No Longer Burma, Still a Tyranny

The lesson in democracy begins promptly at 4 each weekend afternoon. Several thousand people gather behind barricades, eyes trained on the fence surrounding a two-story lakeside home on University Avenue. Traffic cops, dressed smartly in pressed white coats, keep two lanes open for passing cars.

When Aung San Suu Kyi, pink orchids in her brushed-back hair and microphone in hand, appears from behind the fence, the crowd breaks into cheers and applause. For the next hour, the 1991 Nobel Peace Prize winner gamely conducts a forum on democracy in a country run by generals.

She often answers questions, submitted in advance, about new quotas for rice farmers or the burden of inflation on pensioners, the use of forced labor to build a dam or involuntary “donations” for computers in schools.

“If we had democracy tomorrow, we would still have problems. It’s just that we could talk about them openly,” Suu Kyi told her listeners the other day. “Security for our children will not come overnight with democracy. But we certainly won’t have to worry about the knock on the door in the middle of the night.”

Suu Kyi’s remarks do not appear on television or radio or even in the next day’s newspapers. But a transcript lands on the generals’ desks. And a few days later, newspaper articles, written under pseudonyms, criticize the folly of “that girl,” as they refer to Suu Kyi, 50.

Such is the uneasy standoff between the generals and the democrats in the steamy Southeast Asian nation of Myanmar, formerly known as Burma. Eight months have passed since Suu Kyi was freed from six years of house arrest, and yet there still is no sign of national reconciliation or real progress toward democracy.

Instead, the military rulers here are engaged in a broad effort to win the hearts and minds of Myanmar’s 46 million people with a stage-managed constitutional conference, replete with pep rallies, and an economic boom fed by foreigners dreaming of quick profits.

The linchpin of that strategy is an ardent courtship of foreign tourists and investors. While this remains one of the world’s poorest countries, building cranes fill the skyline of Yangon, the capital; traffic jams the streets around the 2,500-year-old dome of the Shwedagon Pagoda; billboards advertise Toshiba computers and Kirin beer. An emerging elite of millionaires can be found at the yacht club, the glitzy new nightclubs or the three new driving ranges for golfers.

Suu Kyi is biding her time. “When do we want democracy? Well, we want it now, of course,” she said in an interview. “But we are not that impatient. We have other work to do, and we carry on.”

Indeed, she is quietly rebuilding her political party, the National League for Democracy, of which she is general secretary. Though still facing restrictions and government harassment, the party appears to have retained the support that gave it 80% of the vote in 1990 elections, a vote that the military rulers annulled.

Although Suu Kyi calls for dialogue with the ruling junta, it sees no need to talk to her. The rulers, a committee of 21 generals known as the State Law and Order Restoration Council, or SLORC, operate in what one diplomat here describes as “their own Kafkaesque reality.”

And they are carefully pursuing a course designed to maintain their hold on power.

“So far, the generals haven’t had to deal with Aung San Suu Kyi,” said Khin Maung Thwin, a local journalist. “They’re selling their hopes on making things economically stable. If they do that, they figure they won’t have to worry about her.”

Myanmar’s Storied History

Myanmar’s history is long and rich, dating to the 11th century Bagan Dynasty. It covers a kite-shaped area roughly 1 1/2 times the size of California, the largest of any country in mainland Southeast Asia, with vast teak forests, deposits of jade and rubies, and oil fields. Buddhism is the predominant religion. More than 100 distinct languages are spoken in the 40,000 mostly remote villages.

The country, long a favorite subject for English novelists and travel writers, won its independence from a century of British colonial rule in 1948. A year earlier, independence leader Aung San, the head of a provisional government and Aung San Suu Kyi’s father, was assassinated along with members of his Cabinet.

Gen. Ne Win took power in a military coup in 1962, instituting three decades of socialist policies that devastated the country’s economy. Massive unrest forced him to step down in 1988, but the new military rulers cracked down brutally on dissent, killing an estimated 3,000 protesters and changing the nation’s name from Burma to Myanmar.

