Living Silence in Burma (15 page)

In the early and mid-1990s, the SLORC was also successful in splitting the Democratic Alliance of Burma, an alliance of many of the ethnic nationalist armies who had previously refused to negotiate separately. The Pa’o National Organization was the first to break with its allies and made a ceasefire deal with the SLORC in March 1991. Others, including the powerful Kachin Independence Organization, soon followed, leaving only a few diehard groups to battle on by themselves. Most of the groups felt that they could not compete with the increasingly powerful
tatmadaw
, and they were better off making a deal that would give them continued control over some territory as well as the chance to bring development to the civilians in their areas.

In 1996, Khun Sa, an armed opposition leader and drug warlord long wanted in the United States on heroin-trafficking charges, gave up his
armed struggle and moved to Rangoon. The regime refused to extradite him despite the US government’s offer of a $2 million reward. Instead, he was allowed to make property and transportation investments, and to build two casinos near the Thai border.
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With the military firmly in control and taking steps to open up the economy, many of the people who had participated so actively in the 1988 demonstrations and election campaign decided to forget about politics for a while. Instead they focused on finding good jobs and taking advantage of the new opportunities.

One former student activist, Zaw Zaw Oo, talked about how his feelings changed over the years. After the regime suppressed the NLD following the 1990 elections, he said: ‘The NLD became less and less active, so I had to find something else.’ He finished his university education and found a job with a foreign investment firm with interests in Burma. His job gave him not only a good salary but also a chance to travel and to meet with high-powered foreign businessmen and senior government officials. Zaw Zaw Oo said democracy was still a priority, but not his top priority. He believed that developing the country was more important. He saw his change in ideas as very much related to his experiences in the business world, in which, he said, ‘you look for possible things, not ideal things’. Particularly in the early and mid-1990s when the economy seemed to be turning around, many people agreed with Zaw Zaw Oo.

For student activists committed to continuing the struggle for democracy, it was a depressing period. At least three female students, including Tin Tin Nyo, a prominent activist in 1988, committed suicide after being released from prison in the mid-1990s, in part because they felt so alienated from their relatives and peers, who had seemingly forsaken their ideals.

At the same time, the regime’s new policies also made it more difficult for students to congregate. Because of the backlog of students who had graduated from high school but not been able to proceed on to the universities, when universities were finally reopened, one-year courses were reduced to three or four months. Thus, students had little chance to get to know each other before they found themselves taking exams and sent home on vacation again.

There were a few small protests, but these led only to more arrests. In December 1991, when Aung San Suu Kyi was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, there was a brief resurgence of hope and calls for her release by university students in Rangoon and Mandalay. The regime responded by closing the universities for several months. In February 1995, when
former prime minister U Nu died, some students daringly unfurled party banners and sang pro-democracy songs as they marched in his funeral procession. Those who did not manage to run away in time were arrested and sent to prison.

Some student activists sought to keep the struggle alive through writing political pamphlets and articles and trying to maintain and expand their networks. A few, such as Min Zin, spent several years in hiding, moving from place to place to stay one step ahead of the intelligence agents. Others took on new identities in faraway towns and villages. This type of student was by far the exception, but they continued to hope for another spark to set off a mass movement like that of 1988, despite people’s still-vivid memories of the widespread killings and destruction.

The National Convention

In 1992, the junta sacked General Saw Maung. The SLORC was now headed by Senior General Than Shwe, with Lieutenant General Khin Nyunt and General Maung Aye playing leading roles in policy-making, and General Ne Win still possibly exerting influence behind the scenes. Lieutenant General Khin Nyunt, known as Secretary-1 of the SLORC and the head of Directorate of Defence Services Intelligence, made his career in military intelligence. General Maung Aye, the vice-chairman of the SLORC and the commander-in-chief of the army, rose through battlefield command positions. In general, the field commanders in Burma look down on the intelligence personnel, because they do not risk their lives for their country, but General Ne Win always nurtured the leading intelligence men in order to check the power of the field commanders. The intelligence officers gathered as much information on the commanders as they did on political dissidents.

Despite some tension between the two branches, the leading generals seem to have agreed that holding the National Convention to write a new constitution would help them all stay in power. Besides ensuring their own key role in the country’s political life, the generals hoped to use the National Convention to marginalize the 1990 election winners and resolve the ethnic nationalities’ demands without giving much ground. The first meeting was convened in January 1993. Of the 702 delegates whom the regime invited, only ninety-nine were elected members of parliament, out of which eighty-one were from the NLD. The other 603 delegates were all appointed by the SLORC. Some came from ceasefire groups, with a few being suspected drug traffickers.
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With the announcement of the National Convention, the NLD had to
decide whether it should participate or not. Some members believed it was important to keep the party legal, and by attending the convention they could have a forum for voicing their views. Others thought the NLD should boycott the National Convention because it was a sham and the entire process delegitimized the 1990 election results. Finally, the NLD decided to attend.

Representatives of ethnic minority political parties that had won seats in the election also participated. Some were initially optimistic that the drafting process would allow them to push for a political structure that would provide for greater ethnic autonomy. Once the convention began, however, their hopes were dashed. While many outsiders hoped that the convention would provide a viable arena for resolving Burma’s political future, in fact the delegates never had a chance. Daniel Aung, a delegate who later fled the country, explained how the convention actually worked.

An elected Lahu representative from the Lahu National Progressive Party, Daniel Aung was impressed with his invitation to participate in the National Convention. The letter stated that, because he was a political leader, he was responsible for drafting the constitution. He remembered: ‘I thought they really meant it.’ He had previously worked as an editor in the foreign department of the government-controlled Burma News Agency, but he had resigned in 1988 and run for election in 1990. Still eager to participate in the political process, he looked forward to the convention.

