The Fighting Monks of Burma

By HANNAH BEECH

Nearly 400 Burmese Buddhist monks march through Yangon to protest the military junta's alleged use of violence against Buddhist monks at Pakoku, a site in the upper part of Myanmar.

EPA

Saffron robes usually evoke spiritual calm. But for Burma's military leaders, a surprise gathering of monks is anything but peaceful. On Wednesday in the commercial capital Rangoon, hundreds of Buddhist clergy gathered around the nation's beloved Shwedagon pagoda to protest August price hikes that are pummeling an already impoverished populace. More than a thousand monks also rallied in other parts of the country, their daily alms routes turned into paths of protest.

Wednesday's demonstrations cap what has turned into the longest sustained display of dissent in Burma in nearly two decades. At first, the ruling junta, which has maintained an iron grip for 45 years, tried to extinguish the protest movement by arresting dozens of pro-democracy activists. But clapping handcuffs on Buddhist monks is a far more difficult proposition in this deeply devout nation. "The monks are the only ones who really have the trust of the people," says Khin Omar, an exiled dissident now living in Thailand. "When they speak up, people listen."

Unluckily for the junta, the monks have been speaking up ever more loudly. On September 5, protests by clergy members in the holy city of Pakokku turned violent when security forces fired warning shots in the air, only to have the monks respond by taking officials hostage and torching their cars.

Unholy behavior, perhaps. But the incident prompted senior spiritual leaders to demand an apology from the government by Sept. 17 or else rallies would resume. On Tuesday, with no apology in sight, the monks began marching anew.

The spectacle of more shaven-headed youth crowding the streets must send chills down the ruling generals' spines. After all, it was Burma's monks who spearheaded acts of civil disobedience against British colonialists. Buddhist clergy were also at the forefront of mass protests in 1988, which ended when the army gunned down hundreds of peaceful protestors and declared martial law. So far, the military has avoided firing directly at the monks. But with these spiritual warriors showing no sign of giving up their cause, a violent confrontation may be unavoidable.

Burma on The Edge

By HANNAH BEECH, WITH REPORTING BY ANUJ CHOPRA / RANGOON, ROBERT HORN / BANGKOK

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Bus passengers waiting for busses August 15, 2007 in front of the City Hall in Yangon, Myanmar.

Christian Holst / Getty

It was over in a matter of minutes, but the significance of the occasion vastly exceeded its brevity. On Aug. 28, 20 protesters gathered at a market in Burma's commercial capital, Rangoon, to demonstrate against the ruling junta's decision to raise prices of essential goods--in some cases 500%. Led by labor activist Su Su Nway, the group had just begun to chant slogans when thugs employed by the military regime swooped in and started dragging the demonstrators into waiting vehicles. The frail Su Su Nway, who emerged from prison only last year, after serving seven months for reporting cases of forced labor to the United Nations, somehow managed to escape. "The junta is trying to create a very intimidating environment," she told TIME shortly before the demonstration. But the 34-year-old refuses to bow down. "People must stand up," she says, "and choose between freedom and oppression."

Thousands of Burmese are doing just that. The short-lived rally in Rangoon was one of 20 or so demonstrations that have erupted across Burma (also known as Myanmar) in recent weeks--a rare display of civil disobedience by a people who have been ruled for 45 years by one of the world's most reclusive military regimes. The last time there were mass countrywide demonstrations, in 1988, the military cracked down hard, killing thousands of protesters and dashing hopes of democratic reform. Now daily life in this nation of 53 million has become so desperate that an impoverished populace may feel that it has little choice but to take to the streets again. Although many prominent activists either have been arrested or are on the run, demonstrations continue to break out like spores across the nation. Significantly, Buddhist monks have marched by the hundreds in several cities, adding a stamp of spiritual authority to the protest movement in this deeply devout country. Human-rights groups estimate that more than 100 people have been arrested so far, including three bystanders in the city of Sittwe whose alleged crime was to offer drinking water to a procession of protesting monks.

Emboldened, some democracy activists predict the protests could eventually expand and escalate. "If the regime doesn't resolve the underlying economic problems-- and I don't think it can quickly--then things are not going to quiet down," says Khin Ohmar, an '88 student leader who now lives in exile in Thailand. "We've all been waiting for the point when normal people overcome their fear of the regime and rise up, and this could be that moment."

