We are still prisoners in our own country: an interview with Aung San Suu Kyi.

Aung San Suu Kyi is a unique woman and, currently, the world's most famous political dissident. Recipient of the 1991 Nobel Peace Prize and numerous other prestigious international awards for her courageous leadership in a nonviolent struggle to bring justice, freedom, and democracy to the people of Burma, she is, in the words of Vaclav Havel, one of the most outstanding examples of the power of the powerless.

Aung San Suu Kyi tells her own story in the following excerpts from conversations compiled over the course of nine months--from October 1995 to June 1996--at her home in Rangoon. A rare glimpse into this extraordinary woman's values and philosophy is thus provided through her own words--words which are the first she has intended for publication since her release in 1995 from six years of house arrest, and which are only now being made public.

To see this interview in its proper context, it is necessary to understand some of the history of Burma, a nation that first achieved its independence in January 1948.

From the birth of the Union of Burma until 1962, the country's prime minister was U Nu. Then, in March 1962, General Ne Win seized power in a military coup. Ne Win's new Revolutionary Council immediately suspended the constitution and sealed off the country from all outside scrutiny. Promoting an isolationist policy he called the Burmese Way to Socialism, he expelled foreign journalists, nationalized most industrial and economic institutions, throttled the press, and established a police state based on fear, repression, and torture.

In March 1988, small groups of Burmese students took to the streets of Rangoon demanding radical political change. To defy Ne Win's dictatorship was unprecedented, and the results of this courageous confrontation were predictable. In one incident alone, forty-one wounded students suffocated to death in a police van. Such cruelties served only to invigorate the determination and commitment of the students' movement, which progressively gained momentum.

At the end of March, Aung San Suu Kyi, who was residing in Oxford. England, with her husband Dr. Michael Aris, a British scholar, and their sons Alexander and Kim, received a fateful telephone call telling her that her mother had suffered a severe stroke. Within days. Aung San Suu Kyi, who had made regular visits home to Burma during her twenty-three-year residence abroad, was back again in Rangoon at the bedside of her dying mother. Aung San Suu Kyi is the daughter of Burma's most famous and revered leader, Aung San, who had led his country to national independence after nearly 150 years of colonial domination.

On July 23, 1988, to the astonishment and jubilation of the entire nation. Ne Win, in a televised address, announced his resignation from his party (the Burma Socialist Program Party) and called for a referendum on Burma's political future. After almost three decades of his iron-fisted rule, the people were electrified by his unimaginable decision. But hopes of a quick transfer of power from a dictatorship to an authentic democracy were thwarted, as Ne Win's party members immediately opposed his request. Outraged and in a magnificent display of defiance, millions of citizens marched peacefully in every city and town throughout the country, calling for an interim civilian government, a democratic multiparty system with free and fair elections, and a restoration of basic civil liberties. As these demonstrations gathered momentum, military commanders loyal to Ne Win responded by sending out thousands of crack infantry troops with orders to kill.

"Many thousands of us knelt down in front of the soldiers," a female student demonstrator later reported. "We sang to them: `We love you; you are our brothers; all we want is freedom; you are the people's army; come to our side." The results of what became known as the "Massacre of 8-8-88" were tragic. surpassing even the carnage of a year later in China's Tiananmen Square. During the Burmese bloodbath, several thousand unarmed demonstrators were killed and hundreds more injured. In the aftermath, thousands more were imprisoned.

But from this suffocating darkness came a glimmer of hope. as a new leader emerged. On August 26, 1988, Aung San Suu Kyi announced her decision to enter the struggle for democracy at a rally attended by an estimated 500,000 people, who had gathered on the grounds near the Shwedagon Pagoda in Rangoon. "This great struggle has arisen from the intense and deep desire of the people for a fully democratic parliamentary system," she explained. "I could not, as my father's daughter, remain indifferent to all that was going on."

