A Tea Shop in Rangoon
June 1988
The atmosphere in the city crackled with excitement, buzzing with gossip and the chatter of a new beginning in the country. U Tin Nu, who owned the little tea shop by the Shwedagon Pagoda, felt a surge of excitement coursing through his veins that morning as he opened his shop. Curious of the lively and fearless spirit that was dominant in the city—a mood he had not seen in Rangoon for a long time—he had passed by a meeting held by Aung San’s daughter the previous night, and had felt the luminous charge sparkling in the crowd, infecting him.
The promise of change was intoxicating, but soon, as the morning advanced, he suppressed the swelling hope in him for fear of disappointment. The silence of the authorities had troubled him, for the twenty-six years of his experience of the Revolutionary Council and Burmese Socialist Party since 1962 told him that it was uncharacteristic. He was certain that the regime was planning a counter-strike, and feared that when it came it would be ugly and bloody.
‘Good morning, sir,’ greeted a group of youths and maidens, entering his shop for their morning tea, holding in their hands mounds of paper and rolls of cloth inscribed with paint, which U Tin Nu suspected to be banners. His worry that ‘Sanda Win’ was turning from an inconspicuous tea shop to a popular hub for dissident students was growing by the day, yet he had no resentment for them.
‘Good morning, children,’ he replied. ‘Tea? Before you start your work for the day?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ acknowledged the students. ‘We have a very busy day today.’
‘Oh. How come?’ enquired the tea-shop owner.
‘There’s going to be a very big meeting, the biggest yet,’ answered a student. ‘Tomorrow.’
‘Aung San Suu Kyi?’ asked U Tin Nu.
‘Yes,’ came the enthusiastic reply. ‘Have you been to one of the meetings?’
‘Eh…eh….Yes, last night,’ said U Tin Nu.
‘Wasn’t it good…? I mean, don’t you believe in her?’ asked a student with keen anticipation.
‘Oh….I’m an old man now with a few more years to live,’ replied U Tin Nu evasively, concealing his scepticism about the success of the movement. The youngsters sitting in his shop had a lot more to learn of their own government, he lamented.
‘She has tremendous courage, sir,’ stated a maiden.
‘Yes….Yes…remarkable,’ endorsed U Tin Nu. The courage of Aung San Suu Kyi had stupefied him, and he wondered how this diminutive woman expected to loosen the regime’s grip on the nation.
‘She’s going to bring back democracy in our country,’ asserted a youth.
‘Have you had any clashes with soldiers?’ enquired U Tin Nu after a pensive moment.
‘No, but they’re always there, always present, reminding us that we can’t ignore them,’ the maiden stated and laughed.
‘Yes, yes…they are always,’ U Tin Nu agreed with a chill. It was in this very tea shop that a few months ago, a student brawl over some audio tape being played led to the shooting and killing of one student by the heavily armed riot police. U Tin Nu was deeply aware of the growing resentment towards military rule, further exacerbated by economic mismanagement and corruption.
‘I’m surprised they haven’t moved on this one yet,’ remarked U Tin Nu, meaning the movement.
‘That’s no surprise now,’ answered a student. ‘It’s Aung San Suu Kyi, sir. That’s the reason. They can’t forget who her father was.’
‘That is probably true,’ agreed U Tin Nu and asked, pointing to the bundle of papers the students were carrying, ‘What are those?’
‘They’re pamphlets for distribution, sir,’ answered the maiden who had spoken earlier. ‘They’re messages of Aung San Suu Kyi to the people.’
‘Oh, I see,’ responded U Tin Nu.
‘And these are banners, sir,’ said a student proudly. ‘See, we have our own party emblem now.’ The student unfurled the banner excitedly for U Tin Nu, displaying a symbol. It was a peacock. Not the traditional bluish green of the graceful bird, but a red militant peacock entering a fray and ready for battle with the generals. The cry of the peacock, thought U Tin Nu, symbolized the cry for liberty taken up by a people awakened with this new hope, and captivated by the belief that the aura of Aung San would protect and deliver to his daughter their long-lost freedom.
‘God go with you, my children,’ he said as the group of students left the tea shop, and wondered whether her aura would protect them when she defied the generals of Rangoon to flashpoint.
‘Will she do it?’ he asked himself, cleaning the table the students had vacated, not certain that she would ultimately defy the army.
She did. Incredibly, she did.