 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
Learning Behind Bars |
|
We live in a knowledge-based era. Knowledge can help us to overcome obstacles and be successful in life. Yet knowledge is capable not only of changing a person's life, but also of transforming a country's system. One organization that knows this very well is the Burmese junta, who call themselves the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC). Because they realize how important knowledge is to an individual or a society, they have carried out a constant campaign to blind the eyes and deafen the ears of the Burmese people to keep themselves in power. The less the people know, the easier it is for the junta to rule and do whatever they want with the country. This is also why the regime restricts access to knowledge for dissidents. The fact that political prisoners are not allowed to read or write while in prison provides clear evidence of the junta's intentions. While in prison, prisoners of conscience have almost no rights. They are forced to kill their time sitting or lying down in their tiny 8 x 8-foot cells, chatting with fellow inmates. They don't even have the right to talk with criminals or other political prisoners in other cells. Yet the most restricted activity for political prisoners is reading and writing, which is dangerous because it can certainly increase knowledge. Thus, paper- whether blank or printed-and pens and pencils are totally illegal. If the authorities find such items on a political prisoner, he is shackled in solitary confinement for about three months, and forbidden to receive visitors or food parcels. Like other political prisoners, we students were very anxious to study or read anything that would improve our knowledge, even though we were not allowed to continue our formal education while in prison. For my part, I had long been interested in the English language, and was eager to continue learning about it. However, when I was thrown in prison, I was not permitted to read or write. None of us had anything except a couple of shirts and a longyi each. However, when we wanted to communicate with political prisoners in other cells, we used a kind of leaf as paper and a small sharp stick as a pen. On these small leaves, we wrote some information - short political songs and so on. But we had to conceal them carefully, and as soon as we had read them, we had to destroy them, because any writing, whether on a leaf, a wall, the ground, a plastic sheet, or a piece of paper, was totally restricted. Though a blank leaf may seem harmless, one with writing on it could lead to bludgeons and shackles. Political prisoners have tried to officially obtain the right to read many times. Yet whenever they demanded this right, the top jail officials used to say, "We don't have the authority to give you such a chance, because the Military Intelligence(MI) has ordered us strictly not to allow you to read." Of course, it was MI that controlled all political prisoners direc- tly, even though we were in prison. Even worse, prisoners who deman- ded that right would be beaten or transferred to other remote jails far from Rangoon. The junta wanted to make sure our heads would be empty by the time we got out of jail. The "leaf period" didn't last long. Three months after I and my fellow prisoners who were arrested at the same time were thrown in prison, a military court handed down our sentences. After that we were given an opportunity to meet our families once every two weeks and to accept food and some supplies from them. In prison, only plastic materials were permitted. Metal-made items such as steel spoons and plates were banned because prisoners could use them as weapons to attack their jailers or to fight with each other. So all of the food we received had to be packed in plastic bags. As a result, our leaf age ended and a plastic age began. We managed to make notes by writing on the plastic sheets with a sharp stick. In that way, plastic sheets and sharp sticks became useful stationary for us, especially in our study of the English language. For about a year after being sentenced, we didn't have any books. In our building, however, there were some older political prisoners who had a good command of English. Among them were Members of Parliament, veteran politicians, well-known authors and journalists, doctors and engineers. One of them could recall a lot of words and spellings, so we acquired about thirty new words from him a day. We noted them down on the plastic sheets. At that time he was our dictionary, but he was soon transferred to the Central Jail. Our "study program" would not have been possible without the help of some warders who sympathized with political prisoners. They knew we had committed no crime, and they enjoyed chatting with us, though in fact, they had no right to do so, as they were instructed rigidly not to communicate with political prisoners. Out of our casual chats, a friendship developed between us. After a while, they became aware of our hunger for reading material, and agreed to help us. Although we had to pay them to smuggle it into the prison, their understanding of our need seemed more important. I still remember the first warder who gave me a few pages printed in English. He was one of the lowest-ranked warders, and he liked chewing betel nut, which he used to carry wrapped in a torn piece of newspaper. The first piece of paper he gave me was from an article about glaciers, but it was incomplete - just a few paragraphs. It contained new words that were difficult to understand, so I had to ask the older prisoners who were good at English what the words and paragraphs meant. Gradually, our cell became a jail library, with magazines and books, including Time, Newsweek, a dictionary and grammar books, concealed in our hollow. Political