The second Burmese conversation

I spread out some copies of the Straits Times on the table before five Burmese in their twenties and early thirties who had agreed to meet me. Pointing out reports citing aid agencies that only 30 percent of cyclone victims have been reached by relief teams a full three weeks after the disaster, I asked them, "How credible are these reports? Are things really that bad? Are the Western aid agencies exaggerating and politicising the problem?"

They thought I was naive. 30 percent was optimistic. "Not even 25 percent," said Myo Myint Maung. They were sure of this, they said, from their frequent monitoring of various news reports.

Fuelling scepticism about the extent of relief efforts was their observation that in the news pictures they've been getting, "We always see the same tents and even the same families," Myo pointed out. "It's all for show."

The most obvious sham relief camp was this one featured in the Straits Times, said to be in Hlinethayar, and which UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon was brought to visit.

Relief camp at Hlinethayar - Straits Times

"You know where Hlinethayar is? It's just on the outskirts of Rangoon," said Han Thu Lwin. "It's not in the delta. It's as near to the city as Punggol is to Singapore's city centre."

What is actually happening, said John Moe, is that "refugees have to walk long distances to relief camps or monasteries to get any food." The aid is not going out to them, except for private citizens who are organising themselves to hire boats to search out the wetlands. "I have friends in Yangon who tell me their office mates have gone off to the delta to deliver aid on their own."

A girl begging for food

But on the way there, Aung Naing Moe said, they often have to drive through a badly-hit area called Konchangone and every day, they see people coming from far away to squat by the side of the road to beg. Relief is not reaching their villages; instead the people have to make their way to the main road.

"But a lot of people don't want to, or cannot leave their homes," added John, "so they can't get any aid at all."

Most frustrating to him was the sight of relief goods being sold in the market. "We see pictures of these on blogs and websites," said John.

Aung and Han explained, "The government is seizing the aid, because they don't want the people to see that help is coming from outside Burma; it is embarrassing to them."

But this only worsens the situation, because, as Wunna said, "If donors see that aid is being confiscated, they will reduce their donations."

What about the promises made by the military government after the ASEAN ministers' meeting in Singapore? I asked. Do you think they are now more sincere about opening up?

They were all sceptical. John pointed out that one should bear in mind the "whole picture". What effect has Asean had on the plight of Aung San Suu Kyi, he asked? How much good did Asean do over last year's protests?

"[The] Myanmar government hides behind Asean countries when the whole world pressurises them," he argued. "Myanmar thinks Asean is powerless, only good for hiding."

"Remember Razali?" Aung asked, referring to the Malaysian diplomat who was the UN envoy to Burma before Ibrahim Gambari. After each of his visits, statements were issued about a "new chapter" and "new dawn", he said, but in the end, "things go back to before."

"It's hard to believe anything has changed with this government."

Chipping in, Han pointed out that on the day Ban Ki-Moon arrived in Rangoon, the junta arrested another 11 Youth members of Aung San Suu Kyi's party, the National League for Democracy, who had been helping out with relief work. "The NLD issued a statement on that," she said.

Myo concurred. "If they are sincere, they would have opened up immediately, let in the foreign aid workers, and allow those who are already in Yangon to go into the delta."

Instead, you see delaying tactics, they all said. The generals may attend conferences and give vague promises, but Myo was certain that "after the conference, they will say, 'Oh, we are not OK with the decision'."

What about the recent example of transparency and openness to foreign help that China displayed in the wake of the bad earthquake in Sichuan?

"It made no difference to the attitude of our government. They cannot change now because they have to save face," was Wunna's opinion. It was important to the junta never to let their own people think that they couldn't provide for them and that foreigners were needed.

In any case, added John, "their top priority was the referendum." We'll come to that later, I said.

As for the recent request for US$11 billion of reconstruction aid, they were sure plans were afoot to siphon much of the money out for their private pockets. "The business tycoons," John said, "are all under the umbrella of the government and when they get contracts for reconstruction, they share the profits."

 
Information flow

Changing the subject a little, I asked whether people inside Burma might know about the extent of the disaster and the obstacles to getting aid through.

People are left without even clean drinking water, thus putting them at risk of disease.

They felt that information was definitely getting through. Although internet connections and mobile phones were prohibitively expensive, the few people who had them would spread what they learnt by word of mouth.

Moreover, lots of people have cheap transistor radios (from China, mostly), able to receive Burmese language broadcasts by Radio Free Asia, BBC, Voice of America and the Democratic Voice of Burma, which is based in Norway.

