On July 19, 1947, independence hero Aung San and eight others were gunned down by a rival faction at the Secretariat. Aung San’s honesty and straightforwardness are missed by friends and colleagues who knew him. However, current military leaders in Burma want to take his name out of history books.

The name of student leader Aung San always aroused excitement in high school student Htay Myaing. His dream was to meet Aung San, who was at that time editor of Oway magazine, published by Rangoon University.

General Aung San

In 1936, Htay Myaing, who lived in Irrawaddy division, attended Burma’s first student conference in Rangoon, where the All Burma Federation of Student Unions was established. There he found his dream tinged with disappointment.

Htay Myaing watched Aung San, then 21, speaking to a disorderly crowd, and he found his hero rather rough, impolite, and emotional. Worse, Htay Myaing saw no trace of the manner he expected from an educated university student.

Htay Myaing, who later became a highly respected writer and poet, wrote of that first encounter: “Aung San is neither handsome nor eloquent.”

He did concede, however: “I was still young; thus, in my thoughts, I want him to be handsome and articulate.”

Htay Myaing, whose pen name is Dagon Taya, went on to write historical critiques about Aung San, observing him from a critical perspective.

Taya is now a living legend in Burma as his friends in the 1930s and 1940s included not only independence hero General Aung San and U Nu (who later became prime minister), but also Than Tun (the communist leader killed in the jungle), Ba Hein and many other prominent leaders in the country’s independence struggle.

Now a venerated writer and artist in his eighties, Taya lives in Kalaw, Shan State.

Taya never became a “close friend” of Aung San, who was four years his senior. But in that he wasn’t alone—it was never easy to get close to Aung San.

Taya thought Aung San was eccentric and unfriendly. He was a man who shunned entertainment and maintained a surly appearance. His thoughts focused on only one thing: Burma’s independence.

Taya and friends tried unsuccessfully to persuade Aung San to relax and occasionally enjoy himself. “He wouldn’t come out to the movies when we invited him,” Taya recalled.

Aung San doesn’t pretend, he is very honest—his speeches are not from books but from his own experiences and heart —Dagon Taya

Other young Thakin leaders, such as Than Tun, Ba Hein and Nu, sought distractions such as theater visits as brief respites from politics. (Many Burmese nationalist leaders named themselves Thakin or master during the independence struggle. Thakin Aung San, for instance.)

While his friends relaxed, Aung San remained in his room with his books. “Aung San was a political animal,” recalled Taya. “He was always thinking of politics and independence.”

Aung San’s daughter, Aung San Suu Kyi, who is now under house arrest, wrote in her book Aung San of Burma: “His honesty, single-mindedness and capacity for work won him considerable respect, albeit reluctant, but he was a difficult personality and stood apart from his more courteous and easygoing colleagues.”

However, Taya, who admired Than Tun, Ba Hein and U Nu rather than Aung San, said the independence hero had later changed and had emerged as a national leader. He became a wiser, more placid, more mature Aung San, with real charisma.

His honesty and straight-forwardness remained unchanged, however, and this earned him the respect of colleagues, international leaders, war allies and the Burmese people as a whole. “His leadership is well accepted among the people, he has developed statesman-like skills and he quickly became a national leader,” Taya noted.

Before Aung San’s assassination in July 1947, Taya wrote a famous biography, Aung San or“Ahyine” (meaning untamed or unpolished), regarded as a dynamic portrayal.

In his biography, Taya touched on the issue of Aung San’s decision to marry, at a time when the writer felt marriage might affect the general’s total commitment to the independence struggle.

Aung San himself had once warned his comrades and soldiers not to be distracted by women and romance. Politics and the struggle for independence were paramount for him.

But love overtook Aung San and changed his views.

The general met his future wife, Khin Kyi, when he and some colleagues were receiving medical treatment at Rangoon General Hospital. Among his nurses was attractive young Khin Kyi.

AUNG SAN and family.

