FW:

[HMarciniec@xxxxxxxxxxx]

> -----Original Message-----
> From:	Heather Marciniec 
> Sent:	Tuesday, November 16, 1999 11:02 AM
> To:	Heather Marciniec
> Subject:	
> 
> 
> http://www.sunday-times.co.uk/cgi-bin/BackIssue?999
> 
> Edward Goldwyn tells how he and his wife launched a
>  charm offensive that helped persuade the Burmese to free
>            their dissident daughter Rachel
>             Saving Rachel 
> 
> 
> My daughter Rachel said she was going on holiday to
> Germany, but my wife Charmian (always known as Chum)
> had a sneaky suspicion that she might be in Burma. On
> Monday, September 6, she phoned and said: "Hello Mum,
> how are you? I'm in Germany." The following day we learnt
> that she had been arrested in Rangoon for chaining herself to
> a railing in a busy street and singing a pro-democracy song. 
> 
> That day I had been to hospital: I don't hear in one ear, which
> could have been due to a growth - but just that day we
> discovered that it was okay. We came home walking on air
> and found a message on the answering machine from the
> Foreign Office, saying please call them. Our first thought was
> that Rachel must have had a serious accident in Germany.
> When they told us that she had been arrested in Burma,
> Chum burst into tears. Knowing that James Mawdsley, the
> pro-democracy campaigner, had been sent to prison there for
> l7 years, we felt desperate. 
> 
> As a family we have always cared about democracy and
> inequality in a middle-class way. Chum and I were both on
> the Aldermaston marches and Chum took Rachel to
> Greenham Common. As a television documentary-maker, I
> have made many programmes about the Third World and the
> family have often come 
> 
> with me. 
> 
> In 1997 Rachel set off on a sightseeing trip around the world,
> backpacking with Bob, a college friend. In Thailand, near the
> Burmese border, they were overheard speaking English by a
> Canadian who provided English lessons in refugee camps.
> They went to the camp and stayed as teachers for nine
> months. 
> 
> Rachel became very involved with the refugees - the civilian
> victims of the bloody fighting between the Burmese and
> Karenni armies just over the border. She was surrounded by
> landmine victims who had lost limbs, orphans, widows and
> girls who had been raped. She naturally formed a picture of
> the Burmese military authorities as evil. 
> 
> When she came back to London she was rather at a loss.
> She went to talk to the many different factions of the Burmese
> dissidents over here and tried to organise a weekend
> workshop, but nobody turned up. 
> 
> We knew that Rachel was committed to getting the Burmese
> a better deal, but we didn't think she would go as far as she
> did. For five days after we'd heard she was arrested, nobody
> knew where she was. Chum and I would find ourselves
> awake in the middle of the night thinking: "What's happening
> to our little girl now?" 
> 
> In fact, she had decided to use a hunger strike to force the
> Burmese to allow her access to the British consul.
> Desperately worried, Chum spoke to James Mawdsley's
> mother, who said: "Chin up. The first time James was caught
> he was deported straight away. Rachel will be out
> immediately." 
> 
> Amid all the confusion, we contacted an old friend, Stephen
> Jakobi, who runs a charity called Fair Trials Abroad. He said:
> "You need to decide your strategy and then tell the Foreign
> Office how they fit in with it. Then issue a press release." 
> 
> By then I had notes on 53 good arguments on why Rachel
> should be released. I ranted on while Stephen listened. Then
> he said, "I know now." With one finger, he typed: "This is a
> case of misplaced idealism." That single sentence focused all
> our energy. At 4pm on September 7, the phone rang and we
> heard from the British consul that Rachel had been sentenced
> to seven years in jail. We cried. Chum rang our older
> daughter Naomi. She cried. Whoever I rang cried. 
> 
> I spent the next 48 hours on the phone, chasing the day as it
> went around the world. In the afternoons, I talked to
> American experts on Burma, at night I contacted Australian
> and Singapore academics and businessmen with Burmese
> connections. After dawn, the Europeans. A common
> consensus emerged: first, we had to go in person and appeal
> as a family for their understanding. 
> 
> Second, don't think of the military as a gang of drug-running
> gangsters. They see themselves as hardworking, religious,
> intensely patriotic men "doing our best for the good of the
> people of our country". 
> 
> We had not been granted Burmese visas and finally wrote to
> the Burmese ambassador, explaining that Rachel was
> idealistic, describing her time in the refugee camp and
> apologising for the embarrassment she had caused. He
> explained that the camps were bases for the insurgent armies
> and she would have been presumed to be a mercenary. 
> 
> The ambassador conceded there might have been a mistake
> and got us visas. He said he would arrange a minor
> diplomatic reception for us. When we looked surprised, he
> replied: "You have done nothing wrong. We respect aged
> parents." 
> 
> The day before we flew to Rangoon, Chum went shopping to
> buy Rachel bras without underwires (she wasn't allowed them
> in prison). What else could we buy her? Tins and jars and an
> Alpen sort of thing from the supermarket. The next day we
> stepped off a plane into the tropical heat and were taken to a
> simple, clean hotel. That night we went to meet the British
> consul at his home, a beautiful old colonial house with dark
> wood, high ceilings and white upholstered furniture. 
