Tuesday, August 8, 2017

The Irrawaddy Magazine

The Irrawaddy Magazine

Policeman Kills Two in Shan State

Posted: 08 Aug 2017 08:04 AM PDT

YANGON — Two people were killed and three more injured in a shooting by a policeman on Sunday in northern Shan State's Kutkai Township, another police officer from the area's Myoma station told The Irrawaddy on Tuesday.

The deceased were two men, aged 43 and 25 respectively, he said, under the condition of anonymity, adding that the shooting occurred in Kutkai's Ward 3.

"We arrested [the shooter] on the spot after we received the information," the officer said, adding that the arrested individual held the rank of 'private.'

"An investigation is continuing under Act 302/307," he added, referring to the criminal codes for murder and attempted murder.

U Kham Nyunt, a township elder and chair of the Ta'ang Literature and Culture Committee of Kutkai said that the area has long struggled with drug abuse and trafficking. Police representatives acknowledged this, however, said that no drugs were seized at the scene of the crime.

Mal Mai, an ethnic Kachin youth leader in Kutkai, said that her 20-year-old cousin was among those wounded in the shooting, and that he was in recovery in a hospital in Lashio.

She also said that she "assumed" that the violence was somehow "drug-related."

"Every household [here] suffers from drug-related problems," Mal Mai said.

Myanmar ranks as the second largest producer of opium in the world, behind Afghanistan, according to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime.

The post Policeman Kills Two in Shan State appeared first on The Irrawaddy.

Mon State Missing Out on Rubber Profits

Posted: 08 Aug 2017 01:54 AM PDT

MAWLAMYINE, Mon State — Mon State rubber, which accounts for nearly half of Myanmar's production of rubber, loses hundreds of millions of kyats in rubber exports because it is unable to produce high-grade rubber and relies solely on the Chinese market for exports, according to Mon State minister for agriculture, livestock, transportation and communications U Tun Htay.

"We are losing around 400 million kyats annually in unrealized profits as we are not able to produce high-grade rubber," the minister said.

Mon State produces more than 100,000 tons of rubber per year and possesses 30 percent of the total rubber plantation acreage in Myanmar and 49 percent of the total output.

The state, however, can only produce a small amount of ribbed smoked sheet (RSS) rubber, categorized into grades one, two, and three.

Only the Shwe Yaung Pya rubber plantation operated by Max Myanmar Co. in Kyaikto Township, and Shwe Taungtan rubber plantation in Thanbyuzayat Township can produce RSS-grade rubber and export to foreign markets other than China.

Other Mon State plantations produce low-grade raw rubber, which is refined by processing plants and produced as technically standard rubber (TSR).

The Mon State chief minister on his Japan visit last month brought some rubber samples, and negotiated with Japanese agencies to help produce high-grade rubber for export to Japan, said head of Mon State agricultural department U Kyi Soe.

"We plan to establish a central rubber market probably in October in Mawlamyine together with a private rubber growers' associations, the agricultural department and trade promotion department of the commerce ministry. We hope the government will be able to take a lead role in upgrading the quality of our rubber," U Kyi Soe told The Irrawaddy.

Until 2005, the rubber market, including exports, was managed by Myanmar Perennial Crop Enterprise, which adjusted the rubber prices according to the global market.

After the rubber market was privatized in 2005, the industry gradually declined due to reliance on China.

More than 90 percent of total rubber production of Mon State is produced as raw rubber, said the minister.

The state government has suggested to the Mon State Rubber Growers Association that it would partially fund a high-grade rubber processing plant in the state, but there are difficulties for small-scale farmers, said Nai Kyan Yit, chairman of the association.

"Individual rubber growers who operate less than 20 acres are not able to produce internationally marketable RSS-rubber because it takes at least a month to produce such quality. Small growers can't wait that long, so it is impossible," said Nai Kyan Yit.

He said small-scale growers could work together to establish a high-grade rubber processing plant, but it would be hard for them to fund it.

On Aug. 1, the Mon State government organized a two-day workshop on the production of high-grade rubber, and asked rubber growers to carefully get rid of dust, sand, and stones in rubber, and use formic acid instead of sulphuric acid for coagulation.

Rubber is one of the five sectors prioritized for development by the Mon State government to help improve the state's economic performance.

The post Mon State Missing Out on Rubber Profits appeared first on The Irrawaddy.

Marching on a Diet of Marrows

Posted: 08 Aug 2017 01:46 AM PDT

In this article from 2010, Yeni, The Irrawaddy's Burmese language editor, describes surviving on the Thai-Myanmar border with the student army after fleeing the brutal crackdown on the pro-democracy uprising of 1988, 29 years ago.

I left my parents and younger sister in tears at our family home, and set out for the Thai-Burmese border after witnessing and experiencing the brutal crackdown in 1988 on the nationwide demonstrations calling for democratic change.

Like thousands of other young activists arriving at the border, I had a dream that we would set up an army to replace the ruling armed forces with one responsible for protecting Burma’s own people, not to kill and oppress.

The dream remains far from reality after 22 years, although the All Burma Students' Democratic Front (ABSDF) was born in the border region controlled by the Karen National Union (KNU).

First priorities for the students arriving at the border were shelter and food.

My "regiment" was based in the Three Pagodas Pass area controlled by Mon rebels. It included civil engineering students from the well respected Rangoon Institute of Technology, who set to work drawing up elaborate plans for barracks to house 30 comrades.

The plans were systematic and detailed, prescribing exactly how much bamboo was needed and how much thatch. After one week of hard work, the barracks were completed and we settled in happily.

