13 Apr 2012

Burma edges towards the discomforts of democracy

The PM is now dining with Aung San Suu Kyi before flying home from Rangoon. He won ASSK’s strong support for suspending EU sanctions, as he knew he would – it was largely her idea.

Both believe that the “liberals” allied to the reforming President need some wins to show the hardliners that economic benefits come with political reform.  It’s hoped the suspension of the sanctions, coming on the heels of the US relaxation, will start bringing dividends soon.

The critical deadline is the 2015 general election. The hardliners must let the democratic reforms run their course all the way up to, and beyond, an election which on current projections would see their political front party pretty much wiped off the political map.

They must feel comfortable losing their immense privileges and status in a poor but hierarchical and authoritarian country, for more equal status in a more prosperous and unpredictable democracy.

We first followed the PM’s convoy to the Ceausescu-like  presidential palace in Naypyidaw,  the surreal new capital the generals built themselves. You travel along wide, empty motorways – at one point 20 lanes wide. There are no other cars as far as the eye can see, but the military police go through the ludicrous pretence of stationing guards on every junction, holding up a white-gloved hand to stop imaginary traffic interfering with David Cameron’s route. In the distance you see village huts and primitive water wells, the occasional emaciated livestock.

We waited with the president for David Cameron‘s arrival. Like the rest of the government, he has exchanged military uniform and boots for sarongs and sandals. But the change, much to everyone’s surprise, seems to have entered his soul. Folk who’ve met him talk of an epiphany, a realisation that the old military rule ended up leaving Burma in a ditch when  so many other Asian economies were racing past.

Journalists spewed out of vans and scattered themselves around the palace grounds and reception room, looking for satellites, taking in the sights. Guards were baffled and open-jawed. How had it come to this? Outsiders tramping freely all over the president’s grounds, the sort of behaviour that normally gets rewarded with water cannon.

From there it was off to ASSK’s house in Rangoon, the home that was her prison now a receiving place for foreign heads of government. In temperatures nudging, if not exceeding 100 degrees, we waited for ASSK to step onto the verandah. There was throbbing bass music from the hotel across the lake. It’s the New Year Water festival, and citizens were out in force on the streets armed with hoses, buckets of water, sparying anyone who passed – pedestrians, cyclists, even the prime ministerial convoy.

And then she emerged, a serious and controlled woman also capable of smiles and courtesies. I’d been reading her essays on this trip, and she is a master of Asian literature. She seems to enjoy the discourse with journalists but mixes academic care for language with political rhetoric about hope and inspiration.

The villa is way beyond the reach of ordinary Burmese, but it is quite run down on the exterior and, from what I could see, pretty basic inside. There are servants and staff everywhere. ASSK is grand. She’s the daughter of a nationalist leader killed before she could know him. But she does not come across as imperious.

I asked her how strong she thought the anti-reform generals were, in numbers, in spirit. She said she didn’t know, but the people were stronger and the last few weeks showed they would not be cowed. She sounded surprised by the force of the support she got in the by-elections on 1 April – 90 per cent in some districts. David Cameron joked that she should prepare herself for more mixed results if Burma becomes a fully fledged democracy… and now he must come home to reacquaint himself with the bumps and discomfort of just that.

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