Typically, however, it is not outrage at the brutality, but rather frustration at pay and conditions, that is the major factor causing desertions. One nineteen-year-old former soldier told me that although he was officially paid 10,500 kyats a month during his training in Thatong, Mon State, and 13,000 kyats when he had completed his training, soldiers often did not receive their full salary. Even when they did, they were not given it in cash, but in vouchers which could only be used in military-run shops. They had to pay for their own uniform, which cost 10,000 kyats – virtually a month’s wages. These poor conditions are part of the reason the Tatmadaw loots and extorts money and food from villagers – a practice many believe is deliberately encouraged by the regime.18 A former Chin major, Thawng Za Lian, who fled Burma to the United States, confirms this. ‘The government pushes the army to behave really badly in the front line. They are given five kyats a day for food, which is not enough to buy even an egg. One egg is forty-five kyats. So in the army they just have to try to find food,’ he said. ‘The government knows that looting and stealing goes on. Why do they allow this to happen? All of this has affected morale very badly. Trying to survive daily life, with not enough to eat, having to lie and steal – it changes the spirit of the soldiers.’19
Not all defectors and deserters, of course, had been forcibly conscripted into the military. Some joined voluntarily, in the hope of serving their country, regarding the army as an honourable profession. They left because they were sorely disappointed.
I met one such person at the Karen Revolution Day celebrations in 2009. Aged twenty-four and a Burman, he deserted his unit two years previously, as a lieutenant, after five years in the military. He joined at the age of seventeen, and studied at the Defense Services Academy (DSA). Throughout his three years’ basic officer cadet training, he gave little thought to the nature of the regime he was serving. That changed when he was sent to Karen State. ‘I saw the imbalance, the discrimination, between the upper and lower ranks in the military. I also saw a lot of incidents of oppression of civilians,’ he told me. ‘Whenever we went to the front line, we ordered villagers to serve as porters. I did not like these things happening, and I tried to avoid becoming involved … When I joined the army, I thought I would serve my country. But I witnessed discrimination, and experienced it myself, and that is why I left.’
The crunch came for him when he fell in love with a Karen girl, while serving in Tarley Mo, opposite Maetan. ‘The battalion commander was not happy. He did not allow me to continue a relationship with a Karen girl. That was why I deserted … I am a Burman, from Monywa, in Sagaing Division. The army told me that my girlfriend is from a different nationality, and that it is impossible for me to be with her. They were interfering and oppressing me personally.’
Confirming the widespread use of child soldiers in the Tatmadaw and poor conditions, he said that there are many soldiers like him who want to escape. ‘Other soldiers have the same feeling as me, but they are denied their individual choices and they are forced to obey the regime.’ Escaping, he added, is extremely risky – and once out of Burma, it is impossible to return. ‘If I was returned to Burma, I would be jailed for more than twenty years, or possibly executed. I dare not contact my relatives, as they could be charged under Law 17/1, referring to contact with illegal organisations, which carries a three-year prison sentence, or Law 17/2, involvement in the opposition, which carries a seven-year sentence.’ But, he concluded, all the people of Burma are suffering. ‘I want democracy in Burma, and respect for ethnic rights. The situation in Burma is getting worse and worse and poorer and poorer in every way.’20
This call for democracy is more widely felt than may be known. In a rare interview with Radio Free Asia, an active-duty sergeant said that rank-and-file soldiers are extremely unhappy with the regime, particularly in light of the crackdown on the Buddhist monks in 2007 and Aung San Suu Kyi’s trial in 2009. ‘We all want democracy – both the people and the soldiers,’ he told the radio station. ‘We sympathise with the monks and feel that the officers who ordered this violence will some day have to pay for their actions.’ But he acknowledged that this sentiment is strongest among the junior ranks. ‘I would like to stand with the people, but the higher-ranking officers are unlikely to do so.’21
A handful of defectors have gone on an active campaign against the regime, speaking out in exile and proactively urging their old colleagues to follow suit. Bo Htet Min, a former major who escaped from Burma in 2005, has established a website to counter the regime’s propaganda. Aung Lynn Htut, a former major who served as Deputy Chief of Mission in Washington, DC and defected in 2005, has been overtly critical of the regime, exposing serious human rights violations allegedly ordered by Senior General Than Shwe,22 and arguing that the regime’s elections in 2010 mean that ‘the Burmese people will lose all hope of freedom and the generals who now rule the country will retain their power’.23 In 2008, he called for international pressure on the regime to be intensified, and made a prediction. ‘Based on my experience, my view is that General Than Shwe can’t bear pressure … I have said before that General Than Shwe needs sticks, not carrots,’ he told the Democratic Voice of Burma.
When there is effective pressure; from everyone, including the UN and the international community, all at the same time [… ], his trump card will be to release Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and a few political prisoners for show. As soon as they are released, the international pressure will be reduced. As for Burmese politics, [the Generals] know very well that nothing can be done without Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. So when Daw Aung San Suu Kyi is free, if there is systematic support from people inside and outside, they will inevitably have to hold a dialogue.