But after a few days, the structures collapsed—and so did the reputations of our dear civil engineers! We asked some young men from the area to help us rebuild the barracks, and finally we were able to sleep soundly.

Many of us who had been living in relative comfort with our parents had difficulty adjusting—I didn't even know how to fry an egg.

We tried our best, but the results were often disastrous—rice that was either half-cooked or burnt and soup that changed its flavor with every cook.

Our only income was what we received in donations from Burmese living overseas.

A plan to grow and sell vegetables came to naught. Our leaders decided we should grow marrows and soon we were knee-deep in them. But they found no buyers in nearby markets—and marrow soup became a daily dish on our sparse and uninteresting menu. Marrows and yellow bean soup were the staples of our two meals a day and we rapidly grew tired of the diet.

We took out our frustration on the parade ground, where instead of marching to "left, right; left right," we chanted "jou, peh; jou peh" (marrow, bean; marrow, bean).

The Burmese army and disease were our two greatest enemies. Malaria, dengue fever and a variety of respiratory illnesses were endemic, and we fell victim to them time and again. This was when our medical students and qualified doctors showed their mettle—true heroes who, with very limited medical supplies, treated not only us but also local villagers, who had never before had such professional attention.

The post Marching on a Diet of Marrows appeared first on The Irrawaddy.

Life and Death Behind Prison Walls

Posted: 08 Aug 2017 01:38 AM PDT

Htet Aung was The Irrawaddy's staff writer in 2010. Here he recalls the tragic death of his friend, prison mate and 1988 activist in an article originally published in 2010.

One morning in January 2001, we all were startled to hear Si Thu declare: "I’ve been infected with HIV." All at once, the optimism and good wishes we had been expressing for his full recovery and his return alive to his cell from the prison hospital changed to sadness.

Silence briefly blanketed our isolated world, where eight political prisoners were locked up in a building of eight cells in Thayawaddy prison, about 80 kilometers north of Rangoon, the former capital of Burma. All had spent more than a decade behind bars for their political beliefs.

Anger broke the silence—anger at the prison authorities, who were consigning Si Thu to a section of the prison hospital where TB patients were held. Si Thu said: "I want to die here with you, not there."

We decided to demand that the prison authorities allow Si Thu to remain with us. Yet what could we do to save Si Thu’s life in the confines of our gloomy, unhygienic cells, where little help was to be expected from the outside world?

We had no medicine, no clean water and no fresh, nutritious food. We could only give Si Thu our love, care and humane support.

We felt that if Si Thu fell ill again he would not recover. The rainy season was approaching, a time when seasonal influenza struck many prisoners.

We concentrated on caring for Si Thu and keeping him warm.

One morning, Si Thu said with a soft smile: "The junta has given me a death sentence. I have been prepared for it."

I couldn’t find any words to console him, and could only regard him with a feeling of unbearable sadness. Our efforts to get anti-retroviral drugs to combat the HIV virus were fruitless.

Finally, the day we had been dreading came and Si Thu fell ill. He died on July 12, 2001, aged only 35.

Si Thu was a prisoner of conscience because of his commitment to the struggle for democracy in Burma. He first became involved in politics as a student in the 1988 uprising.

He was arrested and sentenced to 12 years in prison in 1991, but later the sentence was changed to 10 years. Although he should have been a free man in July 2001, the junta kept him imprisoned under the terms of a security law—Section 10 (A) of the Law to Safeguard the State against the Dangers of Those Desiring to Cause Subversive Acts.

The post Life and Death Behind Prison Walls appeared first on The Irrawaddy.

The University Behind Bars

Posted: 08 Aug 2017 01:08 AM PDT

Kay Latt was once a contributor to The Irrawaddy and now currently works for the Myanmar State Counselor's Office. On this 29th anniversary of the 1988 pro-democracy uprising, The Irrawaddy revisits his article from 2010, in which he reflects on 'education' in prison.

One day in March 1988, when I was a third year student at the Rangoon Arts and Science University, the noise of loud shouting reached our classroom from the recreation center.

Our teacher left the room to investigate, and some of us followed. There was a crowd in front of the Convocation Hall, listening to speeches and shouting slogans.

That afternoon, riot police intervened and arrested a number of students, piling them into a truck. We blocked the truck's way in Pyay Road and threw stones at the police. They responded with tear gas—which I tasted for the first time in my life.

The riot police mounted a counterattack and I ran into the Pegu hostel (Pago Saung), where friends of mine lived, and hid there until the police withdrew.

Later, I learnt that some students had died on the banks of Inya Lake. Others had been beaten and arrested as they made for the Rangoon Institute of Technology.

In June, when the universities briefly reopened, students again gathered in front of the recreation center at the Rangoon Arts and Science University and protested against the suppression of the students' demonstrations by the authorities.

Like many others, I wore a kerchief over my face as a disguise, but I removed it when one student leader fearlessly took his off. But I was very nervous as I returned home that day.

In August, demonstrations broke out all over the country and I joined other students on the streets of Rangoon, shouting slogans and wearing arm bands, white shirts and Kachin longyi (sarong), the students' uniform.

Then, came the coup d'état. I didn't know what to do—whether to follow my friends to the Thai-Burmese border and join their armed struggle, or to remain inside the country and to work for change from the underground or within a political party. I decided on the latter course of action.

I joined the National League for Democracy, but not long after the 1990 election I was arrested because of my political involvement.

