Demonstrators are stopped by men in civilian clothes during a protest in Yangon August 28, 2007. Myanmar's ruling generals accused exile dissident groups on Friday of fomenting two weeks of rare protests and signaled there would be no let up in efforts to crush them despite harsh U.S. and European Union criticism. (Democratic Voice of Burma/Reuters)Burma on The Brink
Thursday, Sep. 06, 2007
By Hannah Beech,
With Reporting By Anuj Chopra / Rangoon, Robert Horn / Bangkok
Time Magazine (USA)
It was over in a matter of minutes, but the significance of the occasion vastly exceeded its brevity. On Aug. 28, 20 protesters gathered at a market in Burma's commercial capital, Rangoon, to demonstrate against the ruling junta's decision to raise prices of essential goods--in some cases 500%. Led by labor activist Su Su Nway, the group had just begun to chant slogans when thugs employed by the military regime swooped in and started dragging the demonstrators into waiting vehicles. The frail Su Su Nway, who emerged from prison only last year, after serving seven months for reporting cases of forced labor to the United Nations, somehow managed to escape. "The junta is trying to create a very intimidating environment," she told TIME shortly before the demonstration. But the 34-year-old refuses to bow down. "People must stand up," she says, "and choose between freedom and oppression."
Thousands of Burmese are doing just that. The short-lived rally in Rangoon was one of 20 or so demonstrations that have erupted across Burma (also known as Myanmar) in recent weeks--a rare display of civil disobedience by a people who have been ruled for 45 years by one of the world's most reclusive military regimes. The last time there were mass countrywide demonstrations, in 1988, the military cracked down hard, killing thousands of protesters and dashing hopes of democratic reform. Now daily life in this nation of 53 million has become so desperate that an impoverished populace may feel that it has little choice but to take to the streets again. Although many prominent activists either have been arrested or are on the run, demonstrations continue to break out like spores across the nation. Significantly, Buddhist monks have marched by the hundreds in several cities, adding a stamp of spiritual authority to the protest movement in this deeply devout country. Human-rights groups estimate that more than 100 people have been arrested so far, including three bystanders in the city of Sittwe whose alleged crime was to offer drinking water to a procession of protesting monks.
Emboldened, some democracy activists predict the protests could eventually expand and escalate. "If the regime doesn't resolve the underlying economic problems-- and I don't think it can quickly--then things are not going to quiet down," says Khin Ohmar, an '88 student leader who now lives in exile in Thailand. "We've all been waiting for the point when normal people overcome their fear of the regime and rise up, and this could be that moment."
And unlike in '88, when Burma's version of the Tiananmen massacre got little international attention, this time the world is taking notice. On Aug. 30, President George W. Bush condemned the junta's actions against demonstrators, and White House aides have promised that Burma will be a "major topic of discussion" at the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation annual summit in Sydney. First Lady Laura Bush, who has personally followed the situation in Burma for years and has met with many Burmese activists, phoned U.N. Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon to press for more action from the international body. "One thing we can do to work toward national reconciliation in Burma is for the Security Council to speak out formally," she told TIME. Hollywood has gotten in on the act, with star Jim Carrey posting a video on YouTube calling for the release from house arrest of Nobel Peace Prize laureate Aung San Suu Kyi, whose National League for Democracy won a landslide election in 1990, only to have the junta ignore the polls. "We know the world is on our side now," says Aung Zaw, a former student activist who lives in northern Thailand and edits a Burma-focused publication called The Irrawaddy. "That moral support is very important for the people back in Burma, who are risking their lives to fight the regime."
But despite the condemnation from world leaders, no concrete action has so far been taken against the regime by the international community. When members of the Security Council tried to censure the junta in January, their effort was vetoed by Russia and China. And even though the U.S. maintains sanctions against the regime, China's economic patronage renders them largely toothless.
Burma's generals, meanwhile, have unveiled their impression of political reform, dubbing it "discipline-flourishing democracy." On Sept. 3, the regime announced it had finally agreed to basic guidelines for a new constitution. But no timetable for elections has been set, and the draft charter seems specifically designed to keep out Suu Kyi, long seen as the only leadership alternative to the junta. "It's a sham process that only legalizes the military's grip on power," says exiled dissident Khin Omar.
