SPOOKED BY LIES AND A LOO THAT WOUL

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The Independent (London)
September 25, 2000

SPOOKED BY LIES AND A LOO THAT WOULD NOT FLUSH;
CITY LIFE RANGOON

Dominic Arkwright

"I AM happy", he says - the man who runs the shop in Bogyoke
Aung San market. "I am very happy." He may be. But I suspect
he is not talking to me. He is talking to the small, dark-skinned
man in a pink shirt who has been browsing about two feet from
me. And who leaves at the same time, buying nothing.

He, of course, is not shopping. He is watching. He is from military
intelligence. In Burma you find few people who'll talk openly about
the regime. If they are seen talking to you, they will be approached
soon afterwards. "What did you say to him?" "What did he say to
you?" If they are heard talking to you, the consequences could be
worse. The military has interrogated, tortured, jailed and exiled
thousands who have dared to dissent. People also have to beware
of informers - those who tell tales for a fee. Or, more likely, a favour.

Fear swirls like a monsoon cloud through Burma where, 10 years
ago, the people voted overwhelmingly to kick out the hated military
regime. The people were ignored and the election was declared
invalid.

Catch most people alone and they do not want this government.
They want "the lady" - Aung San Suu Kyi, the Nobel laureate
whose National League for Democracy (NLD) would win a second
landslide victory if another general election were held. "She is
number one," said one man. "The people support her 100 per cent."

It's an exaggeration. But not so great as that propagated
unceasingly by the state-controlled media. Reading The New
Light Of Myanmar is like reading George Orwell - who worked
for the imperial police in Burma for five years in the 1920s.
The leader is "Senior General" Than Shwe. His henchmen are
Secretary 1, Secretary 2 and Secretary 3. According to the
newspaper they appear to spend most of their time inspecting
things. "S-2 and minister inspect prawn-breeding work." "Minister
for Industry- 2 inspects railroads and bridges."

As an unwanted, verging on illegal, entrant into one of the world's
nastier police states it's easy to be paranoid. But it's even easier
to be watched. "You must be aware," said one Burmese man,
"that informers are everywhere." Taxi drivers perhaps? Or the hotel
staff? "Both," he said. "We do not even trust our friends now."

This man had been very open with me in private. He seemed to
know I was not the teacher that my tourist visa proclaimed.
We had met twice and he was early. So when, the third time,
he did not show, I was worried. He had probably been advised
in an unfriendly way to steer clear of me.

Another man had promised to meet me. He had photographs
he wanted me to smuggle out of the country. Yet when I turned
up at his shop he pretended not to know who I was. Was he
happy? "Yes, very happy."

By the end of the third day I was relieved that my package
tour was nearly over. I had become so nervous that I threw the
tiny microphone I was using down the hotel loo. But it failed to flush.
I left with water rising in the bowl and threatening to flood. The taxi
ride to the airport was spent in a state of panic. When would the
hotel find out? Would they inform military intelligence? Would they
stop me on the way to the airport? Or pick me up there?

It sounds a bit pathetic and it was. The military junta does not
have a reputation for brutality, torture and long jail sentences for
foreign journalists. But Rangoon can make you scared. I couldn't
help smiling when I saw the sign "Welcome to the Land of Smiles"
at Bangkok airport. There had not been much smiling in Rangoon.
Not by me or anybody else.

GRAPHIC: Police in Burma, where dissent is not allowed