After about seven months, during which no charge was laid against me, a prison warden toured the cells drawing up a list of the imprisoned students. I was filled with hope that this meant we would be freed in time for the rumored reopening of the universities, which had been closed since June 1988.

On May 15, 1991, all universities across the country reopened.

The prison authorities ordered me to collect my belongings, and I said farewell to my cheering comrades, who thought I was being freed. But it was a vain hope—I was arraigned before a military court and sentenced to 10 years imprisonment, along with a number of other students.

There is a saying that "he who opens a school's door closes a prison's." But that wasn't to be in my case—prison was my school and university for nine long years.

Prison is actually an exclusive university with very high admission requirements. I was admitted anyway…

The post The University Behind Bars appeared first on The Irrawaddy.

Mother’s Smile in Turmoil

Posted: 07 Aug 2017 10:27 PM PDT

Kyaw Zwa Moe, editor of The Irrawaddy's English edition, reflects in this 2010 article on his arrest and imprisonment following the 1988 pro-democracy uprising, the 29th anniversary of which is commemorated this year.

The sway of the train woke me as the sun was rising in a mist on an endless horizon of paddy fields. What a beautiful morning! But what I didn’t know was that the train was not only taking me to Rangoon, where my mother was waiting for me, but that it was also the beginning of a much longer journey.

That night in Rangoon at my mother's home, men entered the house. They asked for my mother’s "permission" to take me for questioning. My mother merely nodded, calmly. But I knew she was crying inside. The intruders took me to a chilly, isolated and bloodstained cell. It was December 1991.

I was arrested as a result of my actions during, and after, the 1988 pro-democracy uprising: on Aug. 7, 1988, I was in a street protest in Rangoon, eye-to-eye with a soldier whose bayonet was pointed at my body; in the following days, we marched in the streets, we ran from the soldiers when they fired their weapons; later, we secretly published a political journal and clandestinely distributed it; in secret military training, we practiced with wooden rifles; I traveled as a messenger to the Thai-Burmese border where my colleagues trained as a student army.

My work after the uprising caught the attention of local authorities and military intelligence units and our home was seen in their eyes as a "rebel" location. Four times, the house was surrounded and searched by army troops and military intelligence officers. On two occasions, they were looking for my older brother. Two times, they were looking for me.

That December night, they found me. A secret military court handed down a 10-year prison sentence. I was not allowed to present a defense.

My mother visited me in jail. She brought me the gift of smiles—no sad face or teary eyes. But again, I knew what she was feeling inside.

Eight years later, when I was released from prison, I returned home. I could only remember the smiles she so bravely gave me, because she had passed away during my third year in prison.

But the price I paid was small compared to some of my colleagues in 1988 and to some of my fellow prisoners. Tun Sein, Bo Ni Aung, Kyaw Theik, Htet Moe, Myint Aung and many others paid the highest price—death—during the 1988 protests or in prison, or following their release, or in exile.

Their sacrifice affected Burma's history and has taken us to where we are today. Without their sacrifice during the 88 movement, late dictator Ne Win's authoritarian socialist regime would not have been swept away. Without the movement, the junta wouldn’t have held the 1990 election, and the opposition National League for Democracy wouldn't have been the clear winner. Without the movement, the junta wouldn't have signed ceasefire agreements with ethnic armed groups, and they wouldn't be where they are today. Without it, the junta wouldn't have planned to hold elections this year. Without it, there would be no political parties to challenge the regime's candidates. Without it, the exiled media wouldn’t have grown to be a reliable source of news and information about what goes on inside the regime's closed, insular world.

We all recognize that the 88 generation and the following generations have paid a high price to get us where we are today, and about 2,100 political prisoners, including former student leader Min Ko Naing, still languish in jails. We must never forget that the road we go down today was built on the sacrifice of thousands of lives and souls.

The post Mother's Smile in Turmoil appeared first on The Irrawaddy.

Inmates Pass Matriculation Exam, Receive Pardon

Posted: 07 Aug 2017 10:10 PM PDT

MANDALAY — Five inmates of Mandalay's Obo Prison who passed Myanmar's matriculation exam with honors in June were released on Monday under a Presidential pardon.

"I want to say thanks to the president and other authorities, including the prison superintendent and teachers, for making our dreams of attending university come true," said one of the prisoners 19-year-old Ma Shun Lae Wai Kyaw.

"I also want to tell everyone, especially young people, to stay away from drugs, which will affect your life goals," she added.

In total, seven Obo Prison inmates passed the matriculation exams for the 2016-17 academic year.

The five who passed with honors—four males and one female—were pardoned.

"I was so surprised and cried with joy when the warden told me I will be released," said Ko Hlaing Min Oo, a Kayah man from Loikaw, who passed the exam with one distinction.

Ko Hlaing Min Oo, 18, was charged under Myanmar's narcotics law and sentenced to eight years' imprisonment. He had already served more than two years.

"I called my mother and she was overjoyed. She is now on her way to bring me back home," said Hlaing Min Oo. "At the same time, I feel sad for my friends who have no chance to get out of the prison yet," he added.

Superintendent of Obo Prison U Cho Win Tun thanked President U Htin Kyaw and other officials who had shown concern for the prisoners' future.

"I am so happy, [the inmates] are like my own children," he said.

Two other inmates from Insein Prison in Yangon who passed the exam with honors also received a presidential pardon and were released on the same day.

According to figures from the Ministry of Education, 41 inmates from Obo, Insein, Tharyarwaddy and Hpa-An prisons took the 2016-17 matriculation exam, and 16 of them passed.

