Living Silence in Burma (24 page)

Among families who remain in Burma, many encourage other family members to engage in corruption. Because civil servants’ salaries are insufficient, officials demand bribes for routine assistance, and military men of all ranks steal petrol meant for military use and sell it on the black market. Such behaviour has become acceptable in most families, because parents have responsibilities to provide for their families, and they certainly can’t do so on a government salary alone. Those who are honest and refuse to engage in corrupt activities may be perceived as stupid or irresponsible if they cannot properly take care of their families.

Insufficient salaries have also meant that people are so busy hustling to survive that they have no time for politics. More important, because so many soldiers and civil servants have engaged in corruption and illegal activities, they are also implicated in the evil that the system has produced. The whole notion of legality has been turned upside down, because many activities that would be perfectly acceptable under other forms of government are treated as illegal, while other activities that most would agree are wrong have been openly tolerated.

Activist families

Nevertheless, there are some devoted activists who do raise their children to shun corruption and to be aware of the country’s political problems. These parents try to live outside the government’s reach, and often consign their families to poverty as a result. Such parents don’t allow their children to attend government-organized activities, which is often hard on their children when they see all their friends participating. As they get older, though, many of these children follow in their parents’
footsteps. Here I want to tell the story of two such families in detail, because it is easier to understand why people go along with the regime after looking at the experiences of those who don’t.

Than Dai grew up with a father who was strongly determined to have the family live their lives untainted by involvement with the military regime. Total avoidance was impossible, because the children had to attend government-run schools. But Than Dai’s father made tremendous efforts to ensure that his children were instilled with the moral and political ideas that he considered important. When Than Dai was young, however, he found it difficult to understand his father’s extreme behaviour.

Than Dai’s father had participated in anti-military demonstrations after General Ne Win seized power in 1962. A university student at the time, he was arrested and kept in custody at the police station. There he tutored the daughter of one of the policemen, and she later became his wife. Than Dai’s father went on to become a private schoolteacher, but when his school was nationalized in the mid-1960s he automatically became a government schoolteacher. He loved teaching, and his students and their parents loved him, but, from the authorities’ perspective, this was a problem. He had a political record and could easily organize students, so, to keep bonds of attachment from forming, he was transferred again and again. Finally, he decided to leave the government service and start a private tuition class in his home. Than Dai’s father was known by everyone in the town and respected for his intellect and moral convictions.

Than Dai’s father was not appreciated, however, by his wife’s family. Than Dai’s grandmother was ashamed to see Than Dai and his siblings dressed in old clothes, while her other children had prospered by cooperating with the authorities. Than Dai too found it difficult to put up with his family’s poverty. Once he suggested that his father start an illegal side business with some of his friends, who were government officers. He said: ‘We cannot go on like this. Why don’t you do some work for us?’ His father was outraged. He threw everything off the table and shouted at Than Dai to leave the house. ‘When I think about it now,’ Than Dai said, ‘my words were insulting to him, because all the time he restrained himself and kept his dignity. He could stand by himself without being involved in any government service.’

Than Dai’s father refused to attend government-sponsored activities and celebrations, and would not allow his children to attend either. Than Dai and his siblings were often in trouble at school, because they could not participate in school-organized ‘voluntary labour’ activities or
commemorations of Independence Day and Union Day. Than Dai’s house was very near the town hall, so whenever the party officials held meetings or celebrations, Than Dai’s father locked the gate to their house and denied entrance to any BSPP members. ‘At that time,’ Than Dai said,

    most people in Burma had to join the BSPP, even if they didn’t like it. Cadres had a lot of opportunities. Some of those township cadres were my father’s pupils and his friends. They could come to our home any time to visit or pay their respects to my parents, but whenever there was a celebration and they came to attend, he would never allow them to come in his house.

During the summer holidays, however, Than Dai’s house was filled with dissident teachers and former political prisoners. Most were also poor, but as they sipped tea and snacked on tea-leaf salad, they found pleasure in each other’s company.

When Than Dai was fourteen, he competed in the ‘Outstanding Student’ contest. He was chosen as the second best in his school, so his teachers prepared him to enter the next level of competition. Than Dai remembers his father telling him to go ahead and try, but said he wouldn’t be chosen because of Than Dai’s father’s political history. ‘He was right,’ Than Dai said. ‘I could answer the questions, but I didn’t get it. Since that time I never competed in that competition again. But I was always first or second in my class.’ I asked Than Dai whether he had felt angry with his father at that time. But he said no, because by then he could appreciate what his father had done. ‘In school sometimes some people would say, “He is from the rebel family.” They said this with admiration. We were very proud. Sons of a rebel.’

When Than Dai’s younger brother passed the high-school matriculation exam, he wanted to apply to the Defence Services Academy. Before 1988, many boys dreamed of becoming military officers, not only because of the material benefits but also because in school they were taught that military officers were heroes. Than Dai remarked that despite his brother’s unusual upbringing, he still ‘lost the way’ because of the schooling system and the prevailing social environment. When Than Dai’s brother asked his father whether he could attend the Defence Services Academy, his father said grimly, ‘You can go, but you cannot come home.’ Finally the brother decided not to apply.

After Than Dai started university classes, his father insisted that Than Dai continue to study English with him. Than Dai’s friends were incredulous that, on top of his course work, he had to do homework for his
father. Than Dai himself was embarrassed about it. Every weekend, he had to return home to tutor his younger brother and sister and go over his homework. This was hard on Than Dai, who wanted to have time to go out with his friends. He often complained, but his father said, ‘One day you will understand me. If you want to do things for other people, you have to be educated. So you have to do it even if you don’t like it, because you are my son.’ Than Dai said that although he didn’t dare object, he secretly requested his mother to tell his father to ease up on him.