And unlike in '88, when Burma's version of the Tiananmen massacre got little international attention, this time the world is taking notice. On Aug. 30, President George W. Bush condemned the junta's actions against demonstrators, and White House aides have promised that Burma will be a "major topic of discussion" at the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation annual summit in Sydney. First Lady Laura Bush, who has personally followed the situation in Burma for years and has met with many Burmese activists, phoned U.N. Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon to press for more action from the international body. "One thing we can do to work toward national reconciliation in Burma is for the Security Council to speak out formally," she told TIME. Hollywood has gotten in on the act, with star Jim Carrey posting a video on YouTube calling for the release from house arrest of Nobel Peace Prize laureate Aung San Suu Kyi, whose National League for Democracy won a landslide election in 1990, only to have the junta ignore the polls. "We know the world is on our side now," says Aung Zaw, a former student activist who lives in northern Thailand and edits a Burma-focused publication called The Irrawaddy. "That moral support is very important for the people back in Burma, who are risking their lives to fight the regime."

But despite the condemnation from world leaders, no concrete action has so far been taken against the regime by the international community. When members of the Security Council tried to censure the junta in January, their effort was vetoed by Russia and China. And even though the U.S. maintains sanctions against the regime, China's economic patronage renders them largely toothless.

Burma's generals, meanwhile, have unveiled their impression of political reform, dubbing it "discipline-flourishing democracy." On Sept. 3, the regime announced it had finally agreed to basic guidelines for a new constitution. But no timetable for elections has been set, and the draft charter seems specifically designed to keep out Suu Kyi, long seen as the only leadership alternative to the junta. "It's a sham process that only legalizes the military's grip on power," says exiled dissident Khin Omar.

Although the generals have been adept at political repression, their record on economic management is abysmal. In 1987 a former regime leader demonetized Burma's currency, wiping out the savings of millions, and introduced new bank notes that were divisible by the number 9 simply because he considered the digit auspicious. Things haven't gotten much better since then--even though Burma is blessed with lucrative natural resources like natural gas and timber. Obsessed with its own survival, the junta spends 40% of the nation's annual budget on the 450,000-strong army while 90% of the population lives near or below the poverty line. Inflation is more than 30%. A fuel hike last month led to a tripling of bus fares on some routes, leaving many commuters unable to afford their ride to work. "At this rate, even a meal every day might become a luxury," says housekeeper May Oo, who now spends 60% of her salary on her daily bus ride to and from Rangoon.

The hardships are made more unbearable by a widening wealth gap. The country's military leaders are enjoying ever more ostentatious lives, their wallets fattened by gas-pipeline deals with neighbors China, India and Thailand. A samizdat video circulating in Rangoon shows junta chief Than Shwe's daughter getting married in a lavish ceremony. The couple reportedly received millions of dollars in wedding gifts--in a nation where the average annual per capita income is just $225. More appalling, the junta spent hundreds of millions of dollars in 2005 to build a brand-new capital city. Yet today Naypyidaw is an eerie landscape of broad, empty streets framed by behemoth government ministries.

No surprise then that many Burmese sympathize with the protesters. "You knock on a door late at night and whisper, 'Let me in, brother,'" says an activist who has so far escaped the police dragnet. "People willingly help us, even though they're well aware of the dire consequences." The regime is doing its best to prevent further unrest and capture any stray dissidents. Trucks full of hired enforcers patrol major street corners in Rangoon. The U.N. special rapporteur on human rights in Burma has received reports that some of the arrested activists are being tortured. But the generals have to be careful with their clampdown--too much violence could fuel even more civilian anger. "It's likely that an economic spark, combined with a dramatically violent response from the regime, could set the stage for revolt," says Aung Naing Oo, a Bangkok-based Burma analyst.

It's not clear, though, what threat unarmed civilians can truly pose to a military that has already shown a willingness to use force to keep order. Without firm action from bodies like the U.N. or economic patrons like China, the country's generals may well be able to muddle through, as they did back in '88. In the meantime, Burma's underground activists are calling for continued resistance. The latest effort, scheduled for three evenings this month, requires Burmese to bang on pots, pans and other metal objects at 7:02 p.m., 8:01 p.m. and 9 p.m.--propitious times that each add up to the number 9, so beloved by Burma's military brass. Organizers hope the cover of night will embolden more people to join the noise campaign. Burma's long-suffering citizens can only hope the world will do more than just listen.