This was the first academic year in which Obo Prison inmates could sit the exam at the prison—before, they had to travel to Insein Prison for the exam.

According to prison officials, in Obo Prison alone, there were 38 inmates studying from grade 6 through matriculation this year. The classes were mainly taught by teachers who were also imprisoned. Teachers from local high schools helped prepare them for the matriculation exams under a program run by the education ministry.

The post Inmates Pass Matriculation Exam, Receive Pardon appeared first on The Irrawaddy.

‘Power is a Dangerous Thing’

Posted: 07 Aug 2017 08:58 PM PDT

Kyaw Zwa Moe: I am at the monastery of Sayadaw U Khaymar Nanda, who is better known as the 8888 Sayadaw, in Taunggyi. He served as the chairman of the Young Monks' Union during the 1988 pro-democracy uprising, and was arrested immediately after the military mounted a coup and imprisoned for six years. Today, he still believes—as he once said in a speech—that cows are the only creatures that don't want democracy, and he has continuously supported the cause. I will discuss his confidence in democracy, the involvement of authorities in the Depayin Massacre, and his views on today's political landscape. I'm Irrawaddy English editor Kyaw Zwa Moe.

You are widely known as the 8888 Sayadaw in Taunggyi, and for the time being, I think you are the only person in the country who dares to claim that title. You served the cause of democracy long before Daw Aung San Suu Kyi's government came to power. Would you explain how you became known as the 8888 Sayadaw?

Khaymar Nanda: During the 88 uprising, young monks from every monastery in Taunggyi gathered and formed the Shan State Young Monks' Union. The union had 11 executive committee members. We decided to serve our country and told ourselves that politics was not about getting power for ourselves; we monks had to take part in issues of livelihood, health and education for the people. I said, "If we get engaged in politics, we will die or be jailed. If we are unlucky, we die. If we are lucky, we're jailed." So, we prepared for the worst. As soon as we formed the young monks' union, we occupied the office of the Burma Socialist Programme Party in Taunggyi. So, [party cadres] had a grudge against us. They threatened and swore at us over the phone.

KZM: At that time, the government was the Burma Socialist Programme Party.

KN: Yes, it was the BSPP. They swore at us and we let them swear, telling ourselves that they would stop when they got tired. Then, BSPP party members from the entire township handed us their party membership cards, saying they were no longer party members. We accepted the cards. We actively engaged in the 1988 democracy uprising in Shan State and my name became known as the chairman of the young monks' union.

As chairman, I had to advise junior monks. I told them that we were Buddhist monks and that there are both commandments of the Buddhist Order as well as secular law, and that we must not break those laws. We took actions that would not breach either of these laws.

The whole country wanted democracy. In a speech I said blatantly that "only cows don't like democracy." Every human likes democracy. The junior monks avoided breaking the laws, and they listened to me. The [BSPP] party cadres treated people unfairly while they were in power. And when they were about to give up their power, they didn't dare to sleep in their own houses. They asked us to protect their lives and property. I told people: "What we want is democracy. We don't want violence, death or torture. Democracy has to follow laws and discipline." There must be respect for these values in a democracy. So, none of their homes were destroyed and none of the party cadres were attacked during the 1988 uprising

Shan State was peaceful at that time. I dare to say that Shan State enjoyed real democracy then. So, it was convenient for us to do our tasks. At that time, soldiers were not allowed to leave their camps. Some of the soldiers had been outside the camps [before the order was issued], and we members of the young monks' union systematically brought them back to their battalions. We walked on the path to democracy with optimism.

KZM: So you have the title 8888 Sayadaw. But you were arrested immediately after the military staged a coup on September 18 after the 1988 pro-democracy uprising.

KN: Soldiers came to our monks' union building on September 19 and opened fire on us. We had blocked the gate. When I heard the shooting, I told my junior, including Maung Ottara, who is in London now: "When we formed the young monks' union, we already knew the two outcomes. Lucky, we're jailed. Unlucky, we die. We knew the ending. So, if I am lucky, I will be jailed because many people have already been killed on the roadside."

It was about 6 a.m. We turned ourselves in and said, "You may arrest us now." But, the commander of that military column, Lt-Col Aung Hsan of Light Infantry Battalion 17, said he didn't want the other monks, he only wanted Sayadaw Khaymar Nanda.

KZM: They wanted to arrest only you.

KN: Yes. So, I said, "It is me." I don't eat meat during the Buddhist Lent and at that time I had a small blanket draped over my shoulders and was counting Buddhist prayer beads brought from Bodh Gaya [the site of the Buddha's enlightenment, in India]. Cpt Myint Lwin and Lt Naing Oo [of the Myanmar Army] pointed their guns at me. I still remember their names although I don't know their service numbers. I asked them why they were pointing their guns at me when I had no weapon. I undid my robe and only then did they put down their guns. Then, I saw a boy named Yin Maung Than dying in front of us. He ran errands for our young monks' union. He was shot from the right side and the bullet tore through his left cheek.

KZM: Was he shot in front of you?

KN: Yes. He was in ninth grade, I think. I was sad to see him dying, blood pouring out of his cheek. But I could do nothing, as I had been arrested. Then, soldiers took me. Lt-Col Aung Hsan walked in front of me and Cpt Myint Lwin and Lte Aung Naing Oo were behind.

We had a monk, U Pinnavumsa, who was responsible for security in the monks' union. Monks in the union had different duties. U Pinnavumsa was an ex-military officer; he understood military affairs and guns. So, we assigned him the responsibility of security.