Suu Kyi wrote of the encounter: “Ma Khin Kyi [was] an attractive young woman of great charm whose dedication to her work of healing had won the respect and affection of patients and colleagues alike. She handled Aung San with firmness, tenderness, and good humor. The formidable commander-in-chief was thoroughly captivated.”

To the surprise of many, the 27-year-old commander of the Burma Independence Army, or BIA, married Khin Kyi in September 1942.

“Marriage,” mused the general in a meeting with Taya and other friends. “You can not keep thinking about it for too long—you just have to do it.”

Many of those in the general’s circles thought the same. They were disheartened and depressed by the Japanese occupation and the prospects for their independence struggle in a country under foreign domination.

Many of them married in those difficult times. One, Thakin Ba Hein, a close friend of Taya’s, told the writer: “When they are depressed, they want to share their feelings with some one who is a lifetime partner, not just a friend.”

Taya later observed that Aung San, the “political animal”, had shown his human side by getting married. He frequently revealed his human side in other ways.

Taya recalled a reception where he was playing the piano and singing romantic songs with friends, including BIA army officers.

Aung San, wearing military uniform, stormed into the room and stopped the party. The young general made a short speech saying it was no time for love songs. Martial songs were needed, he said—songs to boost patriotic morale and the fighting spirit.

He then abruptly left the room, but Taya and his group disobeyed their leader’s exhortation. The party continued.

The next time, however, Aung San, the husband and father, was in a more melodious mood.

At a friend’s wedding party, to Taya’s bemusement, Aung San grabbed him from the crowd, led him to a piano and begged him to play a romantic song. Aung San sang along to Taya’s accompaniment, and then asked him to play on.

On another occasion, Taya visited Aung San’s house, where guards told him to wait outside the living room. Minutes later the general came out—and Taya saw lipstick on Aung San’s cheek.

Politely, Taya did not embarrass the country’s independence hero.

A year before the assassination of Aung San (he died aged 32) and other national leaders, Taya thought the general, then a leader of the Anti-Fascist People’s League, had emerged as a true statesman.

“Aung San doesn’t pretend, he is very honest—his speeches are not from books but from his own experiences and heart,” Taya said.

Taya believes, like so many, that if Aung San had survived, with his straightforward honesty and popularity intact, he could have better navigated the nation in the right direction.

“I still believe that the country would be better off with him,” Taya says, dismissing the notion that Burma wouldn’t be much different under Aung San.

It’s certain that were he alive today he would have been saddened by the failed state's unresolved conflicts and the suffering of his countrymen. And he would undoubtedly be critical of the reputation of the Burmese armed forces, the Tatmadaw he founded.

Aung San may have been eccentric but he wouldn’t have led the country to destruction, says Taya.

“I never saw him becoming arrogant because of any powerful positions he gained. He remained very much the same,” Taya wrote.

Today, though, Aung San’s name has been all but erased from Burmese life. He is barely mentioned in the state-run media or in textbooks. Burma’s rulers no longer say they are following Aung San’s path, and the once so elaborate Martyrs Day celebrations have been drastically curtailed.

Writings on Aung San are carefully scrutinized by the censorship board. Surviving comrades of Aung San as well as writers complain they can no longer publish anything about the independence hero.

The current military leaders’ desire to keep Aung San at a distance is, of course, politically understandable. The names alone of Aung San and his daughter Suu Kyi sit uncomfortably with the current leaders. They regard her as their chief enemy.

Aung San wanted the Tatmadaw to stay out of politics, but unfortunately the military has ruled the country for the past 42 years.

Since Aung San is no longer a role model for Burmese leaders they sought new ones in a hurried search through Burmese history. They found them in such warrior heroes as King Bayinnaung, Anawrahta and Kyansittha.

The accounts of the nation-building efforts and other achievements of these warlords are fairy tales dyed with myth. Nevertheless, they are a source of comfort and admiration for the generals.

Aung San’s story, on the other hand, is genuine and candid—and it’s that contrast that the generals find degrading. Aung San’s honesty and straightforwardness are sorely absent among the current leaders.