It's apparently not a crime to listen to foreign broadcasts, though one shouldn't do it too openly, they said. Even colonels can be seen listening to foreign broadcasts.

Perhaps contrary to what many people may think, information is easier getting into the country than coming out of it, Myo pointed out.

This aspect of the situation is worth monitoring. A disaster as large as Cyclone Nargis can have a political impact if the masses see the incompetence – or worse, the callousness – of a government. If they are kept unaware, the political impact will not be as great.

 
The referendum

As mentioned earlier in the conversation, politics was top of the agenda for the generals through this period. They insisted that the referendum on their new constitution should go ahead on 10 May (except in the worst-affected areas where it was rescheduled for 24 May).

In Singapore, long queues formed outside the Burmese embassy during the voting period starting 26 April, as Burmese expatriates here tried to vote.

But you all knew the outcome, didn't you? I said. Why did you bother to vote?

"I wanted to boycott," said Aung, "but the NLD called on us to vote 'no'. So in support of the NLD, I went to vote."

Han felt that casting a vote was significant in its own way even if the referendum result was a foregone conclusion. "I want it to reflect my views to the world that whatever percentage they finally declare, here is proof that we felt differently. We want to write a page of history."

 
Singapore newspapers had reported that the voting process was extremely slow, resulting in huge crowds at the embassy gates.

Actually, the whole process was wrong, said John. "According to the referendum law 1/2008 signed by [Burmese leader] Than Shwe himself, every citizen 18 years old and above is eligible to vote. You only have to show your citizenship card or passport. But the officials here wanted us to show an invitation letter from the embassy and our tax receipts. The embassy is not complying with the polling station procedure."

What's this thing called an invitation letter? I asked.

John: "According to the embassy, they sent out 13,000 invitation letters to Burmese residents in Singapore. 400 bounced back, so they expected 12,600 to vote. But there are 100,000 Burmese here."

So the rest had trouble voting? I asked.

"They just want to show who is the boss," said Aung about the embassy officials, with a sneer.

Myo: "In the end, it wasn't even that figure. The total who managed to vote during the entire voting period was only about 1,000."

He himself queued up 3 days to no avail. "I presented all the necessary documents. They took my documents and then a while later a Singaporean security guard gave them back to me. There was no reply, no information. They didn't say whether I could vote, or couldn't vote. They just kept me waiting at the gate."

That's why it was important to wear their red T-shirts and red caps, emblazoned with the word "No", they said: To send a message to the world that the entire credibility and legitimacy of the referendum and its result should be questioned.

The voting inside Burma was no freer.

"Channel NewsAsia showed an interview with one villager," Han told me, "who said he received an already-marked ballot paper."

What John heard was slightly different. "In the polling stations, the officials go into the polling booth with you to ensure you vote 'Yes'." He had heard this kind of report from many sources from various parts of the country.

The counting of votes was also suspect. Ticks of any kind, said Han, would be acceptable as a 'Yes' vote. But unless a cross was perfectly made, with arms of equal length, at 90 degrees to each other, it would be rejected as a spoilt vote and not counted.

What's the next step according to the general's "roadmap" after the referendum? I asked. 

"The next step is supposed to be a general election, around May 2010," Aung informed me.

Wunna was quick to add, "But it's not clear whether the NLD can participate. Already Aung San Suu Kyi is not allowed to... and a lot of opposition politicians too."

"That's because," explained Aung, "they must be clear of criminal charges." He didn't have to tell me that over the years, the generals have charged a large number of opposition politicians with various offences.

The taxes

I wanted to ask a bit more about this business of having to show a tax receipt before they could vote.

"The embassy, in their invitation letters," said Wunna, "made a condition that before you could vote, you had to show a tax clearance form dated 2007."

Not only was this against their own referendum law, but as Aung pointed out, it also violated the Singapore-Myanmar agreement on the avoidance of double-taxation.

As you can see from the box at right, the taxes are exorbitant. Where does all the money go? No prizes for guessing.

So why are you guys still keeping your Burmese passports? Why don't you apply to become Singaporeans? I asked.

I was met with incredulity. "Why would we want to be citizens of an authoritarian state?" Han exclaimed. One could sense that they all believed that there will be a new Burma and they want to be part of it, to the extent that they would pay those taxes today. That's national loyalty for you, strange though it may sound to Singaporeans.

© Yawning Bread 

Footnotes

None

Addenda

None