At that time, police were not allowed to take their guns when leaving their stations. But the previous night, a policeman named Ko Nu took a B-52 Sten gun. My disciples in charge of security were suspicious of him, so they arrested him and seized his gun, which they handed over to U Pinnavumsa. He knew nothing about my arrest but there were many people on the street. So, when he saw the soldiers, he told them that there was a brawl between some young men and the police last night, and asked them if he was to give the gun back to the policeman or to the soldiers. Lt-Col Aung Hsan took the gun and when we got near the Shan Mintha Teashop—today it is called Shwe Keinnar—Lt-Col Aung San told the military intelligence official that I was found with a gun and arrested.

I said, "You are a military official, why do you lie? I engaged in the democracy uprising because I don't like dishonesty. Don't lie. You brought the gun. I had nothing to do with it. Tell him the truth." The intelligence official said he would handle it, and put me into a prisoner transport vehicle. Then, there was an announcement on the radio that the chairman of the Shan State Young Monks' Union was arrested with B-52 Sten gun. I can't accept lies, so I pushed back aggressively. They didn't like it. At that time, the commander was Maj-Gen Maung Aye.

KZM: Vice Snr-Gen Maung Aye who retired with Snr-Gen Than Shwe? He was the commander there then? How was he involved in your arrest?

KN: Yes, he was primarily responsible for my arrest. He was the most accountable person in Taunggyi. I was put into a prisoner transport vehicle along with Dr. Tin Win, the leader of the strike [in Taunggyi], U Cho of the EPC, bank manager U Win Maung, and teacher Ko Myint Than. They had been arrested before me. Their heads were covered in bags.

KZM: They were covered in balaclavas?

KN: Yes, but I recognized them from their clothing because they were familiar to me. U Win Maung heard my voice and asked, "Sayadaw, is that you?" I said yes, and he told me that he could not breathe. I removed his balaclava and a soldier on guard asked me why I did that. I said, "Because it is humane. He'll die if it isn't taken off. You can arrest and imprison people but you should not treat them like this."

We were brought to the Eastern Command [of the Myanmar Army]. When we arrived, they covered my head with a bag used to pack dried fish. And the balaclavas of the others were also changed. A soldier asked his senior if he had to cover the head of the monk, and he replied that I was no longer a monk after getting on that vehicle. The bag they put over my head smelled so bad that I could not breathe. Whenever I see dried fish, I remember that day. If I am offered fish curry, memories of that day come flooding back.

KZM: Were you put behind bars immediately? How many years were you imprisoned?

KN: I was released in 1993 and imprisoned for about six years. I had many troubles while in prison and during the interrogation process. I heard that military officers didn't use force on Daw Aung San Suu Kyi during the interrogation process in consideration of her father.

KZM: It has been almost 30 years since 1988, and the eras have changed – the Burma Socialist Programme Party, two military regimes, and U Thein Sein's administration, which was a government of ex-generals. Now, the government is led by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, who you supported. What is your assessment of the political situation today? Do you find it satisfactory?

KN: No. Many reforms remain to be done in respective sectors of our constitutional democracy. We've only seen the dawn of democracy; the light has yet to come out.

KZM: Which parts need reform and how can those changes be introduced? As everyone knows, Daw Aung San Suu Kyi is the State Counselor and U Htin Kyaw is the President, proposed by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. But three ministries – home affairs, defense, and border affairs – are still held by the military. Looking at the overall administrative mechanism, only the top positions are held by the NLD and the rest are the old guard. Where do you think that change should start?

KN: Of the many things to be changed, the Constitution should come first. Only after that happens, can other changes be introduced according to the new Constitution. Otherwise, the results will not be good.

KZM: Like the fact that 25 percent of seats are reserved constitutionally for the military in Parliament?

KN: Yes, we are building a democracy and it should be democratic.

KZM: I'm afraid it won't be that easy or practical. The Tatmadaw [Myanmar Army] is a powerful institution that has engaged in and taken control of all sectors including politics and the economy. It used to have complete control of these. It has reduced its control but still maintains a large hold due to the Constitution. It's not easy, is it?

KN: Rather than thinking about whether it's easy, we have to work for what we want. The Tatmadaw maintains its grip on key sectors, but I believe that it will let go and transfer it someday.

KZM: But how long will it take?

KN: It is difficult to predict. We will have to wait and see. Sometimes unexpected things happen. For instance, [NLD Muslim legal adviser] U Ko Ni was assassinated. It was an extremist act. As a Buddhist monk, I don't discuss race or religious issues. They have their faith and I have mine.

A ritual was held here to mark the seventh day after U Ko Ni's death. Most of the attendees were Muslim. The ritual involved pouring water into a container [done in the manner of sharing merits for the deceased], and I asked Muslim attendees to recite after me. I told them that I was not asking them to recite the five precepts of Buddhism, but to pray and share merits, and therefore followers of any religion could do it. They were satisfied with my explanation and recited willingly after me.

There will be harmony when there is an understanding of each other. U Ko Ni was Muslim. But his death means that we lost a legal expert in our country and we regret this because he could have contributed greatly. This has nothing to do with race or religion. How smart ambassador U Pe Khin was, and how smart U Ko Ni was! We've lost the scholars who the country could use. This is a loss for the country.

KZM: U Ko Ni continuously talked about amending the 2008 Constitution. And he was also a legal adviser to the NLD and Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. His assassination raised questions. The assassin was arrested, but people speculate that there was a mastermind behind it. What do you think?

