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COMMENTARY
January 14, 2012
Burmese glasnost
When a regime such as Burma's releases hundreds of political prisoners, it is crumbling. The matter is always delicate, for it may not realize it is crumbling yet, and may think, the way Mikhail Gorbachev perhaps once did, that it is bidding for survival through long-necessary reforms. But simply by making them, the regime undermines the public fear upon which it had depended.Aung San Suu Kyi herself famously put it this way: "It is not power that corrupts but fear. Fear of losing power corrupts those who wield it, and fear of the scourge of power corrupts those who are subject to it." The reforms in Burma began nominally in 2010; yet in retrospect might be dated to Cyclone Nargis, in May 2008. This exposed not only the regime's inability to cope with a natural disaster, itself, but its inability to deal with those offering help, from both home and abroad. It was a tragicomedy: of course "tragic" with respect to more than 100,000 unnecessary deaths, and the suffering of survivors. (Millions were left homeless.) But paradoxically it was the "comic" aspect of the dictators' response that was more deeply politically telling. This quite literally, in the case of the most memorable arrest that followed. "Zarganar," a prominent theatrical star, and satirical comedian, was locked up. (His stage name means "tweezers" in Burmese.) Already banned from performing, thanks to his genius for wordplay, and airbrushed out of public life by media censors, he suddenly surfaced in the chaos after the storm, wickedly mocking the regime's efforts, while organizing troupes of popular entertainers to bring aid to some of the most isolated villages. Zarganar was arrested when his remarks were splashed in foreign media; he was sentenced to decades of imprisonment in the farthest north. Indeed, our western media have a track record for publicizing heroic acts by "dissidents," in ways that compel totalitarian regimes to locate and crush them. In Zarganar's case, the words and acts became impossible to ignore, because they were now "officially" news. In Burma itself, such news carries underground, in ways long practised to keep policemen out of the loop. This week's large prisoner release was not the first. Zarganar was among many set free in October. And some time will be needed to sort out who has now been released, and why. In addition to supporters of Suu Kyi's opposition party (the National League for Democracy, which swept a fairly free election in 1990), and other pro-democracy types, there were former members of the military hierarchy, who fell out in power struggles; plus, "dissidents" associated with the country's numerous ethnic secessionist movements (for Burma is a federation of several cultural "nations," occupying quite distinct geographical regions). About 700 were officially released, from all these backgrounds, in order to make the maximum impression on European and American diplomats and "human rights" organizations. But there were lists of political prisoners in Burma running into the thousands. In addition to the prisoner releases, election laws have been withdrawn that had prevented any party harbouring former prisoners from running even candidates who weren't. Scheduled by-elections are thus thrown open. Too, negotiations are proceeding with leaders of several of the country's ethnic insurgencies, and the regime says a formal ceasefire has been brokered with the Karen. And, humanitarian organizations have been promised access to the country's tribal areas. Suu Kyi, released from house arrest more than a year ago, has been working with the regime directly. To both western and domestic observers, she is the guarantee that changes are more than show. The regime thus now depends upon her, more than she upon it. "Daw Suu," as she is popularly called ("daw" is the gentle Burmese honorific for "auntie"), has a dynastic position in the history of Burmese independence which, from the beginning of her political career, has helped to awe the authorities. Her father, Aung San, the "father of independent Burma," was also the architect of the original military regime, so that he has a position in public mythology like that of Sun Yat-sen in China: the nationalist revered by all parties. To this his assassination, just before independence, added the title of "martyr." While the extraordinary story of Suu Kyi's rise to leadership, instantly upon her return to the country in 1988 after a life abroad, is generally well-known, its significance is under-appreciated. We speak of "democracy," but around Asia and the world, it is this dynastic principle, and the quality of awe associated with it, from which personal power really springs; from that, and from some quality of personal charisma, which Suu Kyi certainly has, clinching that sense of legitimacy. Without her, the current events would be unimaginable. The Burmese regime has lost confidence in itself. Outwardly it is responding to pressure from statesmen in the West, setting conditions to lift sanctions. Inwardly, it folds before domestic opponents, to whom it no longer feels equal. David Warren
© Ottawa Citizen
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