Land of Jade Read online

  However, I saw the Burmese Army in two major actions and I was thoroughly impressed by their fighting skills, endurance and discipline. My only wish is that they, at some time in the future, will be able to devote their military skills to a more honourable task than fighting against the country’s own ethnic minorities. Burma, with its rich natural and human resources, deserves a better fate than being torn apart by a civil war which neither side can win by military means.

  After our return to Bangkok, where we normally live, many friends and colleagues helped us market our material, edit manuscripts and photographs—and encouraged us to write this book. I am especially indebted to Bob Nickelsberg of Time magazine and Bob Theriault of Radio Thailand who both went through our picture material.

  Finally, I am grateful to my old friend Geoffrey Walton who edited the manuscript, tidied up my English and provided valuable advice and criticism.

  Bertil Lintner

  ABBREVIATIONS

  BSPP Burma Socialist Programme Party. The only legal political party in Burma from 1962 to 1988. Also referred to by its Burmese abbreviation Ma Sa La (Myanma Sosialit Lanzin Pati). Renamed the National Unity Party in 1988, but failed to win any significant support in the May 1990 election. In 1993, the Burmese government formed the Union Solidarity and Development Association (USDA) to replace the old BSPP as a mass organisation to back up the ruling military. In 2010 it became the Union Solidarity and Development Party, the new ruling party which assumed power after a blatantly rigged election in November that year.

  CPB Communist Party of Burma. Went into armed rebellion with Rangoon in 1948—and collapsed in March-April 1989 following a mutiny among its hill tribe rank and file. The old Burman, Maoist leaders were forced into exile in China and the CPB’s “People’s Army” split up into four different armies based along ethnic lines: the former 101 War Zone in Kachin State (the New Democratic Army, NDA); Kokang (the Myanmar National Democratic Alliance Army, MNDAA); the Was (the United Wa State Army); and the former 815 area bordering China and Laos (now called the National Democratic Alliance Army-Eastern Shan State).

  KIA Kachin Independence Army; the armed wing of the KIO.

  KIO Kachin Independence Organisation. Established in 1961 to fight for an independent Kachinland. Since 1976 this group has advocated regional autonomy for Burma’s various ethnic minority areas. The KIO signed a cease-fire agreement with Rangoon on February 24, 1994.

  NDF National Democratic Front. Umbrella organisation comprising about a dozen different ethnic rebel armies in Burma, including the KIA and the SSA. It virtually disintegrated following a string of ceasefire agreements between several of its members and Rangoon in 1989-94.

  NNC Naga National Council. Set up in 1946 to safeguard Naga interests. Later led by A.Z. Phizo, who spearheaded the Naga fight for independence from India. Phizo died in exile in Bromley, Kent, in 1990.

  NSCN National Socialist Council of Nagaland. Break-away faction from the NNC; formed in 1979 by Thuingaleng Muivah. In 1988, the Burmese Nagas, led by S.S. Khaplang, drove their Indian cousins out of Burma. Today, there are two NSCNs: Khaplang’s group which is based in the hills northwest of Singkaling Hkamti, and Muivah’s faction which is active in the Indian state of Manipur.

  PLA People’s Liberation Army. One of several rebel armies in Manipur.

  SSA Shan State Army. Formed in 1964. Main politically-oriented rebel group among the Shans in Burma until it made peace with Rangoon in 1989 following the CPB mutiny. Most of its soldiers subsequently joined the Mong Tai Army of opium warlord Khun Sa. However, Khun Sa surrendered to the Burmese government in January 1996, disbanded his army and moved to Rangoon with his money. He died there in on October 26, 2007. Remnants of his MTA and some other Shan factions are still active along the Thai-Burma border, now united under a new banner: Shan State Army-South, led by Yawt Seik who we did not meet during our trek through northern Burma in 1985-87.

  ULFA United Liberation Front of Asom [Assam]. Rebel group in Assam, northeastern India.