KN: As soon as I heard about the assassination, I told my laypeople that the killer was a contract killer, paid to kill U Ko Ni. This is something that requires caution in our country. I have always wanted to urge Daw Aung San Suu Kyi to take caution. She loves people and people love her.

We Myanmar people have a habit of giving away gifts and flowers as a token of love. But this is worrying from a security perspective. U Ko Ni's assassination is an example. He was shot during the day at the airport in Yangon. This is concerning. There must be a mastermind and he needs to be held accountable to avoid such cases in the future.

KZM: In our country, there were assassinations in successive periods, Gen Aung San and his colleagues were assassinated in 1947. Karen ethnic leader Saw Ba U Gyi was killed and there were also reciprocal killings between split communist groups. In 2008, Karen National Union (KNU) leader Padoh Mahn Sha was killed, and nine years later U Ko Ni was killed. Is this inclination for assassination really linked with political extremism? It has persisted for a long time. When do you think it will end?

KN: Myanmar people are not inept, but they are naïve. We need to be able to distinguish between incompetence and naivety. Ko Kyi Lin killed U Ko Ni and Galon U Saw and his accomplices assassinated Gen Aung San. They were not incompetent people, I assess. I'm not praising them. They were competent people but they were extremists. Regarding the question of how to end this inclination, I've always said that the majority in our country is Buddhist. Our first commandment is to abstain from killing, even insects. Killing is shameful to us. Followers of Islam did not call out when U Ko Ni was assassinated, but what would have happened if a Buddhist lawyer was killed instead of a Muslim? Our people need to have a mature mentality. Unless they are enlightened, this inclination will continue.

KZM: Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and U Tin Oo visited your monastery in 2002. It was before the Depayin Massacre in which Daw Aung San Suu Kyi's motorcade was attacked. What did you know about the attack, and what did you talk about with her prior to it?

KN: The political storm was quite strong at that time because military intelligence was so powerful. I was quite pleased that Daw Aung San Suu Kyi visited me. I warmly welcomed them. There was a Union Solidarity and Development Association office near my monastery. I heard them say they would attack her if she came to the ward. The person I heard say that is still alive. I was not shocked by what he said. They had their own views. But, I tried to provide security for her.

Some police and military intelligence officials were my disciples. They told me that her visit was worrying. I asked why, and they told me to think about it but that they could not provide details. I understood but I said there was nothing to worry about because she served the people.

Police were conducting drills with sticks and shields and I asked the police chief what they intended to do. He said they were following orders from the home affairs minister. I said she had been allowed to leave Yangon freely; what would they do to her in Taunggyi? Police said she could leave Taunggyi safely. But I told her and U Tin Oo that I was worried for their safety. Then, I heard about the attack in Depayin.

A junior monk from Amarapura Township called and asked me if anything had happened in Taunggyi. I said no. He said some 100 monks were asked to gather in his township to attack Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. I was shocked and told him not to join or else history will remember him badly. I asked when the attack would occur and he said on the Sagaing Bridge.

KZM: So, they were asked to gather by the authorities?

KN: He said that authorities from the township peace and development council asked the monks to gather. Think about it. If someone was attacked on the Sagaing Bridge, he would die falling off the bridge, if not from the beating. Those in power used even monks in this way. Power is a dangerous thing. Those who indulge in power do not care about Buddha, Dhamma, Sangha, or their parents and teachers. They do not hesitate to exploit the Sangha to maintain power. This is evil and unacceptable.

KZM: Thank you.

The post 'Power is a Dangerous Thing' appeared first on The Irrawaddy.

Blood Stained My School Courtyard

Posted: 07 Aug 2017 08:28 PM PDT

Former Irrawaddy reporter Min Naing Thu was a child when anti-government demonstrations of 1988 reached Monywa, Sagaing Region. In this Aug. 6, 2010 article he describes his experience of leaving classes to join the demonstrations, and their bloody end.

When I first heard the word "Tha-beik-hmauk [protest]," in broadcasts by the Burmese service of the BBC, the expression was completely new to me, a 10-year-old living in Monywa. My parents tuned into the service every night, and I often heard that word used in the news programs without knowing what it meant.

It wasn’t long before I got to understand what Tha-beik-hmauk meant when the students’ demonstrations broke out in August 1988. By that time, I had moved on to the fifth grade of high school in my home town, Monywa.

My school had only reopened one month earlier when the demonstrations broke out. Students from Rangoon University and 10th grade pupils gathered at the school and raised the fighting peacock flag—the first time I had seen the emblem.

The teachers did nothing to stop the demonstration, advising students to listen attentively to the speeches being made. They were full of declarations like "Soldiers rape female students … Our country is impoverished … We have to overthrow Ne Win’s government … We have to rise up against the evil BSPP system."

The following day, the teachers joined the demonstrations and the school closed.

Happy that lessons were over, I joined friends as they gathered by the school’s flagpole.

I was given three pieces of ba-yar-kyaw [an Indian style snack of fried mashed beans and spices].

"To avoid bay-ba-yar ["danger"], let’s eat Ba-yar-kyaw and march," said a teacher in a play of words that got us laughing as we paraded through the streets, chanting slogans and accepting gifts of food, water and sweets from the town’s residents.

In mid-August, a central camp was established for protestors in Monywa. We gathered at the camp at the end of each day of demonstrations and engaged in discussions and political speeches. Civil servants had also now joined the protests, which we learnt from BBC broadcasts were countrywide.

After one month, in late September, army units took up positions in Monywa and our teachers told us to return home and stay there.

