Secrets of Commune 4828

How communists played a shadowy role in Burma’s 1988 pro-democracy uprising

“FIRST, you must be faithful to the party,” said my colleague softly and in the kind of tone adopted in a “State of the Union” address.

“Second, you have to swear on oath never to betray the proletariat and poor peasantry.” I gasped, he paused—and then went on: “Third, you must believe in armed struggle.”

I was 19 and astonished to hear these words from somebody I had known for three years. He was one of a group of writers and intellectuals, in his 50s, and he ran a small shop selling secondhand books, where I regularly hung out. He and others in his group represented Burma’s world of letters and were widely respected and well-known. They were poor—but rich in intellectual thought.

I was in his shop on this occasion not to buy books but to ask for a copy of the first edition of Aryoon-Oo (or Dawn), an underground newsletter published by the Communist Party of Burma (CPB).

He parted with the copy only after I had agreed to the three conditions. I hesitated at first, but I was dying to read the newsletter and finally nodded to his conditions.

I stowed the newsletter away in my bag and stole nervously out of the shop, well aware that if I were caught with it I could be charged with high treason. Safely at home, I unfolded the publication and found it full of “battle news,” anti-government pronouncements and communist propaganda.

It was my first contact with an underground communist cell. But I never became a Communist Party member—nor did I stick to the three conditions I had assented to in the bookshop.

(Illustrations: Harn Lay / The Irrawaddy)

The year was 1988, and Burma was heading rapidly towards crisis. The 26-year regime of Ne Win’s nominally socialist government was in a shambles, and the people were looking desperately for an alternative.

Public dissent had already surfaced in 1987, with Ne Win’s unpopular demonetization of the Burmese currency.

Many thought the time was ripe for revolution. The communists, who had established an underground network of cells throughout the country, foresaw trouble—but also opportunity. The launch of Aryoon-Oo was among the first offensives of their anti-government campaign.

Long before the uprising in 1988, communists had decided to regroup in Burma’s heartland even after losing their headquarters in the Burmese army assault on Pegu Yoma, near Rangoon, in 1973-74. At the third party congress, held in Panghsang, at that time the CPB headquarters on the Sino-Burmese border, it was decided to step up underground activities inside Burma.

I belonged at the time to a small literary group, later known as “Insein Sarpay Wine,” which had been established in the Rangoon suburb of Insein.

Many respected literary gurus were invited to address weekly discussions on Burmese and international literature. Although we carefully avoided political topics, the gatherings were illegal and we were worried about the possibility of regime agents monitoring our activities.

I remember an energetic young writer and physician, Dr Zaw Min, who took part in our weekly meetings. He loved the writings of Franz Kafka and had translated some of the Czech author’s short stories into Burmese, which were then published.

The last time I met him was at Rangoon General Hospital in September 1988 during the daily street protests. He was no longer the Kafka-reading intellectual but clearly a leading activist in the uprising. As soon as he saw me, he gave me instructions to take to leaders of the protests. “Go and see them, tell them I sent you.”

The following year, on August 5, 1989, Zaw Min’s name cropped up at a marathon press conference given by the then intelligence chief, Maj-Gen Khin Nyunt.