THE junta’s policies made no sense. General Saw Maung had promised multiparty general elections within three months, had insisted that he would not stay in power long and promised that he would hand over power to the winning party in the election. Dozens of new political parties had registered. Yet it was effectively illegal to conduct an election campaign. Assemblies of more than five people were still banned. Rangoon was still under martial law. All newspapers except the purged and dreary Working People’s Daily had been closed down. Television, still black and white, stuck just as doggedly to the party line.
How on earth was a political party to get its message out?
Aung San Suu Kyi tackled this challenge in the simplest and most direct manner possible, by merely ignoring the junta’s rules and going out on the road to meet the people. She had seen little of her native land other than the major cities, and those she had not visited for many years. And her people, as she was beginning to think of them, had never seen her. With elections due any time—the timetable was in fact very vague—the sooner she got started the better.
It was a form of political action inspired by Gandhi, who like Suu had spent decades in foreign parts but after his return to India devoted years to criss-crossing the subcontinent, to the impotent fury of the British, and these journeys were to become the hallmark of her career. It is tempting to think of them as a series of jaunts, and Ma Thanegi’s diary, which is full of humor and acute observation, tends to reinforce that impression. Yet these journeys were always perilous, because every mile of the way Suu and her party were challenging the writ of the regime. On two occasions she came close to being killed. That was a hazard she was keenly aware of from the outset. As Ma Thanegi wrote in her diary about one excursion, “Gandhi is Suu Kyi’s role model and hero. Everyone knew it was going to be dangerous: Some of the students had the Tharana Gon sutra chanted over them to prepare themselves for sudden death, a mantra recited in Buddhist ritual over the body of the deceased. Some became monks or nuns for a few days in preparation.”
Suu’s attitude was comparable to that of the sannyasin, the Hindu renunciate. Her mother and father had passed away. She had forsworn both the duties and the pleasures of family life for this cause. Burma’s democratic future was no longer for her some abstract issue, worthy of her support: It was the cause she was living for and that defined her life, the cause she now identified with totally, whatever might be the consequences.
Everywhere she went, she and her companions were met by huge, ecstatic crowds which had often taken great risks to come out and greet her, defying the orders of the authorities to stay away. And as she moved across the country, to Tenasserim in the south, across the Irrawaddy Delta south and west of Rangoon on repeated trips, to the old capital of Mandalay and points in between, to the Shan States in the northeast, finally right up into the mountains of Kachin far to the north, her party’s support ballooned; it was as if she was absorbing the country into her own person, and the country was absorbing her. And every trip she survived, every new crowd that hailed her, the junta’s power and prestige shrank proportionately; because, as we have seen, power in Burma is a zero-sum game.
Bertil Lintner captures the mood of those early meetings.
She was coming to open a new NLD office in a suburb on the outskirts of Rangoon. It was scorching hot, April, before the rains. I went out there in a taxi and thousands of people were waiting in this scorching sun for hours—children, old women, people of all ages.
Suddenly you could see a white car somewhere in the distance trailing a cloud of dust behind it, then the car arrived—she had been given the car by the Japanese, a white Toyota, to travel around the country—and the cheers were incredible. And she got out, very relaxed, surrounded by her students, her bodyguards, and smiled at everybody and was garlanded, and she went up on stage and started talking.
And she talked for two or three hours and nobody left. Not even the children left. My Burmese is fairly rudimentary but I could understand what she was talking about, she was using very simple, down-to-earth words. “You’ve got a head,” she said. “And you haven’t got a head to nod with, you’ve been nodding for 26 years, the head is there for you to think.” That kind of thing, and people were laughing, it was a family affair. Then she left . . .1
The junta felt it bitterly. From the icy courtesy and civilized assurances of January, on the eve of Daw Khin Kyi’s funeral, within a few months they were reduced to spreading libels and issuing murderous threats. They made a desperate effort to take the country back—by renaming it; and General Saw Maung was heading for the nervous breakdown which would see him removed from power.
*
On January 20, 1989, Suu and her party set off for the Irrawaddy Delta south and west of the capital, a flat land of endless paddies, dotted with small villages and seamed with wandering rivers, the intensely fertile flat country drained by the British; also the land where tens of thousands were to die in Cyclone Nargis in 2008. It was the first time that Ma Thanegi had kept notes on their progress—and the first time that the right of Suu and her party to move around freely was challenged.
