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During my visit to Rangoon, I managed to collect some books
on politics and I noticed that many students were interested in
the subject. Previously we would spend our time discussing girls,
films, love poems and novels at a teashop. Now we discussed our
political opinions, especially student rights and the student unions.
Before I returned to Mandalay in June the government re-opened all
the universities.
As soon as the schools were re-opened, most students concentrated
on forming a student union and criticizing the government's abuses
of power. Soon after the re-opening, a peaceful student demonstration
occurred on Rangoon University campus. Many students made fiery
speeches and demanded the government release those detained in March
and hold an inquiry into those students who were killed and raped.
On 21 June students demonstrated in the streets again and two were
shot dead by the military, while many more were injured. After that
I returned to Mandalay and told my mother my experiences in Rangoon
University. My mother forgot that I still hadn't heard from the
registrar. She only remembered after her neighbours asked whether
or not I was allowed to continue my classes. I noticed she looked
a little sad every time someone asked about my education.
I remember at the end of June we read that Ne Win was calling and
emergency party conference.
"It's strange that Ne Win would call such a conference,"
My mother said.
"I think he will probably apologize for his wrongdoing. I hope
that this conference will also declare my worthless 25 kyat notes
valuable once again."
A few days later we listened to Ne Win's speech on the radio in
which he resigned but also threatened to kill demonstrators.
"What rubbish!" my mother shouted angrily. "That's
not a speech of a state leader!" She went out and told her
neighbours at once. She was especially enraged at Ne Win's threat
that if people persisted with demonstration, the army would not
shoot over their over their heads. However, my neighbours were mainly
worried about their money, which was still worthless. That night
my mother showed me her worthless 3000 kyat again.
By the first week of August I wanted to get back to Rangoon to
join the protests against the government, but I didn't know how
my mother would react. So I asked her if I could go to Rangoon to
help my friend in his business so I could have some more money.
She seemed to know I was hiding something.
"In reality I don't want you go anywhere," She said,
"but you have to do something since you can't study. How long
it will take? I don't want you to be away too long."
"Only two months," I replied.
I left for Rangoon the next day having decided to join the anti-government
movement. On the way to Rangoon, I thought about my mother and asked
for her forgiveness.
After stay in one friend's house after another in Rangoon, I participated
in the uprising on August 8, 1998. For the next two months I went
with a group of students around the country to organize student
unions and promote democracy.
However, I never went to Mandalay during this period and I didn't
have any contact with my mother.
Then on November 7, 1990 I was arrested in Rangoon by the MIS for
my involvement in the ABSFU and the youth wing of the NLD. I was
sentenced to seven years imprisonment in Insein Prison.
I didn't want my mother to know that I was in prison. I didn't
want to be a burden on her because it would cost such a lot of money
for her to come to Rangoon and she would be allowed only ten minutes
with me. The thing I worried most about was whether or not the prison
authorities would mistreat her. Moreover, she had no relatives to
stay with in Rangoon, so I asked my fellow inmates not to tell their
families that I was in prison.
To tell you the truth, I was afraid to face her. But at the same
time, I wanted to know if she was all right. Sometimes I wondered
whether or not my mother was still alive.
However, I felt so sad every time the other prisoners had visits
from their families, which were every two weeks. Hearing about their
experiences during visiting times made me sad and home sick, and
made me want to run out of my cell to talk with my mother once again.
But I didn't get to see her for more than a year, and when I did
it was totally unexpected.
One day, a warder called my name and asked me for my mother's name
and her address. After checking the details on a sheet of paper,
he said my mother was at the prison gate to see me and warned me
not to talk to her about anything except personal matters. I was
then pulled out of my cell and a hood was placed over my head. While
walking to the main prison office other prisoners told me to have
a nice prison-visit and I felt very anxious and wanted to run to
get there as quickly as possible.
As soon as I arrived there, the hood was removed from my head and
I had to check my mother's name and address again. Then the prison
officer gave me a letter of permission and ordered me to take it.
I read it quickly and saw it contained my name and prison number,
and my mother's name and address.
I noticed my hands were shivering and my heart was racing. I then
walked with a warder towards the main gate where I would meet my
mother. When we arrived, I saw there was a large wall with a three0foot
square opening covered with wire mesh. There was nothing to sit
on. I went up to the window, held the iron bars that were in front
of the wire, and waited my mother.
I saw her come into the other room holding a plastic bag. "Hello!"
I said. "How are you?" I didn't know what else to say.
Without saying a word, she stared at me and cried. I was worried
that she was not going to be able to cope with the situation. A
prison officer then warned her that she only had ten minutes. She
suddenly stopped crying. She turned to him and said, "I know.
Mind your own business, I can do what I like."
Then she told me, "Take care of your again. "I know you
haven't violated the Buddha's Five Precepts. I know." She stopped
crying and continued by forgiving me. "I know I'm lucky compared
to those whose sons and daughters were killed on the streets."
Then the officer intervened. "The time is up. Stop talking."
"Take care of your heath," my mother continued. "Don't
worry about me." After wiping her tears and saying goodbye,
she left. That was my first prison visit. I had wanted to ask her
many questions, but I wasn't able to.
Although she said she would try to see me once every three months,
it was extremely difficult for her to do so and she could only manage
to see me once every six months. Counting back, we saw each other
only 13 times while I was in prison. The total time we had together
in those six years was only two hours and ten minutes. But each
visit made me stronger both mentally and physically.
During one visit my mother asked whether there were any prisoners
who didn't have anyone to come and see them. When I told her there
were some prisoners she was so sympathetic and told me to share
my food with them and to give them her regards.
Every time I asked her how she was surviving and how she was managing
to come and see me, she would reply, "You need to understand
the situation. Whether or not I have problems you can do nothing
about them because you are in prison."
"You're not an ordinary prisoner and a criminal," She
continued, "you're a political prisoner. You're here not because
of your own interests but because of the interests of the people.
I've already told you the saying look before you leap. I believe
you have leapt only after looking ahead carefully. Worry for the
people, not only for me."
When I was released from prison in 1996, she would proudly say
to her neighbours that I had come back from the 'Life institute
and Prison University' after six years of learning. When one of
her neighbours said accidentally to her that was the same time it
takes to get an engineering degree from RIT, I noticed she felt
rather uncomfortable.
Later I found out that my father's pension had been cut in 1992
because of my detention. My mother never told about it when I was
in prison. She also said that they cut the pension and she was also
forced to 'donate' money to government organizations, to so-called
infrastructure construction, and to the local township authorities.
Although I wanted to do something to help, I couldn't because my
health had deteriorated so much in prison. Far from helping, my
health actually made the situation worse. Although one injection
cost 25 kyat before my arrest in 1990, it cost 200 kyat after I
was released in 1996. I will certainly never forget my friends who
took care of my mother during my prison years and helped me with
my medical care after my release.
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