In Burma: Bludgeons, Beheadings

After 26 years of uninterrupted one-party rule, Burma last week lurched toward the brink of anarchy. As rioting convulsed major cities, students demanding an end to government sloth and economic mismanagement died by the dozens. Monks demonstrating for more democracy were bludgeoned and carried away. While neighborhoods organized for defense and government offices burned, Burmese--known for passivity--suddenly were beheading police.

Normally, Western governments, either on a bilateral basis or through the United Nations, try to stop this sort of violence. They appeal for calm, dispatch special envoys or threaten sanctions if human rights are not quickly restored.

But even as chaos swirled into hospitals and around the sacred Shwedagon Pagoda, international reaction remained strangely muted. There were no impassioned speeches in the U.N. General Assembly. Instead of calling ambassadors home, most governments simply told diplomats in Rangoon to hunker down and wait. In contrast to the outrage that followed Polish Gen. Wojciech Jaruzelski’s suppression of Solidarity, President Sein Lwin’s brutal 17-day reign prompted only tepid expressions of dismay.

If the response to Burma’s agony has been uncertain, it’s because few governments really understand Asia’s most enigmatic nation. Rangoon has no foreign business community and resident diplomats are seldom allowed to leave the capital. It is possible to visit Burma if you promise to leave within seven days, but despite this limited access, public awareness of Burma still largely consists of a few fleeting images.

Veteran travelers envision a dusty plain by the Irrawaddy River, near the temple city of Pagan, where thousands of ancient pagodas attest to the glory of a civilization that was old when Kublai Khan overran it in the 13th Century. For English speakers, Burma is Rudyard Kipling’s poem, “Mandalay,” a place of tranquility and temple bells where British colonialists enjoyed a “neater, sweeter maidan in a cleaner, greener land.” Those who lived through World War II recall Merrill’s Marauders, Lord Louis Mountbattan and “Vinegar Joe” Stillwell’s heroic effort to build a “Burma Road” into China.

Since the 1962 military coup that brought Gen. Ne Win to power, Burma has been the Rip Van Winkle of Asia. During the same quarter century Bangladesh was born, Cambodia died, Vietnam went communist and Singapore became one vast shopping arcade, Rangoon snoozed, secure in the notion that the “Burmese way to socialism” would ensure independence, if not prosperity.

Indifference to profit and trade leaves the West today with little leverage. Rangoon has no Swiss bank accounts to seize, and the few development projects it allows are hardly worth canceling. Its army requires no foreign military sales credits. Withholding spare parts would be an empty threat--the only U.S. equipment Burma has are several helicopters used for narcotics interdiction.

American officials newly arrived in Rangoon quickly realize the country is potentially the richest in Southeast Asia. Blessed with tin and tungsten, Burma has untapped deposits of oil and enormous teak forests. Fertile soil between the Irrawaddy and Salween rivers once made Burma a leading exporter of rice. The Hpakan Valley in the northern Kachin State is studded with outcroppings of solid jade and the country’s “pigeon blood” rubies are highly prized throughout the world. Visions of development schemes with limitless profit usually last until the first cocktail party when foreigners confront a xenophobia as seemingly entrenched as Buddhism itself.

Xenophobia, of course, is what has kept Burma stable until now. Representatives of every political philosophy are welcomed to Rangoon, then assiduously shunned. As disciples of neutrality, the Burmese are uncompromising. When the Nonaligned Movement was co-opted by Cuba in the late ‘70s, Burma immediately withdrew--even though Burma was one of the group’s original founders and a socialist country to boot.

Burmese socialism is rigid and unforgiving. People are thoroughly searched when entering or leaving the country. All communications are monitored and currency is tightly controlled. Police informants shadow every foreigner. Dissident students are sent to a hellish prison appropriately named Insein.

A plebiscite leading to democracy seems a logical next step to Sein Lwin’s resignation. Unfortunately, there is no credible alternative to the current government. The abolition of Burma’s Socialist Program Party would pave the way for anarchy of nightmarish proportion.

Beyond its major cities, Burma resembles prewar China, a land haphazardly ruled by warlords, smugglers, ethnic rebels and a well-armed Communist Party. The Shan State, a vast expanse of jungled mountains and rice-rich plateaus encompassing 24% of Burma’s land area, is the most untamed region in Asia. Eight separate “independence” armies have base camps along the Thai border. Three more dominate the mountainous fringes of the Golden Triangle. Mixed into this stew are remnants of two old Kuomintang armies and a jumble of warlords who drive opium caravans along the jungle trails.

When Burma gained independence in 1947, the ethnic and linguistic minorities, totaling about 25% of Burma’s population, were promised a large measure of autonomy in return for their loyalty. Ne Win’s coup ended that arrangement. Ever since, Rangoon lowlanders have had to contend with groups like the Shan State army, 3,000 troops who begin each day with spirited bayonet drills and a recitation of the Shan slogan: “One bullet, one Burmese.” Neither Washington nor Moscow wants instability in Burma because it would invite Chinese intervention. China has already equipped the Burmese Communist Party’s 12,000-man army, a force larger than all the rebel armies combined and far more professional. Most analysts believe China learned a painful lesson in supporting Cambodia’s Khmer Rouge, and would keep its advisers out of Burma. But Beijing’s ability to restrain Burmese Communists if the void continues is less certain.

Indonesia and Malaysia are already suspicious of Beijing and the influence it wields over their ethnic Chinese minorities. Any move into Burma could divide the Assn. of Southeast Asian Nations, impelling countries with substantial overseas Chinese populations to reassess their relationship with Beijing. A serious regional disruption that threatened Thailand could force the United States to consider its security obligations to Bangkok.

The irony of Burma’s turmoil is that it coincides with diplomatic triumphs in Angola, Afghanistan and the Persian Gulf. That many leaders who engineered these accomplishments had little initial reaction to the rebellion in Asia’s fourth-poorest country should come as no surprise. Burma’s self-imposed isolation has diminished its role on the world stage.

With so few diplomatic levers to pull, hesitation could be an appropriate response. The wisest policy for the West may lie in the hope that Rangoon regains equilibrium without outside interference.