“Great harassment in Bassein,” Ma Thanegi wrote of their official reception in one town. “Armed soldiers barred the way out of the house we were staying in, only allowing us out in twos or threes to visit friends etc. . . .” The town, one of the biggest in the delta region, had been flooded with troops by the Divisional Commander, one Brigadier Myint Aung, who seems to have taken the NLD party’s arrival as a personal affront. In a letter to her husband, Suu wrote, “Here I am having a battle royal with the notorious Brigadier Myint Aung.” The town’s harbor was “full of troops, most of the streets blocked, sandbagged and barbedwired . . .” The army had forced markets and offices to close, sent teachers out of the town on so-called “voluntary service” and fired guns in the air to deter local people from greeting them.
The morning after their arrival in the town, they learned that a number of local supporters had been arrested. Suu requested permission to talk to the brigadier: She wanted to register a complaint, she said, and would not leave the town “until I am satisfied there is fair play.”
Ma Thanegi wrote in her diary,
Request denied but a lower level meeting permitted, so I said I would go, please put down my name—the army looks down on women and they would think I would be helpless and weak. Ma Suu [throughout the diary Ma Thanegi refers to Suu using the “Ma”—“elder sister”—prefix, either as “Ma Suu” or simply “Ma Ma”] gave permission (“they have no idea I’m firing my first torpedo,” she said). Off I went, wearing a demure dress unlike what I usually wore, and slathered in perfume.
Looking all shy and sweet I talked to two midlevel officers and they were hearty with me. Their excuse for not allowing us to go around Bassein was that prisoners had been let out of the jail, two of whom were murderers on death row, and that it was dangerous for us with them out in the town. I’m sure they thought I would be terrified by this explanation—they repeated the word “dangerous for us” three or four times. So far I had been listening demurely but at that point I asked firmly, “If they were convicted of murder and are on death row, why were they let out?” [In Burma’s traditional society, women are not expected to ask tough questions of men in authority, army officers in particular.] They gaped at me so I repeated my question. They were furious but could not scream at me as I was talking graciously . . .
When Suu and her party learned that the cars in which they had traveled from Rangoon had been impounded and that they were effectively bottled up in the town, Suu herself broke the deadlock by walking out of the house where they had spent the night and fraternizing genially with the soldiers drawn up on the street. The upshot of Suu’s charm offensive, according to Ma Thanegi: “The troops were removed the day before we left and we were allowed to move around freely.” It was the first time Suu had come so close to a showdown with the army, but it was not to be the last.
At the next stop, however, their problems melted away. “The minute that we crossed into Bago Division, all harassment stopped,” she wrote. “Just over the border, we saw trucks and cars and thought that it was more harassment, but it was crowds welcoming us. Ma Suu gave a speech right there, holding the old type of square microphone that we had seen photos of her father using.”
As they were to discover, their official reception varied wildly from place to place, especially in these early months of the campaign, depending on the whim, or perhaps the political inclinations, of the local military authority. Suu and her colleagues adjusted their behavior accordingly. Ma Thanegi reports that in one town they visited they “had some trouble,” but in another soon afterwards “the township officer, military, said he was going fishing when he heard we were coming in and did so. So we went in, had lunch, Suu made speeches, and we left: no problem. When there is harassment we try to stay longer or to walk into town singing democracy songs or shouting slogans. If no harassment, just happy to go in quietly in the car and leave quietly.”
They returned to Rangoon, but less than a fortnight later they were off again, this time to the Shan States, the rolling hill country which is one of the most idyllic corners of Burma, home to the Shan people, cousins of the Thais.
The Shan States have a special place in the Aung San legend: It was at the town of Panglong, in the far north of the region, in February 1947, that Suu’s father signed a historic agreement between the Burmans, the Shans, the Kachin and the Chins—all the most numerous ethnic nationalities in the country with the exception of the Karen—committing them to membership of the new, independent Union of Burma.2
The Panglong Agreement was reached immediately after Aung San’s successful conclusion of independence negotiations with the government of Clement Attlee in London, and confirmed Attlee and his colleagues in their belief that he was the right man to take charge of independent Burma. So when Suu and her party colleagues set off there exactly forty-two years later, it was a trip of huge symbolic significance.
