| MAY, 1999 - VOLUME 7 NO.4 |
Pado Mahn Nyein recently spoke to the Irrawaddy about his daring escape from the penal colony on Coco Island, “the Rock” of Burma. Mahn Nyein’s involvement in the political affairs of his troubled country began in the early 1960’s with his participation in an underground movement struggling against the nascent military regime of General Ne Win. But it wasn’t until July 1967, with his arrest for participating in rice riots which, at the instigation of military authorities, turned into race riots between Burmese and Chinese, that he felt the full force of oppression. After being held briefly at a Military Intelligence camp, he was transferred to the infamous Ya Kyi Aing “interrogation center” near Rangoon, where he was tortured for three months. Then he was sent to Insein Prison and placed in solitary confinement before being put in a regular cell for the next year. Then, on February 12, 1969, the prison authorities sent him to Coco Island along with 232 other political prisoners, including the famous writer Ba Maw Tin Aung and the noted translator Mya Than Tint, as well as Lay Htee Ohn Maung (a legendary parachutist) and Ye Bew (“Comrade”) Raja of the Communist Party of Burma. Other members of the CPB were also in the group, as were members of the Pyi Thu Ye Baw (People’s Volunteer Force), Pa Ma Nya Ta, and students from the Ya Ka Tha (Rangoon University Students’ Union) and Ta Ka Tha (University Students’ Union). Even armed forces personnel were sent to the island to serve life sentences of hard labor on “development projects,” mainly growing and harvesting coconuts. Conditions on the island were so restrictive and harsh that protests broke out twice in the time Mahn Nyein was there. Not only were prisoners forced to do hard labor in the island’s coconut plantations; they could not bathe, sleep, or eat without supervision or interference from their jailers. But this did not prevent prisoners from communicating with each other, and for Mahn Nyein, the prison was soon to become a place of learning. In October 1969, Mahn Aung Kyi, secretary of the All Burma Karen Organization, was imprisoned on the island and soon became Mahn Nyein’s political mentor. The older man, a fellow Karen, encouraged him not to give up the struggle against the military regime. Soon the two had hatched a plan to escape from the island, an act that they regarded as political. By escaping they hoped to have a chance to tell others about conditions on the island, and just as importantly, they wanted to demonstrate to their fellow prisoners that their captors’ control over their lives was not absolute. But to achieve either of these goals would require secrecy and careful planning. Their plan was divided into three stages: making a boat and stocking it with provisions; crossing the sea; and joining a resistance group as soon as possible after reaching land. They anticipated a number of difficulties at each stage. First of all, there was the risk of getting caught. Building a boat and storing food and medicine would not be easy to do without attracting attention. Then, once they were off the island, they had to worry about storms and schools of fish large enough to capsize their boat. Being caught by the Burmese Navy was another risk. Finally, it would be no easy task to make contact with an underground political organization once they came ashore: the chance of being turned in to the authorities was great, as they did not know whom they could trust. With all of these daunting obstacles ahead of them, they had to plan and act carefully. They went to work on the boat on Che Di Island, just off the extreme southern end of Coco Island, using wood removed from an old abandoned house. They hid the wood in a field full of bushes, where they were able to work without being seen. The boat was fifteen feet long, with a pointed bow, a rudder, oars and three sails. For balance, they also strapped bamboo to the sides. They even managed to make a compass. For food, they dried turtle meat, grew sweet potatoes and cucumbers in a secret garden, and took whatever they could get from the prison. They also collected as much medicine as possible from the prison infirmary. Finally, after eight months of careful preparation, they were ready to sail on September 16, 1970. They cast off at about 10 p.m. that evening, along with another companion, U Aung Ngwe, a schoolteacher and former CPB member. The following day, the three men found themselves in the middle of a fierce storm. Waves up to ten feet high towered over them, while winds of about 45 miles per hour sent their boat flying at high speed. They worried about damage to the mast, but the wind was so strong they couldn’t untie the sails. They were also afraid of losing control or