Rachel Goldwyn "The Express"

[policy.office@xxxxxxxxx]

Burma Out! makes no comment upon what follows.
Why? Because we have yet to read it. So? In an
effort for fairness, you can judge for yourselves,
whether from what follows, Rachel Goldwyn and
family are friends, foes or just out for a jolly good time.



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     Burma : Riots have a way of cheering people up

                      From Seattle to Sydney

RELAXING: In the garden of her parents' home in south-west London
They placed a white hood over my head and marched me to my cell 

RACHEL Goldwyn was jailed for seven years hard labour in Burma for 
singing a pro-democracy song. While in jail she suffered psychological 
abuse at the hands of her captors and witnessed the full horror of a 
regime run on fear. 

But Rachel, 28, the youngest of three daughters, was freed after two 
months thanks to her parents who convinced the authorities she was part 
of a normal English family and not a revolutionary. 

Here, in her own words, Rachel reveals what drove her to give up her 
freedom for a country on the other side of the world and why she will 
fight on until Burma achieves democracy 'The secret police who monitor 
foreign tourists had been watching me earlier in the day. But now it was 
4.45pm and with my heart pounding I checked the area: no soldiers, no 
police. As my protest banner unravelled, people stopped to stare: 
demanding human rights in Burma is a jailable offence. 

Chained to a street sign, I began to sing. I had arrived in Burma three 
weeks earlier but had planned for a year to fill these streets with 
words of democracy and freedom - to stand up for oppressed people who 
have no voice. 

I knew I would be arrested, maybe worse, for the simple gesture of 
showing support by singing a pro-democracy song. A sea of quizzicle 
faces amassed in front of me, the hubbub of shoppers and traffic fell 
silent. And the expected response was rapid. 

My protest lasted 13 minutes before four plainclothes officers wearing 
sarongs dragged me off to a police station 200 yards away. I was 
handcuffed and people were taking my mugshot. I kept trying to break the 
tension by sticking my tongue out. At the police station tensions were 
running high. But in a country where people are shot dead for protesting 
it was a relief to have been detained unharmed. However, I was alone and 
at the mercy of a military regime that has no respect for human rights. 
I had told my parents and my two sisters that I had gone to Germany as I 
knew they would try and stop me from going to Burma. 

I had been brought up to fight for what I believe in. My mum Charmian, a 
doctor, and dad Edward, who is a TV producer, had instilled in the three 
of us - Ruth, Naomi and me - to stand up for other people and those who 
cannot defend themselves. 

That has been extremely important to me. But it was my oldest sister 
Ruth who gave me my political education. Even as a 12-year-old she had 
taken me on political demonstrations. Having worked as a producer for 
television documentaries and studying at university I thought I was 
worldly wise but nothing could prepare me for Burma. I knew my family 
would find this difficult but I also knew they would understand. It was 
only later that the Burmese would use them and our very close 
relationships to undermine me. 

My first taste of Burma's 50-year-long forgotten war - in which tens of 
thousands have been killed - was in a refugee camp on the Thai-Burma 
border. 

It was 1997 and for me the start of two years travelling in the Far 
East, the majority spent working as a teacher in the camp. It was there 
I saw many victims of Burma's oppressive regime. They had escaped from 
forced relocation into concentration camps and from being used as human 
mine sweepers. 

Many of the women had been raped. All bore deep scars. One of my 
students, Nyu Min, described how, at the age of 8-years-old, his father 
had been dragged from his side and murdered by the military for 
suspected resistance involvement. At 16 he himself had joined the 
resistance, and now wanted to learn English to tell the world of his 
people's suffering. 

"We want democracy, to end the tyranny of military dictatorship" a 
frightened young national confided, "but we're terrified to protest. On 
the 8th August 1988 thousands of peaceful demonstrators were 
massacred in the streets by the military, if we protest again on the 9th 
September...I don't want to die." I had longed to divulge my plan to him 
but couldn't take the risk, fear and tight control has bred a society 
riddled with informers. Armed with these horrors I had to make my stand 
and felt ready for the inevitable interrogations that would follow my 
arrest. 

When it came, I had a screaming row with one officer. "How can you live 
with yourself, working in a regime that butchers innocent people, that 
commits genocide against the ethnic minorities, that rapes women to 
breed out ethnicity?" I demanded of my interrogator. He and his fellow 
officers must have been taken aback. I was demanding more answers from 
them than they of me. I'd heard of brutal tortures under interrogation, 
of cigarettes being burned into flesh, of beatings, of standing up to 
your neck in a pond of maggots, but I was lucky. 

Deprived of sleep, day two of the interrogation began. Requests to call 
the British Embassy were denied and officials lied. "We're just holding 
you for questioning, you'll be released soon," they told me. Lies, lies 
and more lies. Only by putting myself at risk could I achieve my rights. 
At 4am I announced I was going on hunger strike. Three hours later - on 
the 9th September (9-9-99), I was moved to the notorious Insein jail -- 
a name that spreads terror for the torture and suffering inflicted on 
it's 11,000 prisoners. 