Those words have proven prescient. Nevertheless, even with a dialogue beginning and Aung San Suu Kyi participating in the political process, the role of the army is crucial. He emphasised that more should be done to encourage soldiers to abandon the regime. ‘In the army, it is not how people think it is, not all soldiers [are against democracy]. There are many people in the army who want the country to prosper, there are many people who want the country to progress. I would say that at least the level below major general – if the situation favours it, if there is trust – would not hesitate to join hands with pro-democracy people. Therefore, we have to think how we are going to entice soldiers and officers below the rank of major general.’24
On a few occasions inside Burma, I have met serving military officers, and based on surface impressions of the ones I have encountered, I would be inclined to agree with Aung Lynn Htut. Coming face to face with soldiers is a helpful reminder that it is the system, the regime, that is brutal, and that often people within it, especially at lower ranks, are trapped in a cruel system perhaps against their better judgement.
On one visit to Rangoon, I found myself invited to visit the home of a Burmese family I met by chance. Upon entering their home, I noticed a military uniform hanging on the wall, and so, trying to sound as innocent and naive as possible, I asked: ‘Is one of your family serving in the army?’ The father, who had welcomed me warmly with a generous smile, nodded. ‘Yes, I am. I am Regimental Sergeant Major.’ He told me he had served in some of the ethnic states, and in my mind I reflected on what terrible acts he may have had to take part in. As he walked me to the bus stop later, I asked what background the other residents of the area came from. ‘All are military,’ he said with a smile. ‘This is a military camp.’ Unwittingly, I had found myself amongst the Tatmadaw, and had they known who I was I am sure the welcome would not have been so friendly. Yet the basic humanity of a man, and his family, working within such an inhumane system illustrates the tragic set of contrasts with which Burma wrestles on a daily basis.
On another visit, I was in a cafe in Maymyo and a Tatmadaw officer walked in, accompanied by two Caucasian women. They sat at the next table, and he struck up a conversation. After building up some rapport, I asked innocently what the two ladies were doing in Maymyo. ‘Oh, they are Russi
an,’ he said. Then, volunteering perhaps more information than he should have done, he added: ‘They are teaching Russian language at the Defense Services Academy.’ I had been told that Russian experts were assisting the Burma Army, and here was confirmation.
Aung Lynn Htut’s message is one that the democracy movement and the international community need to listen to. Defectors and deserters have not been given the support and encouragement they need, and yet they are a vital, though much overlooked, part of the struggle. They provide a valuable source of intelligence, not only about human rights violations perpetrated by the Tatmadaw, but also about Burma’s wider militarisation, the alleged use of chemical and biological weaponry, the reported development of a nuclear programme, sources of arms and the regime’s reliance on the drugs trade. Furthermore, they can play a crucial role in weakening the regime. Some might even argue that the situation in Burma will never change unless there is a major split in the military and mass desertions. More should therefore be done to reassure those who take the brave decision to defect that they will receive the protection they need. If Thein Sein’s gradual reform process should stall, the role of defectors will be more important than ever.
8
The Torture Chambers
‘Remember those in prison as if you were their fellow prisoners, and those who are ill-treated as if you yourselves were suffering’
Hebrews 13: 3
WHEN WAIHNIN PWINT Thon was born her father, Mya Aye, was in prison. He had been one of the leaders of the 1988 student uprising, and was held for a month in Maymyo. Although he was briefly released, he was then given an eight-year prison sentence and jailed when Waihnin was five months old. She was four years old in 1993 when she saw him again. ‘In between, I only saw photographs,’ she recalls. ‘It was very difficult. I was always wondering why my father never came home.’
One day, Waihnin’s mother told her that they were going to visit her father. ‘It was a big building, and I thought wow, this is my father’s home. I didn’t know it was a prison,’ she says. Waihnin and her mother were given just half an hour with him, and the little four-year-old girl was longing to embrace her father. ‘I waited for the moment when he could hug me, but he was behind iron bars and so he could not reach me.’
For the first six years of his sentence, Mya Aye was held in the notorious Insein Prison in Rangoon. The family could visit him every week. However, for the final two years he was moved to Taungoo, Bago Division, more than 200 kilometres away. In 1997, he was finally released, and immediately resumed his political activism.
His daughter, Waihnin, left Burma in 2006, to study in the United Kingdom. That same year her father organised a petition calling for the release of political prisoners, signed by 530,000 people.1 Readers of Burma Digest elected him ‘Politician of the Year’. In March 2007, he helped organise the ‘White Sunday’ campaign, where protestors dressed in white and visited the families of political prisoners.2 A few months later, during the protests that became known as the ‘Saffron Revolution’, Waihnin spoke to her father on the telephone one evening. ‘He seemed very positive,’ she recalls.
A few hours after talking to her father, Waihnin received a call from the BBC’s Burmese service. ‘They told me my father had been arrested. I argued with them, saying “No, that’s not possible, I just talked to him,”’ she recalls. ‘I called my mother, but the phone was disconnected. A day later, she called me. He had been taken in for questioning.’ For two months, the family heard nothing, and then they were informed that he had been jailed in Insein Prison, along with other leaders of what had become known as the ’88 Generation Students Group, including Min Ko Naing and Ko Ko Gyi. A trial was held in the jail, and he faced twenty-one charges.
