FauxReal
09-25-07, 01:54 AM
The last public voice of democracy in Myanmar (http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20070924.wwecomment0924/BNStory/Front/home)
JEFF PEARCE
Globe and Mail Update
September 24, 2007 at 7:59 PM EDT
It's hard to watch the news these days when it's full of Afghanistan and Iraq, while an astonishing display of courage goes on almost completely ignored (at least until the past few days) in another Third World corner. This is Myanmar, where Buddhist monks are leading protests against the ruling military junta. It's up to the monks because no ordinary person can march in the streets of Rangoon (officially known as Yangon) without the risk of being shot or hauled away to prison. It also seems to be up to the monks because we in the West aren't doing very much about it.
Fuel-price hikes touched off this wave of rebellion, but there is so much more to the saga. For one thing, aid groups warn that Myanmar (formerly called Burma) is suffering a silent humanitarian crisis, with widespread poverty and lack of health care in remote areas, plus thousands of refugees near the Thai border displaced by the army fighting with ethnic groups. The Burmese would be the first to tell you they don't want any Afghanistan-style military intervention. But they would probably welcome the supportive chorus of a watching West and increased diplomatic pressure.
Myanmar is called the Golden Land. Even a brief stay there makes you feel like you dropped between a Somerset Maugham short story and a historical docudrama. Men and women still wear the traditional sarong, the longyi, and the potholed streets of Rangoon boast trishaws and rusting Toyotas. Most of the universities are located outside the city limits — the regime knows where radicals are born. There are Internet cafés, but personal e-mail and news sites such as Hotmail and BBC are banned, and the government can eavesdrop on phone calls. It's a place of curious anachronisms — no McDonald's but you can buy an Avril Lavigne poster on the street.
When I briefly lived there, an American tourist complained to me that in this predominantly Buddhist nation the "people are so passive." That was the arrogant Western interpretation — that Buddhism has somehow leached rebellion from people's souls. Many a Rangoon street corner has a soldier on it with a machine gun; you'd be passive, too.
And the regime is doing its best to erase history. The capsule version goes like this: The British Empire gobbled up Burma in the 19th century. Then a charismatic young man named Aung San asked the Japanese to liberate his country during the Second World War. Unfortunately, the Japanese felt like staying. Aung San promptly asked the British to take back Burma and, when the war was over, he negotiated its independence. He was only 32.
Aung San was assassinated as his nation took its baby steps. Burma fell into ethnic civil war, the junta took over in 1962, and it was up to Aung San's daughter, Aung San Suu Kyi, to lead the fight for democracy a generation later. But few Westerners understand that the pivotal year of 1988 — when we first learned who Ms. Suu Kyi was — had to do with economic factors, just like today. The old junta called itself socialist but was incompetent and corrupt. After it demonetized currency notes and ruined people's savings, the Burmese had had enough. Socialism was dropped, but the generals never intended to go. It's been musical chairs ever since.
When the Burmese took to the streets on Aug. 8, 1988, many believed that soldiers wouldn't fire on them if they carried portraits of Aung San. They were wrong. More were killed in that year's massacres than in Tiananmen Square, yet this event is all but forgotten in the West. Today's monks know they must take the gamble that ordinary people can't.
And when I say the regime is trying to erase the country's history, I mean just that. For decades, most of the bank notes carried Aung San's portrait. Now you're lucky to find it on a single bill. Guides are discouraged from publicizing where his statue is in a popular park. As for his daughter, you cannot even approach the road leading to Ms. Suu Kyi's house. The junta knows the threat of an individual hero or martyr. Ask the average 25-year-old in Canada, however, who this Nobel Peace Prize winner is and you get a blank stare. But I'm sure he or she knows Darfur, Nelson Mandela and Tiananmen. Amnesia in the West helps the generals, too.
Which is how China, India, Japan and certain European companies would like it. They still do business with Myanmar, knowing the economic sanctions have no real teeth. Ms. Suu Kyi has spent 17 years under some form of detention — where is the world's will?
I didn't stay long in Myanmar, but I fell in love with the country. In Rangoon, I visited as often as I could the glittering Shwedagon Pagoda. Sprawling, with shrines and exhibits, it's a place of peace and happy chatter, where toddlers run freely. But the Shwedagon is also a landmark of political conscience. It's where Aung San spoke to followers and where his daughter, Ms. Suu Kyi, raised her own voice for democracy. I cannot but feel frustrated and sad that monks step out of the Shwedagon, as they must do from other pagodas, to be the last public voice of democracy left in Myanmar while the world ignores them.