Than Dai’s father even came to stay with him in his university dormitory from time to time. At night, he would ask Than Dai to read to him, because his eyesight was failing and the wattage of the dormitory lights was so weak. Than Dai protested, saying, ‘I never saw any other parents come and sleep with their sons or ask their sons to read loudly in the room.’ But his father said, ‘It doesn’t matter. We are not disturbing others.’ Than Dai’s friends came by to see what was going on and were amused by the scene. Than Dai was embarrassed. Only later did Than Dai come to believe that his father was right.

In June 1988, Than Dai’s elder brother participated in the student movement in Rangoon. Some of his friends came to Than Dai’s house to tell his parents that, unlike the other students, Than Dai’s brother had not worn a bandana across his face to disguise himself. More than that, he publicly announced his name and the names of everyone in the family when everyone else was trying to hide their identities. Soon after, military intelligence agents brought Than Dai’s brother back to his home town and put him in custody. Than Dai’s grandmother was furious. She berated Than Dai’s parents for not preventing her eldest grandson from getting involved in politics.

When the demonstrations were about to start in Than Dai’s home town in August 1988, Than Dai told his father he was going to participate. His father did not forbid him, but that night he had Than Dai look at several books about past political movements in Burma and elsewhere. He also showed Than Dai photographs of people who had been tortured, and asked him, ‘If you want to do politics, you may face this one day. Do you dare to do so?’

The next day Than Dai decided he did. He and his friends led the first demonstration in their town, and his mother and older brother both gave speeches to the gathered crowd. Than Dai’s father stayed home. When the marchers passed Than Dai’s house shouting slogans, Than Dai’s father came out smiling. The crowd asked Than Dai’s father to join in, but he replied jokingly, ‘It’s not necessary for me to come. All of my family has
joined with you. I am the eldest, so I have to give a chance to them.’ Than Dai said everyone understood, because Than Dai’s father was living under watch and everyone knew it. ‘In the blacklist in our town,’ Than Dai said, ‘my father was first.’

Two or three days after the first demonstration, the town activists formed a strike committee and asked Than Dai’s father to become a member. He did, but when the SLORC staged a coup on 18 September, he and Than Dai knew they were likely to be arrested. They and some others hid in rural villages, moving from place to place. Finally, the authorities tracked them down. Than Dai was sleeping under some toddy trees when he was awakened by an armed soldier kicking him. He was tied up, as was his father, who had been sleeping in the monastery. When the soldiers searched their bags, they confiscated a book that discussed how soldiers should treat civilians. Than Dai complained, saying, ‘This book says that soldiers must pay respect to civilians.’ The soldiers responded by beating him with a stick. Then father and son were tied together and taken back into town, where they had to sign an agreement saying they would not participate in politics again. They signed but, soon after, Than Dai’s father and older brother were arrested together with the rest of the strike committee.

Than Dai didn’t know what to do. He thought about going to the jungle to take up arms. His mother told him he could leave if he wanted to, but that he should consider carefully, because his life would never be the same if he did. She also told him that if he left, he should not come home again until the struggle was successful. She was displeased with students who had come back from the border and condemned the student movement in interviews with the state-controlled press.

Within a couple of months, Than Dai’s father and brother were released on bail, and Than Dai and his brother decided to join up with the student army on the border. Their parents supported them. The day they were to leave, everyone in the family was overcome with sadness. They did not know when they would see each other again. Than Dai said:

    Some friends came by that day, but we dared not reveal our plan. We had to be cautious, but we kept looking at each other. The visitors were talking. My mother was cooking. We prepared some money and clothes. We had to wait for the visitors to leave and we ate lunch together, the last lunch for us. Just before we left our home, we paid respect to our parents. My parents sat on the bed inside the room, because outside some more visitors had arrived so we dared not talk loudly. My mother was not
crying, but my father was. Tears ran down his glasses. My brother asked him, ‘Why are you crying?’ My father replied, ‘I’m crying because I’m proud. Because my two sons will continue the revolution which I cannot afford to do at my age.’

Than Dai and his brother managed to make their way to the border and have been working with resistance groups ever since. Although they know they have the love and support of their parents, they have had to sacrifice their family connections. More than ten years later, they still had no contact with their parents and didn’t know if they would ever be reunited.

Still, Than Dai is grateful for the way he was raised. He said:

    My father was a good example. Now I thank him very much. If we didn’t have him, we could have gone the wrong way. And I thank my mother because she never complained about his political views and his guidance in education. And then I thank both of them because they always taught us not to exploit others, to sympathize with the poor and oppressed. Sometimes we are human beings, so we lose our focus, but at those times, I remember my parents. They faced a lot of difficulties, especially with money, but they never knelt down or betrayed their beliefs, so I love them.

While it is clear from Than Dai’s story that some of the other town residents admired his family, no one else he knew chose to live in the same way. Trying to live outside the regime’s influence takes tremendous effort, particularly when everyone else is going along with the authorities. The family became fully integrated into the community only during the 1988 demonstrations, when it seemed as if democracy was within reach.

Than Dai lived in a small town in Upper Burma. Lin Htet, another young man who grew up in a political family, lived in Rangoon. Like Than Dai, Lin Htet went through difficult years as a teenager, when he still couldn’t fully appreciate his father’s commitment to living by different rules. Lin Htet’s father was also a former student activist who had become a private tuition teacher. And Lin Htet’s family was always struggling for money, too, because his father charged less than the going rate so that poorer students would have a chance to attend his classes. Like Than Dai, Lin Htet sometimes resented his father’s moral uprightness, because their family could not afford the nice clothes that some other kids proudly wore.