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| Photo: Aung San Su Kyi (Internet) |
Is
the story of Pinocchio still popular with children? It is when such questions
arise in my mind that I am made acutely aware of the peculiar gaps in my
contact with the outside world. Had I been in constant touch with my
grandchildren or even with other people's grandchildren over the years, I would
have known the answers. Fortunately a few days after Pinocchio had floated into
my head, I had a meeting with the children of the United States Embassy staff
in Rangoon. The oldest was around twenty while the youngest was a three month
old Japanese-American baby boy whose sleeping face had a pout of concentration
that made him resemble a Sumo wrestler planning his next mountain shaking move.
Among the in-betweens were a fair number who were acquainted with Pinocchio
through the Walt Disney Film. Most of them thought Jiminy Cricket was the most
interesting character in the story. This pleased me as the main reason for my
sudden recall of the Pinocchio story was the top-hatted, umbrella-toting
cricket rather than the puppet brat.
Looking
back across years of politically shaped thought and action, the children's
story appears as a simple illustration of the fact that without a conscience,
human beings are no more than mere puppets manipulated by their fears, their
desires, their ignorance, and by those whom they have chosen to be their masters.
It thus becomes most appropriate that thinking beings who have chosen to give
up their physical liberty that they might be better able to defend the
universal right to freedom of belief and expression should be designated
prisoners of conscience. These men and women who have submitted their bodies to
a comfortless, sometimes cruel, confinement over long years that they and their
fellow citizens might exist in honour and dignity are also the keepers of our
collective conscience.
There
remain in the jails of Burma over two thousand two hundred political prisoners
of whom barely twenty are known by name to the world at large. The more than
two thousand who remain anonymous are our unknown soldiers, the unsung heroes
and heroines who have worked quietly to keep the movement for democracy strong
and vital. On 4 January 2011, the Sixty Third Anniversary of Burma's
Independence from colonialism, the National Leagues for Democracy arranged a
random draw of the names of political prisoners by those who were willing to
take the responsibility of supporting them materially or morally as far as
circumstances allowed. The young man who fell to my lot was one of the unknown
soldiers. He had been arrested in 2007 for attempting to pray for the release
of political prisoners at the Shwedagon Pagoda. Many of the young people who
had all been involved in the prayer movement were now scattered in prisons
across Burma but he was relatively fortunate as he was at Insein Jail, not too
far away from his home. Preparing the food parcel to be sent to him was a
reminder of the abstemious conditions under which our comrades in jail have to
pass their days.
There
are many simple ways in which prisoners of conscience act as the keepers of our
conscience. When I was under house arrest, I made a habit of having breakfast
quite late so that in my hunger I would not forget our comrades who were
incarcerated not in their own homes but in jails, often in places far distant
from where their families lived. I knew they would not only be much hungrier
than I was but would also be obliged to make do with the meagre and tasteless
rations that would be meted out to them. It renewed my commitment to our cause
and refreshed my respect and affection for my colleagues on a daily basis.
The
most wonderful thing about our keepers of conscience is their extraordinary
spirit and dedication. During the two days before our independence anniversary
celebrations, we held a charity bazaar to raise funds for political prisoners.
Among the varied articles on sale were works of art of considerable ingenuity
and talent sent in by our jailed comrades. There were a number of collage works
painstakingly put together from hundreds and thousands of tiny slivers of paper
of different kinds. The end products were vivid pictures of birds, dancers and
flowers. It was a clear declaration that if the spirit is strong, there is no
limit to what it can achieve and that those who seem least fortunate can prove
to be our teachers and benefactors. I have often received the most exquisite gifts
from colleagues in prison. Statuettes, model animals and toys intricately
carved from wood or soap or wax; strings of prayer beads and shopping bags
woven from strips of plastic; a piece of cloth beautifully embroidered with
symbols of freedom, justice and peace, love, harmony and unity, perseverance
and hope, all done by our women political prisoners. Skillfully and delicately
worked into each embroidery were the unwavering hopes and aspirations that our
women were holding out to those of us who were actually in far easier
circumstances than they were. This is why the image of Jiminy Cricket with his
colorful, dandified clothes and innate chirpiness seems to me an appropriate
representative of conscience. The keepers of our conscience are cheerful, colourful,
and inventive and most of all, they are creaters of comfort in spite of the
comfortless lives they themselves have to lead. (By Aung San Suu Kyi)
(Mainichi
Japan) February 6, 2011
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