On 11 November 2008, he was sentenced to sixty-five years in prison, along with thirteen other activists.3 These included prominent leaders such as Min Ko Naing, Ko Jimmy and Ko Ko Gyi. It is worth remembering that eleven is said to be Senior General Than Shwe’s lucky number by astrologers – hence the choice of date, the eleventh day of the eleventh month, and the length of the sentence, because six and five equal eleven. Mya Aye was moved to a jail in Loikaw, Karenni State, 350 kilometres north-east of Rangoon, making it extremely difficult – and prohibitively expensive – for Waihnin’s mother to visit. He was subsequently transferred to Taunggyi, southern Shan State, in 2010. ‘Unless the situation in Burma changes, I will never see my father again,’ Waihnin told me.
Until the second half of 2011, there seemed little prospect of change in Burma and little chance that the regime would release political prisoners. However, after President Thein Sein indicated his desire to take the country in a different direction, the international community made it clear that the release of political prisoners had to be a priority. Sanctions would not be lifted until all political prisoners were released. In October 2011, therefore, the regime freed approximately 200, including the comedian Zarganar and the labour activist Su Su Nway. On 3 January a further thirty-three were released, but they did not include any of the ’88 Generation Students Group leaders. Waihnin’s hopes had been raised and then dashed – she was living on an almost permanent emotional rollercoaster.
Ten days later, however, Thein Sein took his boldest step so far, and freed the most prominent dissidents: Min Ko Naing, Ko Ko Gyi, Ko Jimmy, Ko Htay Kywe, and Waihnin’s father, Ko Mya Aye. I was flying to Bangkok that morning, and I heard the news before I boarded my flight. I called Waihnin in celebration. Two weeks later, in Rangoon, I had the privilege of meeting her father and family, as well as many of the ’88 Generation leaders. I was struck by how they had not only survived prison and its horrific conditions, but had emerged with their minds clear and their commitment to their struggle intact and strengthened. Just two weeks after their release, they talked to me with an extraordinary and impressive clarity. They gave no thought to their own welfare or rehabilitation – they were focused intently on resuming their activities and contributing to the country’s reform.
Yet also, remarkably, they showed no bitterness. When I discussed with Htay Kywe the question of whether the regime should be held to account and brought to justice for its crimes, he acknowledged that truth-seeking was necessary – but for the purposes of reconciliation and preventing the recurrence of such crimes, not for revenge. ‘We can forgive,’ he said, ‘but we cannot forget.’ He emphasised his desire to work with reform-minded people in the government. The regime is fortunate to have such generous and gracious opponents.
While their release was certainly a bold move by Thein Sein and a response to international pressure, it is important to make one cautionary note. They were released under Section 401 of the Criminal Code – which meant, technically, a temporary suspension of their sentences, which could be cancelled at any time. That means they still have a criminal record, making them ineligible for any government employment; they are denied passports; and there is no provision at all for their rehabilitation. It may well be that Thein Sein had a battle with hardliners over these releases, and that this was the only mechanism he could use to do it – but it also means that until there is fundamental institutional and legislative change in Burma, dissidents like the ’88 Generation leaders will always be vulnerable to re-arrest and re-imprisonment. When I met Ko Ko Gyi, I invited him to speak at a conference outside Burma that I was helping to organise. He replied by telling me that he, and other ’88 Generation leaders, were denied passports. He said if the European Union, for example, was to lift the ban on visas for members of the regime, they should at the same time demand that the regime issue passports to former political prisoners to allow them to travel overseas.
I asked Min Ko Naing, the best-known dissident in Burma after Aung San Suu Kyi, how he had survived spending more than twenty years in prison. He reminded me that for fifteen years, he had been kept in total solitary confinement, denied any contact with another human being at all. Even the guards, when they brought food to his cell, turned their backs to him as they
handed it through the bars. They had been ordered not to make eye contact with him. His answer to my question was three-fold: ‘My Buddhist faith, a sense of humour, and my commitment to the cause.’
Yet as remarkable as the courage of those in prison was, they were not the only victims of the regime’s cruelty. Their families suffered, often in silence, and often unknown. Their courage and commitment is worth observing as well.
Despite all the suffering inflicted on her father and the entire family, Waihnin herself became a campaigner for democracy. Using the freedom she has in Britain, she is a prominent activist, speaking at hearings in Parliament and at demonstrations. In 2008, she was part of a delegation of Burmese activists who met the then Prime Minister Gordon Brown. When the regime found out, they increased their harassment of Waihnin’s family. But Waihnin shares her father’s passion for the struggle and is determined not to waiver. ‘I don’t blame my father. What he is doing is for all our lives. He is trying to bring change,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t blame my father, I blame the government. It is the government that has separated us. All I want is to see change in Burma, so I can see my father again.’
Burma- a Nation at the Crossroads Page 21