Use your own to stop Burmese Dictators in their tracks. Deny them the foreign investment they use to buy guns and bullets. Find out how this can be done.

Copy/Paste or Drag/Drop

Link your web pages to it and let's mobilize.

On the 16th September 1999 I was sentenced to seven years with hard labour under section 5j of the 1950 Emergency Act for ‘undermining the stability of the state’. My ‘crime’ was to sing two Burmese pro-democracy songs, show two banners, and chant several pro-democracy slogans. I was tried in Insein township court (attached to Insein Jail), a court that has never acquitted a defendant. My solo-demonstration and detention took place on 7th September, my interrogation on the 7th and 8th of September.

I was transferred to Insein Jail on the morning of the 9th September 1999. I was held for five days without being told whether I was to be charged. After I had been informed of my under trial status, no-one would explain the legal procedures to me, despite my repeated requests. I had to operate in a complete legal void. In the words of James Mawdsley, the 26-year-old British activist, currently serving a 17-year sentence for similar non-violent protests, “In Burma the police do not make arrests, they abduct people…. They did not understand the concept of due legal process.”

Although the prison authorities took great care to hide the worst atrocities of Insein Jail from me, I still witnessed appalling treatment of the criminal prisoners amongst whom I was kept, including the daily shovelling out of human excrement by hand (see 3.1) and the serious under provision of water and unnecessary strict controls over washing (see 3.4). I also saw women in the adjacent multiple occupancy cell in incredibly cramped conditions, sleeping in spaces of approximately 0.5 m width (see 3.2). The compound in which I lived was seriously overcrowded, and during my two months incarceration several hundred new inmates arrived. I witnessed several beatings (see 3.3) and saw many children in the jail (see 3.5). I am probably the only political prisoner in Burma that has experienced no physical torture or beatings either in jail or under interrogation, although I was threatened with violence (see 4.2).

Despite my privileged conditions and treatment I was still subject to psychological torment, specifically intense continuous surveillance by the wardens (see 4.7) and had to perform the humiliating and dehumanising ‘poun san’ (see 3.3) as all other prisoners. Unlike the criminal prisoners in my compound I had to wear a hood whenever I was moved around the jail so as not to see the other prisoners, nor they see me.

What follows is a description of my experiences and what I witnessed in the jail. Held in solitary confinement I was not allowed to speak to the other prisoners, and kept amongst the criminals, I did not witness the plight of the Burmese political prisoners. Despite this, even my highly controlled experience of Insein Jail reveals some of the awful and dehumanising practices inflicted on inmates in Burma.

Please read the report by Ko Aung, a Burmese political prisoner who served 5 years and 7 months of his 7-year sentence in Insein Jail, and suffered horrific human rights abuses at the hands of his interrogators and wardens. Ko Aung was a leading figure in the All Burma Federation of Students Unions (ABSFU) in charge of security and discipline.

One major responsibility he held was to take control of arms and munitions captured by the student movement, to ensure that all protest remained non-violent. He was in the process of discharging this duty when he was captured near Pegu in 1988. He spent 6 months in interrogation centres around the country, where he was beaten and cruelly tortured. His account gives a fuller view of the treatment of Burmese political prisoners who are not subject to intense international media and diplomatic scrutiny. 

To the thousands of people who wrote letters, sent petitions, said prayers, put up posters and the many other activities that went on around the UK and beyond, I am truly honoured and am deeply indebted to you all. A special thank you to the Jewish Community of the UK for all your efforts. There are many Burmese people and activists who have helped me get through the difficult process of re-adjusting to the UK. Especially I would like to thank Ko Aung, Zar Ni, Moe Thee Zun, Min Zin, Maung Maung Than, Jamie Parker and Banyar Naing who have been a great support. My special thanks to the Kayah people. It was they who gave me my political education on the horrors of Burma’s military dictatorship, and it was their bravery and experience of on-going genocide at the hands of the junta that gave me the strength to make my solidarity action.

I told and re-told their horror stories to my interrogators. I want to dedicate this report to the ethnic minorities of Burma and the many political prisoners in Burma’s notorious jails, particularly Min Ko Naing, who has now suffered twelve long years in solitary confinement to punish his non-violent quest for democracy. We will never forget you, and we will fight on until you, and all the ethnic groups of Burma are free. A huge message of support goes to James Mawdsley and his family. James is serving a seventeen-year sentence for similar non-violent pro-democracy activity. James is an incredibly brave young man who has repeatedly risked his life and freedom for the people of Burma.

People will continue to violate these unconstitutional laws of Burma until and unless democracy is restored and human rights are recognised. And let’s not forget the junta themselves, whose total paranoia and lack of concern for human rights led them to hand down the outrageous sentence of seven years for singing pro-democracy songs. The world is much wiser about human rights violations in Burma for this verdict. 

From approximately 8.00 to 12.00 and 14.00 to 17.00 some women had work tasks in the prison yard. These included cleaning out the latrines, scrubbing the concrete drain, sweeping the dirt and re-building the edges of the path. Women had to scoop out the excrement from the latrines by hand, with plastic bags on their hands for protection, and carry the excrement in buckets to another part of the prison (one bucket supported on a pole between two prisoners.)

The stench from a distance was disgusting; to have to reach down into the latrines to scoop out the excrement must be revolting. I never saw these, or the other women who had been working in the yard, being able to wash after their chores. I was told that there is an open area in the jail where all the excrement is dumped. This is clearly a serious health risk as disease could spread easily to the prisoners from such an open sewer.

I have since heard that this excrement is used as fertilizer on the vegetable patches that feed the prisoners. This again carries a serious health risk, and is well known to cause widespread dysentery among the inmates. The prison yard has a concrete drain running through it, and a concrete path on a raised dirt platform. There are several open spaces and a wash tank. Prisoners had small pieces of plastic bags with which to scrub the concrete drain, and would scoop dirt and stones out by hand. Other prisoners who were re-building the path edges then took the dirt.

Since it was the rainy season, the earth was washed away every day leaving small ravines where it was eroded. It was a daily chore to replace this dirt by hand and smack and pat it to make it stay, and rub it with mud to give it a neat finish. Other prisoners painstakingly swept the open spaces using little bundles of bamboo strips as brushes. It was a continuous cycle of dirt being washed by rain from the path edging to the flat areas into the drainage ditch, and then being carried back up to the path edging again.