  INTRODUCTION TO THE THIRD EDITION

  This is an account of a journey that took place twenty-five years ago. My wife Hseng Noung and I managed to sneak into the northeastern Indian state of Nagaland, a restricted area for foreigners. There, we got stuck for several months before we eventually managed to cross the border into Burma. Our final goal was to reach areas in the northernmost part of that country, which were then controlled by rebels from the Kachin Independence Army, KIA. At the time, no foreign journalists had visited their part of Burma, and it was to cover that protracted and little-known conflict that we left our home in Bangkok in March 1985 and went to Kolkata, or Calcutta as it was then known.

  After spending seven frustrating months trying to make contact with the Naga rebels, who controlled the area in Burma immediately across India’s northeastern frontier, we eventually managed illegally to cross the border on October 22. By then, our party had grown to three as our daughter had been born while we were in hiding in Kohima, the state capital of Nagaland. She was only six weeks old when we carried her into the wilds of northern Burma. The three of us spent 18 months behind rebel lines, first with the National Socialist Council of Nagaland, NSCN, then with the KIA, and later with the now defunct Communist Party of Burma, CPB. During our 2,275-kilometre trek, at times in great danger, we were able to chronicle the history of Burma’s decades-long civil war, a history that I believe would otherwise never have been written in such detail. In April 1987, we slipped into China where we were arrested for illegal entry and, after almost a week in custody, deported to Hong Kong.

  Although we had passed through only the minority areas in northern and northeastern Burma—which are a world apart from the plains of the Burmese heartland—we came back to Bangkok with the definite impression that we had crossed a country which was straining at the seams, ready for a showdown with its repressive military government. And that did happen in 1988-90. Although a number of ethnic rebel armies, including the KIA, have reached ceasefire agreements with the government, the situation along Burma’s northern frontiers remains volatile. Some of the areas we trekked through in 1985-87 may now be more easily accessible, even for foreign tourists, but Burma’s seemingly eternal ethnic conflicts have by no means been solved. To understand the present, I feel it is necessary to learn from the past, and, in that sense, this account of the situation a quarter of a century ago is still valid.

  It should also be said that the journey this book describes would not have been possible today—and not only because of the ceasefire agreement the KIA concluded with the Burmese government in 1994 and the collapse of the CPB five years before. India has also changed a lot; it has become hi-tech. If the internet, e-mail and mobile phones had existed in 1985, we would never have been able to bluff our way through checkpoints and get away with forged documents, as we did at that time when erratic telephone lines provided almost the only means of supposedly instant communication. India’s then poorly developed infrastructure definitely worked to our advantage.

  In recent years a new, more developed and much more self-confident India has emerged, quite different from the country we went to in the mid-1980s. Many of the idiosyncrasies, or serendipities as I call them in this text, also belong to history. Many would argue that those were the legacy of colonial rule anyway, and not typically Indian. But, even so, I have not changed the original text as this was the reality 25 years ago, and what I wrote at that time. I hope no one in India is offended when reading my account of how we outsmarted the authorities and tricked our way into Nagaland, because we had no intention to do so when I committed my experiences to paper and the first edition of this book was published in 1990.

  Inevitably, we were blacklisted in India after undertaking this illegal journey. We had forged documents, overstayed our visas, entered a restricted area without permission—and then left the country on foot at a small village on the Indo-Burmese frontier, hardly an official border crossing. But I was nevertheless allowed to
visit India a few times, with special permission to attend seminars and similar activities, before the statute of limitations for our transgressions finally expired in 2000.