On February 9th, they were still in Rangoon, making preparations: “An Australian senator came to see Ma Ma at 8 am,” Ma Thanegi recorded. He had also been to see General Saw Maung, “who told him elections would be held soon, after discussions with parties. . . . Spent the night at Ma Ma’s place. Ma Ma up and down stairs whole evening, signing letters, seeing to papers, books. Dr. Michael phoned after Ma Ma finished writing a letter to him.” Nobody wanted to miss the trip, starting in the morning. “Ko Maw”—Ma Thanegi’s small, grouchy, short-sighted colleague—“is ill, but coming along anyway.” Others along for the ride included a medical student and democracy activist called Ma Thida. Suu’s personal bodyguards on the trip—Ma Thanegi refers to them collectively as “the boys” or “the kids”—were to include Aung Aung, the son of Suu’s father’s personal bodyguard Bo Min Lwin, and Win Thein, a student who had survived one of the March massacres before deciding to dedicate his life to Suu and the democracy struggle.
Suu and some of her “boys,” student members of the NLD who were her loyal bodyguards during campaign tours. The blazing smiles reflect the optimism of the party’s heady first months in 1988 and ’89.
*
They set off by car on February 10, 1989, “Tiger” at the wheel as usual, Suu elegant as ever in a mauve longyi and blue jacket, sitting in the back with Ma Thanegi. The journey along Burma’s atrocious roads would be long, and the start was brutally early.
Left Rangoon 4:45 am, fifteen minutes late. Ma Ma a bit annoyed. She was sleepy in the early part of the morning. I held her down by the shoulders on bumpy roads; fragile and light as a papier-mâché doll. Forced to stop unplanned at Pyawbwe . . . Ma Ma VERY annoyed. Stopped for sugarcane juice at Tat-kone: delicious! Ma Ma loved it. Lunch at Ye Tar Shay. People in the villages amazed and overjoyed to see Ma Ma. Ate lunch, fried rice ordered from Chinese restaurant next door.
Among Ma Thanegi’s many duties was ensuring that Suu did not eat anything that might upset her stomach: “Ma Ma looked so wistful when I swiped chili sauce and onions from under her very nose. Later I relented and picked out onions sans sauce for her. Chili sauce v. unhealthy stuff in Burma.”
Eleven hours after leaving University Avenue they arrived in the Shan States, high up in the chilly hills, to a reception far grander than Suu was prepared to accept. One is reminded of the ironical remark made about the Mahatma by one of his long-suffering aides: “It costs a lot to keep Gandhi poor . . .”3
“Reached Kalaw 5:30 PM and taken to Kalaw Hotel and told about elaborate preparations that have been made for her: New bed, new dressing table. Ma Ma dug in her heels as expected and we all went to stay in a small cottage.” The whole party had to sleep in a single, freezing cold room in the cottage. “Darn cold,” Ma Thanegi remarked. “Found out later that poor Tiger sat up all night, couldn’t sleep. Ma Ma ate no dinner, just some slices of banana and squashed avocado. Very cold, so Ma Ma put on flannel pajamas, long-sleeved thick t-shirt, thick socks; buried under thick quilts. Ma Ma slept badly because the kids [the student bodyguards sharing the room] who couldn’t sleep because of the cold kept talking.”
“Told me she missed Rangoon. Then she said she missed Oxford: the heating system, and Dr. Michael’s (warm) feet.”
Despite these privations, the following morning they had another early start.
February 11: she wore green plaid longyi, white jacket, green cardigan with matching scarf and gloves. Got up (had to) at 4:30. Left for Loilam at 5:30, after I insisted she eat soft-boiled eggs.
At her request I borrowed a tape of Fifties and Sixties songs to listen to on the way, coincidentally the same we were listening to in Rangoon. I remember her singing along loudly “Love you more than I can say” as she scooted upstairs. We sang along with the tape on the way: “Seven lonely days,” etcetera.
Ma Ma v. annoyed at easy-going plans. There was supposed to be a convoy on the road “for our protection” but there was no one in sight. We reached Loilam without seeing any. Ma Ma hit the roof.
Later they learned that anti-regime Shan insurgents, a powerful presence in these hills, had chosen a different way to keep them safe. “Found out later that trucks traveling along the road had been forced by insurgents to stay two or three nights at villages. The insurgents were clearing the way for our cars!”
