Episode #274: Breaking Ranks
In the tragic aftermath of Cyclone Nargis in 2008—when over 100,000 people died and he, himself, barely survived—Kyaw San Han knew he had to devote his life to protecting his fellow citizens. So he signed up for the police force, and after going through training, found himself fast-tracked to attend a four-year police course in Thailand. After that, he worked in an anti-trafficking unit Nay Pyi Daw, eventually earning a scholarship to study in Australia; when he returned, he enrolled in a detective training course in Yangon. By 2020, Kyaw San Han had achieved a lot in his chosen profession, in not that long a time.
But then politics intervened. Despite warnings from his superiors not to cast a vote for the NLD in that year’s elections, intimating that they could check his voting record to see if he complied… Kyaw San Han did so, anyway, choosing to vote his conscience. But then, when the coup interrupted the democratic process, his defiance turned to dismay. He soon realized he had arrived at a crossroads where his previous actions had already indicated his political leanings and would likely place him in much danger, especially since his colleagues had begun to suspect that he was a “watermelon.” As Helene Kyed explained on a recent episode, this term refers to a soldier or policeman who is “green” (the color of their uniform) on the outside, but secretly supports democracy, or “red,” (the color of the NLD) on the inside. “It is we government officials who love and support democracy, but it is difficult to show it publicly, because of fear to ourselves and to our families. So to be a ‘watermelon,’ especially in the military or in a police organization, is very dangerous,” he says, adding that the severest punishments are reserved for suspected “watermelons,” whose pro-democracy actions are equated with treason. “But for normal people, they love ‘watermelons,’ because we can take sensitive and confidential document to the media and to the public. So for the people of Myanmar, a ‘watermelon’ is a hero!”
Kyaw San Han had known that the police force was corrupt and cruel from the moment he joined. “In police training, we were brainwashed,” he admits. “We were trained with fear, to obey the orders from our senior officer, and we couldn’t judge or question their orders. So many human rights violations happened in police training school! Then, once we [graduated], these [trainees] became bad policemen, not helping civilians. Instead, they troubled civilians, they took advantage of them.” Describing the police force as a tool of the military regime, he likens the training course as a brutal prison in which he and his peers were routinely beaten, kept in locked quarters and hardly fed. But the senior officers weren’t content to merely brutalize them, they also extorted them for as much money as they could get, with threats of further abuse if they didn’t pay up. “They used punishment as a tool to control us,” he says.
Trainees were encouraged to replicate this system when they became police officers, using their positions to oppress civilians. “Some of my friends changed their mindset, so after the police training school, when they had power, they took advantage of the civilians,” he recalls. “But for me, I knew that I had to save the civilians! So I cannot change to this evil, which is what they wanted to me to do.” Kyaw San Han stayed true to his original aspiration to become a force for good in society, as his entire rationale for donning the uniform was to help reform his country’s broken system from the inside.
Tracing back how the police came to be a force that oppressed rather than helped their fellow man, Kyaw San Han describes how in 1988, many police refused to follow orders and instead stood by the democracy activists. In following years, the generals were alarmed that a sense of blind loyalty did not permeate the ranks, and so they arranged to transfer soldiers to police units. Then, they promoted them, so they became the police units’ commanding officers… thus more closely aligning the police force with the military in the years to come.
But amazingly, the brutal training regimen that Kyaw San Han and other recruits endured, combined with the close connection to the military, did not completely shape the police force in becoming an automatic instrument of oppression. Kyaw San Han explains that a sizable contingent of police opposed the coup, and were arrested soon after the military takeover, sometimes within hours of making their views known publicly (often on Facebook). But the hunt to expose more “watermelons” eventually scared and silenced those who would otherwise speak up. Then, when CDM started in earnest, Kyaw San Han and his fellow officers were told in no uncertain terms they would be killed on the spot if they were suspected of joining; indeed, Kyaw San Han says that the punishment meted out to police who refused to follow orders was far worse than even the most strident democracy activist. “Min Aung Hlaing doesn't care how many lives will be lost. He’s crazy, he just doesn’t want to lose his power,” he says. “He makes a lot of people die because of his madness for power.” Kyaw San Han describes the coup leader as so determined to stay in power that he even began training and arming family members of soldiers and police officers, so that they could step in if the losses pile up.