Although the generals have been adept at political repression, their record on economic management is abysmal. In 1987 a former regime leader demonetized Burma's currency, wiping out the savings of millions, and introduced new bank notes that were divisible by the number 9 simply because he considered the digit auspicious. Things haven't gotten much better since then--even though Burma is blessed with lucrative natural resources like natural gas and timber. Obsessed with its own survival, the junta spends 40% of the nation's annual budget on the 450,000-strong army while 90% of the population lives near or below the poverty line. Inflation is more than 30%. A fuel hike last month led to a tripling of bus fares on some routes, leaving many commuters unable to afford their ride to work. "At this rate, even a meal every day might become a luxury," says housekeeper May Oo, who now spends 60% of her salary on her daily bus ride to and from Rangoon.
The hardships are made more unbearable by a widening wealth gap. The country's military leaders are enjoying ever more ostentatious lives, their wallets fattened by gas-pipeline deals with neighbors China, India and Thailand. A samizdat video circulating in Rangoon shows junta chief Than Shwe's daughter getting married in a lavish ceremony. The couple reportedly received millions of dollars in wedding gifts--in a nation where the average annual per capita income is just $225. More appalling, the junta spent hundreds of millions of dollars in 2005 to build a brand-new capital city. Yet today Naypyidaw is an eerie landscape of broad, empty streets framed by behemoth government ministries.
No surprise then that many Burmese sympathize with the protesters. "You knock on a door late at night and whisper, 'Let me in, brother,'" says an activist who has so far escaped the police dragnet. "People willingly help us, even though they're well aware of the dire consequences." The regime is doing its best to prevent further unrest and capture any stray dissidents. Trucks full of hired enforcers patrol major street corners in Rangoon. The U.N. special rapporteur on human rights in Burma has received reports that some of the arrested activists are being tortured. But the generals have to be careful with their clampdown--too much violence could fuel even more civilian anger. "It's likely that an economic spark, combined with a dramatically violent response from the regime, could set the stage for revolt," says Aung Naing Oo, a Bangkok-based Burma analyst.
It's not clear, though, what threat unarmed civilians can truly pose to a military that has already shown a willingness to use force to keep order. Without firm action from bodies like the U.N. or economic patrons like China, the country's generals may well be able to muddle through, as they did back in '88. In the meantime, Burma's underground activists are calling for continued resistance. The latest effort, scheduled for three evenings this month, requires Burmese to bang on pots, pans and other metal objects at 7:02 p.m., 8:01 p.m. and 9 p.m.--propitious times that each add up to the number 9, so beloved by Burma's military brass. Organizers hope the cover of night will embolden more people to join the noise campaign. Burma's long-suffering citizens can only hope the world will do more than just listen.
Thousands of Burmese are doing just that. The short-lived rally in Rangoon was one of 20 or so demonstrations that have erupted across Burma (also known as Myanmar) in recent weeks--a rare display of civil disobedience by a people who have been ruled for 45 years by one of the world's most reclusive military regimes. The last time there were mass countrywide demonstrations, in 1988, the military cracked down hard, killing thousands of protesters and dashing hopes of democratic reform. Now daily life in this nation of 53 million has become so desperate that an impoverished populace may feel that it has little choice but to take to the streets again. Although many prominent activists either have been arrested or are on the run, demonstrations continue to break out like spores across the nation. Significantly, Buddhist monks have marched by the hundreds in several cities, adding a stamp of spiritual authority to the protest movement in this deeply devout country. Human-rights groups estimate that more than 100 people have been arrested so far, including three bystanders in the city of Sittwe whose alleged crime was to offer drinking water to a procession of protesting monks.
Emboldened, some democracy activists predict the protests could eventually expand and escalate. "If the regime doesn't resolve the underlying economic problems-- and I don't think it can quickly--then things are not going to quiet down," says Khin Ohmar, an '88 student leader who now lives in exile in Thailand. "We've all been waiting for the point when normal people overcome their fear of the regime and rise up, and this could be that moment."