One night we heard gunfire and my uncle, who was visiting us, identified it as the noise of automatic weapons.

"Are students being killed?" he exclaimed. "I can’t just sit still. I must go." And he disappeared into the night.

There were reports that troops had raided our camp and high school. In the morning I accompanied my mother to market and saw bloodstains on the streets—including in our school courtyard, where a discarded green school sarong was additional evidence of the night of violence.

The post Blood Stained My School Courtyard appeared first on The Irrawaddy.

Awestruck by the Men in Uniform

Posted: 07 Aug 2017 07:58 PM PDT

In August 2010, when he was working with The Irrawaddy, Ba Kaung, a pseudonym for Myanmar Now's chief editor Swe Win, wrote about the people he met connected to the 1988 Uprising. The Irrawaddy republishes the story to commemorate the 29th anniversary of the '88 Uprising in Yangon, then known as Rangoon.

Armed with an army knife, my father went out in search of my two elder brothers lost among the protesters at the peak of the 1988 uprising. My aunt, wielding a bunch of bananas, also left the house and I followed her because I’d heard the soldiers were coming.

"Members of Tatmadaw must support the people," was one of the slogans the soldiers were shouting in stirring unison. Now it became clear why my aunt had carried out a bunch of bananas—people were giving food to the soldiers, who didn’t break their stride as they marched.

I was 10 years old and awestruck by the long column of soldiers, who seemed to tower above me.

Ominously, however, they wore uniforms of only two colors—navy blue and khaki, identifying them as members of the navy and the air force. I didn’t see a single soldier in a green uniform, the color worn by most members of the Burmese armed forces.

I was aware that something was missing from this protest march, but I couldn’t know then how the absence of the "greens" would change the whole scene.

The forced social contract of 26 years had collapsed, followed by fearless criticism of societal ills and the formation of associations of every variety.

All were enjoying the enthusiasm of anarchy, united and sharing what they had. Life was beginning to resemble Rousseau's natural state. Students, government employees or trishaw drivers—all seemed equal and anxious stakeholders in the future of their country.

Soon, however, a few anarchists turned out to be not that benevolent.

"To win democracy is our cause! Our cause!" was the rallying cry of a mob in our neighborhood of Rangoon. The group was rumored to be under the leadership of a mysterious swordsman called Yaung Gyi Bwe, which means Mr. Hair-knot in English.

Brandishing samurai swords and scarlet peacock flags, they also held spikes crowned by the burnt, severed heads of suspected Socialist government agents.

Ten years later, in late 1998, in a cell block in Rangoon’s Insein Prison, I found myself a neighbor of Naing Lin, a former army corporal jailed for two years for participating in the 1988 protests. After his release from a prison labor camp, he spent several years as a primary school teacher in a remote village in Shan State.

In August 1998, Naing Lin gave up his teaching job and returned to Rangoon to participate in another round of anti-government protests. He was arrested and sentenced to 21 years' imprisonment on charges of instigating public unrest. He joined the younger set of dissidents jailed in 1996 and 1998.

Another of my prison comrades, Aung Swan, was a former fighter, a member of the militant All Burma Students Democratic Force, which he joined after taking part as a student in the 1988 uprising. He was arrested in 1994 while traveling secretly from his jungle base to visit his family in Tavoy.

In prison, Aung Swan was thought to be insane because he no longer spoke with anybody after he was beaten up by a group of criminal trusties because prison guards found a fellow political prisoner throwing food to him.

Both Naing Lin and Aung Swan have now been released. I recently discovered that Yaung Gyi Bwe, the mysterious swordsman, is living in the United States making Japanese sushi for a living. And my two brothers survived the crackdown unscathed.

The post Awestruck by the Men in Uniform appeared first on The Irrawaddy.

Ten Things to do in Yangon This Week (Aug. 8 – Aug. 14)

Posted: 07 Aug 2017 07:27 PM PDT

Inter Milan Friendly Tour | Aug. 11 & 13

The Myanmar U-18 team will play against Inter Milan U-18 in two friendly matches.

August 11 and 13, 6:00 pm. Thuwunna Stadium. Tickets available on entry.

International Youth Day | Aug. 12

International Youth Day will be celebrated around the theme of youths' role in the peace process, and youth organizations in the country.

August 12, 9:00 am. Yangon University of Education

Smart Living Expo and Asean 50th Anniversary | Aug. 11 – 13

This expo will feature decoration and building materials, electronics, furniture, cars and local and international small and medium enterprises plus seminar, business matching, entertainment and lucky draw programs.

August 11-13, 9:00 am to 5:00 pm. Tatmadaw Hall, U Wisara Road.

International Education Exhibition 2017 | Aug. 12

This exhibition provides information about academic opportunities at universities around the world.

August 12, 1:00 pm to 5:00 pm. Eureka Room, 4th Floor, Novotel Hotel.

Eternity Love Fashion Show | Aug. 12 – 13

The event showcases the modern fashion designs of well-known designers.

August 12-13, 6:30 pm. Novotel Hotel, free admission.

 

Monsoon Sales and Promotion | Aug. 11

Cosmetics, mobile phones, cameras, printers and many more items will be on sale with special discounts. Games will also be available.

August 11, 9:00 am – 9:00 pm. Hledan Center.

Musical Variety Show | Aug. 11

Classical musicians and traditional Myanmar musical troupes will perform at this event.

August 11, 7:00 pm. National Theater, Myoma Kyaung Street. Tickets are between 5,000 kyats and 20,000 kyats at 09-5132279.