It was demoralizing even to watch the women perform such meaningless daily tasks, which involved considerable energy, and would be destroyed as soon as the rain began again. Other prisoners work on vegetable patches using their bare hands to dig the earth (I did see one hoe on one occasion.) There are many vegetable patches in our compound. Between the two sets of prison walls there are also many vegetable patches that many prisoners are forced to work on daily. These prisoners have to do so while chained together at the ankle. Prisoners are not provided with protection from the sun or the rain, despite the display box at the jail entrance showing hats and macs and other items supposedly distributed to prisoners. Occasionally the women whitewashed the walls. Some had paintbrushes; others used bits of plastic bags, and others their bare hands.

Prior to the International Committee for the Red Cross (ICRC) visit a number of prisoners whitewashed my cell. This involved climbing on a dangerously unstable ladder, putting them at considerable risk. Some prisoners make lace for clothing or decoration. I saw one prisoner doing this in the evening after we had all been locked up. These items are sold and the proceeds go to the jail.

Beside my cell was a large multiple occupancy cells of approximately 30m long and 10m wide holding some 160 women and children. At night they slept in 4 long rows with about half a metre width space in which to sleep. The fluorescent strip lights were on all night. There was a ceiling of barbed wire above them.

When the Director General of the Prison Service came to visit the jail the women had to climb onto the beams and sweep the cobwebs from the barbed wire. It was terribly dangerous.

From 21.00 to 04.45 a quarter hourly bell is rung and a prisoner from each multiple occupancy cell must shout out that everything is all right in their cell. The children in the multiple occupancy cell beside me often woke and cried as a result.

At 04.45 the women were woken up and would do their prayers, after which they had to remain in silence for about an hour before the cell was unlocked. It seemed totally unnecessary to wake them so early for no apparent reason. The prisoners are kept indoors for the hottest part of the day, and all roofs that I could see (except for the clinic) were made of corrugated iron. The windows of the multiple occupancy cell on the second floor above me were blocked up with corrugated iron, leaving a small half metre gap open at the top. The upper floor of another cellblock beyond a high wall had not only a corrugated iron roof but had the windows totally closed by corrugated iron. Even in the rainy season the midday heat was intense, temperatures must soar in these cells in the hot season.

As I came to recognise the women from the multiple occupancy cells above and beside me I realised just how little time they spend outdoors. Many women didn’t have work details as listed under Women’s Work (see 3.1) so appear to leave their cell only to wash. Since my release I heard from a military source of other inmates being so cramped in their cell that during the night, if they wanted to turn over, the whole row of 10 prisoners had to turn in unison.

Among the women there is a very clear division between higher-ranking prisoners and ordinary prisoners. Although I was not privy to it, the bribing of wardens and deliberate intimidation of other prisoners to achieve this higher rank is well documented.

Higher rank prisoners act as servants to the wardens, with privileged relationships with them, and act as supervisors over the ordinary prisoners. The higher rank prisoners cook the wardens’ food, make their beds, wash their clothes and assist the wardens in bathing. The ordinary prisoners scuttle about in fear whenever the wardens come near, they don’t chat with the wardens as the higher rank prisoners do.

All prisoners must do ‘poun san’, wherever they are, whenever a warden ranking one star or higher enters or moves through the yard. ‘Poun san’ is a position marking inferiority and obedience, and, if you are out in the yard, you must squat down with arms outstretched on the knees, head down, eyes to the floor. If you are in your cell you must perform sitting ‘poun san’, with crossed legs, arms outstretched, hands on knees, head and eyes down. Standing ‘poun san’, particularly for when prisoners walk past wardens, means folding arms over the waist, head and eyes down, and usually bending the back stooping forwards. There is a fourth position in which prisoners are beaten, standing on tip toes, knees bent, body doubled over forwards with hands on knees, head and eyes down.

The wardens of our yard often played a joke on an elder warden who was a rank below one star, calling ‘poun san’ for her when she moved about the yard, which meant the prisoners had to squat in obedience. ‘Poun san’ itself is humiliating and dehumanising, especially when performed merely for the amusement of the wardens. The wardens often shouted at the ordinary prisoners.

I saw two ordinary prisoners getting beaten, one by a higher rank prisoner and the other by a warden, by hitting on the back with a hand or a stick. I heard three other prisoners being punished, one of which was deliberately moved out of my view. Occasionally arguments broke out among the ordinary prisoners. The wardens were slow to respond. The wardens often screamed at the ordinary prisoners while they were out working in the yard. The prisoners in the multiple occupancy cells beside me were frequently shouted at for not being silent between 12.00 and 14.00 when they were supposed to sleep. Eventually the jail supervisor (Lu Hla) changed their washing and eating timetable as a punishment. 

Higher rank prisoners pack the ordinary prisoners tightly around the wash tank, making them stand sideways on, approximately 20 women at a time around a 2.5m by 1.5m tank set against the wall. The higher rank prisoner then calls ‘dip’ and ‘pour’, which the women must do in unison. They get 3 dips with their small plastic bowls; then are left for approximately one minute to scrub up.

Few had soap; none had adequate time to wash before the higher rank prisoner called the second set of dip and pour, normally seven dips. For most women washing meant merely getting wet, and quickly rubbing one or two limbs with the wet tamay they were wearing. Most women did not have the time or space to wash their clothes. Of those that did manage to squeeze onto the concrete area surrounding the wash tank after their own bathing session, few had clothes soap.

The strict control over water and time at the tank meant that their tamays would get wet while they were bathing themselves, but that was the extent of clothes washing for the majority of prisoners. These stringent controls over washing not only create seriously unhygienic conditions, many women having serious skin conditions (see 3.6) but also is terribly demoralising. When living a life without the ability to make any choice, to have control exerted over routine tasks such as washing is quite soul destroying.

One warden told me that many women in the adjacent multiple occupancy cell didn’t want to wash and she had to ‘chase’ them out to do so. I find this unbelievable, but if it is true, it must be a result of women resenting the control over their washing. Most ordinary prisoners anxiously try to clean their groin through their tamay while pouring water on themselves; it appears that this lack of adequate washing is causing genital irritation.