When he attended the first session, he was surprised when the meeting lasted only two days. Some delegates from distant towns hadn’t even arrived, but that didn’t seem to matter to the generals in charge. Lieutenant General Myo Nyunt, the chairman of the National Convention Convening Committee, gave the opening speech. Daniel Aung recalled that most of the speech consisted of praise for the military. Lieutenant General Myo Nyunt informed the delegates that the Burmese military was different from militaries in other countries. Because the Burmese military had saved the country from collapse so many times, it must take the leading role in political affairs.

Daniel Aung and the other delegates soon found out that the six main objectives of the constitution had already been written by the SLORC. Although no one had any arguments with the first five, the sixth objective stated that 25 per cent of the parliament’s seats must be held by military members chosen by the commander in chief of the armed forces.

When the convention next convened, the delegates were divided into
eight groups and ordered to come up with points to be included in the constitution. The SLORC had provided the delegates with a list of points drawn from other countries’ constitutions, with many calling for military involvement in political affairs. Still, the delegates were told they could draft their own suggestions, and they were given access to a library with many constitutional books.

The working groups were told that they could discuss freely, but each group was assigned government clerks to take notes. The clerks became nervous when the delegates spoke against the institutionalization of the military’s role in politics. Daniel Aung remembers a clerk passing him a note asking him to tell one of the delegates to stop talking. As the chairman of his working group, Daniel Aung wrote back, ‘You are not responsible, I am,’ and allowed the man to continue. Daniel Aung said that some of the clerks privately asked the delegates to forgive them, but they had to intervene in the meetings because of their bosses’ orders.

Although the delegates were allowed to write their own suggestions, the SLORC took no notice of them. The delegates were not even allowed to read their drafts in front of the entire assembly. The authorities would rewrite their papers first and insist that the delegates read the corrected versions, without adding as much as a word. Daniel Aung remembers the authorities who handed them the revised papers saying, ‘Feel pity on us and read it.’ In one instance, a representative from the Shan State prefaced his paper by reminding the delegates how important it was that they should not leave the country with a shameful legacy. At once, a general stood up and shouted to the chairman to silence him.

The authorities also maintained surveillance over the delegates in the barracks where they had to stay. Although the delegates were treated well by the various military people assigned to assist them, their primary function was to keep an eye on the delegates. If three or four delegates sat together talking, military agents would approach, turn their backs and listen intently. The regime also tried to prevent delegates from the political parties from developing close relations with the non-elected delegates by housing them separately and assigning them separate tables in the dining hall. If the elected delegates tried to engage the appointed delegates in conversation, the appointed delegates became nervous. Among the appointed delegates were several of Daniel Aung’s old friends and classmates, but they did not dare to talk to him.

Like many of the other ethnic minority representatives, Daniel Aung was frustrated in his attempts to obtain political rights for his people. He hoped to create an autonomous region for the Lahus, most of whom
live in four townships in Shan State. The regime rejected his proposal, however, saying that the Lahu population did not constitute a majority in all four of the townships. Moreover, the regime was opposed to the word ‘autonomy’. Only ‘national area’ was allowed, a term that did not convey any power or rights. The Wa representatives were also upset because no significant political rights were being accorded to them, although the United Wa State Army controlled a large part of Shan State. But some of the other appointed ethnic representatives said little. They could not speak Burmese well, and there were no official translators.

Eventually, Daniel Aung and others realized that the principles they were supposedly drafting were already written. But still they had to participate in the charade. Attendance at the general assembly sessions was required. Many delegates simply read books or slept. Even Lieutenant General Myo Nyunt could often be found dozing. Daniel Aung and some other delegates spent a fair amount of time in the bathroom, the only place where they could talk freely.

When the military came out with the final draft of 104 basic principles, it bore little resemblance to what the committees had put together. What bothered Daniel Aung the most was that the generals thanked the delegates for doing such a good job. He told Aung Shwe, the head of the NLD delegation, ‘We have to protest.’ Another delegate said that since the delegates were forced to attend, they didn’t bear any responsibility for the constitution, but Daniel Aung insisted, ‘We’ll be blacklisted in history.’

U Aung Shwe suggested that each of the six elected parties attending write their own protest letters to Lieutenant General Myo Nyunt. The letters all requested the military authorities to reconsider what they had done. Although Daniel Aung said he encouraged some of the non-elected delegates to join them in protesting, they were too afraid. For writing letters of protest, the NLD and the SNLD leaders were called in by Lieutenant General Myo Nyunt and scolded for their insolence. Daniel Aung decided he had had enough. During the next break, he and his family went back to their home town in the north, rode motorbikes into the mountains and continued on foot for four days to the Thai border. They have been living in exile ever since.

With the subsequent walkout of the NLD and the serious disgruntlement of some of the ethnic representatives, convention meetings ceased for eight years, although the generals sitting on the Convening Committee continued to meet periodically. The fact that the process was still ongoing provided a convenient justification for why power could not yet be transferred.

The release of Aung San Suu Kyi, 1995

Aung San Suu Kyi’s release came as a surprise to almost everyone. On 10 July 1995 she was informed that her period of house arrest had ended. She did not rush out of her compound, and no announcement was made in the official media, but as the rumour of her release spread, people ventured near her house to find out whether it was true. Soon she appeared from behind her gate, standing on a table, assuring her well-wishers that she was indeed free and in good health. That week she went to her gate every afternoon to greet the groups of people who continued to gather there. Finally she announced that she would come to the gate only on weekends because she had to get back to the party’s political work, as if the almost six years of house arrest had been nothing more than a brief irritation.