The movement began to gather enormous support. In her inspired campaign, Aung San Suu Kyi advanced in the footsteps of Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr., employing tactics of nonviolence and civil disobedience in pursuit of democracy. Her essential message of self-responsibility, rooted in Buddhism, developed into a high-minded political ideology that she calls Burma's "revolution of the spirit."

On September 18, 1988, as democratic changes seemed imminent, the "retired" dictator Ne Win manipulated the army from behind the scenes to take over the country in a staged coup. He turned over the rule of Burma to a twenty-one-member group of military commanders known as the State Law and Order Restoration Council. The SLORC reinstated martial law, gatherings of more than four people were punishable by imprisonment, a night curfew was imposed, and military tribunals replaced the civil courts. Fanning the flames of dissent in a nation already embittered by the August massacres, many thousands were arrested by the SLORC.

The SLORC held out a hope to appease the outrage by announcing "free and fair multiparty elections" in the spring of 1990. Within three months, over 200 parties had registered with the SLORC election committee. By far the strongest and most popular of these was the National League for Democracy, cofounded by Aung San Suu Kyi and several of her closest colleagues.

Observers and democratic leaders soon realized that the SLORC olive branch was simply a feint, as the military viciously harassed supporters of democratic parties. The New York Times reported that, in 1989 and 1990, over 500,000 Burmese citizens were being forcibly herded from major urban centers into disease-ridden "satellite towns." The areas evacuated by the SLORC were known to be strongholds of the democracy movement and home to supporters of Aung San Suu Kyi. In the midst of this, on July 20, 1989, Aung San Suu Kyi was put under house arrest, and other party leaders were incarcerated.

On May 27, 1990, elections were held, and Aung San Suu Kyi's NLD party won a landslide victory, taking 392 of the 485 seats contested--more than 80 percent of the constituencies. Instead of transferring power to the elected representatives as promised, the SLORC instigated a nationwide crackdown, imprisoning many elected ministers of Parliament. Some fled the country into exile; others were silenced in different ways.

From those turbulent days onward, many events have taken place in Burma--far too many to recount here. However, one fact stands out. Despite her release on July 11, 1995, Aung San Suu Kyi told me quite frankly in our first conversation four months later. "Nothing has changed since my release.... Let the world know that we are still prisoners in our own country."

This is the setting of our story, within the oppressive and maniacal atmosphere of the SLORC's Burma--a totalitarian prison, a nation held hostage. And from within that prison comes the voice of defiance and hope, waiting to be heard.

Alan Clements: When you speak to your people who gather in front of your house on weekends, do you, in fact, speak to the SLORC, trying to appeal to that place in them that might make them pause and reflect on their actions? Or are you just speaking to your people?

Aung San Suu Kyi: I m talking to the people really. Sometimes, of course, I'm also talking to the SLORC, because a lot of the issues that I address are so closely linked to what the authorities are doing throughout the country. But basically I'm addressing people, and I do think of the SLORC as people. They do not always think of us, who oppose them, as people. They think of us as objects to be crushed or obstacles to be removed. But I see them very much as people.

AC: During the last month, I've spoken with a lot of Burmese people in markets and shops, vendors on the street, and construction workers. I've asked them how they feel about the conditions of their country under the SLORC. Almost everyone says that they are afraid of the SLORC's wrath, afraid of retribution. afraid that if they speak out they'll pay for it with imprisonment. So in time, I've come to appreciate the importance of your words, "Fear is a habit; I'm not afraid." But is that true, Daw Suu. are you not afraid?

ASSK: I am afraid. I'm afraid of doing the wrong thing that might bring harm to others. But, of course, this is something I've had to learn to cope with. I do worry for them though.

AC: Several thousand people attend your weekend talks in front of your house. Three students were recently arrested and sentenced to two-year prison terms.

ASSK: Yes. But one must ask why the USDA [Union Solidarity Development Association], which is supposed to be a social welfare organization but is, in fact, used by the SLORC as its political arm, besides disrupting the activities of the NLD is having enormous rallies which people are forced to attend.