The higher rank prisoners do not have such tight control over the amount of water they use or how long they take to wash. However the wardens still shout at them to hurry up, and would not allow them to wash during my outside walking time. The first two groups of women to wash in the morning in our compound did so in silence and were less tightly packed in. Their morning wash was the only time I saw them in the yard. I presumed they must be other political prisoners. There were about 16 of them washing in my compound.

Resolving the problem is a cheap and easy task as there is ample space for a second tank to be built that could be filled by the same pump as the current tank. Moreover the women were only able to wash during a few hours in the day, it would cost nothing to extend the timetabling of the women’s wash time so they did not have to rush, and would cost almost nothing to let them use more water. With more water the prisoners could wash more satisfactorily, and avoid the skin infections from which so many suffer. I was aware of a water tank in each of the three yards I was walked, hooded, through. The water from each was used for both washing and drinking. Sometimes the women carried cooked rice around the yard in their plastic bowls so the same scoops that were being used for washing and eating were being dipped in the drinking water supply, possibly contaminating it.

Many women have young children with them, the oldest child I saw being about five years old. I saw one woman with both a baby and a toddler. Two or three babies are born each week in the prison. The midwife is a prisoner herself. Presumably many of the children in the jail have never seen outside the jail. The children have no toys or play area. As prisoners cannot have books, neither can the children. There is no provision for teaching the children.

The children stay with their mothers at all times, and so spend most of their time indoors. I never saw children playing in the yard area, I generally only saw them at the wash tank, so it appears that mothers and children only leave their multiple occupancy cell for washing. During the ‘VIP’ visits to our compound and at other ‘silent times’ (i.e. after morning prayers, during the night and in the midday rest period) the children also had to be silent. Sometimes we had to wait in silence for an hour or so for an impending ‘VIP’ visit. Such strict discipline cannot help a child’s development.

I often saw women being carried to the clinic who had collapsed. There were seven emaciated women that struggled daily to walk from the clinic to the washing area. They had great difficulty to climb just the one step en route. Other women had serious skin conditions visible on their legs, many with severe scarring. From my enforced distance I observed large scabs and scars on the visible parts of their legs and feet (from knee downwards.) No doubt this resulted from their inability to wash properly.

The doctor paid a cursory visit to the women’s clinic beside my cell twice a day. He never stayed more than a few minutes. There were two nurses employed by the jail, although most of the medical assistance came from the prisoner nurse. The other prisoners had no toilet paper, and no water pots next to the latrines; I do not know how they managed to clean themselves after defecating. I have heard about prisoners having to use bits of bamboo. I also cannot work out how the women coped with menstruation, as the jail didn’t appear to provide any sanitary appliances, and none of the ordinary prisoners wore underpants.

There was a small kitchen in the clinic and here the cats were fed off the same plates as the prisoners. The risk of the transfer of toxoplasmosis to pregnant women is great and can cause serious damage to unborn children. Ordinary prisoners are not allowed to wear slippers or shoes at all, so remain barefoot the entire time they are in jail. 

When I arrived at the jail, and the times that I was taken out to go to and from the courtroom, I saw a van parked at the gate with small barred windows near the roof. I could see many hands from people inside the vans holding the bars. On the day of my trial this van remained, parked outside the gates, full of prisoners, for most of the day, in intense heat.

The children and those in the clinic were served rice gruel in the morning, in addition to the standard two subsequent meals of boiled rice and ‘hin yea’ a watery soup of hot water with a little fish paste and unwashed vegetables and chilli (and the occasional bit of mud). These vegetables are grown in the prison where they have human excrement spread on them as fertilizer. I couldn’t believe the clumps of earth really were ‘mud’ as they were so large, and wondered if they were in fact some kind of root vegetable, so I tried to eat one, and found out that it really was ‘mud’ or maybe even human faeces.

Infrequently the ‘hin yea’ had beans in it. I cannot be certain about what the other women ate because usually the oil drums containing their food went by without me being able to see in. I saw the women in clinic being given boiled eggs occasionally. One time I was being taken to the visit room and saw what looked like a vegetable curry in the drums. The rice is of very low quality. The two meals are served unnecessarily close: the first at about 08.00, and the second at about 14.00. Hence there is a long gap from 14.00 to 08.00 without food. Visitors bring food to prisoners. 

During my two-day interrogation I was repeatedly told that I hadn’t been arrested, that I was simply being held for questioning and would shortly be released. People repeatedly made excuses not to call the British Embassy. The interrogation lasted late into the night of the 7th September, and at 00.45 I refused to answer any more questions although I was not left alone until 01.40.

I was told I could sleep sitting in my chair with my head on the desk. I refused and lay on the table instead. People continued to deliberately clatter around me throughout the night, so I could not sleep at all. No food was provided. At 05.45 their questions began again. I was eventually fed after 09.00 at another site. However as soon as I was given the food the interrogation began again so I couldn’t eat.

The interrogation lasted until I agreed to write a statement answering specific questions, after which they assured me they would call the Embassy. However, they did not call the Embassy as promised. I was repeatedly asked about the activities of Ko Aung with whom I work in the UK, and about his organisation, Democratic Burmese Students Organisation (DBSO). They wanted to know what Ko Aung and I had been working on, they asked for the address of DBSO, and who else worked in DBSO. I was shown a very recent photo taken through the windows of the Burmese Embassy here in Charles Street, London. The photo was of demonstrators outside the Embassy. They pointed to Ko Aung in the photo and asked me to identify him.

I was also asked to identify the other people in the photo. The photo was not more than a month old, as the demonstrators had a flag that I had made shortly before leaving the UK. I refused to identify anyone. I was repeatedly asked if Ko Aung was my boyfriend.

On the second day of my interrogation one interrogator sat in front of me asking about my and Ko Aung’s relationship, over and over and over. I was also asked if I had met any members of his family, friends or colleagues in Burma. Since returning to the UK I have discovered that Ko Aung’s mother was interrogated for three hours following my arrest. No one would reveal their name or their department to me throughout the interrogation. I was moved to Insein Jail without being told where I was going or whether I was being charged.

