Saving Burma

Thursday, May. 15, 2008 By HANNAH BEECH/IRRAWADDY DELTA
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Cast adrift: Little is left of the submerged Kaw Hmu township, near Rangoon
Photograph for TIME by Prashant Panjiar / Livewire Images
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Calls for Change
For its part, an alliance of political activists, students and Buddhist monks believes that the world can't wait. "We urge the U.N. and foreign governments to intervene in Burma immediately to provide assistance directly to the people of Burma without waiting for the permission of the military junta," the underground group, based in Rangoon, pleaded in a public statement. "Just come now." When I floated the idea of unilateral intervention with a democracy activist in Rangoon, he brightened up. "People would be so happy if they got foreign food from the sky," he said. Then, he whispered to me that Than Shwe's compound in Naypyidaw is now visible on Google Earth, in case I wanted to pass on a helpful tip to the U.S. Pacific Command. But as tempting as it might sound to a Burmese opposition figure to airdrop high-energy biscuits over refugee camps — or lob a missile at junta central in the new capital — military action would be a risky and costly proposition. The French Foreign Ministry quickly backtracked from Kouchner's original remarks.

So what's Plan B? Some hope that China, whose investment in Burma helps prop up the junta, could pressure the generals to allow in more aid. (After an earthquake struck the central Chinese province of Sichuan on May 12, killing and injuring tens of thousands, China sent out relief teams immediately and said it would accept foreign aid.) But even if China is willing to speak out, it's hard to know just how much influence it would have on Burma's top brass. The extent of the regime's disconnect with reality struck me as I drove the broad, empty avenues of Naypyidaw. This is a country where roughly one-third of children were malnourished even before Nargis. Yet the generals saw no problem with spending tens of millions of dollars constructing a massive new capital. But even there, the disregard for citizens is matched only by the junta's pursuit of personal gratification; to wit: the generals have signed off on three golf courses, immaculately mowed stretches of green where top commanders can indulge in their favorite pastime.

The junta's disregard for its citizens proved itself again on May 10, when the government decided to continue with a constitutional referendum that international observers say is designed to cement its hold on power. Although the sham plebiscite was postponed for two weeks in some of the worst storm-affected areas, other devastated regions were forced to hold the vote. Thousands of soldiers were mobilized to guard polling stations; hundreds of trucks mounted with loudspeakers fanned the nation, urging citizens to vote. Critics wondered how many lives might have been saved if some of those resources had been redeployed instead to the cyclone-relief effort. "People expect so little from the government," says one local journalist, who declined to be identified for fear of repercussions. "If the military had given food quickly, then people would be so grateful. It doesn't take much to make them happy."

Local opposition groups and Burmese in exile are now wondering whether disgust with the junta's disaster response could lead to a coup by younger, reformist officers. One source at the Rangoon airport described how rank-and-file soldiers were exhausted from unloading relief supplies. Officers, he says, are angry at the lack of planning by their superiors. But it's far from certain whether such frustration will turn into a groundswell against the junta. Similar hopes of reform surfaced during pro-democracy demonstrations last September, only to be dashed when soldiers gunned down dozens of innocent protestors. Thousands of monks, who had led the peaceful rallies, were arrested. Hundreds of political activists remain in jail. A cowed silence descended over Burma.

Perhaps this time will be different. The Irrawaddy delta is Burma's rice bowl. Not only was nearly all of this season's crop destroyed by Nargis, but most farmers won't be able to plant the next batch of seedlings because of salt-water inundation. Future shortages could spell dissent: at least five protest movements in Burma's recent history happened in the months when grain prices were at their highest. In a startling indication of dissatisfaction, an official counting referendum votes in Rakhine state told a Rangoon journalist that in 15 townships, the "no" vote ranged from 56% to 98%. (In Burma, it is unlikely that official results will reflect such inconvenient public sentiment.)

State of Fear
The army has ruled burma with an iron grip for 46 years. The opposition has been so beaten down that it may not have the organizational power to challenge the generals. And the discussion by those in faraway lands over the possibility of an intervention may only further entrench the generals. "This public discussion of unauthorized landings, and even a possible invasion of Burma," says a Burma military expert, "simply adds to the regime's paranoia and makes it even more suspicious of the long-term intentions of foreign governments offering assistance."

While the world debates what to do, the people of the delta wait. They are in no condition to foment revolution. In one village that no government representative had yet visited, I met a teacher who could speak a little English. He showed me the rubble of his destroyed schoolhouse. Only two things had been salvaged from the building: a small globe used for geography lessons and a framed photograph of junta leader Than Shwe, which normally hung at the front of the classroom. I asked if the 75-year-old strongman was a good person. The teacher laughed: "No, very bad." So why had he saved the picture? The teacher struggled for the right English word. "Scared," he said. Then he brought his wrists together to mime handcuffs.

As I walked back to my boat, the teacher asked where I came from. He inquired whether in the U.S. people can "say government bad." I said, Yes, we can. The teacher looked at me and shook his head. Then he pointed at the waterlogged earth and slashed a finger across his neck.