In the Flames of Evil 1

by Win Naing Oo

May 20, 1990

It was about nine o'clock in the evening when I returned to the house where I was hiding out in Rangoon. I had just had discussion with a monk from the All Burma Young Monks' Union, and some students from the All Burma Federation of Student Unions (ABFSU). When I arrived at the house, my friend Aung Thu was there and said he'd arranged to meet Wai Lin, but our friend hadn't turned up. I asked him what he though had happened and he said he didn't know. I suggested he go to Wai Lin's home to find out, so he left and returned a while later.
" Wai Lin wasn't home either," he said as he walked in.
"He has been arrested?" I asked.
" I don't know."
" I couldn't work out what had happened and I began to worry. Should I go into town?"
" No. don't go," said Aung Thu." " It's almost ten o'clock. There are no more cars or rickshaws, only military trucks doing the rounds, and no one will be on the streets."
He was right of course. The curfew started at 10pm and it was almost that time. There was an order that no one was allowed out between ten at night and four in the morning.
There was nothing I could do. I could only wait and face whatever was coming. In preparation I hid a few things and moved to a different house. I had about five places to stay in this quarter, but Wai Lin knew all of them. I prepared myself so that if I were arrested I wouldn't panic or show my fear. I wanted it to be four o'clock as soon as possible. My plan was to leave the house at three-thirty in the morning. I had decided that when it seemed certain that Wai Lin had been arrested I would escape to Mandalay. My thoughts were in turmoil and I grew paranoid and began to wonder if the house was surrounded. I tried to keep my spirits up by joking with my hosts.
At about midnight the military Intelligence Service (MIS) officers arrived. They were in plain clothes. Five came in and I caught a glimpse of some others in the street. They looked relaxed and as though they wanted to get out of the house as soon as possible. They made a cursory search but didn't find anything. Then they handcuffed me. A man of about 40 appeared to be the highest-ranking officer. I whispered to him not to handle me roughly in front of my hosts, as I was worried that they would be concerned for my safety. He agreed to my request and the officers stayed calm.
The MIS also arrested Aung Thu and brought him with them. They asked where our friend Zaw Htet was and when I replied that he had left yesterday and not returned, they asked where we thought he might be. It appeared that they wanted to arrest all of us that night. Although I knew where Zaw Htet was likely to be, I told them I had no idea where he was. That same night two other groups of MIS surrounded the houses of two other students, but the students were away on a trip and escaped capture. The MIS also failed to get Zaw Htet.
They told Aung Thu and me to get into a mini-van and sit facing each other. They then stuck their guns in our backs. I winked at Aung Thi because he looked worried. The MIS officers weren't saying anything and it was tense in the van, so I felt as if I had to say something. I laughed and said, ' Brother, please don't point your guns at us. The car's jolting because the road's bumpy and your guns may go off accidentally. Even though I am doing this sort of work, I am afraid of dying.'
They didn't laugh to say anything, nor did they put their guns down.
As there was no answer I continued.' I want to explain something to you brothers. We don't believe in the use of violence. We are the kind of people who only use nonviolent methods of protest. The way in which you are arresting us now seems as if you are trying to drive us all into the jungle to take up arms.'
I was actually lying as I had in fact just come back from the jungle. It was at that point the officers responded.
'You shut your mouth!' shouted one of them. ' We didn't arrest you to listen to your speeches! We'll see what happens to your mouth when we get there, mother fucker!'
The guy beside me smashed his gun into my ribs. It was extremely painful.
'Down on the floor, both of you!
They covered our heads with big black bags and everything went dark. I then began to get a little frightened.
I remember that the van turned many corners. I tried to keep track of where I was, but after a while I was lost. After what seemed like about three hours of driving around in circles, the car finally came to a stop. We heard what sounded like a guard shout a question, as if we had arrived at our destination. Then I felt as if we were driving unto a courtyard. We stopped again. 'Get up!' someone shouted at us. Because of our handcuffs and hoods, we grouped our way to the back of the van, trying not to fall over. At that moment I felt a boot in my back, and I fell out of the car. When I hit the ground people started shouting abuse at me and kicking me. I didn't know how many people there were. I was almost unconscious. It was at that time I realised that I was in for it. They then dragged me along the ground and threw me onto the floor of a cell.
'Sit up! Lean against the wall!' someone shouted.
I squatted and leaned against the wall. Whoever was in the room left and I heard the door bang shut. I felt tired and my whole body ached. Worry and fear crept over me. I was wondering what was going to happen to me now, and not knowing made the nightmare even worse.
Being totally blind gives one an intense feeling of vulnerability. I lay in the darkness, feeling completely alone, forsaken and uncertain of everything around me. It became clear to me that they blindfolded suspects, not only to prevent us from seeing who they were but also to intensify our feeling of fear and isolation.
