After two decades of refusing to honour the results of the last elections, held back in 1990, the recent electoral exercise in Burma gave plenty of lead-up time for long-suffering observers to sharpen their critiques. Combine that with the blatant pre-poll manipulations by the junta – pushing through a referendum on a stacked new constitution that gave the military 25 percent of the newly created Parliament seats, imposing a massive USD 500 fee to register candidates, and releasing the tweaked election laws mere months before the polls opened. Then, put this in the context of the decades of crushing authoritarianism, the continued absence of guarantees of basic human or civil rights, approaches to the national economy that border on outright theft from the national coffers, the continued incarceration of more than 2000 political prisoners, and the absence of the main opposition party from the polls. Given all this, by the time the 7 November elections finally rolled around, there was little surprise that most observers had made up their minds on the elections – and written them off entirely.
By now, however, the polls have taken place. The 'results', such as they were, have been announced, and the creaky state machinery has been put in motion to oversee and facilitate the largest potential changes in Burma politics in decades. Himal empathises with the debate that went on prior to the elections, particularly the scepticism. But reflexive fatalism, even if grounded in solid and arduous experience, holds the danger of missing a significant if tenuous opportunity: if nothing else, to change the tenor of the public discussion in Burma. For this reason, we suggest that political engagement – that is, engagement with both the new realities and new potentials – is of critical importance.
In this, we take inspiration first and foremost from Aung San Suu Kyi herself. The Nobel Peace Prize winner and head of the opposition (and erstwhile) National League for Democracy has made by far her most important contribution to her country's struggle simply deciding to stay with her people, rather than taking the many opportunities given to her to leave Burma – and, almost certainly, never to be allowed to return. We also take inspiration from Suu Kyi's first words upon her 11 November release, after serving an 18-month official sentence on the back of an on-and-off house-arrest that stretched back to the NLD's crushing electoral victory in 1990. Less than two days after emerging, she told journalists that she was hoping for a 'non-violent revolution', going on to specify exactly what she meant: 'I don't want to see the military falling. I want to see the military rising to dignified heights of professionalism and true patriotism.' Admittedly, such a request might well be asking too much of a military leadership with a truly abhorrent track record. Nonetheless, in immediately calling for dialogue and reconciliation, Suu Kyi set a critical tone in favour of political engagement, putting the ball firmly in the court of the generals.
When Suu Kyi's detention came to an end on 11 November, it did so due to neither the magnanimity nor the whim of General Than Shwe or another demagogue in the leadership. Instead, this took place under the ostensible aegis of the law: her 18-month sentence was finished, so she was set free. Simultaneously, members of the security forces reportedly laid down their weapons in the streets outside of her house, thus giving a clear green light to the rarely seen scenes that followed: thousands thronging the streets to catch a glimpse – and hear the words – of the slim figure most dangerous to the junta's continued rule. Subsequent rumours suggested that his lackeys were nervous about showing Gen Than Shwe photographs of the reception she received. But whether the general was furious or not, the state did not immediately react in any way.