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INKED OVER, RIPPED OUT: "THE CHILDR



Received: (from strider) by igc2.igc.apc.org (8.6.9/Revision: 1.9 ) id JAA16703; Wed, 22 Feb 1995 09:33:55 -0800
Date: Wed, 22 Feb 1995 09:33:55 -0800
Subject: INKED OVER, RIPPED OUT: "THE CHILDREN WHO PLAY..."


************************** BurmaNet **************************
"Appropriate Information Technologies, Practical Strategies"
**************************************************************
A STORY FROM "INKED OVER, RIPPED OUT."


          And somehow I know it will fall to me alone to do
          it--for, as a writer and mother, I guess I'm the only one
          around here that can exorcise these particular ghosts. 
                                        Daw San San Nweh

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Contents:                                                     

INKED OVER, RIPPED OUT
ANNA ALLOT: INTRODUCTION TO "THE CHILDREN WHO PLAY..."
SAN SAN NWEH: "THE CHILDREN WHO PLAY IN THE BACK ALLEYWAYS"
BURMANET: "INCORRECT IDEAS AND OPINIONS WHICH DO NOT ACCORD WITH  
           THE TIMES" 


**************************************************************
INKED OVER, RIPPED OUT
February 22, 1995

"Inked Over, Ripped Out: Burmese Storytellers and the Censors" is
a book edited by Anna Allot containing a number of Burmese short-
stories in translation.  Several people have written to ask for
information on obtaining a copy after extracts were recently posted
by BurmaNet.  Copies can be found in Bangkok bookstores.  The
address of the publisher will be posted shortly.

Because of the strong interest shown, a story from the book by San
San Nweh is reposted here.  The author, Daw San San Nweh is a
prolific short-story writer, and mother of two, who was detained in
1989 for instigating unrest and released in 1990. She was elected
in 1990 as an NLD Member of Parliament but never took her seat. The
SLORC cancelled the elections because they lost. 

*************************************************************** 
ANNA ALLOT: INTRODUCTION TO "THE CHILDREN WHO PLAY..."


     [Introduction and translation by Anna Allott]. This story
     was written in early 1989 for the magazine Eit-met-hpu;
     it was not passed by the Press Scrutiny Board, however,
     and was torn out  after printing. The author, who came to
     prominence in the mid-1970s, was  arrested on the same
     day as Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and spent ten  months in
     prison. Since her release her work has not been allowed 
     into print and she maintains her family--her husband died
     in 1992--by trading.

     During the prodemocracy demontrations in 1988 there was
     one  particular death, among the many, that had a special
     impact on the  academic community in Rangoon. The son of
     a teacher at the  university was sitting drinking a cup
     of coffee in a tea shop on  the campus when he wsa
     fatally shot in front of his friends by a  stray bullet
     from a passing military vehicle.

     The story alludes to this, and children's mention of the
     color of  the young man's shirt implies that the shirt
     was stained red with  blod. At the time the story was
     written an evening curfew was in  formce from 9:30pm. The
     curfew was finally lifted completely only  in November
     1992. The story seems to suggest that whatever efforts 
     the SLORC makes to ingratiate itself with the people by
     buidling  public parks and children's playgrounds, it
     will not succeed in  wiping out the memory of the
     unneccessary bloodshed and the army's  cruelty. Indeed
     the clearing away of small houses and familiar  corner
     shops and cafes only leaves a greater feeling of
     resentment.  The final lines are surely heavily ironical. 


*************************************************************** 
SAN SAN NWEH: THE CHILDREN WHO PLAY IN THE BACK ALLEYWAYS

     On evenings when the electricity goes off in our neighborhood,
the streets are usually full of people. Our homes are cramped and
the lack of light inside encourages us to seek out the early
evening breeze on the street where there is more space and light.

     When power cuts occur on moonlit nights, nervous types like
myself breathe a little easier--the sound of children's laughter
seems louder and more vivacious, and the teenagers strum softly at
their guitars, playing not only the latest hits but also the old
familiar tunes that tend to linger sweetly in the air, lifting the
heart, yet bringing sad thoughts.

     The noise of young children running here and there, chanting
in shrill voices, often disturbs me, though, and I have to shout
angrily at them to drive them away. But they just move on somewhere
else and carry on their laughing and playing, noisily arguing,
never tiring of devising endless games. I guess I'm glad the scamps
can play so happily, yet at the same time I get a little
anxious--the scrub and long grass where they run around playing
hide and seek is full of vipers and scorpions, and the spot just
behind our row of little houses is a favorite with the mongooses.