Upon arrival at the MIS Interrogation Centre, they treated us as if we were animals rather than human beings. It was yet another of the many tactics they used to break our morale and confidence.
It was quiet in the cell, and it was also hot and stuffy. After an hour or two the door banged open and the noise startled me. I guessed that four or five people had come into the room. One of them shouted a series of four letter words at me and hit me across my face. I felt a sharp burning pain. I couldn't even defend myself with my hands handcuffed as they were behind my back. Another beating. Another sharp pain. I was seeing stars and felt as if my eyeballs were going to pop out of my head.
'You think that you are so clever, don't you?' one of them was saying. 'You don't even realise that we have known what you've been doing and have allowed you to do it all along. You mother fuckers! But now you've taken it too far.'
I tried to stay calm and not cry out in pain.
'Speak up now. Give us some more of your speeches. Fuck your nonviolence!'
I was panting. I tried to say something, but nothing came out. They stood around me and kicked me from every side, like a lynch mob attacking a common criminal. My life seemed so hopeless at that moment. I don't remember if I cried out or not, but I do recall rolling about on the cement floor. The beating and kicking continued. They pulled me up and made me sit against the wall, but I was so dizzy I couldn't even balance with the wall as a support and I fell back on the floor. One of them pulled me up again. Another steadied me. Another hit me in the face but he missed and hit my throat instead. For a few moments I was unable to get any air into my lungs and almost blacked out. Later on I would have great difficulty drinking, as it was extremely painful to swallow.
After the beating they left the room and I was left lying on the floor. I wondered whether my ribs were broken. I could hardly breathe and actually wished I could pass out, but I didn't.
A month after this beating in Insein Special Prison, I could still feel the pain in my right ribs. I still couldn't breathe properly and had to take short gasps of air, and rest in between. It was also extremely painful to turn my head and every time I did so I would cry out in pain. While in prison, I wasn't given any medical treatment for my injuries and I had to ask my family to bring me some medicine.
A long while after the beating, I heard footsteps and the door was kicked open again.
'They are going to torture me again,' I thought. 'This time I'll lose consciousness.'
I was frightened, but I tried in vain not to show my fear. I still couldn't see anything, I could only hear. But they didn't beat me this time. Instead they began to interrogate me. They forced me to sit on a chair, which I slumped into, and they started asking about my personal details. The way they asked their questions was almost as bad as the beatings. The questions were spat out in a rapid, staccato manner. When they started I had trouble replying immediately. If I faltered or could not answer a question immediately, they would hit me across my face. I figured they believed that any hesitation in my answers meant I was trying to lie to them. Looking back on it, trying to anticipate which questions they would beat me was actually more traumatizing than when they were just plain beating me up. Some of their questions I was able to answer, some I couldn't either because I didn't know the answer or because I couldn't give them the information without putting friends or our work in danger. I tried to convince them that I didn't play a big role in the movement, so I had to lie to them.
Eventually I learned that I could minimize the beatings if I answered the questions as quickly as possible. For those questions that I couldn't answer or didn't want to answer, it was better to reply 'I don't know' as quickly as possible, rather than to lie. Although they still hit me every time I said that I didn't know, the beating was not as brutal as when they caught me lying. The longer the interrogation lasted, the harder it became to remember what I had lied about and the greater the chance of being caught out.
When they arrest two or more people together, it is more difficult to lie because those arrested are interrogated separately and their answers are compared. Because we had to answer so quickly, we were at risk of giving them clues that could direct their questions towards the information that we most wanted to keep from them. Any such clues that they would pick up from interrogating one prisoner would then be used in the interrogation of the others. For these reasons it was almost impossible to lie. I was, however, able to get away with a few lies about details that only I knew, or details that the other people arrested with me only knew.
My interrogators continually repeated questions and even used clues from people who had been arrested before me. It took me some time before I realised that this was what they were doing.
The continuous questioning was made even harder by the fact that they hadn't offered me any water since my arrest. My lips were cracking and splitting. I had repeatedly asked for some water, but each time I did so they beat me for merely asking. However, after about two days when I asked again, I wasn't beaten.
'Okay, we'll give you some water, but you'll have to write something first,' my interrogator began. 'The report you submitted to the All Burma Students' Democratic Front had more then sixty pages. If you write that down for us we will give you some water.'
'How could I possibly remember that much? It wasn't even as long as sixty pages.'
'Don't lie! Write down as much as you can remember. We know that it was longer than sixty pages. If you want some water you had better get started.'
They removed my handcuffs and as they left one of them shouted, 'You can take off your hood now, but if you hear the door open put it on again immediately.'
I removed my hood and my eyes were stabbed by the brightness. I noticed they had left me a pen and some paper. I was so thirsty.
'Is it really possible to live as long as this without water?' I wondered to myself. 'Surely not.' I picked up the pen and paper and started to think. 'What should I write?' I couldn't recall one thing that I had written in the report. I wondered who had told them that it was over sixty pages long and whether or not they had a copy of the report. I couldn't work out what had happened, but I was so thirsty that I started writing anyway.
