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"The Imprisoned Soul Of Burma (Myanmar)"
Sounds of Silence
The streets are quieter, but a sense of uneasiness and dread can be felt on the streets of Rangoon. An on-scene report from Burma’s main city.
 Reuters Almost Empty: Rangoon’s Shwedagon Pagoda, after the military crackdown |
Oct. 4, 2007 - The pagodas are eerily empty. On a normal day they’d be humming with activity. Burmese would be coming to pray, to light incense, to give offerings—and to enjoy each other’s company. These aren’t just sacred precincts; they’re also social hubs, an integral part of the country’s everyday life. But this isn’t an ordinary day; this is Burma in the wake of a brutal government crackdown. So the visitors are few, and strikingly forlorn. Those who say their prayers linger listlessly afterward, plagued by the absence of the saffron- and maroon-robed monks who normally give these places their soul. The monks have vanished, and no one knows when they’ll be back.
The monks aren’t the only ones who have disappeared. Every night the soldiers and policemen come, whisking people away under cover of darkness. The security forces already seem to have swept up the opposition leaders and the monks; now, the locals in Rangoon say, they’re working their way down to the people who stood at the side of the road and clapped or handed out bottles of water as a sign of solidarity as the monks’ demonstrations passed by during the recent mass protests. The authorities have done their homework, studying video footage and photos of the crowds to see who was there. Many of those detained are held only for a day or two of “re-education,” as it’s called, and then released. They’re the lucky ones, of course.
As I know from my earlier visits to their country, Burmese are amazingly friendly people, always quick with a smile. Today I haven’t seen a single one. Outwardly life goes on. Public transport is running, stores are open, young couples still stroll along the river hand in hand. If you didn’t know what had happened here you might not notice. But then there’s that unmistakable sense of uneasiness and dread. The gun-toting troops still clustering around the Shwedagon Pagoda, Rangoon’s biggest place of worship. The red fire trucks with their silver water cannons are there, too. People are hurrying past, tight-lipped, faces drawn. The muggy, end-of-rainy-season weather—overcast and warm—amplifies the sense of gloom.
I meet an old friend who drives me around the city, showing me its changed face in the aftermath of the government’s clampdown. He tells me there are whispers about the Government Technical Institute (GTI), a Rangoon college that many say has been turned into a makeshift detention center for the thousands of monks arrested for participating in the demonstrations. The GTI has been cordoned off by the military, and no one can get close, so people can only speculate about what’s going on inside. The child novices picked up with the adult monks have been threatened, then told to return to their home provinces. But the older ones are just gone.
Amid the general climate of fear it’s hard to find a place to talk. We duck into a shop that’s run by an acquaintance of my friend. The owner takes one look at me and leaves, not wanting to incriminate himself. That’s the way it is here now. My friend and I discuss the continuing arrests and the drastic hike in the price of gasoline that triggered the first demonstrations back in August. (Depending on whom you ask, the increase ranged from 100 to 500 percent.) My friend says that everyone is a bit mystified by the suddenness of the move. Some people speculate that high world oil prices and the country’s persistent economic troubles have driven the government to the verge of bankruptcy. There’s talk that the junta had to borrow money a few months ago from one of the Western oil companies doing business here—and then couldn’t pay it back.
Later I have a conversation with Shari Villarosa, the senior U.S. diplomat in Burma who has become a distinctly undiplomatic commentator on events in the country. She says she has no reliable information on the numbers of people who have been taken away. Based on the reports received by the embassy, she says, the number of those arrested is in the thousands. “We have heard of some people being released. But they’re taking in a lot more people than they’re releasing.” And how many have been killed? She shakes her head, then reminds me that, according to Buddhist custom, the dead must be cremated as soon as possible after the loss of life. Needless to say, this has worked to the regime’s advantage before, and probably will again this time. For that reason, she says, we will probably never have an exact count of the casualties. “You’re not going to have mass graves like Bosnia. You’re never going to know.”
As the day draws to a close, we hear the news that Senior General Than Shwe, the head of the junta, is about to announce his conditions for negotiations with imprisoned opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi. That might be good news—except that the people of Burma have heard the same thing from their generals many times before. It will take a lot to free this country from the ghostly echoes of its past.
Editor’s Note: This report was written by a NEWSWEEK correspondent whose name is being withheld to protect him from government retaliation while he is traveling inside Burma.
URL: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21136151/site/newsweek/