     The children of our neighborhood are quite familiar with
mongooses but all the same it could be nasty if they stepped on one
in the dark. Even though mongooses don't usually attack people they
will react violently to being touched, biting back if they are
hurt. They say mongoose bites are hard to heal. Only last year a
child who had been bitten by one died before reaching the hospital.
And children have such short memories, don't they? They are
heedless and quickly forget things that have happened to them. They
haven't learned to feel fear.

     Almost all the kids from our neighborhood, including my two,
are little devils. They decide for themselves that their homework
needn't be done properly and they just fool around, getting up to
whatever mischief beckons. We parents, at our wits' end, have given
up trying to do anything about it.

     Tonight, I see the kids play recklessly. They could easily
come to harm--the dim, yellow streetlights and the faint twilight
make the main road treacherous, with it s passing cyclists and
sidecars plying for hire; and in the back alleys and on the patches
of waste ground there could be scorpions and snakes. But wait a
minute! Suddenly I remember--isn't there somewhere just up the road
where they could play to their heart's content? Isn't' there a
seesaw, some swings, green grass, and beds of colorful flowers,
just about to bloom, and benches, with fresh paint just about dry
by now?

They could play on the swings, singing the old nursery rhyme:

     Seesaw, sit on the plank, 
     one foot up, one foot down 
     Show me the way to Rangoon town.

Here they could shout, let off steam, and make as much noise as
they liked. 

     Leaving the shade of an almost tree, I emerge into the dappled
moonlight into the tarmac road and look around in search of the
children.

     "Hi, Ko Zay!, Hi, Johnny!" I call out. The people nearby look
up to see why I'm raising my voice, but I take no notice. "Boys,
come back, bring your friends, all of you come over here."

     With a patter of feet the children come running at top speed
and gather around me, panting for breath. My youngest son,
Moonface, throws his arms around my waist.

     "What have you got for us to eat, Mommy?" he asks.

     "Always looking for food!" I reply. "No, I called you because
I won't have you playing in the back streets in the dark. Come on,
all of you, we'll go to the park at the end of the road. There's
much more space up there. Come on, I'll take you."

     "Oh, but mommy!" he protests. His little arms around my waist
loosen.

     "I'm afraid to go." The tremulous words come from a little one
in the group.

     "I'm not <afraid>, but I did see something," says one of the
older boys, Ko Zay.

     "What are you saying--afraid of what?"

     "Oh, Mommy, you know. It's...it's..Ko Chan Aye! He was a very
good friend of ours."

     "Yes, Aunt!" says another. "He always helped us when we were
flying our kites. When the big boy was with us no one dared to try
to beat us. Our group was the champion at kite flying in our
neighborhood."

     "Chan Aye used to fly kites and do his schoolwork too, and if
he ever went into a tea shop it was only just for a moment!"

     "And Aunty, he died in a moment too. I can see him now."

     As their voices clamor, one after another, I, too, imagine
that I can see the boy: his friends are carrying the lifeless body
out from the tea shop. But Chan Aye is no more. And the tea shop
has gone too. And along with the tea shop, the nearby Arakan noodle
stall and the betel and cigarette sellers have vanished. They said
the itinerant sellers, with their stalls scattered in a makeshift
manner here and there, were spoiling the neighborhood's tidy
aspect, and so they made them clear out. And all that remains is
this area of leveled ground, which they've turned into a children's
playground, an expanse of green grass with seesaws and swings, and
neat beds of colorful flowers.

     "It's the best place for you to play. What's wrong with it?
Come on, let's go."

     "I'm afraid to go," It's the same little boy as before.

     "What are you afraid of, silly? I scold.

     "I'm not afraid--but I can see him there." It's the older boy
again. 

     "What do you mean, "see him"? You mean you're imagining his
ghost?"

     The children are quiet. Taking advantage of their silence, I
begin to lecture them in true adult fashion: Have they ever seen a
ghost? I, for one, never have. There aren't any ghosts. Ghosts
simply don't exist.

     "Oh, but Aunty, that's only because when people die, the
family makes lots of offerings to the monks so that the dead person
doesn't end up as a ghost. Ko Chan Aye's family was too poor..."

     "Stop that! Don't talk nonsense. There absolutely are no
ghosts. If you don't believe me, just go and play there every
evening. Come on now, I'll take you there."

     "No way!"

     "That's enough now. You're just being stubborn. In this age of
modern science there's no need to be afraid of ghosts."