capsizing, but after an hour, they emerged from the storm unscathed. After this, they felt more confident they would survive their journey. In fact, this experience left Mahn Nyein with a lasting sense that he would never again feel fear in the face of adversity. After the storm, it rained continuously for five days. The skin on their hands started to swell and split open, and the only warmth the men could feel came from the food in their stomachs. After this long wet spell, it became so hot that Mahn Nyein was reminded of the Burmese proverb that “even prawns die from the heat at the height of the hot season.” Using their compass and the stars at night, they were able to keep a steady course, deviating only to avoid ships and schools of large fish. Finally, early one morning, Mahn Nyein thought he could see land, but hesitated to wake his companions, thinking it might be just a bank of clouds. When he was certain it was land, they all rejoiced that they were now very close to successfully completing the second part of their mission. Four days later, they finally reached dry land, coming ashore at the village of Zee Phyu Thaung Dan in Ye Chaung Phyar. They wasted no time in trying to contact someone from the New Mon State Party. In the village they asked an old couple for help, and they were told to go to Tu Yha, the village headman, who was assigned by the NMSP. But when they went to see the headman, they discovered that there were Burmese soldiers at his home, asking questions about recent fighting between Mon and Burmese troops. The three men hid in the jungle, then returned at night. After the close call with the soldiers earlier that day, they were relieved when the headman agreed to help them. Their relief was short-lived, however, as they soon discovered that the headman had betrayed them. Standing guard that night, Mahn Nyein was the first to be grabbed and dragged away by Burmese soldiers. He did not know what happened to his companions. His captors beat him and asked him about weapons. With his hands tied behind his back, he was taken to a temple for further interrogation. There they continued to abuse him, beating him with their weapons and rolling heavy mortar shells over his legs. He was powerless to resist, but when a sergeant stepped on his throat, he managed to push him away and protested that he was a student, not a rebel. He said he had no weapons and insisted on speaking with a superior officer. Finally he was taken to see their commander, who accused him of belonging to former prime minister U Nu’s resistance army. Mahn Nyein, following Mahn Aung Kyi’s advice to always be truthful and forthright, told the commander that he had escaped from Coco Island, and that he was a political prisoner. “If I’m not telling the truth, you can do as you like with me. I’m in your hands,” he said defiantly. The commander was so insulted by Mahn Nyein’s tone that he ordered his men to continue beating him. When they were done, they threw him under a low bedstead made of bamboo and continued to torment him a bit more before finally leaving him alone. With his hands and feet bound together, he suffered not only from the pain inflicted by the soldiers, but also from lingering motion sickness from being so long at sea. He spent the night like that, on the bare ground under the temple, surrounded by three lines of guards, wondering how he would ever get out of this situation alive. The next day, he thought he might have a chance when one of his guards went out, leaving his gun behind. Although he was tied to a pillar, he attempted to get the gun. But an officer was watching his actions through an opening in the floor overhead, and he yelled at the soldiers to keep a better eye on their prisoner, saying he was “not an ordinary person.” Later he was given some chicken curry, which by this time looked like it might be his last meal. Feeling defiant in the face of death, he was overjoyed at the sight of real food. But when he tried to eat it, he found he could not swallow because his throat hurt from being stepped on the night before. Finally he was taken to the police station in Ye Township, where he discovered that one of his fellow escapees, U Aung Ngwe, had also been captured. The schoolteacher had no idea what had happened to Mahn Aung Kyi. Later they also saw their betrayer, the village headman, who grinned at the two prisoners when he saw them behind bars. This angered Mahn Nyein so much that he started shouting threats, making the village headman so nervous that he hastily retreated from the police station. On October 3, the two prisoners were taken from the detention center in Ye to be transferred to Than Phyu Zayed, which was under the command of Light Infantry Battalion 31. They were sent by train in the company of two