statement

Democracy loses a hero

By JOHN PILGER

From Melbourne Age
29th March 1999

JUST as Aung San Suu Kyi is Burma's most famous heroine, her husband, Michael Aris, was one of its heroes. Michael, who died at the weekend, was not simply the Oxford professor who supported his extraordinary wife; he gave his life to the cause of freedom in that suffering country.

He was a gentle, private, modest man whose own words say much about his bravery. ``It was a quiet evening in Oxford, like many others, the last day of March 1988,'' he wrote. ``Our sons were already in bed and we were reading when the telephone rang. Suu picked up the phone to learn that her mother had suffered a severe stroke. She put the phone down and at once started to pack. I had a premonition that our lives would change forever.''

Thus Michael began his moving introduction to Freedom from Fear, a collection of essays by and about Suu Kyi. They had met in their student days at Oxford. ``From her early childhood,'' he wrote, ``Suu had been deeply preoccupied with the question of what she might do to help her people. She never forgot for a minute that she was the daughter of Burma's national hero ... And yet prior to 1988 it had never been her intention to strive for anything quite so momentous ... Recently I read again the 187 letters she sent me in the eight months before we were married on 1 January 1972. Again and again she expressed her worry that her family and people might misinterpret our marriage and see it as a lessening of her devotion to them. She constantly reminded me that one day she should have to return to Burma, that she counted on my support at that time, not as her due, but as a favor ...''

He quoted from one of her letters. ``I only ask one thing,'' she wrote, ``that should my people need me, you would help me to do my duty by them ... Sometimes I am beset by fears that circumstances and national considerations might tear us apart just when we are so happy in each other that separation would be a torment. And yet such fears are so futile and inconsequential: if we love and cherish each other as much as we can while we can, I am sure love and compassion will triumph in the end.''

Michael described her departure for Burma that March day as ``a day of reckoning''. He wrote the words quoted above while Suu Kyi was in her third year of house arrest in Rangoon, an arbitrary sentence imposed by the military dictatorship and which lasted, officially, until 1995 but which continues, in one form or another, to the present day. During that time, Michael and their sons, Alexander and Kim, now in their 20s, have seldom been allowed by the regime to visit her. The last to see her was Kim in September 1997.

When she was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1991 while under house arrest, Michael said: ``I was informed today that my dear wife, Suu, has been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize ... It is my earnest hope and prayer that the Peace Prize will somehow lead to what she has always strived for - a process of dialogue aimed at achieving lasting peace in her country. Selfishly, I also hope our family's situation will be eased as a result of this supreme gesture of recognition for her moral and physical courage, and that we may at last be allowed to pay her visits again. We miss her very much.''

The Burmese embassy in London responded by informing Michael that his sons' Burmese nationality had been withdrawn and that they were refused visas on their British passports. He was given one Christmas visit. ``It seems,'' he wrote, ``that the authorities had hoped I would try to persuade her to leave with me. In fact, knowing the strength of Suu's determination, I had not even thought of doing this.'' He added: ``The days I spent alone with her that last time, completely isolated from the world, are among my happiest memories of our many years of marriage.''

Later, when I met Suu Kyi in Rangoon, I caught a glimpse of the sacrifice the family shared. ``There were such long times when we were out of touch,'' she said, ``... two years and four months was the longest.''

``No letters or anything, either way, during that time?'' I said.

``No.''

``No letters from the children were allowed through?''

``No.''

``That must have been hard for all of you.''

``You do everything you can to adjust ...''

``You and Michael had a commitment, but you must have been concerned about the impact it would have on the boys.''

``Oh yes, I worried about them. We both did ... My youngest (Kim) had to be sent to boarding school and he's a very home-loving child ... but these things had to be done.''

Without ever saying a word publicly, Michael worked ceaselessly to marshal all help possible for his wife and for her imprisoned and often tortured comrades. He arranged diplomatic favors for her and so was able to get through vital messages and the occasional letter from Alexander and Kim. He would dial her number at her house by Inya Lake in Rangoon over and over; then when he finally heard her voice, the line would go dead. Such is the cruelty of the fascists who run Burma.

An authority on Tibet at Oxford, he was a force behind the campaigning groups that have sustained the Burmese struggle.

When I last saw him, I asked him how he had kept going. ``Even from afar, I draw strength from her,'' he said. ``I hope I have given her that, too.''

When he knew he was dying, he applied again for a visa and was refused. Had Suu Kyi left Rangoon, she would not have been able to return and continue the resistance and the struggle for the freedom of her people, for whom she is a beacon. Certainly, when the Burmese win their freedom, as I believe they will, they should not hesitate in celebrating the unswerving courage and commitment of Michael Aris.