     "But Aunty, scientific ghosts are more frightening, we've seen
them in video movies."

     "All you kids do is watch those videos!"

     "I don't feel like playing any more," one of the children
says. "I can see Ko Chan Aye right now, with is bright red shirt."

     "But he was wearing a white shirt."

     "No, it was red!"

     "Stop arguing--its already half past nine."

     The children scamper off to their homes and I walk home too,
my heart heavy. I can't help wondering what more can be done to
persuade those children to use that playground. I wish I wasn't
born such a worrier.

     Somehow I must get them to put all these notions out of their
heads.

     And somehow I know it will fall to me alone to do it--for, as
a writer and mother, I guess I'm the only one around here that can
exorcise these particular ghosts.

**************************************************************
BURMANET: "INCORRECT IDEAS AND OPINIONS WHICH DO NOT ACCORD WITH  
           THE TIMES" 
February 22, 1995

The censorship guidelines of Burma's Press Scrutiny Board forbid
the publication of anything containing "incorrect ideas and
opinions which do not accord with the times." It is sad enough that
Daw San San Nweh, the author of over 500 short-stories, is
unpublishable in Burma because of her ideas and opinions, but she
is also in prison for them.

Daw San San and her daughter were arrested by the SLORC in the
August 1994--the mother's crime was "spreading information
injurious to the state" while her daughter was arrested for
shouting at the secret police officials who were rude to her mother
during the arrest.

Amnesty International published a statement of concern about Daw
San San Nweh and the other dissidents who were jailed in the same
crackdown. The arrests seem to have been made because the regime
didn't want her and the other dissidents to be around during an
impending visit by a UN human rights investigater. The following
article outlines the sentence she received:

*************************************** 
REUTERS/BKK POST: DISSIDENTS JAILED FOR FABRICATING ANTI-GOVT               
                  REPORTS 
October 20, 1994

FIVE Burmese dissidents, including a former UN worker and a
short-story writer, have been sentenced to between seven and 15
years in prison on charges including spreading information damaging
to the state.

The five were sentenced by a civil court at Rangoon's Insein Prison
on Oct 6, diplomats said yesterday. When announcing their arrests
in August, Burma's official media said former UN Children's Fund
(Unicef) worker Khin Zaw Min and the other had "fabricated and sent
anti-government reports to some diplomats in foreign embassies,
foreign radio stations and visiting foreign journalists.

Khin Zaw Win was sentenced to 15 years in prison on charges
including violating an official secrets act and foreign-exchange
regulation, the diplomatic sources said.

The 44 year-old dentist, who worked with Unicef in Rangoon from
1991 to late 1992, was arrested at Rangoon airport on July 4 as he
was about to broad a flight to Bangkok.

He was found to be carrying manuscripts and computer discs
containing anti-government material and a confidential Ministry of
Energy report, Burma's state- run medial reported in August.

Also sentenced on Oct 6 was writer San San Nweh, she was imprisoned
for 10 years on charges of spreading information injurious to the
state and contacting anti-government groups, the sources said. Her
daughter, journalist U Sein Hla Oo, and two others, Khin Maung Shwe
and Ma Myat Mun Mun Tun, were sentenced to seven years in prison on
similar charges, the diplomats said.

State media said in August that Khin Zaw Win met a visiting UN
rapporteur on human rights in December 1992 and gave him false
reports with the aim of misleading his investigation.

San San Nweh met two French reporters visiting Burma on tourist
visas in April 1993 and appeared in a video they made, with her
back to the camera to conceal her identify, "for the purpose of
propaganda", the media report said.

Ma Myat Mun Mun Tun had helped Khin Zaw Min put anti- government
literature on computer discs and worked with members of illegal
political organizations, Burmese radio reported.

Khin Maung Shwe, U Sein Hla Oo and San San Nweh have all previously
served prison terms on political charges including involvement with
Burma's main pro-democracy party, the National League for
Democracy, the media said.

Burma's ruling junta seized power in 1988 after suppressing a
pro-democracy movement with the lost of hundreds of lives.

It ignored the result of a 1990 election which the National League
for Democracy won by a landslide.

***************************************

To send a message to the SLORC regarding Daw San San Nweh, address
it to:

   The State Law and Order Restoration Council 
   Lt-Gen Khin Nyunt
   Ministry of Defence, Signal Pagoda Road Rangoon, Burma

Or, send an email message to the SLORC, care of BurmaNet: 

     <burmanet@xxxxxxxxxxx>

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 Strider