  In December 2009, I returned to Nagaland—legally this time, equipped with a Protected Area Permit, as passes for foreigners are called. It was a fantastic feeling to be able to walk around Kohima, to explore a town I previously had only seen from behind a curtain in one of our hiding places, and then after dark, or caught glimpses of from under the canvas-covered rear of a jeep. It had become a boomtown, quite unlike the place where we were in hiding for several months twenty-five years before. There are now terrible traffic jams in the hilly streets of Kohima, new shops have sprung up everywhere offering the latest electronic gadgets, and Naga youths are as trendy as their counterparts in Thailand or Malaysia. But I managed to find the house where our daughter Hseng Tai was born on September 13, 1985. At that time, it was located in an isolated area on the outskirts of Kohima. In 2009, it was still there—now in a state of disrepair and completely surrounded by new, concrete buildings. I took a few pictures, which I later sent to Hseng Tai, who is now 25 years old and works as an architect in Southeast Asia. She is proud of the fact that her Swedish passport, for she is a Swedish citizen, states as her place of birth: “Kohima, Nagaland, India.”

  Despite economic development, however, many of the problems and issues we encountered in 1985 remain the same. The NSCN has split into one faction led by Isaak Chishi Swu and Thuingaleng Muivah and another by the leader of the Burmese Nagas, Shangwang Shangyung Khaplang. But, despite the democratic liberties the Nagas no doubt enjoy, the desire to break away from India has not disappeared, and, at the same time, Naga society is still riven by tribalism and deep mistrust of its Manipuri and Assamese neighbours. It is my hope that this new edition of Land of Jade will contribute to a better understanding of the roots of these problems, as well as those facing Burma. It is also my wish that the long-suffering peoples of Burma, regardless of ethnicity, will enjoy some day what we in other countries take for granted: genuine peace, freedom and democracy.

  Bertil Lintner

  Chiang Mai, March 2011

  1

  THE NAGAS

  The buzz of the alarm clock woke us up at five in the morning. Dawn had not yet broken when I staggered out of bed in our bamboo hut in the village of Kesan Chanlam near the headquarters of the Naga rebels in Burma’s northwestern mountains. I put my field jacket on and went to the fireplace on the earthen floor to make some tea. I blew on the embers, fed some dry sticks to the fire and put the kettle on to boil. My wife Hseng Noung and our two-months old daughter Ee Ying had woken up too, but the early morning chill kept them in bed under our Naga shawls.

  At 6.15 there was a sudden burst of automatic riflefire, followed by two mortar explosions. I left the teapot on the fire and rushed out. Smoke mixed with morning mist billowed around the big wooden crucifix in the headquarters area on the plateau about half a kilometre below our hut in the village. The chatter of machine-gun fire followed a few seconds later. The Burmese government’s troops had launched an attack on the camp. Hseng Noung hurried out from our small bedroom behind the kitchen space.

  “You must leave immediately! You’re too easy to spot for a sniper!” she shouted. “And don’t forget your bush hat! You might have to run in the sun!”

  I slung a camera bag over my shoulder, heaved my army pack onto my back and grabbed my bush hat—and rushed out. Hundreds of half-naked, panic-stricken villagers from Kesan Chanlam were fleeing helter-skelter into the bush—away from the firing zone—carrying with them their meagre belongings in cane baskets on their backs. I went over to the teachers, Nagas from the Indian side, who were staying in the hut opposite ours. It was impossible to talk to them; they were screaming hysterically.

  “Run! Run! They’re shooting! Get away! The Burmese are coming!”

  The battle at headquarters sounded fierce. The machine-gun fire continued non-stop and mortar bombs were exploding every few seconds. Acrid, brown smoke swirled in waves over the camp on the grassy plateau below Kesan Chanlam. I looked up the slope behind the village and saw that most of the people were over a denuded nearby hillock. I hurried northwards after them to get out of sight, trying to conceal my height—180 cms—by running at a half-crouch. Once over a knoll, I halted under cover to give Hseng Noung, who was still back at our hut packing Ee Ying’s nappies, time to catch up with us.

  “Go! Go!” the Indian Naga teachers shouted again and tried to push me ahead of them. There was no sign of any Naga rebel soldiers anywhere close to us which made me feel angry and bitter. Whenever we had raised the issue of security, the Naga insurgent leaders had always told us not to worry, assuring us that guards would whisk us away to a secret hiding-place in case of any emergency. Now I was lying flat in the dense grass behind a knoll above Kesan Chanlam’s school with frenzied villagers running past and bullets flying around.