This deliberate refusal to tell me what was happening continued throughout my incarceration, designed to confuse and demoralise me. Despite this, I was privileged. When Ko Aung was arrested in 1988 he spent 6 months in various interrogation centres where he was badly beaten and cruelly tortured. His interrogators put him in a pit with a rotting corpse for 6 days. They made him walk back and forth in front of caged birds that plucked flesh from his body until he bled profusely. Finally they stood him up to his neck in a pond of maggots from human excrement until he passed out. 

On arrival at the jail I was locked in a side room with several female wardens who rooted through my bag picking out items that would accompany me to my cell. One warden was irritated by my slowness in repacking my rucksack and aggressively rubbed my clothes in the dirt to annoy me. She then joked with the other wardens at how she’d got a knee injury by kneeing a prisoner in the groin, in order to intimidate me. Meanwhile approximately 40 prisoners, shackled to one another at the ankles were counted out of the main gate.

At almost every subsequent meeting in the rooms by the main gate I heard prisoners in chains being counted in and out of the gate. These prisoners are forced to labour on the many vegetable patches between the two main prison walls. The Chief Supervisor of the jail, Lu Hla came and shouted at me in Burmese, telling me to show him the sitting ‘poun san’ position. I refused, and he raised his hand to strike me, so I complied. He shouted at me again in Burmese to show him standing ‘poun san’. I told him in English that I didn’t understand Burmese, and he raised his hand to strike me once more, so I complied. Being a Western prisoner, under intense media and diplomatic scrutiny, meant that I escaped beatings and physical torture in interrogation and on entering the jail. I avoided the cruel and degrading jail instruction room where all new prisoners are sent for several days to teach them jail rules and break their morale, where they suffer frequent beatings and constant verbal abuse. In this jail instruction room prisoners have almost no access to washing water and are beaten repeatedly for no reason. The conditions are cramped and prisoners are packed in so tightly at night that it is impossible to sleep.

My first three days I spent in solitary confinement in a 2.5m square room with a toilet bucket, a water jug, a wooden platform and two blankets. The cell was very dark, my window to the world being a small hatch covered in wire mesh through which the guards peered in at me regularly. They kept the hatch closed; so only a crack of daylight trickled in. In the opposite wall was a window with curtains, opened from the other side, onto the guards’ office, so they could monitor my activities from both sides of my cell if they wished. This block was silent, I never heard any prisoners talking there. The bare light bulb stayed on continuously day and night.

Once a day I was taken out of the cell to wash hurriedly. Not only was the light dazzling but also my eyes had difficulty focusing on distant objects. Later I saw two women living in this cell. On Saturday 11th Sept (or Sunday 12th Sept) I was moved to a larger solitary cell (5m square) in a different compound. This cell had a bed with a decrepit mattress and bed bugs. I shared the cell with spiders, lizards and mosquitoes. Adjacent to it was a multiple occupancy cell (see 3.2) and a warden’s room, from which I was put under continuous surveillance.

I began my hunger strike at 04.00 on the 9th Sept, demanding consular access. I had been lied to repeatedly about when the Embassy would be called, and was desperate to ensure that the outside world knew about my detention. I was, at this time, still in the hands of my interrogators. Due to illness I hadn’t eaten on Monday 6th, and had barely eaten on the Tuesday and Wednesday before my arrest and under interrogation, so was already quite weak by the time my hunger strike began. The chief jail supervisors threatened to put a tube down my nose (Lu Hla) and to take away my water pot (Shwe Kyaw) if I didn’t eat. Lu Hla proudly told me that there are no hunger strikes at Insein jail, an obvious lie since I knew about Ko Aung’s hunger strike in 1990, when he and forty other strikers demanded better treatment for all prisoners.

They were, like all Burmese hunger strikers, put in the dog cells (six feet long) with 18 inch bars chained between their legs, forcing them into a continuous straddle, and beaten twice daily. The wardens smashed their water pots before their eyes to try to break their strike. After nine days, and close to death, they were forced to concede.

I ended my hunger strike after five days when the Vice Consul came to visit me in jail on Monday 13th September. I was very weak and dizzy when I moved. It was from the Vice Consul that I learnt that I was going to be charged and taken to court. This was seven days after my detention.

The court case was formally opened on Wednesday 15th, but adjourned until Thursday 16th to allow for my lawyer, who couldn’t be present on the 15th. The first I knew of the impending case was the moment at which I was collected from my cell to attend. I was given just five minutes with my lawyer in the courtroom before the case began, with a man from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs making notes on our discussion. The lawyer had no information on my case, and didn’t even know what they were charging me with. He had to piece together the details of the case and what he could do as the witnesses spoke.

The sentence had been decided before the case was opened, but the SPDC wanted to be seen to be following correct legal procedure so the day was filled with witnesses (for the prosecution), police and township officials’ reports. I was allowed to speak in my defence, but I cannot believe that what I had to say was of any concern to the judge. My lawyer managed to discover that a search warrant hadn’t been obtained for my hotel room, and that witnesses who had heard my pro-democracy songs and chants had not felt morally undermined by them, despite such claims by the prosecutor. The prosecutor closed with a statement that, at the very least, he himself felt morally undermined by my songs, despite not hearing them. A translator was made available to me from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MOFA) who roughly translated on request. This same translator was present at my second consular visit to report back to MOFA.

I worked hard to maintain my physical health with an intensive exercise regime that increased from just a few minutes of stretching a day while on hunger strike, to a full four hours exercise a day (two hours in the morning and two again in the afternoon). I took great care to wash my clothes well, and myself but still got a very itchy rash on my upper body that took two months to heal after my release. I also have a small growth on my lip that appeared while in jail. I suffered many mosquito and bed bug bites. While on hunger strike my physical health obviously deteriorated. By the time the Vice Consul visited me I was very weak and suffered considerable dizziness.

I lost perhaps ten kilos while in jail. The prison authorities were concerned about my low blood pressure and came to take this regularly, as well as to weigh me. I alternated between constipation and dysentery. Sometimes the dysentery was extreme. Presumably this was a result of the excrement being spread on the vegetable patches. Occasionally I got a temperature and the glands in my neck became swollen. The prison medical staff didn’t know how to examine my neck and couldn’t identify the problem, but I was fortunate that my mother, who is a General Practitioner, was able to treat me. I was given a boiled egg and additional plate of fried vegetables which were incredibly oily and salty as a supplement to the usual prison diet of rice and ‘hin yea’.