"Poun san" the jail supervisor shouted, standing above me, arm raised to 
strike. Poun san, the humiliating and degrading position of subservience 
all prisoners must perform takes various forms: sitting, standing, 
squatting, and on tip toes, for beatings. All new prisoners spend 
several days in a jail instruction room where they must learn poun san 
and suffer regular beatings to break their morale. Intense international 
media interest saved me this horrific experience, I suffered only 
intimidation but I learnt it nonetheless. The clanking of prisoners 
chained together at the ankles rang in my ears. A white hood was forced 
over my head and I was marched to a solitary cell, two-and-a-half metres 
wide, with a wooden slat bed, a little plastic bucket and a water pot. 

They offered meals of boiled egg, rice and fried vegetables twice a day, 
but I refused. I hadn't eaten anything for five days by this time. They 
became really worried about my health, taking my blood pressure and 
weight. In my cell I reflected on my situation and where they watched me 
24 hours a day. I'd expected to serve a year for my "crime", but since 
James Mawdsley, another English activist who had been arrested for 
distributing pro-democracy leaflets a week earlier, had been sentenced 
to 17 years I wondered if my incarceration would be longer. I'd heard 
from London about James' sentence days before I was due to make my 
demonstration, but decided to go ahead. 

Now, as a result of my hunger strike, my brain became sluggish, my 
movements slow. The heads of the jail threatened to put a tube down my 
nose and to take away my water if I didn't eat. Some of the time I could 
handle it - at others I thought, 'Aargh, I want to go home'. I had a 
hard time coping with going to the toilet with an audience but I got 
used to it. 

The other difficulty was the isolation. It was very lonely. I lived my 
life through four female wardens who didn't speak English. They were 
kind but it's an incredibly hard situation to cope with. We had a lot of 
jokes but there were also times that I got infuriated because they 
peered in at me through the bars. But I learned to be patient and how to 
get myself heard. 

These, however, were minor irritations compared to the violent treatment 
of Burmese political prisoners on hunger strikes: 18 inch rods shackled 
between the legs, in 6 foot dog cells, beaten twice daily. My close 
friend and colleague Ko Aung, who served 5 years and 7 months as a 
political prisoner in Insein had his water pot smashed by angry wardens 
trying to break the hunger strike. After 9 days and close to death, he 
and the other prisoners conceded. 

I passed the time by exercising. I also walked around the room a lot, 
murmuring songs to myself - prisoners were not allowed to sing. 

Gradually I was allowed access to books and learned to read and speak 
the language a little. I was allowed outside walking time and supervised 
use of a pen. Seven days after my arrest, I finally received my first 
Embassy visit. International law states it should be within 48 hours. 

The Vice Consul presented me with a desperate letter from my parents, 
begging me to behave, so that I might return home as easy as possible. I 
knew that my incarceration would upset my family, and had shut this out 
of my mind. But here were the words of parents sick with worry. My 
cockiness left me, my body crumpled into poun san and, humbled, I 
returned to her cell. 

Two days later my court case formally opened. The night before I had 
marched around my cell, planning my defence. I thought of Ko Aung who 
had been kept in a 20 ft deep pit for six days with a rotting human 
corpse. I had asked him what to do if I felt afraid. He'd told me to 
remember that I was in the right. 

I hoped I could force the British government to stand up for the Burmese 
people. Yes, I was ready for court but nothing could prepare me for the 
anger of the junta. Camera flashes in my face, videos everywhere, I was 
whisked into the Insein courtroom, notorious for never having acquitted 
a defendant. The decision was made before the trial began. The verdict: 
Seven years with hard labour...' ?TOMORROW: THE ORDEAL OF RACHEL'S 
PARENTS 
© Express Newspapers, 1999 
 

Follow the plea by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, and the appreciations 
of HH the Dalai Lama, the Shan Democratic Union,  film maker John 
Pilger, the Free Burma Coalition,  author Alan Clements, Dennis 
Skinner MP, Tony Benn MP, Ann Clwyd MP, Congress-woman  
Maxine Waters,  Socialist Workers' Party,  Dr and Welsh rugby  
star JPR Williams, Hendrix  bassist Noel Redding,  S African jazz 
pianist Abdullah Ibrahim,  All Burma Students Democratic 
Organisation,  All Burma Students Democratic Front, Tasmanian 
Trades & Labour Council,  SACP (South African Communist Party),
COSATU,  Tim Gopsill, editor.  The.Journalist@xxxxxxxxxx, and 
numerous others.   

Supporting a Genuine war upon drugs and human rights abuse.
Sydney 2000 : Burma Out! 
http://www.mihra.org/2k/burma.htm

Music Industry Human Rights Association
http://www.mihra.org / policy.office@xxxxxxxxx 

Rachel and James http//:www.mihra.org/2k/rachel.htm
Union Action http://www.mihra.org/2k/Union.htm

Founded during UN50. Mihra's roots are in music and anti-racism and 
was first in line in calling for a sports boycott of Burma for the Sydney
2000 Olympic Games. Mihra also advances protection of creators rights 
in an anti-cultural market, currently 93.8% monopolised by the recording  
/ publishing Grand Cartel. 

Major solo work "Piece of Mind". With orchestra, Holland 69. same  
time as Beatles "Abbey Road".   http://onlinetv.com/rogerbunn.html
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