AC: U Kyi Maung was telling me about this. Are people fined if they don't attend these SLORC-instigated rallies to chant slogans in support of their national convention?

ASSK: Yes. I had a letter from somebody from Monywa saying that they were made to attend this rally. And every household that could not send a member had to give fifty kyats. [The official bank rate is six kyats to one U.S. dollar.] For poor people, fifty kyats is a lot of money.

AC: How poor are the poor in the countryside?

ASSK. You don't have to go to the rural areas . . . just go out to a satellite township like Hlaingthayar [near Rangoon] and take a look. They can't afford to have two meals of rice a day. Some can't even afford to have one. So they are forced to drink rice water instead of eating rice.

On the other hand, some have gotten very rich in Burma--rich as they have never been before. This is an aspect of life today that disturbs me very much--the gap between the rich and the poor has gotten so wide. You must know that there are restaurants and hotels in which people throw away tens of thousands of kyats a night. And at the same time, there are people who have to drink rice water to survive.

AC: I know that 80 percent of Burma s population live in the rural areas, and most are farmers. What are their conditions like?

ASSK: The peasants are really suffering. Farmers have told us that they have been forced to eat boiled bananas because they don't have rice to eat. If they can t grow enough rice to provide the quota they [are forced to] sell to the government, then they have to buy rice on the open market and sell it to the government at a loss, because the government buys at a fixed price that is lower than the market price. And farmers who refuse to grow the second crop of rice have their land confiscated. The only reason why they refuse to sow a second crop is because they lose so much on it. Not only do they lose what little profits they've made on the first crop but they end up with huge debts. Yet the authorities insist that they must grow a second crop.

You see, when people start deceiving others, in the end they deceive themselves as well. And the authorities seem to imagine that, if they make people grow two crops of rice, they will get twice the amount of rice to export, without considering the fact that the second crop of rice may well affect the next crop.

AC: Does torture still go on in Burma's prisons? And do you have evidence for this?

ASSK: Yes, torture goes on in all the prisons of Burma And, yes, I do have evidence of this. But it is more important to try to understand the mentality of torturers than just to concentrate on what kind of torture goes on, if you want to improve the situation.

AC: How many political prisoners are still being detained by the SLORC?

ASSK: I think it's in the four figures. We can't be certain because we are not even certain how many political prisoners there are in each of the prisons of Burma The prisoners themselves do not know everybody who is there. They are kept apart.

AC: There is a lot of pent-up anger among some people in this country toward the SLORC. When and if your struggle for democracy succeeds, and perhaps you assume a major leadership role in a democratic Burma, can you guarantee that the SLORC will not face criminal charges?

ASSK: I will never make any personal guarantees. I will never speak as an individual about such things. It is only for the NLD to speak as an organization--a group that represents the people. But I do believe that truth and reconciliation go together. Once the truth has been admitted, forgiveness is far more possible. Denying the truth will not bring about forgiveness, neither will it dissipate the anger in those who have suffered.

AC: Are there listening devices in your house?

ASSK: Perhaps there are. I don't know.

AC: Does it concern you?

ASSK: No, not particularly. Because I'm not saying anything that is underhand. Whatever I say to you, I dare to say to them, if they would like to come to listen to me.

AC: Is your telephone tapped?

ASSK: Oh, yes, probably. If it is not I would have to accuse them of inefficiency [laughing]. It should be tapped. If not. I would have to complain to General Khin Nyunt  [the SLORC's military intelligence chief] and say, "Your people are really not doing their job properly."

AC: What does it feel like to be under such scrutiny all the time?

ASSK: I don't think of it. Most people I speak to on the telephone are just friends, and we don't really have anything particularly important to say to each other. You say, "Hello. How are you" I'm so happy to be able to speak to you. Then there are people ringing up for appointments. And my family ring me every week.

AC: So you feel no pressure whatsoever from all the unseen eyes, a tapped telephone, the military intelligence men everywhere, and, of course, that ever-present threat of re-arrest--nothing at all?

