Daw Suu's Letter from Burma #11 (19

[carol@xxxxxxx]

Mainichi Daily News, Monday, January 12, 1998

HONORING THOSE WHO FOUGHT FOR FREEDOM
"Golden anniversary"
Letter from Burma by Aung San Suu Kyi

        The nature of time is incomprehensible.  Days that creeped and
months that crawled telescope into years that seem to fly past.  Burma is a
land of soothsayers.  Campaigning in the Irrawaddy division in 1989, I met a
young doctor who told me anxiously that after careful astrological
calculation, local Buddhist monks had come to the conclusion that nine years
would pass before the movement for democracy was crowned with victory.
"Nine years," he said with furrowed brow, "Can we bear it for so long?"
"Why not?" I replied absently, wondering about the scientifically calculable
probability rate of astrological predictions with one part of my mind while
the other tried to work out the implications of a decade of struggle.  At
that time, a decade stretched out mistily  into the unforeseeable future;
but now that almost the whole of it has been left behind, it has shrunk to
negligible proportions.
        While 10 years seen in retrospect do not seem much, 50 years in
retrospect, perhaps because it is almost a lifetime for me, or perhaps
because it constitutes a historic phase, take on a "forever" aspect.  On the
fourth of January, 1998, Burma will be commemorating the golden anniversary
of her independence.  I cannot remember a time when my country was not a
sovereign independent nation, just as I cannot remember a time when I did
not know the story of our struggle for independence.  I grew up on tales of
the exploits of the Rangoon University Students' Union, the "We Burmese"
association, the war, the resistance movement, the Anti-Fascist People's
Freedom League (AFPFL), the general boycott that brought the colonial
government to its knees, the negotiations with the British Labour
government, and the Panglong accord between the Burmese and the other ethnic
nationalities.  These tales were illustrated by photographs of my father as
the young commander of the Burma Independence Army, as War Minister (by that
time my mother and brothers had begun to feature as well), speaking at
public rallies after the war as the leader of the AFPFL, wrapped in an
oversized greatcoat during his trip to London for talks with the British
government, and adorned with Kachin turban and sword around the time of the
Panglong agreement.  The story of the Burmese independence movement was
intertwined with that of my father's life.
        Together with stories about the independence movement and my father,
I heard discussions about the latest "insurgent situation."  It seemed then
that rebellions and civil strife were part and parcel of nationhood.  There
were newspaper articles about military operations and news photographs of
"liberated" villages.  Arguments raged over the efforts of the AFPFL
government to negotiate peace.  At one time the government made an offer of
amnesty and daily we heard on the radio songs meant to lure insurgents back
into the "legal fold."  The popular term was "coming back into the light"
and we children became adept at chanting the slogan, "Don't stare vacantly,
comrade! Don't be lost in thought, comrade! Come back into the light,
comrade, comrade!"  It was something of a joke.  A play written by Prime
Minister U Nu in which communist insurgents featured as the baddies was part
of our school syllabus and we had to memorize some of the politically
crucial dialogue.  Later a film was made of the play starring a couple of
military officers who later left the army to become professional actors.  It
all seemed a part of normal life in Burma.
        