As Tiger negotiated the narrow, winding, potholed road through the hills, Suu reminisced about her family life, about Alex and Kim. “She talked about how [her fifteen-year-old son] Alex had once poured ink all over a carpet, a white one; and how [her eleven-year-old son] Kim, visiting Rangoon with his brother and Michael in January and fed up with all the attention, “said he wanted a notice put in his grandmother’s funeral program, ‘Do not pet Kim’ . . .
“Lunch at Loilam, hurriedly prepared . . . pickled soybeans, we loved them.” The work of the tour was getting under way, without impediment from the army—and now they found out why: “Held two or three meetings in Loilam, crowds gathered. One man came up to Aung Aung and said he and his people were taking care of security and not to worry. He was not wearing an NLD badge, so Aung Aung asked who he was . . . reply was ‘Shan insurgent’ and he left hurriedly. Aung delighted.”
By the evening they had arrived in the town of Panglong, where Aung San signed his famous agreement. Suu’s preference for spartan accommodation was tempered by an appreciation of modern plumbing which Ma Thanegi shared. “A clean, grand house,” Ma Thanegi noted, “with a functioning toilet. ‘The flush actually works!’ Ma Ma said, very delightedly. ‘And there’s loo paper, too . . .’
“Discussion with youth etc. after dinner. Preparing for bed she said she’d love to go to Oxford for two weeks, just to recharge her batteries. Seems very homesick because of cold weather. Said she was planning to plead sick and stay in bed for three days after return to Rangoon (she didn’t).”
The following day, February 12th, was the anniversary of the Panglong Agreement, to be commemorated with a ceremony, so shrugging off her melancholy Suu “worked late by candlelight preparing her address for the next day” after the electricity failed. After she went to bed the students in the room next door were again talking late, “so I went out to shush them, whereupon they started snoring loudly.”
For the ceremony the next day, Ma Thanegi records, Suu wore red. It was held in the morning; NLD central committee member U Aung Lwin, a well-known actor, read out a declaration pledging to strive for democracy, which all repeated. “Young people in the typical costume of various ethnic nationalities clustered behind Ma Ma on the stage. She gave a short speech, then on to a large prayer hall for talks. Gradually audience swelled to about two thousand. I stayed outside the meeting and tended to the toenails of the boys, which needed cutting.”
Before lunch they were back on the road. “On to Nan sam, Maipon, Ho-pone. Lunch at Nan Sam. They had prepared Burmese food, pork and chicken curry, soup. We would have preferred Shan food! Most people we met during the tour were very worried about what sort of food we would eat, but in fact we ate anything and everything.”
Ma Thanegi seems more interested in recording the practical minutiae of the trip than the political discussions along the way, but she does note down the occasional pregnant exchange: “Someone in the Shan States party said Bogyoke [i.e. Aung San] had forgotten his promise to the Shan States”—his promise to give them wide autonomy within the Union of Burma, with the right to secede from it after ten years. “Ma Ma said no, he didn’t forget, he died.”
They were driving west now, and arrived in Taunggyi, the capital of the Shan States, in the late afternoon. “Not too cold. Burmese food for dinner AGAIN.” They were put up at a monastery: The hospitality and support of the sangha, the community of Buddhist monks, was to become crucial in the history of her party. “At bedtime Ma Ma referred to her pink cotton bed sheet that she had brought from home as her security blanket. ‘If it’s dirty at least I know it’s my own dirt . . .’”
On February 13th Suu wore a grey checked longyi and a “pinni” jacket of the sort that had become part of her party’s uniform. “Shan-style breakfast, ‘Hin Htoke,’ rice and meat packed in leaves. Ma Ma liked it. I didn’t. Nor did the boys: I found them later at a tea-shop, gorging on usual fare of nan bread and cream and tea and buns.”
Bad though unsurprising news reached them from Rangoon: a reiteration by the regime of the allegations that the NLD had been penetrated by communists. Ma Thanegi records no particular reaction on the part of Suu to what was becoming the theme song of the junta. “We paid calls on other parties in the town, the local NLD office and the Holy Infant Jesus Convent for Handicapped Children at Payaphyu. Ma Ma v. impressed by it, made a donation of 1050 kyats collected from all of us.” Ma Thanegi, who has a very limited tolerance for what she regards as maudlin sentiment, ducked out of the event. “I’m glad I didn’t go, couldn’t have borne hearing blind boy sing a song he composed about his lost parents. Instead I went to two bazaars and spent time at the house taking up the hems of Ma Ma’s longyis.”