ASSK: I'm not aware of this pressure all the time. But sometimes, of course, I am. For example, somebody from America, whom I had not met for years, rang up. His brother had been in Rangoon recently, and he started talking about his brother's meetings with some people in the government. I said, "You do realize that my telephone is tapped. Do you intend that everything you say be heard by the MI?" And he said, "Oh, yes, yes." But he hung up pretty quickly after that, so it was quite obvious that it had not entered his head that my telephone would be tapped. On such occasions, I am aware of my unusual circumstances.

AC: Are measures taken by your colleagues for your security?

ASSK: You see the students who are outside at the gate, on duty as it were. They don't have weapons or anything like that. We screen people who come in to see me. I don't see everybody who says they want to see me. Apart from that, what else are we supposed to do?

AC: Well, you're dealing with a rather violent regime. Has the SLORC either directly or indirectly ever verbally threatened your life?

AC: You do hear the authorities saying, "We'll crush all these elements who oppose whatever we are trying to do," and so on and so forth. One hears that sort of thing all the time.

AC: You have been at the physical mercy of the authorities ever since you entered your people's struggle for democracy. But has the SLORC ever captured you inside--emotionally or mentally?

ASSK: No, and I think this is because I have never learned to hate them. If I had, I would have really been at their mercy. Have you read a book called Middlemarch by George Eliot? There was a character called Dr. Lydgate, whose marriage turned out to be a disappointment. I remember a remark about him, something to the effect that what he was afraid of was that he might no longer be able to love his wife who had been a disappointment to him. When I first read this remark, I found it rather puzzling. It shows that I was very immature at that time. My attitude was--shouldn't he have been more afraid that she might have stopped loving him? But now I understand why he felt like that. If he had stopped loving his wife, he would have been entirely defeated. His whole life would have been a disappointment. But what she did and how she felt was something quite different. I've always felt that, if I had really started hating my captors, hating the SLORC and the army, I would have defeated myself.

This brings to mind another interviewer who said that he did not believe that I was not frightened all those years under house arrest. He thought that, at times, I must have been petrified. I found that a very amazing attitude. Why should I have been frightened? If I had really been so frightened, I would have packed up and left, because they would always have given me the opportunity to leave. I'm not sure a Buddhist would have asked this question. Buddhists in general would have understood that isolation is not something to be frightened of. People ask me why I was not frightened of them. Was it because I was not aware that they could do whatever they wanted to me? I was fully aware of that. I think it was because I did not hate them. and you cannot reaDy be frightened of people you do not hate. Hate and fear go hand in hand.

AC: I'm struck by a major distinction among leaders of nonviolent political movements. There appear to be two basic paradigms of nonviolence. One version is rooted in the belief in God--meaning that its power and inspiration come from a theistic or monotheistic understanding of the universe, life, and humankind, as seen in the movements led by Martin Luther King Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, Vaclav Havel, and Nelson Mandela prior to his formation of Umkhonto (the military wing of the African National Congress' struggle in South Africa). Each of these leaders, to a greater or lesser extent, had conviction in either a Christian or a Hindu conception of existence, whereas the second version is rooted in the belief in anatta--the Buddhist concept of emptiness, or interrelatedness, without any permanent god, entity, or "thing figure" behind the veil. His Holiness the Dalai Lama of Tibet is one example. Another is the Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hahn who, as you may know, led a nonviolent peace movement during the Vietnam War and was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize by Martin Luther King Jr. in 1968. And, of course, there's you, Aung San Suu Kyi, a dedicated Buddhist.

When you look at these examples, all the theistic expressions of nonviolence have been successful in their struggles, whereas the Buddhists have not been successful in bringing about political change--Thich Nhat Hahn admits this is in his writings, and the Dalai Lama states that "time is quickly running out in Tibet." While in your own struggle here in Burma, the results remain uncertain as SLORC repression tightens daily. May I ask you for your impressions on this distinction that I've raised?