soldiers who evidently knew nothing about them. The soldiers asked them who they were, and U Aung Ngwe replied that he was a teacher, and Mahn Nyein said he was a student. Deciding that their charges were “decent” people, the soldiers decided not to tie them up. Even after they were joined by five police officers at Ye train station, Mahn Nyein and U Aung Ngwe decided that this might be their best, and perhaps last, opportunity to escape. After the soldiers gave them something to eat, Mahn Nyein started to make conversation. He suddenly became curious about the soldiers’ guns, German-designed G3s, and asked whether bullets could come out of the holes around the barrel. The soldier laughed and explained that the holes were for ventilation—sometimes, he boasted, they fired off so many shots that the barrels overheated and fell off. He added that factories in Burma could produce enough of these guns for every person in the country. Mahn Nyein seemed duly impressed with this bit of information, so the soldier offered to let him hold the gun so he could feel the power for himself. Mahn Nyein declined, saying he was afraid to hold a gun. The soldier laughed again, and decided that he could trust this “sincere” student. Later the prisoners asked to move to a different compartment, because they felt dizzy sitting at the head of the train. The soldiers agreed, and moved their prisoners to a compartment in the middle of the train normally reserved for security guards. Just as they had hoped, the police officers stayed behind. Mahn Nyein and U Aung Ngwe now found themselves sitting face to face with their guards. Mahn Nyein’s guard placed his gun between them, within Mahn Nyein’s reach, but U Aung Ngwe’s guard kept his gun under his legs. Mahn Nyein decided he would grab the gun and shoot it into the air, hopefully creating enough of a distraction for both of them to jump out of the train. When he tried this, however, he could not fire the gun off quickly enough, and as he and the soldier were struggling for control of it, he saw U Aung Ngwe and his guard roll out of the compartment, falling to the side of the tracks. Some off-duty soldiers soon came to the assistance of Mahn Nyein’s guard, quickly overpowering the prisoner. The train came to a sudden stop, and the last thing Mahn Nyein remembers seeing before losing consciousness (he recalls feeling a sudden flash of heat at the back of his head) was the sight of his friend in the distance, hitting the soldier over the head with something, then running into the jungle with his gun. After that, all he could remember before reaching his destination was being beaten every time he regained consciousness, and bleeding from his mouth, nose and eyes. When he was finally taken to the detention center at LIB 31, the guard in charge was angry that he was still alive. Even under these circumstances, Mahn Aung’s mind was still set on escaping. He could not think clearly, but to give himself a chance to look around a little, he asked to be allowed to relieve himself by the side of the road as they moved him to a cell in a different building. Although it was night by this time, he could see by the light of the stars that there was nowhere to run: no trees, no mountains. He finally felt there was nothing left to do. On October 10, he was transferred—in a car with ten soldiers holding bayonets, and with his hands fastened to a steel pole—to Moulmein Prison. There he was placed in a cell for prisoners facing the death penalty. He was angry and frustrated at being back in the hands of the military again, without any knowledge of what had happened to his friends. He also felt physically weak, and when he opened his eyes, everything was a blur and a hot pain shot through the back of his head. But after several months in custody, he regained his strength on a meager diet of beans, fish paste and soup served in a condensed milk tin. After a while he was exercising in his cell in anticipation of his next escape attempt. In February 1971, he was taken to Insein Prison and placed in solitary confinement. His trip there was uneventful, but he recalls the kindness of some fellow passengers in the ordinary train compartment he was riding in, who took pity on this man in shackles and handcuffs and gave him some food. When he arrived at Insein, he wiped the dust off his clothes, cleaned out his cell, and said to himself, “I’ll be here for a couple of years.” He was finally released on April 13, 1973, as part of a general amnesty. He returned to his home village with a gastric ulcer, and in July 1974, went to the area under the control of the Karen National Union. He worked for a while with KNU President Mahn Ba Zan and is now a member of the KNU’s Central Committee. Written by an Irrawaddy staff writer.