Jeff Pearce worked and lived briefly in Myanmar in 2005.
JEFF PEARCE
Globe and Mail Update
September 24, 2007 at 7:59 PM EDT
It's hard to watch the news these days when it's full of Afghanistan and Iraq, while an astonishing display of courage goes on almost completely ignored (at least until the past few days) in another Third World corner. This is Myanmar, where Buddhist monks are leading protests against the ruling military junta. It's up to the monks because no ordinary person can march in the streets of Rangoon (officially known as Yangon) without the risk of being shot or hauled away to prison. It also seems to be up to the monks because we in the West aren't doing very much about it.
Fuel-price hikes touched off this wave of rebellion, but there is so much more to the saga. For one thing, aid groups warn that Myanmar (formerly called Burma) is suffering a silent humanitarian crisis, with widespread poverty and lack of health care in remote areas, plus thousands of refugees near the Thai border displaced by the army fighting with ethnic groups. The Burmese would be the first to tell you they don't want any Afghanistan-style military intervention. But they would probably welcome the supportive chorus of a watching West and increased diplomatic pressure.
Myanmar is called the Golden Land. Even a brief stay there makes you feel like you dropped between a Somerset Maugham short story and a historical docudrama. Men and women still wear the traditional sarong, the longyi, and the potholed streets of Rangoon boast trishaws and rusting Toyotas. Most of the universities are located outside the city limits — the regime knows where radicals are born. There are Internet cafés, but personal e-mail and news sites such as Hotmail and BBC are banned, and the government can eavesdrop on phone calls. It's a place of curious anachronisms — no McDonald's but you can buy an Avril Lavigne poster on the street.
When I briefly lived there, an American tourist complained to me that in this predominantly Buddhist nation the "people are so passive." That was the arrogant Western interpretation — that Buddhism has somehow leached rebellion from people's souls. Many a Rangoon street corner has a soldier on it with a machine gun; you'd be passive, too.
And the regime is doing its best to erase history. The capsule version goes like this: The British Empire gobbled up Burma in the 19th century. Then a charismatic young man named Aung San asked the Japanese to liberate his country during the Second World War. Unfortunately, the Japanese felt like staying. Aung San promptly asked the British to take back Burma and, when the war was over, he negotiated its independence. He was only 32.
Aung San was assassinated as his nation took its baby steps. Burma fell into ethnic civil war, the junta took over in 1962, and it was up to Aung San's daughter, Aung San Suu Kyi, to lead the fight for democracy a generation later. But few Westerners understand that the pivotal year of 1988 — when we first learned who Ms. Suu Kyi was — had to do with economic factors, just like today. The old junta called itself socialist but was incompetent and corrupt. After it demonetized currency notes and ruined people's savings, the Burmese had had enough. Socialism was dropped, but the generals never intended to go. It's been musical chairs ever since.
When the Burmese took to the streets on Aug. 8, 1988, many believed that soldiers wouldn't fire on them if they carried portraits of Aung San. They were wrong. More were killed in that year's massacres than in Tiananmen Square, yet this event is all but forgotten in the West. Today's monks know they must take the gamble that ordinary people can't.
And when I say the regime is trying to erase the country's history, I mean just that. For decades, most of the bank notes carried Aung San's portrait. Now you're lucky to find it on a single bill. Guides are discouraged from publicizing where his statue is in a popular park. As for his daughter, you cannot even approach the road leading to Ms. Suu Kyi's house. The junta knows the threat of an individual hero or martyr. Ask the average 25-year-old in Canada, however, who this Nobel Peace Prize winner is and you get a blank stare. But I'm sure he or she knows Darfur, Nelson Mandela and Tiananmen. Amnesia in the West helps the generals, too.
Which is how China, India, Japan and certain European companies would like it. They still do business with Myanmar, knowing the economic sanctions have no real teeth. Ms. Suu Kyi has spent 17 years under some form of detention — where is the world's will?
I didn't stay long in Myanmar, but I fell in love with the country. In Rangoon, I visited as often as I could the glittering Shwedagon Pagoda. Sprawling, with shrines and exhibits, it's a place of peace and happy chatter, where toddlers run freely. But the Shwedagon is also a landmark of political conscience. It's where Aung San spoke to followers and where his daughter, Ms. Suu Kyi, raised her own voice for democracy. I cannot but feel frustrated and sad that monks step out of the Shwedagon, as they must do from other pagodas, to be the last public voice of democracy left in Myanmar while the world ignores them.
Jeff Pearce worked and lived briefly in Myanmar in 2005.