ASSK: I wonder whether it isn't something more practical than that. Organized movements are essential to the way in which Christianity works. Their churches are organized that way, whereas Buddhists are not really organized around their monasteries. Although one might go to the local monastery, or have one's favorite monastery in which to worship, one does not necessarily stay confined to that monastery only. It's not like Christians who go to the same church for years and years and develop congregational relationships. Perhaps your parents, too, went to the same church and you know a lot of people through your ongoing association with them. You also know what their parents were like and what affiliations they had. I think this is the way the base for organized movement is formed.

I have often thought that this is probably one of the reasons why Christian-based political movements tend to take off quickly and efficiently. The organization is already there. Look at Latin America--you'll find that a lot of its political movements against the dictatorships, although they were not nonviolent, were churchbased, which made them take off rather quickly. Even in Islamic countries, they have the mosque, which is formally organized, with regular mosque meetings taking place weekly. This sort of formal organization does not exist in Buddhist countries.

AC: So obviously you don t think that the success of these movements had anything to do with their convictions on God.

ASSK: I think that it's just the fact that they can meet regularly. Even in India the government cannot say that Muslims must not go to the mosque. It would create such a reaction. They must allow them to go to the mosque, so they can always meet regularly a minimum of once a week. Whereas, where can Buddhists meet? If the Buddhists started meeting once a week at a particular monastery, the military intelligence would be on to them immediately to find out what the meeting was about. But you can't stop people from going to church. In the Eastern European countries they tried this, but once the focus of Western countries was on them and they needed Western loans, they couldn't tell people any more: "Don't go to church." It was so in Poland. There was a great deal of church-based political activity.

AC: President Nelson Mandela of South Africa writes in his autobiography. Long Walk to Freedom, that in 1961 "the days of non-violent struggle were over.... We had no choice but to turn to violence." To substantiate his turn from nonviolence to violence, he cited an old African expression: "The attacks of the wild beast cannot be averted only with bare hands." Nevertheless, there were some within the ANC who argued that nonviolence was an inviolate principle, not a tactic that should be abandoned when it no longer worked. To this, Mandela countered: "[I] believe exactly the opposite . . . non-violence was a tactic that should be abandoned when it no longer worked.... And it was wrong and immoral to subject our people to armed attacks by the state without offering them some kind of alternative." But if I am correct, you see nonviolent political activism as a moral and spiritual principle and not merely as a political tactic.

ASSK: No, not exactly. It's also a political tactic. Military coupe, which have happened enough in Burma, are violent ways of changing situations, and I do not want to encourage and to perpetuate this tradition of bringing about change through violence. Because I'm afraid that, if we achieve democracy in this way, we will never be able to get rid of the idea that you bring about necessary changes through violence. The very method would be threatening to us all the time. Because there are always people who do not agree with democracy. And if we achieve it through violent means, there will be the hardcore of those who have always been against the democracy movement who will think, "It was through violence that they changed the system, and if we can develop our own methods of violence which are superior to theirs, we can get back the power." And we'll go on in this vicious cycle. For me it is as much a political tactic as a spiritual belief, that violence is not the right way. It would simply not assist us in building up a strong democracy.

AC: But when you perceive that nonviolent methods are no longer effective, do you as a leader have a duty to shift your nonviolent tactic--to sharpen the point, so to speak, of your struggle--or do you adopt the attitude, come what may, to maintain nonviolence because of a moral affinity?

ASSK: We have always said that we will never disown those students and others who have taken up violence. We know that their aim is the same as ours. They want democracy, and they think the best way to go about it is through armed struggle. And we do not say that we have the monopoly on the right methods of achieving what we want. Also, we cannot guarantee their security. We can't say, "Follow us in the way of nonviolence and you'll be protected," or that we'll get there without any casualties. That's a promise we can't make. We have chosen the way of nonviolence simply because we think it's politically better for the country in the long run to establish that you can bring about change without the use of arms. This has been a clear NLD policy from the beginning. Here, we're not thinking about spiritual matters at all. Perhaps in that sense, we're not the same as Mahatma Gandhi, who would have probably condemned all movements that were not nonviolent. I'm not sure. But he did say at one time that, if he had to choose between violence and cowardice, he would choose violence. So, even Gandhi, who was supposed to be the great exponent of nonviolence, was not somebody who did not make any exceptions.

