By AUNG NAING OO
The Irrawaddy
www.irrawaddy.org
October 1988: We left at dawn as villagers moved about in semi-darkness preparing for a new day. Our guide was a burly Mon man, about 45 years old, who had agreed to take us to the Karen rebel-held territory.
I walked right behind him. Another 15 people, including a well-known boxer, a former Burmese army corporal from Kayah [Karenni] State and other students, trailed behind me, like a train. The villagers remained silent, familiar with the spectacle of youthful, would-be rebels heading for the distant jungle. The soldiers we had spotted the previous day were nowhere to be seen; perhaps still in bed. Luck was on our side.
The sun rose as we crossed the Moulmein highway. Before us loomed a massive mountain, which we began to climb. Initially, I could not see any footpath, just rocks and dirt. We negotiated the boulders and the small sparse trees. After a while, I realized there was a faint, little-used path, seemingly perfect for clandestine purposes. It was reassuring, given our need to avoid military patrols or checkpoints.
When we reached the summit at about 7:30 am, our guide pointed to buildings on the distant plain and said, “Military.” I shivered with anxiety at the prospect of encountering patrols once we descended. But as we slowly climbed down, my creeping concern for military patrols was abruptly replaced by the more immediate fear of falling on the steep and rocky path.
By around 9 am, we reached the foot of the mountain and stood on the outskirts of a village. I was suddenly worried: villages were to be avoided. I stopped and looked back at my friends. They too had stopped. The guide sensed our hesitation but insisted: “No problem; we are safe.” I was wary, but had no choice than to trust him. I resumed walking and the whole gang followed silently.
Villagers glanced at us wordlessly, continuing about their business. Soon, we were on a road pitted with puddles of mud with traces of September rain. We kept on walking quietly, passing another two villages.
Then at around 11 am, on a dirt road outside a village, we suddenly ran head-on into a patrol of about 10 men, who were just coming out of a shop. My heart skipped a beat when I saw their police rifles slung over their shoulders. They were not wearing the green uniform of Burmese soldiers though. Their uniforms, which I had never seen before, were gold colored and decorated with a drake insignia—a symbol of the ethnic Mon minority. I realized they could be from a government-controlled Mon militia.
The men motioned us to stop. We did, terrified. The leader, a well-built man of about 40, spoke to our guide in Mon. I could not detect any emotion in his face. Then he suddenly turned and addressed me in Mon. I shook my head and mumbled something in Burmese, possibly about us being students.
I was consumed by fear, with thoughts of possible detention and torture in a military prison racing through my mind. The militia leader inspected us, stopping in front of one of my colleagues whose face was pale with terror. He spoke to the patrolman, though it was inaudible to me. I tried to assess our options, but realized there was no escape. There was no nearby forest to run into; rice fields surrounded us as far as I could see. I fixed my eyes on the patrolman, a cruel smugness on his face as he surveyed us, his captives.
Finally, the militia leader spoke to our guide again in Mon. Then he turned to me: “Don’t worry,” he said in Burmese. “We are Mon militia. We are not going to arrest you. You are going to do something that we can’t do. Now go on.”
Suddenly, he turned and walked away. Shaking with a combination of residual fear and relief, my feet started to move, following the guide as I tried to absorb what had just happened. Later, I regretted that I was too stunned to thank the patrolman.
We stopped for lunch at the next village. Then we hired a second guide, who we were told knew the terrain so well he could even lead us at night. We continued quickly and quietly, heading east. Soon there was no more road, not even a dirt track. We walked alongside or across rice paddies carved out of depleted forest, passing a few lonely huts. No one talked. The silence was broken only by the sound of our flip-flops.
When dinnertime came, there was still no hut or village where we could stop for food and so, without our own cooking utensils, we just kept walking. Then it started raining. In the moonless, pitch-black night, it was hard to see someone even from two feet away. Only the occasional flashes of lightning gave us a fleeting sense of our surroundings.
Our guides had flashlights but refused to use them, fearing they would be spotted by military patrols. Eventually, we took off our longyi, or sarongs, using them to form a human chain and hang on to in the black night.
We waded across fast-flowing rivers in complete darkness. The rain never stopped, just alternated between drizzle and heavy downpours. The guide seemed lost and could not find shelter. Then at about 2 am, we realized that our second guide, who was behind us, had disappeared. The remaining guide said he would go and look for shelter and asked us to wait, but we refused to let him go, following him wherever he went.
By 3 am we finally found a clearing at the edge of the forest with a hut and pagoda. Exhausted, cold and drained, we made a fire and tried to dry our clothes, without heeding the risk of being spotted.
At dawn we set off again, reaching a Karen village at midday. Our guide introduced us to an old Karen man, around 70, and then took his leave. After lunch, we continued our journey with our new Karen guide walking very fast, despite his age.
Finally, we arrived at the Karen National Union’s first security checkpoint, called Moe Wah, at around 4 pm. We gave the Karen officers our names, and they gave us food and a place to stay for the night.
In a “liberated” area, we felt safe and had a good night’s sleep. We did not realize that a long road toward liberation still lay ahead.
Aung Naing Oo left Burma after the 1988 uprising and went to Thailand, joining the All Burma Students' Democratic Front and becoming the organization’s longest serving foreign affairs secretary. He was camp secretary of the Thay Baw Boe camp, Karen State and head of the "Jungle University." Based now in Thailand, he writes about Burmese politics.
Source: The Irrawaddy News
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