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

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