Sculptures | Aug. 7 – 9

Modern artist Maung Di's exhibition will showcase two paintings and seven sculptures.

August 7-9. Ahla Thit Art Gallery, No. 17, University Avenue Road, Bahan Tsp.

To the Sea | Aug. 1 – 28

Artist San Myint's exhibition will showcase 25 acrylic paintings depicting the lives of people in Rakhine State.

August 1-28. Eternal Art Gallery, Yuzana Housing.

Autokinetic Drawings | Aug. 1 – 15

Artist Po Po will showcase 20 paintings created between 1990 and 1995 in his art studio.

August 1-15. No. 186. Theingi Street, 5th Ward, Thaketa Township.

The post Ten Things to do in Yangon This Week (Aug. 8 – Aug. 14) appeared first on The Irrawaddy.

Confessions of a Bogus Monk

Posted: 07 Aug 2017 06:58 PM PDT

In commemorating the 29th anniversary of the 1988 Uprising, The Irrawaddy revisits the personal account of its founding editor-in-chief Aung Zaw on how he avoided the arrest of authorities by living as a monk in Kayan on the outskirts of Yangon, then known as Rangoon. It was originally posted in August 2010.

When my mother visited me in Kayan that day in June 1988, I could see she was nervous and that something had made her afraid. As we sat down in the living room of our relatives’ house, where I was temporarily staying, she whispered: "They came and looked for you last night at our house."

"They" were military intelligence officers. A friendly local official had already tipped me off about a possible visit after the officers showed him my photograph and asked him if he knew my whereabouts.

I had taken part with student comrades in a week of campus protests. The regime had shut down all colleges and schools again after clashes in which scores of students were killed. My friends and I decided to go into hiding—it was a choice between going underground and probably returning to Insein Prison, where I had been briefly detained and roughly interrogated in March.

I sought shelter with my relatives in Kayan. But I still felt insecure, and concerned about my relatives, particularly after the news my mother had brought.

By chance, a respected abbot from Day Pauk village was visiting my relatives’ house when my mother called. When he heard that military intelligence were after me he immediately offered to accommodate me at his monastery, the well-known Day Pauk Kyaung. I gratefully accepted the offer.

Within the hour, I was aboard a boat with the abbot, heading along a small creek to the monastery. As we passed people on shore or in other boats respects were paid to the revered abbot.

Day Pauk Kyaung sits in a beautiful location, in the midst of paddy fields, a few kilometers from Day Pauk village.

The abbot was excited to have a new guest at his rundown monastery, which housed only a few student monks. The morning after my arrival, he shaved my head, gave me set of monk’s robes and I breakfasted on the alms we had received.

"You are now koyin gyi," he said with a broad smile, "Don’t worry, I will protect you. Just don’t say who you are and where you come from." Young novice monks danced around me as my hair was cut, welcoming a new friend to the monastery.

The abbot offered me a mantra to chant every morning to keep danger at bay and avoid capture by military intelligence. He was clearly political although he kept his thoughts much to himself.

When news of the bloody suppression of the student protests in August reached the monastery, however, the abbot told an assembly of local villagers openly that they had to fight for justice.

I felt lonely and restless at the monastery, and meditation offered no help. A visit by my mother and relatives cheered me up briefly.

My mother told me that some of my former student comrades were also in hiding in Upper Burma and that a number of them were in monasteries. Some had been caught and were in prison. Student activists were still holding small, sporadic protests in Rangoon, my mother said.

I yearned for news from Rangoon and elsewhere in the country and rejoiced when a local man brought to the temple an old radio on which I was able—after repairs by one of the monks—to hear broadcasts by the Burmese service of the BBC.

There were very few radios in Day Pauk and most villagers wanting to hear news of outside events gathered at the house of the village headman to listen to his. In candlelit corners of his home, they sat and puffed on their cheroots while reports came in of the bloodshed in Rangoon.

I joined them once when my radio needed repair, and while the villagers greeted me with respect the village headman seemed suspicious.

I suspected that they had seen through my disguise and I certainly gave them cause. At one religious ceremony attended by monks and abbots from other monasteries, I was unable to join in the chants. Villagers stared at me and began to whisper and laugh.

The abbot seemed unconcerned by the possibility that I might be exposed as a bogus monk—and the next day a woman and her young daughter came to the monastery and handed me a meat dish, a pleasant change from the daily diet of beans.

The owner of my old radio visited me most evenings and puffed away on a long cheroot.

I was sure he wondered why a young monk was so interested in listening to BBC broadcasts and never talked about monastery life, but he never asked.

The abbot also followed the news from Rangoon very closely and he often engaged in heated political debates with other monks.

When the abbot was absent, I sometimes joined an assistant monk on boat trips to other villages. We often arrived just as families were settling down to their evening meal and my companion asked them to prepare some tasty dishes for his hungry young activist friend—unable himself to partake of the food because of his monastic routine.

I wanted desperately to return to Rangoon when I learned news of the shooting and violence there but all roads leading to the city were blocked. I set out, nevertheless, leaving the monastery without informing the abbot.

Before I left, and still in my monk’s robes, I addressed rallies of students and villagers in Day Pauk, where a school principal and a teacher were organizing a mass protest. I finally confessed that I was not real monk.

The owner of the old radio set on which I had been kept so well informed smiled and applauded. He had known of my disguise all along. Evidently, the uprising had spread everywhere…

The post Confessions of a Bogus Monk appeared first on The Irrawaddy.
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