Burma Goes from Bad to Worse

Thursday, Aug. 30, 2007 By THANT MYINT-U

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The Burmese street: Demo in Rangoon Aug. 22

Law Eh Soe /EPA

Burma's military government is good at two things: cracking down on peaceful demonstrators, and coolly ignoring any international criticism that might follow. Both skills have been on full display in recent weeks, as anger over high fuel prices drove a few courageous people onto the streets, only to be met with the expected heavy hand. If the junta has one bedrock policy, it's to prevent any repetition of the 1988 uprising that came so close to overthrowing decades of army rule. Australian Foreign Minister Alexander Downer once remarked sagely that progress in Burma is like glue flowing up a hill. Yet it's important to understand that beneath the long-running political stalemate in Rangoon, Burma is actually changing fast; not necessarily in the right direction, but changing all the same. The problem is not that the situation will stand still: the problem is that things might get worse — much worse.

First, there's the civil war. For nearly half a century, the Burmese army battled an array of communist and ethnic-minority rebellions, growing bigger and tougher in the process and seizing power along the way. About 15 years ago, the government and most of the rebel groups agreed to a historic set of cease-fires. But these are just cease-fires, and the international community has done little or nothing to encourage efforts toward a just and sustainable peace. The civil war is at the center of Burma's problems; it's what has brutalized and impoverished the country, and its proper conclusion is crucial to any progress.

Then there's the economy, one of the poorest in the world. After 30 years of self-imposed isolation and ruinous quasi-socialist policies, the junta reversed course in the early 1990s, privatizing businesses, welcoming foreign trade and investment, and seeking international aid. But the West began to impose debilitating sanctions, and the threat of boycotts kept most international companies away. The World Bank and the International Monetary Fund were prevented from helping. Around the same time the Burmese discovered a treasure trove of natural gas, worth hundreds of billions of dollars, sitting offshore. The net result? A Burmese regime that can easily withstand Western sanctions, an economy still closely tied to official power and patronage, and a growing underclass facing greater hardship than ever before. Millions of poor people from rural areas are on the move, in search of work and food, including across the border into Thailand. Many are now in desperate need of basic life-saving assistance, and yet per capita international aid to Burma (less than $3 a year per person) remains about a twentieth of what's provided to Cambodia, Laos or Vietnam.

Third, there's the changing nature of the state itself. Over the past couple of decades, the Burmese army has more than doubled in size, to over 400,000 men, and is today one of the largest armies anywhere. In many ways, the army is the state in Burma. Other institutions of government — the civil service, the health and education systems, local administration — are either extremely frail or virtually nonexistent. Insurgent armies still hold sway over parts of the borderlands. And in some other areas there simply isn't much government at all; perhaps an army battalion to keep down any potential dissent, but almost nothing to provide basic social and legal services. Any major political upheaval is as likely to lead to anarchy as anything else.

Finally there is the looming presence of China, the rising superpower on Burma's doorstep. While Western countries have been wondering how to promote democracy, China has been quietly changing the facts on the ground. More and more of Burma's economy is being linked north and east, with new roads, bridges and railways, and now plans for a multibillion-dollar oil pipeline extending from the Bay of Bengal across the Irrawaddy Valley to China's Yunnan Province and beyond. Hundreds of thousands of Chinese have already settled in Burma in recent years and more will likely follow.

Taken together, all these changes suggest possibly treacherous times ahead. The cease-fires could come unstuck. The humanitarian crisis in parts of the country could get worse. State structures could further weaken, rendering even more difficult any transition to a future democratic government. And it's not impossible that China's growing presence, combined with rising economic frustrations, will lead to anti-Chinese violence. Sanctions and long-distance condemnation do little to address the multifaceted challenges facing the country today. They were a response to the very different Burma of nearly 20 years ago, when it looked like democracy was just around the corner and a good push from friends overseas might make all the difference. Without a fresh international approach, it may soon be too late to avoid a catastrophe in Burma.

With reporting by Thant Myint-U is the author of The River of Lost Footsteps: Histories of Burma