wage is 5,000 kyat ($11) a month, news magazines are a luxury.

Some Burmese will risk listening to the BBC but its extremely dangerous, as one tea shop owner learned. He and his customers tuned into the BBC and they were caught. He’s now serving five years in prison.

But the thirst for information is insatiable. Early one morning, inside a small neighbourhood tea shop, I met my new friends.

"Are you not afraid to talk to me?" I asked.

"No. I’m an old man and until the day I die I will fight for the cause. But if I go back ‘in’ I know I won’t come out again."

My friend was incarcerated for refusing to join the government-controlled, Myanmar Writers and Journalists Association.

He explained: "If you didn’t join, you were considered a foe."

We lowered our voices and discussed several issues while the owner sat outside, keeping an eye out for any stooges.

"Will you assist us in getting information to our former colleagues at the BBC, VOC, RAF, and the New York Times ?"

I heard myself answer, "Yes, I will."

After an hour of talking customers filled the stools and pots of tea started to flow. It was time to leave. We arranged our next meeting and with my notes carefully folded in my front pocket I slipped outside into the morning sunshine.

Half way down the block a khaki-coloured truck full of soldiers drove past. I froze.

How do you measure fear, limits or risks? A wave of fear, that I have never experienced slammed me. The soldiers drove past the tea shop, but the fear stayed within me.

Travelling alone is a discovery into yourself. That afternoon, back at my guest house, I contemplated the risk factor I was about to embrace. I was definitely living in the moment. The sun went down and it began to get dark outside. Darkness augments fear. I had to get out of my room. I decided to walk around the corner to the Shewdagan Pagoda. It is the most sacred Buddhist site in the country, I thought it might give me some peace of mind.

Removing my shoes at the bottom of the stairwell, I ascended past shops selling flowers, prayer beads, Buddha statues, ceremonial paper umbrellas, and incense. I emerged at the top of the stairs and stood dazed at the exceptional sight before me. Shwedagon is said to have more gold on its spire than is found in the vaults of the Bank of England. Its top is encrusted with 4,500 rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, with a 76 carat diamond gracing the peak. The 98 metre golden spire is surrounded by clusters of smaller spires, temples and prayer halls. I turned left (all Buddhist temples should be walked around clockwise), the marble paving cool on my feet. In holy places its not just what you see, its what you allow yourself to feel.

I had forgotten that it was the full moon and coincidentally it was also Tazaungom, the annual Buddhist festival of lights. Thousands of candles flickered in the setting sun, their golden light spilling onto the ancient stones generating a peaceful energy while the full moon rose above. Some devotees circumnavigated the pagoda, others lit candles, and some sat deep in meditation.

Silently, slowly, I strolled around Shewadagon. I studied the faces of the devotees and I thought of Aung San Suu Kyi and her book titled, Freedom From Fear.

"Don’t be afraid," she states.

Her words became my mantra.

My confidence regained, I went back to my guest house.

"Being a citizen in the twenty-first century involves knowing your rights and obligations, as well as being able to put your knowledge and skill at the disposal of your fellows."

  • E.C. Wragg

Friday, March 8 is International Women’s Day



Comments