The political tragedy--in addition to the human tragedy--of the disaster in Burma.
Recently, horrific natural disasters have been followed by moves towards political
reconciliation. In the aftermath of the
2004 tsunami that devastated Aceh, a province in Indonesia, the Indonesian government
and separatist rebels moved toward a peace process, which has resulted in the
end of decades of conflict there. In Pakistan,
the 2005 Kashmir earthquake relief efforts helped soothe tensions, at least
temporarily, between Islamabad and Delhi. Similarly, after
the massive 1999 earthquake in Turkey,
the nation's longtime enemy, Greece,
quickly pledged assistance, helping lead to warmer relations between the two
countries.
So when Myanmar--formerly Burma--was devastated by a cyclone
this weekend (10,000 are feared dead and large swathes of the nation’s largest
city, Yangon, are destroyed), some may have taken the slightest bit of comfort
in predicting that perhaps this, finally, would bring about a change in the
political situation there. The military government, which has run the nation
since 1962 and is known for its reclusiveness and xenophobia--it lives in a
bunkered capital in the middle of nowhere--issued an appeal for international
aid, possibly showing a sign of openness. Indeed, Thailand has already announced
plans to airlift relief supplies to its neighbor.
Alas, any glimmer of hope is likely to be snuffed out soon. Unlike
other past examples of disasters sparking change, the oppressive Myanmar
government has shown that nothing, not even massive death, will lead it to
consider reforms. After all, coastal Burma also suffered untold destruction in that same 2004 tsunami, but the junta essentially refused to release
accurate information, apparently underplaying the death toll by many multiples,
and stifling relief efforts. And even though the junta is now allowing in international
agencies, history suggests that it’ll dispose of them soon--in the past five
years, the junta has tossed out virtually every multinational agency,
apparently out of the fear that they would somehow subvert the government.
Worse, the vast loss of life in other parts of the country
has never seemed to bother the repressive junta, which has to respond far less
to public opinion than the governments of Indonesia,
Pakistan, or Turkey, which
at least have democratic institutions. What’s more, unlike those countries, the
junta receives minimal western investment, and cares little about its public
image, so it won’t care about international outcry if it tosses relief agencies
out of the country in a few weeks.
In the eastern part of the country, where an ongoing civil
war has raged since the mid-1940s, the junta recently has waged a brutal,
scorched earth campaign--burning villages, killing thousands of civilians, and raping
a terrifying number of others. In the construction of petroleum pipelines and
other large infrastructure projects, the junta is reported to have used forced
labor, essentially working average Burmese to death. And as the world saw, when
thousands of Burmese monks, among the most respected figures in this devoutly Buddhist
society, protested in the streets of Yangon last
year, the military had no qualms about attacking even them. Following the
“Saffron Revolution” crackdown, the junta then organized large-scale round-ups
of monks at leading monasteries, round-ups that mostly went unnoticed in the
Western press, which has minimal access to Myanmar--suggesting that after the
cyclone, reporters will not be able to follow up either. This weekend’s tragedy
won’t relieve any of the country’s political problems; it has only made the
suffering of Burmese citizens more acute.