Like Gandhi, Suu was acquiring corporate sponsors, though on a humbler plane. “Dinner offered by Kyar-Pyan cheroot people,” Ma Thanegi records. “Other guests looking dazzling in silk and gold etc, and we trooped in, dusty and rumpled. After our kids [the student bodyguards] were seated, someone said they were not included in invitation, so we (the kids and I, although they implored me to stay) walked out to eat at Chinese restaurant nearby. Pissed off.”
Military Intelligence (MI) continued to keep a close eye on Suu, as Ma Thanegi notes, but already she had discovered the knack of how to charm them. “Had fried rice, going Dutch, then went back to the house where Suu was having dinner with the cheroot people, to wait for her. Later, going back all together to the place where we were staying, Tiger lost his way. Our two attendant MI agents were trailing us on a scooter, and Ma Ma told Win Thein to ask them to lead the way back home. They did so willingly and seemed so proud when Ma Ma thanked them sweetly. The two of them huddled together, grinning.
“In bed, lights out, she giggled and said they looked like two crooks from a movie. I said very inferior movie, definitely Grade C.”
To try to persuade the Shan that no Burman chauvinist lurked behind her winning smile, Suu wore Shan national costume the next day, though declined the headdress.
She said she felt funny about wearing fancy dress. Left early for Shwenyaung, then Nyaung Shwe, then Inlay . . . went to Phaung-daw Oo Paya. Then to a monastery: abbot with loud and very dramatically tuneful voice gave blessings and recited prayers, which we had to repeat, during which Ma Ma bravely kept herself solemn, but I couldn’t. Disgraced myself with two bouts of giggles, relieved to learn afterwards that most of us nearly in fits.
That night, too, they were guests of a Shan monastery. “Abbot there youngish and so nice and helpful. I don’t know if proper to refer to a monk as being ‘sweet’ but definitely he is.” But the monastic prohibition against the close interaction of monks with women caused a small problem. “Men lucky as they could use monks’ loo,” Ma Thanegi noted, “but Ma Ma and I had to march right outside, to public loo, which consisted of many small rooms high above water, with a very large rectangular hole in the floor of each. Ma Ma terrified, said she was thin enough to slip right through.
“Three of us, Ma Ma, Ma Thida and I, slept on floor on thick mattress in the room of one of the monks, who slept in guest room.” Bathing during the trip usually consisted of freezing dips in convenient streams, but the state of the pond here ruled it out. “We couldn’t bathe in it. Boys swam in swampy-looking water nearby, and got rashes next day . . .”
They did however enjoy an outing on Inlay Lake, the great tourist draw of the Shan States, famous for floating gardens, fishermen who propel their boats standing up with a single oar, and the Temple of the Jumping Cats. “On boat ride on Lake Inlay, Ma Ma felt the glare of the sun in her eyes and covered her face with white hanky kept in place by hat and hat band. We told her people are going to say Daw Aung San Suu Kyi is VERY fair! Video and cameramen in another boat circled us to get her picture and their jaws dropped when they encountered Ma Ma, face covered!”
Next day they again embarked on the lake.
2/15/1989: sea-green jacket and Arakanese longyi same color. Left Inlay early morning. Just as boat leaving, U Thuriya marched out to supply us with blankets. Ma Ma slept for a while in boat, on and under pile of blankets. Nyaung Shwe NLD people upset because we didn’t spend night there. Blamed boys of NLD Inlay for it. Ma Ma explained at length, several times, how it had been fixed in Rangoon by Electoral Commission. This is the sort of thing that annoys her about thick skulls.
After driving for a couple of hours through the gentle, pastoral, almost European countryside, its Asian setting only betrayed by the broad-brimmed hats of the farmers, they arrived at Pindaya, famous for its limestone caves chock-full of Buddha images. “Then to Pindaya cave pagoda . . . stiff climb, all of us except Ma Ma puffing. Cool, beautiful, eerie place. On to Ywet-hla to put up NLD sign. Then to Aungban for overnight stop. Discussions till late. Receive pamphlet denouncing Ma Ma for not being agreeable to armed movement, possibly produced by group in Taunggyi.”
That night they stayed in a big wooden house, with what Ma Thanegi describes as “a funny loo—two people can sit facing each other, chatting.
“Bedtime remark: Laughing, Suu said, ‘Everyone is attacking me! Whatever possessed me to get involved in all this? When I could have stayed peacefully in Oxford!’”
