Dinyar Godrej of New Internationalist on the trials endured by political prisoners in Burma – and their continuing courage.

Daw Aung San Suu Kyi has moved from being held captive in her own home to incarceration in Burma’s most notorious prison (Rangoon’s Insein prison). Her ‘offence’ was receiving an unexpected visitor who evaded security and thus endangered her. Media attention has returned to Burma as it periodically does whenever there is an ‘incident’. One does not know what the kangaroo court assembled within the prison to try her will decide, but one can only hope that it will be a return to home imprisonment rather than time in the hellhole prisons the regime likes to portray as models of efficiency where prisoners undergo rehabilitation and moral uplift. To hope for a better outcome is the luxury of dreaming.

Political prisoners in Burma get the worst treatment in the jails and upon their release often find their friends too frightened to renew their acquaintance. Currently there are an estimated 2,155 political prisoners in Burma and they languish without much attention from the outside world.

When I was preparing the Burma Burma edition of New Internationalist last year, I interviewed several political prisoners among the exile Burmese community. One of them was Bo Kyi, one of the founders of the Thailand-based Assistance Association for Political Prisoners. Here is an extract from the article I wrote:

‘I salute those democracy activists who are in prison,’ say Bo Kyi, ‘those who still continue inside Burma. It is incredible, they know they will be arrested, they know they will be tortured, but they still carry on. It means we have no other way, we have to support them. If you have respect for democracy or human rights.’

That sense of compulsion has got to be what drives political activists in a country where mere disagreement with the authorities is viewed as treason. Activists like Min Ko Naing, the chair of the banned All Burma Federation of Student Unions, who spent nearly 16 years in solitary confinement. This meant sleeping on concrete floors with no bedding and receiving starvation rations (mainly gluey rice). Excrement piles up in a corner on the cell floor or, if the prisoner is lucky, in a small pot. Maggots abound. Punishment iron shackles must be worn. These weigh nearly six kilos and have a bar that keeps the feet permanently astride.

It was from such conditions that Min Ko Naing refused an offer made by a US State Department official to relocate to America. Upon his release he took up political activity again, for which further incarceration followed. In another brief period on the outside (release can scarcely be called freedom in Burma), he became one of the guiding spirits of the demonstrations in August 2007. He is back behind bars.

Little wonder that Bo Kyi feels indebted to such stalwarts. We meet in the dusty and, to all appearances, sleepy border town of Mae Sot in Thailand, where Bo Kyi and other former Burmese political prisoners started the Assistance Association for Political Prisoners (AAPP).

Bo Kyi is soft-spoken, composed, diligent in putting down markers of date and place, careful that the right details are provided – it’s a manner, instantly recognizable by journalists, common to many people who have suffered the worst that human depravity can throw at them. It could be mistaken for emotional numbness, but how else to recount horror without reliving it?

Bo Kyi spent two spells in prison totaling seven years and three months, beginning in March 1990, for student union activity, organizing demonstrations and refusing to become an informer for Military Intelligence (MI).

‘As soon as I was arrested I was taken to the interrogation centre. During the interrogation, for the first 36 hours I was not allowed to eat or drink. They asked questions. One group came in and asked questions very softly. Another group came, they asked questions with violent means – beating, kicking. They didn’t allow me to rest. For four days I was blindfolded and didn’t see daylight.’ Hooding is a common torture tool, depriving the prisoner of visual information of what might be coming next.

‘After 36 hours they provided a very small cup of water in the morning, then in the evening another small cup. After four days I was very thirsty, but when I asked for water they said no. When I was allowed to go to the toilet, I drank water out of the lavatory. They created such situations intentionally – forcing me to drink for my survival. During those four days I was forced to stand. If I fell down they’d pull me like this [demonstrates being yanked up by the temples]. When, after eight days, I was told I would be sent to Insein prison, I was really happy, because I thought prison must be better than the interrogation centre.’

However, the harsh conditions of Burmese prisons easily qualify as torture. In a notorious incident, pigs were beaten outside Insein prison to drown out the cries of prisoners being beaten within.

‘I was placed in a tiny cell – 9 by 12 feet. I had to stay in it for 23 hours and 40 minutes, with only 20 minutes to go outside for bathing [water for which is limited to a few cupfuls].

‘One year later I was mixed with criminal prisoners, some of whom didn’t respect us political prisoners. It was part of the divide-and-rule policy of the prison authorities. Prison warders want to get higher so they can make more money for their own survival. I was under constant surveillance because prison authorities have to report to Military Intelligence.

‘During my second term the prison authorities accused me of trying to organize a demonstration in prison. Really I had no intention, but they accused me and asked me questions, beating all the time. I was beaten at least 200 times until I lost consciousness. Then I was shackled and forced to sleep on a concrete floor. For two weeks I was beaten every day. I could not sleep on my back [due to injuries], I had to sleep lying face down. Another time I was punished because they had found 500 kyats [currently worth 45 cents] and a piece of paper in my room. Money and writing paper are forbidden in prison. ‘Insein prison has a population of 10,000; its capacity is 4,000. Prisoners have to sleep, one behind another on their sides. The weather is hot – how can you sleep?’ Infested by mosquitoes, malaria stalks the wards. Tuberculosis, HIV/AIDS, diarrhoeal and skin diseases are common.

‘There are no preventive measures or medicines. Because of complaints, prison doctors use disposable syringes for political prisoners. But we have to buy them ourselves, otherwise, no way. As for criminal prisoners, they just use the same syringe over and over. If you want to see the medic your family have to pay a bribe. If you want proper treatment, it will take another bribe. If your family is poor there is a 70-per-cent chance you will die in prison.’

Read the full article here.