I am a Shan ethnic woman from Burma who has been working for human rights and democracy in my homeland for decades. I had the opportunity this year to spend time at the National Endowment for Democracy as a visiting fellow, researching the role of women in Burma's democratic transition. During my time in Washington, I remained in touch with my colleagues in Burma and areas along the border to keep track of the changes that were taking place. But instead of hearing excitement in their voices about democratic openings, I heard growing fear.
While there has been much change in Burma over the past two years, the glowing talk one hears in Washington is at odds with the reality on the ground. Shan state, where I am from, and other ethnic areas continue to experience intense political and armed conflicts. Across the country, human rights abuses are rampant, perpetrated with impunity. Activists and even ordinary farmers and villagers have been arrested, beaten and jailed for engaging in nonviolent efforts to challenge mega-projects such as mining, gas pipelines and dams. Police routinely crack down on peaceful demonstrators with excessive force.
Yet these same authorities are unwilling to stop violence that genuinely threatens Burma's future. Their failure to intervene in attacks on Burma's minority Muslims — including in Lashio, a beautiful city in the heart of northern Shan state — has been especially shocking. Even though I have seen terrible violence in my homeland, I never expected to see anti-Muslim attacks of the kind that took place in May. Friends, relatives and colleagues talk about an atmosphere of pervasive fear. They speculate about the "strangers" and "outsiders" they saw among the mob, people who disappeared after the violence was over. They express dread that such a riot could happen again, anywhere and at anytime. They lament a climate of extremism unlike anything in their memories.