*
2/16/1989: Red Arakanese longyi; same color jacket. Red flowers in hair. Left Aungban at 7:00 AM. Lunch at Hpe-khon, where we were met by two bands, one of them “western-style” with lovely flutes and drums. Band played “Hail to the Chief” with Ma Ma in step behind them, having to walk slow and looking bashful, hands behind her back, growing red in the face.
Gave us Kaung-ye (rice wine) to drink . . . sweet and cool and not strong. In all three villages met by flute and drum bands. One man shouted, “May you become president!” Ma Ma forced to step out of car to walk through crowds which included Padaung women [the so-called “giraffe women” who wear numerous brass rings around their necks]. Two of them, old ladies in traditional dress, separately handed Ma Ma five kyat notes! One of them touched the badge of one of our boys with a picture of Bogyoke on it, and said “This our father.” The boy nearly cried he was so touched, said he came out in goose pimples.
Now they were on the homeward stretch, heading south in Kayah state—called Karen state until the regime changed the name—on the road to Rangoon. Ma Thanegi was showing signs of losing patience with the proceedings. “Overnight stop at Loikaw. Got there late afternoon. Meetings held at separate places because two NLD groups in heated rivalry. Meals at separate places; put up at neutral house. A lot of bloody fuss and bloody long-winded meetings.”
But there were compensations: “House very nice, clean loo. Ma Ma said I can write loo guide for Burma . . .
“Ma Ma received Kayah style dress, she was feeling silly about all the fancy dress she was expected to wear. I said, since she’d worn Shan national costume it was only fair to wear the others or else they will all be screaming. Told her let’s hope she won’t receive Naga dress . . .” In a note for Michael Aris, Ma Thanegi wrote, “I hope you know what it’s like, Dr. M . . .” Traditionally the women of the Naga tribes on Burma’s north-western border went bare-breasted.
Ma Thanegi recorded another of Suu’s jocular indications that the controversies into which she was being sucked were getting on her nerves. “Ma Ma said sometimes when everyone is attacking her she would like to have a tantrum like a child and scream ‘It’s not fair, it’s not fair!’ . . .”
It was the penultimate day of the journey, and Ma Thanegi allowed herself to kick back a little, to Suu’s consternation.
2/17/1989: Dark olive green Arakanese longyi and same color jacket. Left early for Faruso, Dimawso. Talks. Wild greetings at Dimawso in colorful traditional dresses, bands, dances etc. One group of men wearing black shorts with colored woolly pieces and pom-poms and tiny white buttons all over them. I told Ma Ma I am going to get one for Dr. M and she giggled . . . said March 27 his birthday. Lunch at Dimawso, in old chapel. Band played Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer while we were having lunch. I had sampled Kaung-ye rice wine while she was talking to crowds and was nearly dead drunk only nobody noticed. Thanks to father’s training I could handle liquor—father drank like fish.
I warned Ma Ma during lunch not to touch Kaung Ye and why.
It was not a warning that Suu was likely to require—she had not touched alcohol since experimentally sampling sherry with Indian friends in the ladies’ loo of Oxford’s Bodleian Library, more than twenty years before.4 “She was startled and asked me why I had drunk so much. I said only half a glass. Learnt later it was three-year-old rice wine. If it were any older I’d be under table, father’s training or not.”
The bodyguards, too, were starting to relax. “Boys very interested in traditional dress, esp. that of the Padaung women, and I’m afraid they asked point-blank how necks were washed.5 (Strips of straw inserted under brass rings and pulled to and fro.) I dared not ask them what else they asked. . . . Got back to Loikaw . . . huge Chinese dinner. Same dishes for boys, too: I checked. In some places ‘top’ table dishes better than other tables. Boys ate like horses. Ma Ma ate more than usual and threw up twice during meetings afterwards. She said wryly, ‘everything’s gone.’” She had caved in to the pleas that she wear tribal dress. “She wore Kayah longyi and big Kayah shawl to dinner.”
*
February 18: Left Loikaw early, 7 AM. Blue checked longyi, blue jacket, red sweater. She had rice gruel for breakfast. Speech at Newma monastery. Said she would love some strawberries but we couldn’t get any so we will do so in Rangoon.
Lunch at Kalaw. Trip uneventful to Bawbye. Lovely guavas: Ma Ma said normally she doesn’t like guavas but these were huge sweet and crisp. On the way from Bawbye to Kalaw I had eaten a whole guava, a huge one, much to everyone’s astonishment, but I think with all the slices Ma Ma ate would be more than one.
