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https://burmacampaignjapanteam.blogspot.com/2010/11/chicago-tribune-us-in-myanmar-prisons.html
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Mon 6 Dec 2010
Filed under: Opinion, Other
Filed under: Opinion, Other
Yangon, Myanmar – In the decaying lakeside mansion where Aung San Suu Kyi spent much of the last two decades under house arrest, the Myanmar opposition leader and Nobel laureate was forbidden from using the Internet or the telephone or watching satellite TV.
She did, however, have two maids, was free to read newspapers and listen to the radio, and had access to a doctor.
For the other 2,200 or so political prisoners in Myanmar, conditions are quite different.
Sentenced to impossibly long prison terms for speaking out against the repressive military regime, they face torture sessions, barely edible food, little or no medical care and years in isolation. Some prisoners are forbidden to speak for years.
“There’s a great difference between prison and house arrest,” said Phyo Min Thein, an opposition politician and brother-in-law of a political prisoner now serving a 65-year sentence. “Aung San Suu Kyi was treated well, while those in prison are treated with extreme oppression. Is it fair? Everything isn’t fair. We live under an unfair system.”
Before and after her release, Suu Kyi vowed to spotlight the plight and press for the release of other political prisoners in Myanmar, formerly Burma.
For hundreds of activists who have openly challenged 48 years of military rule, there’s little hope of fair treatment at the hands of a clique of generals that has remained largely impervious to international condemnation, pressure or sanctions.
The “crimes” prosecuted by the regime include demonstrating, passing on rumors, “undermining the state” or possessing uncensored videotapes. Among those jailed are comedians, musicians, artists and a writer convicted of inserting a message in a Valentine’s Day poem.
For many, the decades-long sentences are abstract numbers, their release dependent more on a political deal or a hoped-for change in government than in serving their time.
“There’s a signboard inside with the length of your sentence,” said Phyo Min Thein, who served 15 years for opposing the regime, including five during which he was not allowed to talk. “My first five years, I hoped for freedom. After that, you just have to live.”
One of the toughest challenges is staying mentally fit. A lack of news or contact with loved ones eats away at you, former prisoners and family members said, deepening your isolation.
“You become more hungry for information than food,” Min Ko Naing, a leader of the student movement that rose up against the regime in 1988 who is serving a 65-year sentence, once said.
Some described small acts of defiance: hiding a banned book by Suu Kyi in a hole carved out of the floor under a chamber pot, smuggling out appeals to the U.N. or singing protest songs, even if it meant severe punishment or years added to their sentence.
Family visits, when they’re permitted, are often limited to an hour or two per month with guards hovering. In 2008 the regime transferred many prisoners to remote sites, making family visits more difficult.
“Before 2008, I visited him twice,” said a relative of prisoner Ko Ko Gyi, who is serving a 65-year sentence for, among other charges, illegal use of the telephone system. “But since then I haven’t. It’s a long way.”
Former prisoners said they tried to stay sharp by singing, reciting Buddhist verses, playing mental games and meditating. Suu Kyi, who was released from house arrest last month, said she drew strength from dawn meditation sessions.
“Some people go mad talking to themselves,” said Phyo Min Thein. “You start imagining you see your mother in front of you.”
Human rights groups say their estimate of 2,200 political detainees in Myanmar probably is conservative, because many in rural areas go uncounted. Periodically the regime declares an amnesty, although alleged criminals are the main beneficiaries. In 2008 it released 9,000 people; eight were political activists.
“And they know they can rearrest you any time. They play games,” said Bo Kyi, joint secretary of the Assistance Association for Political Prisoners (Burma), a Thailand-based activist group. “Aung San Suu Kyi can definitely be arrested again soon. Now the military regime is trying to find an accusation against her.”
She did, however, have two maids, was free to read newspapers and listen to the radio, and had access to a doctor.
For the other 2,200 or so political prisoners in Myanmar, conditions are quite different.
Sentenced to impossibly long prison terms for speaking out against the repressive military regime, they face torture sessions, barely edible food, little or no medical care and years in isolation. Some prisoners are forbidden to speak for years.
“There’s a great difference between prison and house arrest,” said Phyo Min Thein, an opposition politician and brother-in-law of a political prisoner now serving a 65-year sentence. “Aung San Suu Kyi was treated well, while those in prison are treated with extreme oppression. Is it fair? Everything isn’t fair. We live under an unfair system.”
Before and after her release, Suu Kyi vowed to spotlight the plight and press for the release of other political prisoners in Myanmar, formerly Burma.
For hundreds of activists who have openly challenged 48 years of military rule, there’s little hope of fair treatment at the hands of a clique of generals that has remained largely impervious to international condemnation, pressure or sanctions.
The “crimes” prosecuted by the regime include demonstrating, passing on rumors, “undermining the state” or possessing uncensored videotapes. Among those jailed are comedians, musicians, artists and a writer convicted of inserting a message in a Valentine’s Day poem.
For many, the decades-long sentences are abstract numbers, their release dependent more on a political deal or a hoped-for change in government than in serving their time.
“There’s a signboard inside with the length of your sentence,” said Phyo Min Thein, who served 15 years for opposing the regime, including five during which he was not allowed to talk. “My first five years, I hoped for freedom. After that, you just have to live.”
One of the toughest challenges is staying mentally fit. A lack of news or contact with loved ones eats away at you, former prisoners and family members said, deepening your isolation.
“You become more hungry for information than food,” Min Ko Naing, a leader of the student movement that rose up against the regime in 1988 who is serving a 65-year sentence, once said.
Some described small acts of defiance: hiding a banned book by Suu Kyi in a hole carved out of the floor under a chamber pot, smuggling out appeals to the U.N. or singing protest songs, even if it meant severe punishment or years added to their sentence.
Family visits, when they’re permitted, are often limited to an hour or two per month with guards hovering. In 2008 the regime transferred many prisoners to remote sites, making family visits more difficult.
“Before 2008, I visited him twice,” said a relative of prisoner Ko Ko Gyi, who is serving a 65-year sentence for, among other charges, illegal use of the telephone system. “But since then I haven’t. It’s a long way.”
Former prisoners said they tried to stay sharp by singing, reciting Buddhist verses, playing mental games and meditating. Suu Kyi, who was released from house arrest last month, said she drew strength from dawn meditation sessions.
“Some people go mad talking to themselves,” said Phyo Min Thein. “You start imagining you see your mother in front of you.”
Human rights groups say their estimate of 2,200 political detainees in Myanmar probably is conservative, because many in rural areas go uncounted. Periodically the regime declares an amnesty, although alleged criminals are the main beneficiaries. In 2008 it released 9,000 people; eight were political activists.
“And they know they can rearrest you any time. They play games,” said Bo Kyi, joint secretary of the Assistance Association for Political Prisoners (Burma), a Thailand-based activist group. “Aung San Suu Kyi can definitely be arrested again soon. Now the military regime is trying to find an accusation against her.”