My relationships with the wardens were varied. There were three wardens directly responsible for me, and a supervisor to them (one star). The head of the female section came to check on me occasionally. Sometimes we got on well, at other times it was very strained. The language barrier meant all conversations were very basic. One warden was particularly generous in spending time helping me learn to read Burmese with my alphabet book. Another warden tried hard to make conversation with me. The other two did not engage with me and were uninterested in my state of being.

It is incredibly hard to live through just four women, particularly when their behaviour to me was at some times cruel, and at other times friendly. After witnessing beatings and the stealing of food from a prisoner I was left totally unable to relate to the wardens for long periods. The wardens sat in a room beside my cell and watched me continuously, even through the night, making detailed notes, in triplicate, of my every move.

This intense 24 hours surveillance was deeply distressing, and dehumanising especially when urinating and defecating. Sometimes wardens peered in at me when I was going to the toilet and called out asking if I was urinating or defecating so as to write it down. I was not allowed to empty my own toilet bucket, nor even carry it to the entrance to my cell when the unfortunate young prisoner came to empty it. I was deeply embarrassed at her having to perform such a task. She was sometimes asked to report back on whether I had defecated and if I had diarrhoea. This was very humiliating. The wardens stared at me when I ate, and would carefully note what I had eaten. I had to tell them when I ate anything other than what they supplied (i.e. if I ate a biscuit that I had been given previously). I was angered by this close monitoring of my eating, and I would have to position myself in such a way as not to look at the wardens while I was eating, yet allow them to see what I was eating otherwise they would continually interrupt me to inquire what I was eating. Meal times became a time fraught with stress. My weight was taken very regularly. The wardens were delighted when I gained weight.

On one occasion I appeared to gain and then suddenly loose three pounds (the scales were not very accurate.) One warden was annoyed, and complained that I did too much exercise. Notes were also made of how my command of the Burmese language was improving. They wrote down what lesson I was studying in my Burmese alphabet book, and when my other language books became available, notes were made of new words I acquired. I was afraid to ask for the pronunciation of ‘controversial’ words like ‘communism’ and ‘arrested’ and the wardens were obvious in noting when I practised such words. As a political prisoner I was not allowed to speak to any other prisoners at all (jail rule 809 subsection 7). Wardens carefully monitored this, so much so that when I was eventually allowed outside walking time other prisoners weren’t allowed to come anywhere near me, and many had to simply sit and wait for my outside exercise to finish before they could pass.

I felt awful that other prisoners were locked inside for me to have my outside time. The outside walking time was achieved through the International Committee for the Red Cross (see 4.8) I had a path of 11 paces long and two paces wide which I could walk up and down. I was later allowed a slightly wider area. The wardens closely monitored my outside walking time, one sat at the corner of my permitted area so that whether I walked clockwise or anticlockwise I would have to walk towards her. She stared sullenly at me throughout. It could have been thoughtlessness on her part, but I suspect it was a deliberate attempt to force me to make eye contact with her, intruding on the only time I could spend outside (other than for a brief wash). This same warden would stand very close to me when I was washing, her eyes fixed on me.

This intense & continuous presence while washing was most upsetting. Everyday when I washed I would ask her not to stand so close and stare. She would joke that I was shy, as if staring at me wash and defecate was acceptable and normal. On all but my final walk through the prison I had to wear a white hood so I couldn’t see the other prisoners or prison buildings. The wardens ‘joked’ that this was ‘Khin Khin’s hat’.

On my final journey through the jail I saw in the male section by the main gate a room of about four metres square with barbed wire walls packed with approximately eighty men crouching together. They were waiting for their work details. It was a shocking sight. They, too, were shocked to see me. I repeatedly asked for my books, particularly my phrasebook, as communicating was exceptionally difficult. No one explained whether I could have them or not. My books did not appear until after I had finished reading the state propaganda books that I was given. Strict controls were placed over my books, in that I could only have one book at a time although this was relaxed after my parents arrived.

This made learning very difficult, as the three books made available were interrelated: my Burmese to English dictionary, my English to Burmese dictionary, and my Burmese alphabet book. Moreover the phrasebook, which I reminded them was the most crucial of all my books, was held back for at least a further 2 weeks. When I read the wardens always wanted to know which book I was looking at so as to note it down in their records. Often the book I was reading would be requested from me ‘for a minute’ and would disappear for hours or even days. The books were an unusual privilege, as no prisoners are allowed books in Burmese jails, nor pens nor paper. Despite this, their obvious and deliberate exercising of control over my access to the books was designed to make me feel powerless. None of the wardens ever wanted to take the propaganda books from me. I jokingly commented that I knew when I had a ‘VIP’ visit, as the wardens would swap their flip-flops for their shoes and socks, which they kept outside my room. Immediately afterwards they moved their socks and shoes to another place to prevent forewarning me of an impending visit. The wardens refused to tell me who was visiting.

On three occasions prisoners had to prepare the yard for high level visits to our compound: each time there was two full days of cleaning, repainting, dusting etc, and the wardens told me they didn’t know who was coming, when in fact they did. This caused me considerable stress, as these mystery ‘VIP’ visitors to our compound always came to speak to me.

This systematic withholding of information was designed to further demoralise me in highlighting my complete dependence on my wardens and my total lack of access to information. One warden pinched my bum and poked me in the breast. I couldn’t work out whether she was making sexual advances or just joking. She had one other warden lock her in my first small cell with me in those first days while I was on a hunger strike, which made me quite frightened, but she didn’t make any advances on me. Instead she tried to cajole me into eating.

The night after my sentence I cried considerably and hence had a runny nose for several days. The wardens decided that having wet hair was the cause of my runny nose, and I was told that I could only wet my hair once a week, despite the fact that I was doing intensive twice-daily exercise that left my hair wet with sweat.

After several weeks I complained bitterly to the doctor (who could speak English) that this was very unhygienic and he conceded that I was allowed to wet my hair on alternate days. My wardens insisted on me drying my hair when I did get it wet, treating me like a child. I felt as if there were rules for the criminals, an extra set of rules for political prisoners, and yet another additional set of rules for me.