The Irrawaddy Delta, which they had already visited, was to be the greatest source of tension during the campaign, and some of the party’s members there had already been jailed. But while they were on the road heading home, good news arrived. “We had news that the Irrawaddy Division people have been released. They are out on bail. Much rejoicing.” At Bawbye, the army reacted to their arrival by extending the curfew, so the students in the party felt they had to challenge it, “strolling and talking loudly in front of SLORC’s office until 9:55.
“Nice dinner. Ma Ma had double bed to herself with shocking pink lacy mosquito net complete with lacy ribbons.” It was the sort of romantic mosquito net targeted at newly married couples. Neither of them took a fancy to it. “I said I would be damned if I would marry any man who supplied me with something like this, I would have to burn it. Ma Ma, lying flat on the bed, said that if she were the bride she would be asking what she had done to deserve it . . .
“February 19: Pale grey outfit demure longyi. At end of long day Ma Ma said it was thoughtless of her to wear such a pale color on a long trip, said she looked dirty, actually she didn’t.”
At the town of Yaydashe they learned that some members of the former ruling party, now called the National Unity Party, had adopted the dirty tricks first uncovered on the eve of Suu’s Shwedagon speech, cranking out semi-pornographic libels against her. “Young NLD people in Yaydashe waylaid us and said they had important matters to discuss. Found out that it concerned dirty anti-Ma Ma propaganda leaflets distributed by the NUP—the people responsible had been caught red-handed and would be prosecuted the next day.”
Ma Thanegi recorded, “We all love Yaydashe NLD young people, no fuss no flowers no cameras.” She was in such a good mood that she felt moved to help one of Suu’s elderly admirers.
One photographer in his late-70s seemed like a gay old dog, he wanted Ma Ma’s photo so I told him to lie in wait and ambush her when she came up. Told me proudly that he had asked her to look this way and she did. He dragged me off to his house opposite NLD office to show me a framed photo of Ma Ma he’d taken during our first trip up country. Caption said, Aung San Suu Kyi, lady builder of democratic nation, daughter of Aung San, architect of Burma. Held my arm in vice-like grip until I had admired the whole effect profusely enough for his satisfaction.
As they neared Rangoon, the pressure of both popular expectation and official hostility began to rise again. The town of Dukgo gave them a reception to remember.
Wonderful sight at Dukgo: As we entered the town the local NLD had issued red NLD caps and we marched in singing a democratic song which was also blared out from one car. We pushed in front of the MI’s videos and still cameras. Ma Ma had been saying for days how she was on the brink of losing her voice but it came on full, clear and strong as she started to talk at the NLD office, amplified out into the road, and she sounded darn mad.
While Ma Ma was talking, people crept up to listen at the side of the road. Police and soldiers told them to get back but we told them to come up and listen. Planned for Ma Ma to walk to jail to visit prisoners but when she came out of the NLD office such a large crowd followed her that we were afraid the police—who hurried to the police station and closed the gates—would say we were invading it and shoot us down. So many kids and women in the crowd that we decided just to pass the police station and jail by.
We walked out of town, crowds following, and I was afraid we would be walking all the way home. But at last, with the last goodbye, Ma Ma got into the car.
Had engine trouble all the way: water pipe broke late afternoon. Stopped for a while at Jundasar at a rice mill. Also we had to stop near a stream just before Dai-oo. Large pack of stray of dogs—one of the boys shouted at them about 2/88, SLORC’s rule banning groups of more than five gathering together . . .
It was their longest and most draining—yet exhilarating—trip to date, lasting ten days and covering over 1,200 miles, and it was nearly over.
Ma Ma sat in car and asked if I didn’t feel a sense of unreality about all we are doing. I said, dealing with stupid people can get us caught up in weeks of stupidity, no wonder it makes us all feel weird . . .
Got home very late about 8:30. Told Ma Ma how I had always hated to travel in crowds and never did so and now I am traveling with a circus, lots of monkeys. Ma Ma said also a few elephants, because some of the boys are really large.
Back in University Avenue at last, Suu “played piano a bit. No bath. Said she must tune piano and play again. Bedtime remark: If my feet are dirty, they’re dirty, so what? Said that now she was back in Rangoon she would rest. I very much doubt it, and told her so.”