On April 12 an unusual story appeared in Burma’s state-run daily newspapers. It said that a man identified as Wai Phyo Naung killed himself in a police lock up in Mandalay after being arrested for loitering in the early morning of March 25. According to the report, he had twisted his sarong into a rope and hanged himself from a bar in the ceiling at around 2pm on March 26.
The report followed an April 9 press conference in which the chief of police emerged to answer questions together with the ubiquitous military officers. A journalist from a weekly crime journal asked him, “Due to the accusations of foreign media, there were suspicions among the public that some members of [the police] tortured and bullied the people. Are there any such incidents or not? If such incidents are found, is there any response? If there is any, to what extent action is taken against those who committed the incidents?”
In reply, Police Brigadier General Khin Yi cited the case of Ko Thet Naing Oo. As the Asian Human Rights Commission and other agencies have reported, Thet Naing Oo was allegedly beaten to death by municipal authorities and reservist fire fighters on March 17. A special tribunal established to examine the case has operated behind closed doors and appears set–characteristically–on absolving the accused of any wrongdoing. Most recently, Thet Naing Oo’s friends, who witnessed the incident, have reportedly themselves been released from custody on condition that they testify according to the official version of events: that Thet Naing Oo was drunk and he attacked the officers, a crowd chased him and some among them hit him, causing his death. Some poor bystanders have been found to take the blame.
It is uncommon for Burma’s tightly-controlled press to carry detailed rebuttals of individual cases of alleged abuse. But with more and more stories spreading of brutality by police and local authorities in the cities and villages at the country’s centre, the government seems to have decided that it is better to construct its own version of reality, rather than let others come up with it first.
Interestingly, the style and content of rebuttal has more in common with that of governments in neighbouring countries of South and Southeast Asia than with the conventional propaganda to which people in Burma are accustomed. Specifically, it has two important characteristics.
Firstly, the authorities portray the victim as a person of bad character. It is then understood that whatever happened, he somehow deserved it. Wai Phyo Naung is described as having had a record of loitering, been covered in tattoos, and apparently on drugs. “His brothers told police that he was a bad youth, never listened to his parents, and used to be on alcohol,” the newspapers reported. As for Thet Naing Oo, he was a former destructionist who got drunk and went looking for trouble. Both were socially undesirable. If they wound up dead somehow, it was no loss.
Compare this with the language and mentality of the authorities in Thailand. When the government there organised the killing of thousands of alleged drug dealers in 2002, it set out by categorising them as people who deserved to die, who had nothing to contribute to the country. Likewise, over one thousand young men who were arrested outside Tak Bai District Police Station in Narathiwat Province during October 2004 were also described as drug users and hooligans, although these allegations were without substance. And to the present day, reports on deaths in custody invariably dwell on the alleged wrongdoing of the deceased in order to distract attention from the actual issues. One way or another, the population of Thailand is reminded incessantly that bad people deserve bad things, and therefore, if something bad happens to someone, they must be bad.
Secondly, the authorities portray their own personnel as disciplined and following regulations. It is then understood that whatever happened, it was not the fault of the police or other state officers. The policeman discovering Wai Phyo Naung is described as springing to his aid and calling for others to help. Although they rushed him to hospital, it was too late. An autopsy was carried out which absolved the police of wrongdoing, and the matter was reported to the magistrate. Correct procedure was fulfilled. Thet Naing Oo too was immediately sent to hospital but could not be saved. Special inquiries into the case have followed, as required by law and circumstances.
Compare this with the case of Mousumi Ari in West Bengal, India. Mousumi was murdered by her in-laws in October 2003. However, because one of them had connections to the local police, the crime was made to appear as a suicide. The police, judicial magistrate and autopsy doctor all performed in the charade. The supposed separation of powers was reduced to farce. Only through the heroic efforts of the victim’s family and local human rights defenders was the struggle against lies won, and it was finally revealed through a later independent autopsy that the death was a murder. The perpetrators were charged, although none of the authorities responsible for the cover-up have ever been punished.
Not even these few avenues exist in Burma. There are, as Brig-Gen. Khin Yi puts it, “lots of rules and regulations” with which the police are expected to comply. In fact, they are practically the same rules and regulations as in West Bengal, as a consequence of a shared colonial legacy. But lots of rules and regulations mean nothing without functioning, independent institutions to enforce them and provide redress to persons who suffer abuse. In Thailand, India and most other parts of Asia, these are few and far between. Those that exist, struggle to survive. In Burma, they are simply non-existent. There is no legislature. There is no competent judiciary. There are no independent government bodies. There are no international agencies with credible mandates to assist in reform. Nor is there any commitment to any of these.
“If a row takes place involving a police member, he faces action under the police code of conduct, civil laws, and administrative action,” Brig-Gen. Khin Yi says. Were it so, Burma would be a dramatically different country from what it is today. While exceptional cases give cause for hope, such as the recent conviction of two police officers for rape, under existing arrangements they will remain exceptional. The norm will continue to be extrajudicial killings, torture and other gross abuses practiced by the police, army, local government officers and other officials with impunity.
However, by now reporting on these cases, the authorities in Burma are–whether they will admit it or not–recognising that sometimes things go wrong which must somehow be explained. Where there was blanket denial, there is now reluctant acknowledgment. Where there is reluctant acknowledgment there are implied obligations. And where there are implied obligations, there are rights.