Kyaw San Han posits that most of his police force peers did not particularly like Min Aung Hlaing, and were horrified at the egregious violence that was ordered against the civilian population. What is worse, promotions were promised to those applying the most egregious aggression and violence! But Kyaw San Han describes how his colleagues felt trapped in their positions, and did not see a way out, as anyone who refused to follow orders was made an example of in a most brutal way.
In order to respond to the protests that developed after the coup, the generals dressed soldiers in police uniforms to ensure the police complied with their instructions, to train them to handle high risk situations, and to be able to directly monitor and engage with the activists directly. They also calculated that civilians would be less provoked by seeing authorities in police uniforms than soldiers’ fatigues, since for the most part, the police were held in higher regard than the military, and in the transition years, they had generally kept a much lower profile.
Still, Kyaw San Han pleaded with fellow officers to subtly defy any orders to brutalize the public, such as not following through on arrests or using rubber bullets. But few followed his lead, either out of fear of punishment, greed of expected rewards, or the brainwashing that they were battling an enemy of the state. “That is why right now, after three years, some good policemen try CDM and to speak up for democracy and the people of Myanmar,” he says. “But the rest of the policemen, they don't want to take any risks, so they just go along with the junta.”
Kyaw San Han also provides especially compelling commentary on the murder of Ma Htwe Htwe Khaing, a 19-year old girl who became the first death following the coup; she was shot in the head, a grisly scene that was captured on video and has since been widely circulated. “To shoot like that, especially using real bullets, was ridiculous!” he exclaims, barely unable to mask his fury. “There are many ways to control protest groups peacefully.” As to why the assassin would specifically target such a young, innocent life, Kyaw San Han explains that the junta “ordered the security forces to use fear, and as quickly as possible to destroy the protesters,” because they wanted to suppress images of the people opposing Min Aung Hlaing’s power grab. “The [young policemen] were motivated by the senior police officers to shoot the protesters, or to arrest and torture them, and they don't get any punishment. Instead, they get promotion!”
At the time of the coup, Kyaw San Han was working in Insein’s CID (Criminal Investigation Office) office, and became a frequent witness to the horrors that awaited activists brought in to be tortured, with their screams echoing the building. Before the coup, CID was charged with investigating national crimes, but they are now the unit charged with going after democratic leaders—with cruelty—and many who are taken in will never leave its confines alive. It was there, at the CID offices, that Kyaw San Han first met the Australian economist and NLD advisor, Sean Turnell, who was accused of espionage. In his own interview with Insight Myanmar, Turnell related his incarceration at CID in terrible, cramped conditions, calling it “The Box”; his whereabouts were withheld even from the Australian Embassy. But although Kyaw San Han was only a junior officer at the time, he bravely stood up to his seniors by insisting they not torture Turnell, otherwise there would be grave consequences from the international community. “I was so shocked! I didn't expect to see him in that condition.” He continues, “[Turnell] didn't receive enough good food or have a good toilet. So I managed everything in background in order to save Sean Turnell’s life.”
While the police started putting more extreme pressure on Turnell to reveal information that could bolster a treason charge against Aung San Suu Kyi (and thus justify the bloody coup), Kyaw San Han was very worried that the older professor couldn’t survive those awful conditions and the brutal treatment. Even worse, CID officers were told to be especially harsh with him, as retribution for Australia’s decision to grant asylum to Burmese who had joined CDM (a topic taken up by Davin Hartanto). Kyaw San Han says, “[Turnell] is one who I respected, as he contributed so much to our country… so I was thinking, how can I help him?” So even as his superiors were pushing Kyaw San Han to force Turnell to reveal important information—after which they planned to lock him away or even kill him—the young police officer was instead whispering into Turnell’s ear that he must not reveal anything sensitive at all. In no uncertain terms, he told him that his life depended on him giving up nothing to the authorities. He also secretly took a picture of the CCTV image of Turnell, so that if the latter should disappear, Kyaw San Han would have proof of his detention at CID. Needless to say, he knew he was taking a catastrophic risk, with unthinkable consequences if he was caught.
