BURMA: DEMOCRACY IS FOR THE PEOPLE, BY THE PEOPLE

 

Me and my mom, Political Section, US Embassy Rangoon, during my internship, summer 1988 (notice the sign on the door behind my mother - someone had taped it to the gate of the embassy)

In the early morning of September 16, 1988, my mother "stowed away" on a special, small, U.S. military jet that seated eight, but there were only three on board, from Bangkok to Rangoon because the airports in Burma were shut down. The country had gone on strike. Everything was closed, including all government departments. It was total anarchy. The plane flew up into the monsoon clouds, high over the Thai-Burmese border, and then came down over the delta land. And there was Rangoon, green and tree-covered, the golden Shwedagon Pagoda glittering in the morning sun. The plane landed and then coasted up to the old terminal building where the only signs of life were a few Burmese soldiers standing guard, some customs officials, and Chris who was waiting for my mom to arrive. 

That year, the people had risen up against the oppressive military dictatorship and the police state. Since 1962, when General Ne Win came to power, he ruled with an iron fist. Everything was controlled. All forms of communications - books, magazines, movies, music - were under strict government censorship. The government abolished every kind of entertainment, too. And anyone criticizing the government was subject to arrest. Anyone could be arrested for any reason, or for no reason at all. Civil liberties were non-existent. There were many other causes for the rebellion (economic and so forth), but the worse part was that the entire population had been living in a state of constant fear. 

Finally, in 1988, a pro-democracy student-led movement ignited a series of nationwide protests, and thousands marched on Rangoon, and throughout the country, demanding freedom, which propelled Burma onto the front pages of newspapers around the world. Military troops responded by opening fire on the peaceful, unarmed demonstrators, and many were killed and arrested. 

In June of that year, I graduated from high school and had flown to Rangoon, to spend my summer break there before starting college. By the time I arrived, the country was already in the midst of this political upheaval. The most intense time period was between August 8 to August 13. A few examples of things that happened during that time: military troops fired indiscriminately into houses. They also fired into a group of doctors and nurses in front of Rangoon General Hospital who were pleading with the troops to stop the shootings. Several doctors and nurses were killed and wounded. In another incident, the troops killed a group of teenaged girls who were carrying a photograph of Burma's founding father, Aung San (Aung San Suu Kyi's father). It was estimated that over two thousand people were killed in those few days. That does not include the wounded, or the people who were arrested and tortured. 

There is so much to tell about this period in Burma's history, too much to go into in this forum. But witnessing the Burmese people fight for their human rights, risking their lives in doing so, changed me forever. I was still a teenager, I partied and dated boys, but I also understood the significance of what was happening. I was fortunate to have gotten an internship working in the political section of the US Embassy writing reports about the members of the Burmese ruling elite (the son of one of the military leaders had a crush on me and tried to persuade me to date him and I refused, but that's another story for another time).  All my overseas experiences molded me into who I am today, but what I saw and experienced in Burma had the most profound impact on me. 

By the end of August, Mom went back to the United States with me since I was starting my freshman year of college, and to drop off my stepsister Tauna at boarding school. But during her absence, the security situation in Burma escalated, and the city was running out of gasoline and rice and the American Ambassador ordered the evacuation of all the US  Embassy dependents to Bangkok. My stepbrother Todd, who was ten-years-old, was among them.

Chris and Todd before Todd was evacuated from Burma, September 11, 1988

It had been a dramatic exit. Since the airport in Rangoon was closed, American Ambassador, Burt Levin,  convinced Thai Airways to bring in a charter plane to take the foreigners out of the country. The US Embassy diplomats worked for hours to arrange all the landing details at the airport since there were hardly any airport employees. The baggage equipment and stairs had been locked up so they had to rig up some makeshift stairs for the plane and load all the luggage by hand. But they got their dependents on board, including other diplomatic dependents from various embassies. It was heart-wrenching for the diplomats left behind as they stood on the runway watching the plane lift off, their spouses and children on board, not sure when they would see them again. 

Todd and the other evacuees leaving Burma, Spet, 11, 1988

After settling me in at school, Mom flew to Bangkok, and while she tried to figure out how to get back into Burma, she spent time with Todd and other evacuees. She helped the evacuees get settled and counseled some who were emotionally distraught. It is very traumatic to be evacuated from your home at such short notice, especially for an unspecified time.  

Back in Rangoon, the US Embassy became a focal point for the demonstrators. The protestors would come to the Embassy in those days and sit for hours holding rallies and listening to speeches because they knew the embassy would report this to the world. To them, the US represented democracy and freedom. The US Embassy staff members would regularly lean out the embassy windows, and the demonstrators would look up at them and wave and cheer. 

Chris posing with the billboard the Burmese government placed across the street from the US Embassy

 (I love how there's a stray dog in the picture)

One day, a crowd of 75,000 people marched by the US Embassy - students, lawyers, doctors, nurses, workers, government employees, artists, writers, singers, actors - chanting "we want democracy; down with the one-party system; the revolution will succeed."  As my mom and her colleagues watched, military troops suddenly appeared and opened fire without warning on the demonstrators. Mom saw two protestors fall dead before she was forced to get away from the windows. The embassy staff rushed into the inner corridor and got down on the floor. They crouched there for a long time listening to the gunfire outside. Meanwhile, the embassy managed to grant safe haven to 33 students and monks who were huddled inside for hours until it was safe for them to leave by a side door under US Marine guard. 

In typical fashion, Mom did not feel the least amount of fear but was consumed by rage. Just after the firing had started in front of the embassy, she leaned against the wall of the corridor, and shaking with fury said: "those murderous bastards!" She now understood those who joined the underground and sacrificed themselves for a cause. 

She and Chris, and some of their close friends in the embassy, felt the same way and vowed quietly to each other: "We'll get them," they agreed. "We'll get this government somehow."