> 
> We told him our philosophy was to meet the government
> ministers alone as two parents, not with representatives of the
> British government making official demands. Alone with the
> military leaders, we could talk about our family and ask them
> about theirs. It was an advantage that we were ignorant of
> diplomatic protocol. As long as we were polite, we could
> raise anything and even go down on our knees. 
> 
> The British ambassador said: "I think one of us should go
> along just to get you started." Chum looked at me and shook
> her head. "No, thank you," I said. "We'll go alone, as contrite
> parents asking the generals for their sympathy. We'll keep in
> touch and if it goes wrong, ask for your help." The next
> morning we were driven through streets full of charcoal
> smoke and vegetables and overloaded buses honking their
> way along roads. We turned into a gate and drove past rows
> of soldiers with AK-47s held across their chests. The guards
> saluted us. Everyone stood up as we were taken through
> offices into a huge meeting room. 
> 
> When the minister for home affairs arrived, Chum and I said
> we were sorry for Rachel's actions and described the Rachel
> we love. After an hour the minister, Colonel Tin Hlaing, said
> through the interpreter: "Don't worry. Things will be fine but it
> will take time. Meanwhile, you should see the country." We
> asked to see Rachel. He said: "We respect you for coming
> here. You may see her as often as you wish." 
> 
> We had been told to expect only one visit a month. Straight
> away we set off on the long, slow drive to the jail though
> traffic and crowded markets. Chum and I held hands in the
> back of the ministry car, feeling absolutely terrified. Rachel
> had been inside for three weeks; it was two months since we
> had seen her. The car stopped and we were surrounded by
> military intelligence photographers. 
> 
> We were shown into a meeting room where the prison
> doctor, the prison governor and a military intelligence officer
> sat on armchairs covered in pink lace. The doctor told us
> Rachel was fine. After tea and biscuits we walked a few
> yards into a vast room, which was empty except for a small
> square table at the far end. Rachel was sitting at the table,
> upright and dressed in white, with her back to us. It was
> overwhelmingly theatrical. We weren't sure how to behave.
> We walked forward, saying: "Rachel, Rachel." She turned
> with a radiant smile and we ran towards each other and the
> three of us hugged. 
> 
> We sat down. Rachel looked ethereal but all right,
> considering her three weeks in solitary confinement. She soon
> took charge of this novel meeting and introduced us to her
> wardens. A full posse of officials and prison staff watched all
> our visits. At the end of the visit, I apologised for the
> disturbance and said we would come every other day from
> then on. They thanked me. We asked if we could bring
> Rachel food and books. Every letter and book was translated
> and vetted. Rachel gave us lists of books she wanted for the
> Far East development studies course she was meant to start
> in London in October. 
> 
> We left her in that awful place with very heavy feelings. She
> was under 24-hour surveillance even when she was on the
> lavatory, and the light was always on. We brought her the
> blackout eyemasks we were given on the plane. Towards the
> end, she had pen and paper, which helped her become very
> structured. She didn't have a watch but she knew by the
> shadows in her cell what time of the day it was. She'd
> exercise and read and study. On every visit we'd take her
> food from a street market near our hotel. 
> 
> Chum and I had to convince the authorities that we truly were
> an idealistic family with a similarly inclined daughter. We
> knew the stakes were the highest we had ever had in our
> lives. We had been told by our experts that everyone we met
> would write a report that would influence when Rachel was
> freed. 
> 
> We asked to visit things that would give us an understanding
> of Burma. We were treated like VIPs and accompanied by
> our senior case officer, Major Myo Khaing, to see the
> national museum, temples, pagodas, the new airport and
> container port, housing projects and stores. 
> 
> It was very tiring, but if you make the effort, anything can
> become interesting. We asked to visit our professional
> counterparts. We went to television studios for me and on
> long hospital ward rounds for Chum. 
> 
> After six weeks in his company, we became very close to
> Myo. We argued with him often about torture and freedom of
> speech, but reached understanding when we talked about our
> families. He believed a country is more important than an
> individual. The military has ruled Burma for so long that he
> could make no distinction between these two questions: "Is
> the seven-year sentence for Rachel right because it is good
> for the country?" and "Is the seven-year sentence justice for
> Rachel?" As the days went by, Rachel became stronger and
> more centred, more practical and down-to-earth. 
> 
> Asking for this garlic, or that book, she was Rachel again.
> Even the guards used to enjoy our visits because we would
> tell jokes. 
> 
> Eventually the military believed we were genuine. On the night
> of Sunday, October 31, a man from military intelligence said
> Rachel would be freed the next morning. We could pick her
> up then and take her away. We went, she signed the standard
> forms promising good behaviour, and that was that. Which,
> of all the actions we'd initiated, had turned the key? Maybe it
> had nothing to do with anything we'd done. We'll never
> know. 
> 
> I'd have done anything to get Rachel out of prison. Chum,
> however, needed to believe and understand the Burmese, a
> huge difference. I don't know if the stories of genocide in
> 1988 are true; I was happy to leave it labelled "unknowable
> at this time" if it would help get Rachel out. So what did we
> come home to? A press that within 10 minutes had decided
> that Rachel was not a heroine but someone who had given in.
> 
> Within minutes the Burmese community here were writing
> press releases saying how traitorous she was. Rachel had
> achieved more publicity for their cause than they had in
> decades. Is this the way to treat a brave girl who bore
> witness to the world, at huge danger to herself? In her words,
> "I stood up for people who had no voice."
>