        Our regular visitors included a number of passionate politicians,
not all of whom supported the same causes, so that if their visits coincided
there would be some colorful exchanges.  I understood roughly that the
communists and socialists were not too fond of one another, that both groups
had many sympathizers, but also that there were many who loathed both,
condemning them either as fanatics, as dacoits or as troublemakers.  I
understood too that the fighting taking place in the jungles outside Rangoon
was an extension of the politics raging in the capital even though I had
never heard of Clauswitz.  There were Red Flag Communist insurgents and
White Flag Communists and the Karen National Defense Organization (KNDO).
There were also the "White Comrades."  I was politically sophisticated
enough to understand that they were quite apart from the White Communists
with whom they sometimes entered into temporary alliances but it was not
until I was 8 or 9 that I really managed to sort out who they were and why
they had taken up arms against the government.  My somewhat biased informant
was young woman who had "come back into the light" after "taking refuge in
the jungles" for several years as an adherent of the White Comrades group.
        Those were the days when parliamentary democracy was practiced in
Burma.  Undeniably there were flaws in the system but equally undeniably,
the people felt free.  They could embark confidently on political
discussions without peering around to make sure there were no informers
lurking in the background.  Newspaper articles criticizing the government
were read aloud in tea shops to the vociferous satisfaction of the audience.
The family of a Karen friend who had joined the insurgents came and went
freely.  Neither they nor we felt under any threat when we were together;
the government did not believe in persecuting family and friends for the
political beliefs of one individual.  That was just as well, as most people
seemed to know or be related to somebody who belonged to some armed rebel
group.  Looking back, there is an almost golden glow to that era of
parliamentary democracy in spite of the insurgencies.  The judiciary was
independent, the press was unmuzzled and elections took place regularly.  We
could choose our own government, we could shout at it, and we could throw it
out with the power of our vote.
        Gray seems to be the color most often associated the socialism of
the nondemocratic brand.  The color actually favored by the Burma Socialist
Programme Party (BSPP), scion of the military revolutionary council that
assumed power in 1962, was blue, and a rather pretty blue at that, but the
years of BSPP rule in Burma definitely appear monochrome and dull.  When the
people of Burma eventually erupted in frustration in 1988 after the drab
years, angry greens and reds became the key colors:  the jungle green of the
army and the grass green of its civilian arm, the Union Solidarity and
Development Association, the red of the flag (stamped with a white star and
a yellow fighting peacock) of the National League for Democracy.
        
        The spectrum of Burma's first 50 years of independence is not
soothing.  And we are beginning the second part of our independence century
with political and economic woes.  "Where have all our wonderful ideals
gone?" Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru once wrote in bewilderment as he
struggled with the problems of post-independence India.  When nation
building is accompanied by internecine fights it can be so much more
corrosive than any revolutionary war of independence.  Our young people of
today listen wistfully to accounts of the exploits of the student unions of
their grandfathers' day.  It is astounding to think that the colonial
government allowed unions to be formed and permitted demonstration marches
and rallies and even tolerated the burning of the Union Jack and demands for
the British governor to "go back home."  True, in a demonstration organized
by students, one of them was struck down by a mounted policeman and later
died of his wounds.  However, there was a proper official enquiry into his
death and students and politicians were allowed to organize his funeral with
due honor.  This is in glaring contrast to the situation today:  students
are not allowed to organize unions and universities have been shut since the
student demonstrations of December 1996.  Political parties too were able to
operate more freely under colonial rule.  They freely recruited members,
organized and reorganized their various committees, campaigned throughout
the country, held public meetings and openly discussed ways and means of
getting rid of the alien government.  Of course, numbers of politicians were
arrested and imprisoned but the lot of a political prisoner was not such an
unhappy one.  They were fed and treated well and allowed to organize various
activities within the prison, including classes on political subjects.  Many
felt they had graduated in politics during their term of imprisonment.
After British administration was re-established at the end of the war, the
AFPFL went into party work full swing, carrying the public with them in the
sweep of pre-independence elections enthusiasm.  And when the party won,
their victory was not swept aside and ignored, it was duly recognized.
Those were simpler days.
        What, some might question, is the point of celebrating the 50th
anniversary of our independence when the people of Burma are so patently
lacking in the basic freedoms -- freedom of association, freedom of
expression and freedom from unlawful restraint?  The NLD will be
commemorating the golden anniversary with all due honor because we want to
acknowledge our debt of gratitude to those who fought for independence in
the hope and belief that self-government would mean better and more just
government.  If their hopes have not been realized, it is not their fault
but that of those to whom fell the task of preserving independence and
making it truly meaningful.  As we celebrate on Jan. 4 with a Burmese
orchestra, an electronic band, traditional games such as the climbing of a
greased pole and a play (political in content of course), we shall be
renewing our resolve to make the sacrifices of those who fought for
independence really worthwhile.