prisoners were only allowed out of their cells for a short time two or three times a day, to have a bath (about 30 minutes) and to dispose of excrement from the earthen pots we used as toilets (about 15 minutes). Whenever our cell was unlocked, I ran to other cells to ask what I didn't understand in the torn pages. Little by little, we managed to persuade some warders to smuggle books into the prison. This was not at all easy, as all warders were searched thoroughly at the prison gate for illegal materials such as drugs, money, paper, books, pens, pencils and so on. Some warders were sacked and others sentenced to up to seven years on account of smuggling books in for political prisoners, so we had to appreciate their help. With the assistance of those warders, we obtained some books, including a dictionary. The big problem was how to hide them when a search was made, which happened two or three times a week. It was impossible to hide them outside, so we had to keep them inside our cell. All the inmates of my cell decided to dig a hollow cavity, even though it was extremely dangerous and difficult, because destroying any part of the building was a serious offence that could be punished by adding many years to our sentences. However, we took a risk for the sake of our study. Digging a hole in the concrete wall without tools was not easy, either, and it took us several days to make even a small hole. We had to hide the books at least two times a day, morning and evening, because that is when the searches took place. After putting the books into the hollow, we had to camouflage the place they were hidden. Gradually, our cell became a jail library, with magazines and books, including Time, Newsweek, a dictionary and grammar books, concealed in our hollow. Our study program improved compared with our earlier period, and the number of prisoners who studied English increased. Then we had to tear the sheets out of the books and distribute them to the prisoners who wanted to study. I saw our study program as an act of defiance against the junta, since we were able to break its unfair rules and foil the junta's intention to empty our brains. Despite the difficulties, our prison library continued to run for a few years, but later we had to close our hollow permanently, because in some cellblocks, the authorities discovered similar cavities, and the prisoners involved were given increased sentences. Therefore, we had to change our hiding place. At the time, there were some Thai prisoners in our jail who were not as restricted as the political prisoners. We asked them to help conceal the books, so they hid some books upstairs and some under the ground. From then on, disturbances in our study program were continuous. In July 1996, a special search was launched in our jail and all of our books were confiscated. On that same day, there was a fight between some Thais and a few of the political prisoners, so all Thai prisoners were transferred to the Central Jail. We had lost not only our books but also the places to hide them. However, our desire to study was still strong, so I tried to get hold of some books again. It took about a year to get some, and then we had to think about a new way to hide them, because the authorities already knew about the hollow. A day that brought us ill luck arrived in mid-June 1997, before we had finished making a place to conceal the books. I had recently been transferred to a different cell in the same building. In my previous cell were five of my inmates. They were a 60-year-old monk, a 50-year-old National League for Democracy member, a leader of the Democratic Party for a New Society, a university student, and a young member of an ethnic group. On the morning of that day a special, thorough search of the whole prison was made, and books were discovered in my previous cell. After the search, the university student, named Ko Naing Win, was taken out, his head covered with a black hood and his hands handcuffed behind him. He was taken to the dog-cellblock in the Central Jail, a special place for punishing prisoners. Minutes later, the others from that cell followed. All of them, including the monk, were shackled and savagely interrogated about how they had got the books. Then Ko Naing Win was transferred to No. 2 cellblock, which was another building notorious for punishment. They were not given any food or water for two days, and for five days they were brutally tortured. After that, they were sent back to our prison, which was a good thing in a way, as most punished prisoners are not sent back to the same cells. However, those five prisoners, including the monk, suffered severe injuries to their ankles because of the rough shackles they were forced to wear. The scars on their legs would never vanish. That is just one example of what it is like to try to get an education inside a Burmese prison. As long as the junta controls Burma, there will be prisoners of conscience. And as long as there is no right to read in prison, political prisoners will be bludgeoned and shackled. . |
 |
 |
|
About the Author Later, he was sentenced to 10 years imprisonment and was incarcerated in the cell of Insein annex jail, known as Special Prison. He was moved to Tharawaddy prison 2 years before he was released. Although having passed his high school examination in 1991, he didn't have a chance to attend university after his arrest. So he enrolled in the Dagon University when he was released, to continue his education. He was allowed to attend the university but he couldn't study anything there because it was closed. Last year, he left the country, to avoid being arrested again. Now, Kyaw Zwa Moe, 30, is a researcher for Thailand based Irrawaddy magazine where he has been writing news and articles on Burma related issues and his own experience in prisons. |