Taking away choices when, as a prisoner, I had so few choices I could make, was extremely painful, and it angered me when my wardens instructed me on how I should wash my clothes, or wear my hair. Some wardens were bossier than others. I was never told my rights. Having spoken to another political prisoner since my release I’ve learned that there are no rights for prisoners, and that the jail manual detailing such rights is totally irrelevant.

After going to court for the opening of my trial on Wednesday 15th I was shown an English language version of the jail rules which I had to sign. My interpretation of this was that I was going to be in jail for a long time. Like all political prisoners in Burma, we are not recognised as prisoners of conscience, and are called criminals. The intention is to make us feel ashamed for standing up for what we believe in, to undermine our sense of purpose. Burmese political prisoners are treated far worse than criminal prisoners. I told one of my guards that in the UK we don’t have political prisoners, she replied that they don’t in Burma either. Not recognising political prisoners as such makes it very hard to track who and where political prisoners are. Often political prisoners are moved around the different jails in Burma, not only to make them less organised as a group, but also to deliberately make it difficult for families to visit. Poor families may not be able to visit relatives in distant jails at all, due to the cost of travel and their inability to get time off work. My repeated requests to send a message to the British Embassy to enquire about the health of an elderly and unwell friend were ignored.

Visit Elaborate preparation was made for the International Committee for the Red Cross (ICRC) visit. Two days of cleaning, repainting and repositioning of furniture took place. I repeatedly asked what the preparations were for, who was coming to visit, but the wardens refused to tell me. They pretended they didn't know which were just lies, as the other prisoners knew who was coming. It was a strange experience having the delegation arrive at my cell. I didn’t know whether this was an elaborate trick being played by the SPDC to see what my reaction would be.

I was left alone with the delegation; it was my first walk outside my cell since my detention. The sunshine was beautiful. ICRC Head of Mission, Leon de Reidmatten, requested that I be given one hour outside walking time everyday.

The following week, on the 28th Sept (the day of my parent’s first visit) I was given 20 minutes outside walking time. Over the subsequent two weeks it was increased up to two slots of 30 minutes, once at 12.00, and once again at 17.00. The British Vice Consul pressed for outside walking time for me too. She also requested that I be allowed time without surveillance, and suggested at night. The heads of the jail simply lied to her when she and my parents visited, stating that the surveillance and note taking were over, when blatantly they weren’t. I felt as if they were challenging me to call them liars in front of the Vice Consul and my parents.

I received a number of visits from senior figures in the SPDC. Two visits from Hla Min (Lt Col), Deputy Head, Department of International Affairs, Office of Strategic Studies, Ministry of Intelligence and Psychological Warfare, three from Kyaw Thein (Col) Home Ministry, and two from an anonymous man from the Ministry of Information. I also received five or six visits from the military intelligence (MI) in the jail, Aung Naing Thu (Maj.) and another major whose name I can’t remember, also a MI officer working in the jail.

The first MI visit was a total shock. The ICRC had just completed their visit, and had told me that my parents were on their way. As soon as the ICRC delegation left I was hooded and marched to the meeting room. My wardens refused to tell me what was going on. I worried that something was happening to follow up the ICRC visit. I was presented to Hla Min and his aide, both in civilian dress. His aide said very little, but made many notes throughout the meeting.

I had, by this point, received the message from my parents pleading that I behave, so was unable to challenge Hla Min’s obvious lies in his version of Burmese history. Letting these and other ‘VIP’ visitors’ comments pass was difficult, and, no doubt, contributed to my confusion, as I was unable to argue over what was truth and what were falsehoods. All these ‘VIP’ visitors provided me with reading material, and had long discussions about the politics and history of Burma with me.

The second visit from Hla Min lasted approximately two and a half hours. The visits from Hla Min and Kyaw Thein were in a special meeting room where we would be served coffee and cake. They bought me gifts of biscuits and fruit, which gave me great pleasure to pass on to the prison children, through the senior warden. We obviously did not meet as equals: I a prisoner and they my captors, yet I was expected to be 'open and frank' in our discussions. They told and re-told their propaganda, re-enforced by the books they gave me (perhaps fifteen books). My own books were withheld until I had finished reading theirs. I was told that everything that I knew as fact was wrong. They have re-written history, and repeatedly told me their version of events of the 1988 uprising, and the 1990 elections.

On a few occasions I was asked questions which appeared to be signals to show that they knew that I had held back information while under interrogation. It was frightening to be in this situation. I stuck firmly by my story, as I didn’t want to reveal anything. Myo Khaing (Maj.) Deputy Chief, Foreign Liaison Division, Ministry of Intelligence and Psychological Warfare, accompanied each and every visit from my parents. Myo Khaing was present during part of my interrogation. I was horrified to see that he was my parents’ ‘host’. I was angry that he wasted time in our visits lecturing us in this same propaganda (for about fifteen minutes on one occasion) that other MI officers came to tell me.

Hla Min has a degree in psychology, and he and Myo Khaing are leading figures in the Ministry of Intelligence and Psychological Warfare. Hla Min is a rising star in the Office of Strategic Studies, a son of the Ambassador to the USA and educated there. He is a favourite of Khin Nyunt's. Hla Min wrote their latest gem of English language propaganda, ‘The Political Situation of Myanmar and its Role in the Region.’ Political prisoners have self-imposed rules to safeguard themselves while at the mercy of MI. These include refusing to accept gifts and preferential treatment. I regret not knowing these rules while my grip on reality gradually slipped. MI officials regularly try to undermine political prisoners in Insein. In 1990 a propaganda film was shown to hard line political prisoners in the jail, with treats laid on, which left much of the audience undermined.

Again in 1993 prisoners of conscience were presented with a questionnaire, and with corresponding responses. Those that accepted the military’s pre-written answers were released. My close relationship with my parents was exploited by the MI. Myo Khaing ferried them around Rangoon and beyond, even introducing them (and later me on my release) to his family. They were taken to container ports and airports under construction, pagodas, even ‘new towns’. Sadly they didn't get to see new towns like Mingladone that I had visited days before my detention. Mingladone is a slum-cum-swamp hanging off the end of the airport runway, with plastic bags for makeshift walls, whose residents have been forcibly relocated out of downtown Rangoon to make way for showcase development projects. My parents told me of the sights they had seen, of all the people they had visited trying to secure my release. The MI told me that what I knew as fact were lies, that we in the West have got the military all wrong. The weeks went on. 