  It was almost an hour before I sighted Hseng Noung hurrying uphill. A Naga girl was carrying Ee Ying on her back and there were three young soldiers with them. Hseng Noung had been told to leave, but she had insisted on staying on long enough to pack the rest of our belongings, especially what Ee Ying would need.

  On reaching the place where we had ducked for cover, Hseng Noung smiled.

  “You looked so funny when you ran away. If a sniper had seen you, you’d be his first target!”

  I could not help laughing.

  “Yes, I was damned silly! How can I look like a Naga even if I bend my knees? But come on! Let’s get out of here!”

  Hseng Noung and I, the three Naga soldiers and the girl with Ee Ying on her back hurried away from Kesan Chanlam, the sound of gunfire reverberating behind us, till we reached a patch of jungle in the hills above the village. We found a well-sheltered place where we sat down on a couple of rocks. Intense firing continued in the distance, but by now we were at least a kilometre away from the actual fighting and felt reasonably safe.

  The three soldiers—all Nagas from the Burmese side—inspected their guns. I watched them counting their bullets. 20-25 rounds a man. If we ran into a Burmese government patrol, we would not stand a chance.

  Fortunately, one of the Naga soldiers could speak some broken Burmese, which is rare in these isolated northwestern hills near the Indian border. He turned to Hseng Noung who was sitting under a tree in the forest.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  We were startled by his question.

  “Where did your officers tell you to take us to?”

  He shrugged his shoulders:

  “They didn’t say anything.”

  “Bloody typical,” I muttered to Hseng Noung, feeling even more upset.

  We talked the situation over and agreed that we would have to get in touch with the rebel officers as soon as possible. And the only way to do that was to reach a safe village where the rebel army had a civil administrator who could convey our message to his leaders.

  “Where’s the nearest village?” we asked the Burmese speaking soldier.

  He conferred with his comrades.

  “There’s a village called Donyu a few hours’ walk from here.” He pointed in an easterly direction, towards a high mountain.

  We assembled our gear and set off for the village. The Naga girl who was carrying Ee Ying seemed frightened; she was almost in tears when she strapped the baby to her back with a cloth-sling.

  The walk to Donyu was extremely difficult. We reached it at about 2 pm after a steep and strenuous climb up the mountain. Just as we entered the village—a cluster of ramshackle bamboo huts—a local administrator came up to us. By chance, we had met him before.

  “Are you all right? I’ve been so worried.”

  He obviously had heard the shooting but knew little more. The only news he could add was that a hundred more Burmese government reinforcements were on their way.

  “The villagers spotted them in the jungle a few hours’ walk from here!” He was
gesticulating wildly.

  “We want to send a message to your leader Muivah,” I said firmly.

  He gave us no reply, but led us to one of the bamboo huts in the village.

  “Let’s have some food,” he said. “You must be hungry!”

  The Naga nursemaid put Ee Ying down on a straw mat on the split-bamboo floor and began preparing rice and fried pork. We suddenly realised we had had no breakfast that morning. Even my teapot must still have been boiling on the fire in our hut in Kesan Chanlam.

  After a hasty lunch, the administrator told us his boys would take us to a safe and secret hiding-place. We left Donyu and walked behind them for almost two hours—and this sanctuary turned out to be a small makeshift shelter of banana leaves just beside a poppy field on an exposed hillside.

  The Naga soldiers laughed off our objections to this spot, assuring us it was safe. As we did not know the area, there was nothing we could do more than hope the government forces would not come anywhere near the place. We could easily be spotted from any surrounding hilltop.

  We resigned ourselves to the inevitable. I went to the forest just beside the poppy field where I began collecting wood for a fire while Hseng Noung settled the baby. Thanks to my remarkable wife, all that had been left behind when we fled was three teaspoons, a longyi—or Burmese sarong—and a pair of plastic flipflops. She had even managed to rescue a packet of Burmese rice noodles, and this we now cooked for dinner over an open fire.