Suu Kyi returned, after 28 years abroad, to lead the pro-democracy struggle. She was placed under house arrest in 1989, and, although her party won election in a landslide a year later, the junta refused to surrender power.

These days, the junta, under Gen. Than Shwe, remains in firm control. Though most martial law decrees have been lifted, military intelligence agents continue to watch citizens and to harass and detain dissidents. Thousands have been forced to move, without compensation, for government development projects; tens of thousands have been forced to leave their jobs and work on those projects, where they have to provide their own meals and tools.

“These men are authoritarians,” said a diplomat in Yangon, formerly Rangoon. “They are used to giving orders, and everybody else is supposed to salute and obey. Even if a person is not directly affected, everyone lives in fear that this regime can do whatever it wants.”

Yet the generals clearly consider themselves Myanmar’s saviors, men who came to power “only because we had to,” as one put it, and who have turned the nation’s fortunes around.

The junta has managed to end 15 rebel conflicts in border regions and has opened the economy to foreign investors. The government counts $3 billion in foreign investment and expects $4 billion by year’s end. Independent analysts say the accumulation thus far is less than $1 billion and has been slowing. Still, in one recent week, the daily papers ran photographs of generals meeting the chairmen of top Japanese companies, and a French bank, the 32nd in Yangon, opened its doors.

Tourism increased 50% last year, the government says, and 34 hotels, most paid for by foreign companies, are under construction. The government has hopefully declared 1996 “Visit Myanmar Year” and eased restrictions on visas.

“We dismantled the socialist system, so it’s just a matter of drawing up the constitution,” said Brig. Gen. David Abel, minister of national planning and economic development. “Once that’s done, the country will be very stable. What we have done in such a short period, it is amazing, you know?”

Doubts About Reforms

But neither the economic recovery nor the political reforms hold up to scrutiny, opponents of the regime say.

The handpicked constitutional convention, now in its third year, operates in secret, without such distractions as honest debate or votes. Debt relief from Japan is being spent on televisions and VCRs for government employees. The size of the army has doubled--to 300,000--in recent years, gobbling up 40% of the state budget. Inflation rages at 35%, and the black market rate for the currency, the kyat, is one-twentieth the official rate, a sure sign of economic difficulty.

American consumer boycotts have forced many companies to stop doing business in Myanmar, and legislation pending in Congress would impose investment, import and travel restrictions on the country.

But other investors, chiefly from Singapore, Thailand and Japan, have jumped in. And the largest American investor here, Los Angeles-based Unocal, has resisted efforts to stop construction of the gas pipeline it is building with the French oil company Total.

From the seaport of Yangon to Mandalay in the north and throughout the country, the overwhelming majority of the people are deeply impoverished.

“We are not hungry or dying. We’re not at that stage yet,” said Nyein Khin, 69, who runs a small shop in Yangon. “But there’s a lot of hardship. People with contacts in the ruling class get richer, but the average person can barely make ends meet.”

Civil servants and university professors make less than $20 a month. Gasoline is rationed to two gallons a week, at $6 a gallon. After that, drivers head for the black market, where gasoline goes for $35 a gallon.

Though the country still produces enough to feed itself after government export quotas are met, rice prices have risen and meat is a once-a-week event for most families. And even locals boil their water before drinking it.

Government assessments, which the regime calls “contributions,” never end. Nyein Khin was ordered to pay 10,000 kyat (almost $2,000) to repave the street in front of his shop, a decision that was made by his local, unelected representatives. “They know who has money and who doesn’t,” he said. “That is their way of ruling.”

Lobsters and Nightclubs

But if the scene in downtown Yangon is any indication, at least some here have money to spend. New nightclubs, serving lobster at $100 a plate, are opening at the rate of one a month. They are sandwiched by billboards for Lucky Strike cigarettes and Hang Ten clothing.

