Letter from Burma: Keepers of Conscience (Written By Aung San Suu KYi)

Photo: Aung San Su Kyi (Internet)

(Mainichi Japan) February 6, 2011

Is the story of Pinocchio still popular with children? It is when such questions arise in my mind that I am made acutely aware of the peculiar gaps in my contact with the outside world. Had I been in constant touch with my grandchildren or even with other people's grandchildren over the years, I would have known the answers. Fortunately a few days after Pinocchio had floated into my head, I had a meeting with the children of the United States Embassy staff in Rangoon. The oldest was around twenty while the youngest was a three month old Japanese-American baby boy whose sleeping face had a pout of concentration that made him resemble a Sumo wrestler planning his next mountain shaking move. Among the in-betweens were a fair number who were acquainted with Pinocchio through the Walt Disney Film. Most of them thought Jiminy Cricket was the most interesting character in the story. This pleased me as the main reason for my sudden recall of the Pinocchio story was the top-hatted, umbrella-toting cricket rather than the puppet brat.

Looking back across years of politically shaped thought and action, the children's story appears as a simple illustration of the fact that without a conscience, human beings are no more than mere puppets manipulated by their fears, their desires, their ignorance, and by those whom they have chosen to be their masters. It thus becomes most appropriate that thinking beings who have chosen to give up their physical liberty that they might be better able to defend the universal right to freedom of belief and expression should be designated prisoners of conscience. These men and women who have submitted their bodies to a comfortless, sometimes cruel, confinement over long years that they and their fellow citizens might exist in honour and dignity are also the keepers of our collective conscience.

There remain in the jails of Burma over two thousand two hundred political prisoners of whom barely twenty are known by name to the world at large. The more than two thousand who remain anonymous are our unknown soldiers, the unsung heroes and heroines who have worked quietly to keep the movement for democracy strong and vital. On 4 January 2011, the Sixty Third Anniversary of Burma's Independence from colonialism, the National Leagues for Democracy arranged a random draw of the names of political prisoners by those who were willing to take the responsibility of supporting them materially or morally as far as circumstances allowed. The young man who fell to my lot was one of the unknown soldiers. He had been arrested in 2007 for attempting to pray for the release of political prisoners at the Shwedagon Pagoda. Many of the young people who had all been involved in the prayer movement were now scattered in prisons across Burma but he was relatively fortunate as he was at Insein Jail, not too far away from his home. Preparing the food parcel to be sent to him was a reminder of the abstemious conditions under which our comrades in jail have to pass their days.

There are many simple ways in which prisoners of conscience act as the keepers of our conscience. When I was under house arrest, I made a habit of having breakfast quite late so that in my hunger I would not forget our comrades who were incarcerated not in their own homes but in jails, often in places far distant from where their families lived. I knew they would not only be much hungrier than I was but would also be obliged to make do with the meagre and tasteless rations that would be meted out to them. It renewed my commitment to our cause and refreshed my respect and affection for my colleagues on a daily basis.

The most wonderful thing about our keepers of conscience is their extraordinary spirit and dedication. During the two days before our independence anniversary celebrations, we held a charity bazaar to raise funds for political prisoners. Among the varied articles on sale were works of art of considerable ingenuity and talent sent in by our jailed comrades. There were a number of collage works painstakingly put together from hundreds and thousands of tiny slivers of paper of different kinds. The end products were vivid pictures of birds, dancers and flowers. It was a clear declaration that if the spirit is strong, there is no limit to what it can achieve and that those who seem least fortunate can prove to be our teachers and benefactors. I have often received the most exquisite gifts from colleagues in prison. Statuettes, model animals and toys intricately carved from wood or soap or wax; strings of prayer beads and shopping bags woven from strips of plastic; a piece of cloth beautifully embroidered with symbols of freedom, justice and peace, love, harmony and unity, perseverance and hope, all done by our women political prisoners. Skillfully and delicately worked into each embroidery were the unwavering hopes and aspirations that our women were holding out to those of us who were actually in far easier circumstances than they were. This is why the image of Jiminy Cricket with his colorful, dandified clothes and innate chirpiness seems to me an appropriate representative of conscience. The keepers of our conscience are cheerful, colourful, and inventive and most of all, they are creaters of comfort in spite of the comfortless lives they themselves have to lead. (By Aung San Suu Kyi)

(Mainichi Japan) February 6, 2011