And unlike in '88, when Burma's version of the Tiananmen massacre got little international attention, this time the world is taking notice. On Aug. 30, President George W. Bush condemned the junta's actions against demonstrators, and White House aides have promised that Burma will be a "major topic of discussion" at the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation annual summit in Sydney. First Lady Laura Bush, who has personally followed the situation in Burma for years and has met with many Burmese activists, phoned U.N. Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon to press for more action from the international body. "One thing we can do to work toward national reconciliation in Burma is for the Security Council to speak out formally," she told TIME. Hollywood has gotten in on the act, with star Jim Carrey posting a video on YouTube calling for the release from house arrest of Nobel Peace Prize laureate Aung San Suu Kyi, whose National League for Democracy won a landslide election in 1990, only to have the junta ignore the polls. "We know the world is on our side now," says Aung Zaw, a former student activist who lives in northern Thailand and edits a Burma-focused publication called The Irrawaddy. "That moral support is very important for the people back in Burma, who are risking their lives to fight the regime."
But despite the condemnation from world leaders, no concrete action has so far been taken against the regime by the international community. When members of the Security Council tried to censure the junta in January, their effort was vetoed by Russia and China. And even though the U.S. maintains sanctions against the regime, China's economic patronage renders them largely toothless.
Burma's generals, meanwhile, have unveiled their impression of political reform, dubbing it "discipline-flourishing democracy." On Sept. 3, the regime announced it had finally agreed to basic guidelines for a new constitution. But no timetable for elections has been set, and the draft charter seems specifically designed to keep out Suu Kyi, long seen as the only leadership alternative to the junta. "It's a sham process that only legalizes the military's grip on power," says exiled dissident Khin Omar.
Although the generals have been adept at political repression, their record on economic management is abysmal. In 1987 a former regime leader demonetized Burma's currency, wiping out the savings of millions, and introduced new bank notes that were divisible by the number 9 simply because he considered the digit auspicious. Things haven't gotten much better since then--even though Burma is blessed with lucrative natural resources like natural gas and timber. Obsessed with its own survival, the junta spends 40% of the nation's annual budget on the 450,000-strong army while 90% of the population lives near or below the poverty line. Inflation is more than 30%. A fuel hike last month led to a tripling of bus fares on some routes, leaving many commuters unable to afford their ride to work. "At this rate, even a meal every day might become a luxury," says housekeeper May Oo, who now spends 60% of her salary on her daily bus ride to and from Rangoon.
The hardships are made more unbearable by a widening wealth gap. The country's military leaders are enjoying ever more ostentatious lives, their wallets fattened by gas-pipeline deals with neighbors China, India and Thailand. A samizdat video circulating in Rangoon shows junta chief Than Shwe's daughter getting married in a lavish ceremony. The couple reportedly received millions of dollars in wedding gifts--in a nation where the average annual per capita income is just $225. More appalling, the junta spent hundreds of millions of dollars in 2005 to build a brand-new capital city. Yet today Naypyidaw is an eerie landscape of broad, empty streets framed by behemoth government ministries.
No surprise then that many Burmese sympathize with the protesters. "You knock on a door late at night and whisper, 'Let me in, brother,'" says an activist who has so far escaped the police dragnet. "People willingly help us, even though they're well aware of the dire consequences." The regime is doing its best to prevent further unrest and capture any stray dissidents. Trucks full of hired enforcers patrol major street corners in Rangoon. The U.N. special rapporteur on human rights in Burma has received reports that some of the arrested activists are being tortured. But the generals have to be careful with their clampdown--too much violence could fuel even more civilian anger. "It's likely that an economic spark, combined with a dramatically violent response from the regime, could set the stage for revolt," says Aung Naing Oo, a Bangkok-based Burma analyst.
It's not clear, though, what threat unarmed civilians can truly pose to a military that has already shown a willingness to use force to keep order. Without firm action from bodies like the U.N. or economic patrons like China, the country's generals may well be able to muddle through, as they did back in '88. In the meantime, Burma's underground activists are calling for continued resistance. The latest effort, scheduled for three evenings this month, requires Burmese to bang on pots, pans and other metal objects at 7:02 p.m., 8:01 p.m. and 9 p.m.--propitious times that each add up to the number 9, so beloved by Burma's military brass. Organizers hope the cover of night will embolden more people to join the noise campaign. Burma's long-suffering citizens can only hope the world will do more than just listen.
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