Waiting for Myanmar's democracy leader, 'The Lady'

YANGON (JP): Aung San Suu Kyi, the leader of the struggle for human rights and democracy in Myanmar, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1991 after receiving the Norwegian Thorolf Rafto Prize for Human Rights and the Sakharov Prize for Freedom of Thought from European Parliament. In 1988 she was put under house arrest. It lasted six years. In July 1994 she was set free, but it is not clear what this really means. She rarely leaves her heavily-guarded house in Yangon. Aung San Suu Kyi is referred to as "The Lady". Some call her "The Girl", but almost never do they mention her name.

In a video message to the Non-Governmental Organizations' meeting at the same time as the World Conference on Women in Beijing last September, she said that she could not attend in person.

"The regaining of my freedom has imposed a duty on me to work for the freedom of other women and men in my country who have suffered far more -- and who continue to suffer far more than I have," she said.

Inspired by her video-taped speech which also spoke of tolerance, I was curious to see what she would be like in real life. I would never be granted for an interview, but maybe, just maybe, I might get a glimpse of her at the weekly appearances she makes at her house gate. We were told that she appears every Saturday and Sunday afternoon. So on the last weekend of our stay in Yangon, my friend and I decided to join the masses on the sidewalk outside her house on University Road.

The driver of the van taking us there was too scared to drop us in front of her house. He thought he would be put on a blacklist if he did. So we were dropped down the road in front of a small shop. He said he would wait there until we were finished. His fear was not strange to us. We had discovered that an undercurrent of fear is tangible whenever it comes to any activity related to Aung San Suu Kyi.

Interestingly their fear is more telling than words, for people cannot prevent transferring their love for the woman they admire and respect. They are scared of the intruding ears of possible informants, of cameras secretly taking pictures of them, and tape recorders that might be hidden unnoticed. There is no proof that all this actually happens, but the fear is so out of proportion that we, too, were drawn into the realm of suspicion and fear. Would our pictures be taken? Would we be able to leave safely? Were we out of our minds coming here at all?

People said Suu Kyi would come out at 4 p.m. We were an hour and a half early, but the street was already filled with men, women and children, all sitting on mats or newspapers. In contrast to the fear of people we had met before, most of those present were relaxed and cheerful, as if spectating at a sports event. Many seemed to know each other. There was laughter and a lot of joking. Both young and old said they came here every week.

We tried to get to the front. There was no space there, but a kind lady who we chatted to moved up immediately when we said that we were reporters from Indonesia. She looked approvingly at the flowers we had brought with us. Another lady laid a damp little towel on top of the posy to help slow down the withering of the already limp petals. The sun was very hot indeed, our cotton pants and blouses providing no significant relief. Why in the world had I not smeared my face and arms with the thanakar as Myanmarese women and children do? Thanakar is made of the bark of the thanakar tree which, besides taking away pimples, also has a cooling and whitening effect on the skin. The kind lady next to me offered to share her parasol, and I offered my batik hat to her little daughter. This set in motion a chorus of oh's and ah's, and many asked whether I had brought more. There was an old man who put it on his head, then slipped it in his pocket, much to the chagrin of the girl's mother. The batik hat can be folded the way a fan is folded. Given the enthusiasm of the people sitting in the heat, I would not be surprised if it became a popular multi-purpose commodity by next year.

The chattering continued for a while. We discovered that our friendly neighbors belonged to the National League for Democracy. Unlike our driver, these people did not mind talking about their "lady". They pointed at a number of people who were coming out of the gate.

"They are farmers informing the lady of their problems," we were told.

After the farmers, there was a constant traffic of people coming out and going through the gate. A monk walked up and down, apparently making jokes or telling the crowd stories. Meanwhile young women and men in longyi, their traditional outfits, and white tops were forming a barrier in front of us; the women as if searching the crowds for god-knows-what, the men's faces extremely tight. Who were they? Again there was no hesitation in answering that they were NLD members.

"They are there to save her," said the lady next to us.

Save her from what? Was she in danger? We did not ask.

The crowd had increased to about a thousand people. But there was a certain unspoken discipline in the way everybody found a place to sit or stand.

At exactly 4 p.m. the Lady appeared at the gate, her slender body slightly higher than the gate. She was probably standing on a couple of steps. Flanked by two youths whose blank stares were in stark contrast to her expressive eyes, she had a microphone in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. The shadow of the trees protected her from the sun. Dressed in the longyi, and sporting flowers in her hair, she looked fresh, elegant and relaxed, albeit very thin. The strains of her struggle were just visible in the lines of her face, but she looked much younger than her years.

"It is very hot over there, isn't' it," she cheerfully began her communication with a warm smile. People replied: "It was, but now that you're here it is nice and cool."

We did not understand a word of what she said for a full hour as she was speaking in Burmese. But it did not bother us a bit; we sat there fascinated by her active and expressive way of talking, joking very often. At least, that is what we thought, as people often laughed with her. They also often applauded and we understood that she had said something they were in complete agreement with. Later someone translated to us her answers to questions which people had put in the mailbox. The piece of paper in her hand contained her notes. In her replies, she would use simple and funny examples.

Replying to a question on why they were poor whereas the government had said they were rich, she said: "When one is poor, just admit you're poor and do not boast of your grandma's richness. What's the point in telling people your grandma had earrings when those earrings can't prevent starvation. Just do something."

She gave advice on how to overcome practical constraints in the lives of the farmers, and she also told them that "it is important to pursue education, for it will enable you to find more easily solutions to problems." After answering letters for about three-quarters of an hour, she told them about Mahatma Gandhi, how he managed to get equal treatment as a colored man. He had courage but did not use violence. Then she referred to those who did not dare attend her gatherings for fear of being arrested. They fear losing their jobs, or the favor of their chiefs, she said.

"Do not fear," she advised, "you must do what you yourself think is the right thing to do, not what others think is right." Then she praised the women, most of whom came by themselves or with their children. "They are not afraid."

As she ended her session we rushed to the front together with other foreign journalists. She recognized my friend who had interviewed her a week earlier. "Nice to see you again", she said in perfect English.

"Can I ask you a question?" I tried.

And to my surprise, she said "Of course, go ahead".

What was her view on the role of Myanmarese women in achieving the cause she pursued ? Apparently, that had been one of the topics she touched on before.

"They are very important," she insisted.

We said goodbye as she stepped down from the bank and disappeared behind the fence. Many would come again the following day, and the following weeks, the following months and who knows for how long. Waiting for and then listening to their lady.

-- Cebe Tadjoedin