It begins with a single man holding up a hand-painted sign.
The busy street bustling body-crowded.
They begin to stare.
His demonstration too much a reminder of what they can’t say.
Atmosphere tense; the crowd wait.
10 undercover government agents; white-shirted.
He is dragged headfirst into a truck, pulled by every limb.
The shoal of people move on
Silent.
Monks.
Many Monks.
Marching from Mandalay to Rangoon.
Their orange chain sweeps through the city;
turning their alms bowls upside down on a pilgrimage for the people.
A glimpse of Aung Sun Suu Kyi;
makes tears of hope flood the nation.
Regime regulation: Gatherings of more than five will now be punishable by arrest.
Foreign news crews banned. Internet connections cut.
A thousand armed uniforms,
stand barricaded from a sea of free thought.
Vans filled with back-up officers.
All exits;
Blocked.
The monks kneel to pray and chant.
Their song spreading across the waiting crowd,
erupting into a tumultuous cheer;
the megphone sounds.
Gunshots and a roar of fear.
A dull distant thump of bodies, slamming into vans.
Beaten nuns and bloodied faces.
Regime regulation: Enforced curfew. 9pm-5am.
Nobody to hear the destruction.
Monastries raided in the dead of night. Buddha’s smashed.
The monks rounded up to be bound at the feet.
Forced to kneel;
And kicked in the face if their eyes dared look up…
The sun rises on the hundred Burmese monks.
They make a wall,
standing tall,
chanting for the people,
“Our cause!”
A corresponding wall,
shields and uniform,
start marching forward
to collide with peaceful prayers.
The monks stripped of their orange robes.
Beaten with bats.
Dragged into vans by their feet.
Blinded by tear gas.
The few brave straggling students.
Refuse fear.
Until the rifle fire, fires into the alleyways.
The people fall silent..
Burma VJ
Reporting from a closed country.
Where the west are too scared to act;
And too shocked to turn off the TV set.
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