Rugged, once-empty streets are now clogged with new Japanese and German cars, a surprise in a country without a single new-car dealership. (Creating even more confusion, most cars are outfitted for British left-side driving, though traffic in Myanmar moves on the roads’ right side.)

A new driving range opened here the other day, with buckets of golf balls priced in both dollars and kyats. One of its proud owners, Aung Hla Han, explained its certain success this way: “All the generals play, so more and more businessmen are coming to learn.”

So, who is taking advantage of this new Myanmar? Meet Khin Shwe, owner of a hotel and construction business whose government concessions helped him post revenue of $60 million last year, four times what it took in two years earlier. Shwe now owns a large home, three new cars and 14 thoroughbred horses.

“This government believes in me,” said Shwe, a rotund 45-year-old, relaxing in the lobby of one of his hotels. “They are honest and straight. But we have to give them hard work.”

Doing business in Myanmar may require not only hard work but plenty of “tea money,” as the generals call it.

“Yes, they’re getting a piece of the pie, and some are hungrier than others,” said Pat James, an American who married a local woman and works as a consultant to foreign investors. “But these guys are children compared to politicians in Thailand. Here, you can get what you want for one set fee. It’s agreed upon and honored. These guys actually have the interests of the country at heart.”

Scotch at $300

Whatever the reason, Thein Tun, 59, seems to have the corner on the consumer product market. He is the exclusive importer for such diverse items as Safeguard soap ($6 a bar at the official rate of exchange) and Chivas Regal Scotch ($300). “It’s expensive, but now people can afford to pay,” he said.

Tun’s biggest success has been his contract with PepsiCo. His 2-year-old soft drink factory produces 600,000 bottles a day. He plans to increase production soon to 1 million. “I wouldn’t say it’s a gold mine, but it’s a good investment,” Tun said modestly. Chuckling, he added: “I already do gold mining, and, up to now, I haven’t made money there yet.”

Tun says his motto is: “Low profile, move fast, make money, live peacefully.”

The military regime is banking on these early signs of economic recovery to bury memories of the 1988 blood bath and the 1990 annulled election. But government opponents contend that the growing gap between rich and poor will only hasten the generals’ demise.

Resentment is building, and the government, increasingly worried about Suu Kyi and her followers, has stepped up petty harassment.

Security agents routinely make late-night visits to homes of party leaders, ostensibly to check for guests. Under the law, anyone with an overnight guest must register that person at the local police station. In the provinces, agents have confiscated videotapes made by party members of their meetings with Suu Kyi.

The generals are laying the foundation to limit the power of Suu Kyi’s party in any future government. Parts of the new constitution, already finalized, would give the military 25% of the seats in parliament, enough to block any amendments. And the constitution would keep intact the law that prevents people married to foreigners from holding office. Suu Kyi is married to a Briton, Michael Aris.

“She’s an educated person,” said Abel, the government minister. “She knows very well what the law clearly states--that she cannot get involved in the political arena.”

They may not admit it, but the generals listen and even react to what Suu Kyi says. After she complained in one weekend speech about forced labor in a northern village, the government sent a bureaucrat to the region to free the villagers and offer them salaries for their work.

Fears of Another Massacre

Still, the likelihood of social unrest appears small. “People in this country understand that if they get overly excited and go out into the streets, another massacre will occur,” said Kyi Maung, 78, one of Suu Kyi’s political aides.

For her part, Suu Kyi appears willing to wait out the generals. If anything, the years of house arrest and isolation have made her more patient. The new constitution, she said, “will not last . . . because a constitution is just a piece of paper unless it has the support of the people.” And she expects that one day, the generals will be forced to adopt a democratic constitution.

“We don’t really believe that the way to bring about democracy is by encouraging popular uprisings,” she said. “We believe in a steady, solid political approach. Democracy should come through the political will of the people, expressed through political parties.”

* ACTIVIST EXPATRIATES: The Southland is a center of resistance to the junta. B1