Toronto Star Article

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The following article appeared in the March 20, 1996 Toronto Star.

JUNTA BANKS ON ECONOMY TO TIGHTEN GRIP ON BURMA
  By Scott Kraft

The lesson in democracy begins promptly at 4 each weekend afternoon.  
Several thousadn people gather behind barricades, eyes trained on the 
fence surrounding a two-storey lakeside home.  Traffic cops, dressed 
smartly in pressed white coats, keep two lanes open for passing cars.

When Aung San Suu Kyi, pink orchids in her brushed-back hair and 
microphone in hand, appears from behind the fence, the crowd breaks 
into cheers and applause.

For the next hour, the 1991 Nobel Peace Prize winner gamely conducts 
a forum on democracy in a country run by generals.

She often answers questions, submitted in advance, about new quotas 
for rice framers or the burden of inflation on pensioners, the use of 
forced labour to build a dam or involuntary "donations" for computers 
in schools.

"If we had democracy for tomorrow, we would still have problems.  
It's just that we could talk about them openly," Suu Kyi told her 
listeners the other day.  "Security for our children will not come 
overnight with democracy.  But we certainly won't have to worry about 
the knock on the door in the middle of the night."

Suu Kyi's remarks do not appear on television or radio or even in the 
next day's newspapers.  But a transcript lands on the generals' 
desks.  And a few days later, newspaper articles, written under 
pseudonyms, criticize the folly of "that girl" as they refer to Suu 
Kyi, 50.

Such is the uneasy standoff between the generals and the democrats in 
Burma, which the junta refers to as Myanmar.  Eight months have 
passed since Suu Kyi was freed from six years of house arrest, and 
yet there still is no sign of national reconciliation or progress 
toward democracy.

Instead, the military rulers here are engaged in a broad effort to 
win the hearts and minds of Burma's 46 million people with a 
stage-managed constitutional conference, replete with pep rallies, 
and an economic boom fed by foreigners dreaming of quick profits.

The linchpin of that strategy is an ardent courtship of foreign 
tourists and investors.  While this remains one of the world's 
poorest countries, building cranes fill the skyline of Yangon, the 
capital; traffic jams the streets around the 2,500 year-old dome of 
the Shwedagon Pagoda; billboards advertise Toshiba computers and 
Kirin beer.

An emerging elite of Burmese millionaires can be found at the yacht 
club, the glitzy new nightclubs or the three new driving ranges for 
golfers.

Suu Kyi is biding her time.

"When do we want democracy?  Well, we want it now, of course," she 
said.  "But we are not that impatient.  We have other work to do, and 
we carry on."

Indeed, she is quietly rebuilding her political party, the National 
League for Democracy, of which she is general secretary.  Though 
still facing restrictions and governement harassment, the party 
apears to have retained the support that gave it 80 per cent of the 
vote in 1990 elections, a vote that the military rulers annulled.

Although Suu Kyi calls for dialogue with the ruling junta, the junta 
sees no need to talk to her.  The rulers, a committee of 21 generals 
known as the State Law and Order Restoration Council, or SLORC, 
operate in what one diplomat here describes as "their own Kafkaesque 
reality."

And they are carefully pursuing a course designed to maintain their 
hold on power.

"So far, the generals haven't had to deal with Aung San Suu Kyi," 
said Khin Maung Thwin, a journalist.  "They're selling their hopes on 
making things economically stable.  If they do that, they figure they 
won't have to worry about her."

Yet the generals clearly consider themselves Burma's saviours, men 
who came to power "only because we had to", as one put it, and who 
have turned the nation's fortunes around.

The junta has managed to end 15 rebel conflicts in border regions and 
has opened the economy to foreign investors.  The government counts 
$3 billion in foreign investment and expects $4 billion by year's 
end.

But neither the economic recovery nor the political reforms hold up 
to scrutiny, opponents of the regime say.

The hand-picked constitutional convention, now in its third year, 
operates in secret, without such distractions as honest debate or 
votes.  Debt relief from Japan is being spent on TVs and VCRs for 
government employees.  The size of the army has doubled, to 300,000, 
in recent years, gobbling up 40 percent of the state budget.  
Inflation rages at 35 per cent, and the black market rate for the 
currency, the kyat, is one-twentieth the official rate, a sure sign 
of economic difficulty.

Governement assessments, which the regime calls "contributions," 
never end.  For example, Nyein Khin, a 69-year-old Yangon merchant, 
was ordered to pay about $2,000 to repave the street in front of his 
shop, a decision made by his local, unelected representatives.

"They know who has money and who doesn't" he said.  "That is their 
way of ruling."

The generals are laying the foundation to limit the power of Suu 
Kyi's party in any future government.  Parts of the new constitution, 
already finalized, would give the military 25 per cent of the seats 
in parliament, enought to block any amendments.

And the constitution would keep intact the law that prevents people 
married to foreigners from holding office.  Suu Kyi is married to a 
Briton, Michael Aris.

For her part, Suu Kyi appears willing to wait out the generals.  If 
anything, the years of house arrest and isolation have made her more 
patient.  The new constitution, she said, "will not last ... because 
a constitution is just a piece of paper unless it has the support of 
the people."