I had a total of 10 visits from my parents over six weeks. This was unprecedented access. To my knowledge no prisoner has been allowed such access previously. We were all terribly conscious of this, and didn’t want to upset the authorities so that they might permit less visits. A whole entourage of photographers and video cameramen accompanied each visit. Every word we said was noted. Several weeks after the arrival of my parents the restrictions on the books relaxed, and a selection from those in my baggage, those given to me by the Vice Consul but previously held back and some of those brought to me by my parents were gradually made available to me. However, the wardens still demanded to know what I was looking at whenever I was reading so they could note it in their records.

Continuously pounded with their propaganda, I began to think that I might find a new dialogue role in the struggle for democracy, believing the illusion that the regime would listen to an outsider who spoke quietly to them, when in reality their sole motivation is self-perpetuation. It was in this confused state that I suggested the idea of research, that I could investigate the impact of sanctions on the poor, it was to be honest and academically rigorous, and my parents contacted the university where I am enrolled on an MSc course for guidance. I hoped that my findings would, in fact, be of great use to the democracy movement since investment in Burma supports the junta rather than the people.

The idea was adopted, and suddenly a table outside my cell, in the wardens’ locked and enclosed area, was made available for me to sit and study. A book to write in was presented to me (“This is for your thesis” said Aung Naing Thu), and I had supervised use of a pen. Hla Min came back and suggested that the topic of drugs eradication would be more suitable. By this time it appeared that the research idea would earn my freedom, so I did not argue. I decided to research the sanctions issue quietly anyway. It was also suggested that I should return to the UK to prepare, and then come back to Burma to do the research, while my initial idea was to do it immediately on release from jail.

On reflection I am sure they would not have released me had I remained confrontational, that my confusion was of more value to them than the notion of research. They feared what I might achieve on my return to London, and needed to make me appear compromised. Unlike Burmese political prisoners, I was not beaten or tortured, but they gave their best to destroy my convictions. I had to sign papers on my release stating that I acknowledged that my acts were “erroneous” and had the following conditions attached to my release: 

Not to violate the existing laws of Burma in the future 

Not to disturb any interest of Burma 

If any condition on which the sentence has been suspended is broken I could be re-imprisoned. My parents had to also sign undertakings that they would ensure that: I did not break these conditions I will not interfere in the internal affairs of Burma I will not contact any overseas anti-government groups I will co-operate for the peace and prosperity of Burma I was very tempted to refuse to sign these, but having my parents there, waiting, was just too much. Having made such great efforts to give me such an elaborate show trial it appears strange that they showed me clemency without waiting for the appeal.

My conclusion is that they wanted to undermine my position vis-à-vis other pro-democracy activists by encouraging others to think that I brokered a deal for my release.

This was the most bizarre experience of all, to be released from jail into the hands of the MI, specifically Myo Khaing, and later Hkam Awng (Col. Director, International Relations Department, Office of the Central Committee for Drug Abuse Control) and various other MI from Keng Tung. We were taken on to Mong Lar, in North Eastern Shan State, and shown the drug eradication project of the Eastern Shan State Special Region 4. This area is off-limits to Westerners; we may be the first to have visited.

I was not allowed to tell the Eastern Shan State Special Region 4 hosts that I had just been released from jail. I do not know under what pretext we were introduced to the Special Region 4 leaders. I was terrified that one wrong move and I would end up back in jail. We were very closely monitored continuously.

By this time my parents had developed a friendship with Myo Khaing. He had taken my parents to and from the jail, as well as participate in all our visits, so had witnessed their emotional traumas of visiting me in jail. It was inevitable that he and I would develop a friendship while in such close proximity on this trip.

We had many long conversations together, often discussing my return and the drugs project, which completed my seduction to this new dialogue role. Unbeknown to me the SPDC put out a press release stating that I had been released, and was on a trip around North East Shan State as a ‘guest of the state’. Perhaps ‘terrified of the state’ would have been a more suitable term. Again this was another effort to undermine my position with other pro-democracy activists. Back in Rangoon I was summoned by one of the country’s leading industrialists, Serge Pun of Serge Pun Associates (SPA), to talk about my research. He offered me accommodation for my return, and flattered me on how important this research project would be for the good of the Burmese people. He also lectured me on his version of the country’s history, (as everyone did) and warned me not to get involved in Burmese politics.

Many political prisoners have been poisoned in Insein Jail. Ko Aung had severe lead poisoning when he was released. There are no lead water pipes, and criminal prisoners do not suffer from lead poisoning. Hence the lead is deliberately added to the water of the political prisoners. It is too late for tests for me now, moreover I would not know what to search for, but it is certainly possible that I could have been poisoned or drugged, not necessarily by lead. Many phenomena would make sense in the context of doping with a drug that would affect my reasoned thinking. Even my parents thought that I was high on drugs on their first visit; I was in such an ethereal state. 

A combination of factors: being held without charge; lack of access to legal representation and the British Embassy; my hunger strike; being awarded such a harsh sentence; suffering psychological stress; inhuman incarceration; possible doping and intense military intelligence efforts, contributed to declining physical and mental health, coupled with my distressed parents’ visits I found it increasingly difficult to make rational judgements and decisions. I remain convinced that I would not have been released if I had not been in such a confused state.

While in this weak mental state I made an agreement that I would conduct research initially on sanctions, and then later on drug eradication programmes, and was released. I believed that I could undertake clandestine research that would be of value to the democracy movement. I also was keen to test out their promises of openness, as it was the first such offer made to an activist that I have ever heard of. If I was in a healthy state of mind I would have viewed the situation differently.

When I first arrived in the UK I was still in a state of shock, with so much running through my mind. I believed I should return to Burma, but couldn’t explain about the clandestine research I wanted to do, and was temporarily unable to comment on the regime so as to be able to return. I knew that, once the research was done and I was safely out of Burma, I would be able to speak freely. I thought that I would help others achieve freedom of speech by temporarily giving up my own.