AC: But what about choosing violence out of compassion--if that's the right word--rather than using it as an option instead of cowardice? Nelson Mandela writes, "Leadership commits a crime against its own people if it hesitates to sharpen its political weapons where they have become less effective." Isn't he saying that one's attachment to nonviolence becomes, in fact, an act of violence toward one's own people, when the nonviolent approach is no longer effective?

ASSK: It depends on the situation, and I think that, in the context of Burma today, nonviolent means are the best way to achieve our goal. But I certainly do not condemn those who fight the "just fight." as it were. My father did, and I admire him greatly for it.

AC: So it's accurate to say that you re keeping your options open and not confining yourself to one particular approach?

ASSK: We keep all our options open. It is very important that one should be flexible. We've chosen nonviolence because it is the best way to protect the people and, in the long term, ensure the future stability of democracy. This is why my father changed from violence to nonviolence. He knew that it was far better for the future of the country to achieve a democratic state through political means and negotiation, rather than through military means.

It's the same with Nelson Mandela He changed back to nonviolence when this was possible. Of course, before then he used violence because the nonviolent way was not paying off and it was seen as weakness rather than strength. But in those days things were different. When Mandela and other South Africans were first trying out the nonviolent approach, the world was so busily engaged in the ideological battle between the East and West that it was not that interested in human rights. In a brutal world, Nelson Mandela and other South Africans felt that they had to choose means that would make an impact and would move their position forward. In this day and age, we can use nonviolent political means to achieve our ends. But if you have a choice and feel that you have an equal chance of succeeding, I think you certainly ought to choose the nonviolent way, because it means that fewer people will be hurt.

AC: Perhaps many people who read your words will want to know how they can assist you and your people to achieve democracy. What can someone do to help?

ASSK: It's like apartheid in South Africa If only a few people in the world had refused to buy products from South Africa it would not have had an effect. But there were many, many people who refused to buy anything from South Africa In fact, I never bought anything from South Africa because there was apartheid. I was one of those who felt that we morally could not support what the South African government was doing.

There is much that those who wish to help Burma achieve democracy can do, such as refusing those businesses that are helping prop up an unjust system in Burma

AC: So anybody in the world who has a regard for freedom . . .

ASSK: Can do his or her bit. Everybody can do [something] if really interested. Everybody in Burma Everybody in the world outside Burma

AC: Can foreigners who sympathize with your movement financially assist you and the NLD in your efforts?

ASSK: No. Under current regulations, we are not allowed to accept donations from foreign sources, and we are very careful not to do so. We are very strict about this.

AC: Were you able to receive the money from the Nobel Peace Prize?

ASSK: I never accepted that money or any other prize money for myself. I have used those funds to set up a Burma Trust for Education, and this is kept abroad. We use it to help educate young Burmese who are In Thailand and so on. Those foreigners who would like to help Burma and cannot help us directly could contribute to that trust fund and we would be grateful.

AC: On the chance that you are re arrested and held incommunicado, may I invite you to speak to those of us in the world who wish to support you and your people's aspirations for democracy and freedom?

ASSK: It's very simple. You must not forget that the people of Burma want democracy. Whatever the authorities may say, it is a fact that the people want democracy and they do not want an authoritarian regime that deprives them of their basic human rights. The world should do everything possible to bring about the kind of political system that the majority of the people of Burma want and for which so many people have sacrificed themselves.

Burma should be helped at a time when help is needed. And one day we hope to be in a position to help others in need.

Alan Clements is the founder and codirector of the Burma Project U.S.A. and considered one of the West's foremost experts on the political crisis in Burma This article is adapted from his newest book, The Voice of Hope, which is now available in bookstores.