After about an hour I heard the door open and I quickly put on the hood. A man came in. He sat in front of me and snatched the papers. He then slapped me hard across my face. I saw stars and almost fell onto the floor. Then he started swearing at me. 'You wrote only two pages in one hour?'
'I can only remember that much, 'I replied.
'Look up, you idiot! You are all smashed up but you don't feel sorry for yourself yet, is that right?'
'I do feel sorry for myself.'
'I'll go out now, and I want you to write some more. You are going to die, you idiot! Look, I want you to know that we'll continue to beat you even after you're dead.' He smashed his fist into the table and left.
What was I to do? I tried to think but noting came out. I could only envisage water. Water. Water. I picked up the pen and began to write again. I wrote everything that came into my head.
'Without a revolutionary spirit there can no revolutionary thinking, and without revolutionary thinking there can no revolution. So we have to build up the revolutionary spirit. Freedom, democracy, peace, human dignity, humanity, patriotism, a new country free from hatred.'
I didn't know what I was writing. It was not in order. One thing I was sure about was that the content was not the same as the report. But I continued to write. Water. Water. All for some water.
I didn't know how long I had been writing when the man came back in. I put down the pen and pulled the hood over my head again. I assumed that he was reading what I had written, probably with great interest. I had written about ten pages. Frightened, I tried to anticipate when he was going to hit me. I waited for the blows. After a while he said, 'You ought to have done this from the start. I'll give you some water now,' and he left.
I breathed a sigh of relief. But I didn't know what he was so pleased about. I felt uneasy. He came back in, handcuffed me again, and put a cup of water down in front of me.
'When I lift your hood above your mouth, don't look at me. Just drink.'
But he hadn't freed my hands, they were still handcuffed behind my back. He lifted the hood and I could see a small teacup of water in front of me. I bent over, put my lips to the mouth of the cup and tried to slurp it up as a dog or pig would do. When I had drunk about half of it he said 'enough!' and took the cup away.
'Let me finish it!' I pleaded.
'Shut up! He yelled.
I was totally devastated. Then they started to interrogate me again.
After a while, I had an idea. I said to me interrogator that I wanted to go to the toilet. 'Not now,' he said. But then he released my hands and helped me stagger to the toilet. Inside the toilet he removed my hood. I saw a small pot of water for washing and flushing and I was immediately overjoyed. Then I looked more closely and realised my misfortune. There was almost no water left in the pot. The coconut shell scraped the bottom of the pot as I tried to scoop up some water. A second later, the man waiting outside threw a brick into the toilet and it smashed against the wall.
'Come out of there you mother fucker! You're trying to dink the toilet water, aren't you!'
The coconut shell dropped from my hands, and I hurriedly left the toilet. Thank God he didn't hit me. Then I realised that they wouldn't even let me drink the toilet water.
I later learnt that I was interrogated at Military Intelligence Unit 14(MI-14) for four days. For the first two days they gave me no water, for three days no food and for the whole four days I wasn't allowed to sleep. The days and nights were crammed together indistinguishably, and filled only with the sound of beatings, questions and abuse. It was difficult to tell for I couldn't see, but I think two groups conducted the interrogation. Sometimes the interrogators were less brutal and a bit more polite and persuasive. They said that I should think of my family. Their threats were not strong and they listened patiently to my answers. They even remained calm when they knew that I was lying.
But when this group left another group would come in and they were brutal beyond belief. The moment they came in they would beat me without saying anything. They would kick me from behind, slap my face and shout at me. I was a sandbag. I would fall off the chair, or become jammed between the table and chair as a result of the torture. The shouting, abuse and beatings would come from all directions. Then they would start to ask questions but the torture would continue. My head felt as if it would explode because of the rapidity at which emotions and sensations flowed through my body-acute pain, shock, anger, frustration and loneliness. Then more beatings would follow, as would more questions.
The times they left me alone in the room, I was frightened by the beatings, shouts, moans and agonising screams coming from the next room. Listening to these harrowing sounds and being powerless to help was almost as bad as being beaten myself. It broke my morale and confidence. It was all there in my mind. I was confused and couldn't concentrate because of the lack of sleep, food and water. I became unsure of reality and my answers became inconsistent. Was I dreaming, or was all this really happening?
My ability to focus only came back to me when the beatings became less frequent a few days later. That was when they began the psychological torture. I think they changed their tactics because they didn't want me to lose consciousness. If they had continued at the previous pace I would certainly have passed out, which was what I longed for. Only then would I be free from the beatings, the pain and shouting that pierced my ears like iron spokes, and the incessant questions. If I was unconscious I might have been able to regain a little of my strength and stamina. I might have been better able to withstand the cruel treatment that was to come. This was apparently what they didn't want. If I passed out, they wouldn't be able to continue questioning me.