I have since recovered sufficiently to realise that it would be foolish to return to Burma to explore a new dialogue role with the regime. They refuse to listen to institutions such as the UN and the ILO, it seems unlikely that they would treat my research seriously. The mission itself would inevitably involve great personal risk. To research drugs eradication projects would mean travelling to the border areas, enabling me to bear witness to areas hitherto unseen by Westerners that suffer atrocious human rights violations.

I realise that the obvious human rights violations would be deliberately covered up, although it is impossible to hide everything. However if I stepped out of line I would simply be slung back in jail, moreover if I were to suddenly “disappear”, it would be very difficult for family and friends to determine whether I was alive or dead, and, if the military chose to blame “insurgents” for any unexplained incident, who could question or investigate such claims?

I know now, and have made it clear in the media, that I will not be returning to Burma until it is a democracy. That dialogue is needed, not with me, but with Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, the democratically elected leader of Burma, to whom the military refuse to hand over power. In my first week back in the UK I received a call from a MI officer here in London. He claimed to have seen me at Rangoon airport when I was leaving, and wanted to meet me. He refused to reveal his identity, but said that he was staying at the Burmese Embassy. Apparently ‘his boss’ (whose identity he also refused to reveal) wanted to know how I was getting on. I was shocked that their long arm could reach out to me here in the UK.

There are EU laws prohibiting the attachment of military personnel to diplomatic missions. Yet the Burmese Embassy in Charles Street has MI agents working there, including this unidentified caller. The experience of being in Insein jail has had lasting effects on me. The first time I met with a group of Burmese people in London and heard people speaking Burmese together had a profound effects-I had visions of being in my cell, of hearing the wardens talking together; I was reliving my experiences and feeling very nervous and distressed. I also suffer emotional problems, feelings of deep despair and grief; I am still not as emotionally stable as I was prior to this experience in jail.

The intense media and diplomatic scrutiny in my case kept me safe from the brutalities of torture and beating inflicted on Burmese prisoners of conscience, but what about all the other prisoners and children, who will only benefit if there is a responsible and representative government in office in Burma, that will accord criminal prisoners their due human rights, and not hold any political prisoners at all.

I saw appalling treatment of other prisoners in Insein jail, particularly the under-provision of water, food and outside time, and am very concerned about the situation of children in the jail. The SPDC, sensing the international outrage at the seven-year jail sentence for singing pro-democracy songs, worked very hard to undermine and confuse me. I had over fifteen visits from MI and other senior SPDC figures in jail in just two months. I was in a very confused state when I was released. Added to my experiences detailed earlier it is possible that poisoning could have contributed to my confused state of mind. If proved true this raises further issues and adds greater urgency to expedite the release of these abused people.

There are some 1,500 political prisoners in Burma, who suffer cruel and degrading tortures and beatings at the hands of their captors. I call on the SPDC to release all political prisoners immediately and to restore democracy in Burma.

Morning Trumpet. Women rise and say prayers, then remain in silence for approximately one hour. I exercise.

6.00 Wardens change shift. Multiple occupancy cell unlocked, first prisoners let out, presumably the kitchen staff.

7.00 Rice gruel arrives for the children. First prisoners wash: these are the ‘silent’ washing group, presumably other political prisoners. They are then followed by groups of women who queue up to wash in groups packed in around the wash tank. I sweep and tidy my cell.

8.00 First meal of rice and ‘hin yea’ arrives for multiple occupancy cell beside my cell. On visit days, those who have visits are taken out in groups to the visit room. All must wear their white prison uniform. Others must perform duties cleaning the yard. I read or walk around my cell, or watch them through the bars. When my books were eventually made available to me, I practice reading Burmese. 8.30 Other prisoners locked up while I am taken out for my wash.

9.00 My breakfast arrives. I spend my time reading or watching the other inmates, or practising Burmese. Often I walk around my cell tracing out Burmese letters on the wall with my fingers, as I am not allowed a pen or paper.

12.00 Other Prisoners locked up for afternoon rest. In the last couple of weeks of incarceration I was allowed outside my cell for a supervised walk along an 11-pace stretch of path.

12.30 Walk ends. I am locked up again. More language practice or walking around my cell

14.00 Second meal arrives for multiple occupancy cells beside my cell. Women out washing and working in the yard again. On visit days, those with afternoon visits go to meet their visitors. If I had a visit it was usually at this time.

15.00 I begin my second indoors exercise session.

17.00 I am allowed for my second walk. All other women are locked up. Walk ends. I am locked up for the night. Higher rank prisoners wash. Others prepare the wardens’ beds beside my cell.

18.00 All prisoners counted and locked up for the night. Prisoners sing their prayers.

19.00 Broadcast in Burmese over the tannoy system.

21.00 Night trumpet. Silence. Throughout the night a bell is rung every 15 mins. Each time a prisoner must stand up and shout that everything is all right in their cell. I counted roughly 250 in my first few weeks then lost count. I was unable to count those being discharged. I was forbidden to look into this cell. At first I did look, and at this time made this guess at the numbers and the size.

One night during a blackout I heard the prisoners counted, the figure given was either 124 or 154 (the numbers 2 and 5 sound similar and it wasn’t quite clear.) Inmates were moved in and out regularly. The clinic had a zinc roof. 

In “Cries from Insein”, a book published about Insein by previous inmates, a prisoner killed another to achieve this higher rank. A tamay is a woman’s sarong or longyi. One warden told me that clothes soap is distributed to the women, but I rarely saw women using it. I have since heard that the wardens take this soap and sell it outside the jail. Having been given food by my ‘VIP’ visitors and my family that I was passing on, via the wardens, to other prisoners, I witnessed one warden steal some of this food. I was incensed but completely unable to do anything about it. Khin Khin is my Burmese name. All my books were being held by the police and appeared in my court case. They took some time to reach me after the trial. I think the visit was on the 21st Sept but I’m not sure. While under interrogation I had argued extensively about truth and propaganda, which was an incredible tool in maintaining my mental strength. I do not wish to discuss the content of their propaganda, as this would inadvertently give it a platform. Khin Nyunt is one of the three leading Generals in Burma, and is head of the Ministry of Intelligence and Psychological Warfare.
 
 

Use your own to stop Burmese Dictators in their tracks. Deny them the foreign investment they use to buy guns and bullets. Find out how this can be done.

Copy/Paste or Drag/Drop

Link your web pages to it and let's mobilize.