Turnell spent a total of 650 days in prison, yet despite the risks, Kyaw San Han was determined not to even think about leaving the country until his Australian friend was safe. When Turnell was finally released, Kyaw San Han immediately began plotting his own escape. He felt it was only a matter of time before others confirmed he really was “red” on the inside. By virtue of the trainings he’d attended in Thailand and Australia– something quite rare for a Burmese police officer, especially one so young—he probably should have been promoted beyond his present rank. Kyaw San Han believes that this didn’t happen because his superiors (rightly) suspected that he harbored pro-democracy and human rights sentiments. So knowing that the walls were closing in, Kyaw San Han ordered his family to flee from their police housing in Nay Pyi Daw. “I became an enemy, and my family was also under threat by the military regime,” he says simply. He knew that even Thailand wouldn’t be safe, since he was told that Thai authorities hunted down Burmese defectors taking refuge in their country (a subject that Phil Robertson spoke about in a recent episode). To make matters worse, on the messaging app Telegram, pro-military channels freely shared information about the whereabouts of not just CDMers, but also their families. So Kyaw San Han knew he had to find an alternative route for himself and his family. Unfortunately, police and soldiers are not issued regular passports; they are instead given documents that require special permission to cross any immigration checkpoint; moreover, even if they do somehow have a passport, they are required to leave it with their superior, so paranoid is the regime about unwarranted travel by any of its security personnel. Kyaw San Han had turned in his passport when he returned from Thailand those years earlier. So now, when he wanted to leave, he needed his passport back. His superiors would not release it just for him to travel. So he applied for, and was accepted to, an ASEAN-sponsored, postgraduate study in Thailand, hoping this would be sufficient reason. Although his superiors were loathe to give permission, they did want to somehow demonstrate to ASEAN that Myanmar could be a cooperative partner, so they allowed it—albeit with grave threats that if he came out for democracy once he crossed the border, he would be arrested and deported.
Once in Thailand, Kyaw San Han sought refuge through The Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), but due to restrictions on accepting Myanmar refugees, he was unable to secure their assistance. He would have liked to go to a Western country, but his passport had a “Asia-only” travel restriction, so he applied for a visa to Australia, where he had previously spent time studying. That was denied, but he finally obtained a visa to Japan. Upon arriving in Japan, he found himself in a challenging situation, without contacts or familiar resources, at the same time needing to navigate the process for applying for refugee status. His family managed to get out of Myanmar and are now in Thailand, but like so many refugees, their safety is at the whim of Thai officials. Kyaw San Han fears for them, hoping to somehow get them to Japan.
Currently, Kyaw San Han is connected with NUG’s Japan office to continue his advocacy by giving speeches in the Japanese parliament and interviews to the Japanese media. Through these platforms, he explains why the Japanese government should refrain from supporting the Myanmar military, and calls for an end to their training of the Myanmar military and police forces. Kyaw San Han has also been calling on neighboring countries to recognize that CDM police and soldiers are not criminals, but are fleeing from a regime that has inflicted profound suffering upon its people. He paints a grim picture of Myanmar under military rule, which has turned a once peaceful and prosperous nation into one of extreme poverty and suffering. Ending the dictatorship, in his view, is synonymous with alleviating the hardships of the Myanmar people. Kyaw San Han wants to bring his reformist agenda to a future, democratic Myanmar by becoming the nation’s Chief of Police. instilling an organizational culture based in democracy and a respect for human rights. His fervent, optimistic belief in the collective power of democratic governments to rescue Myanmar and help restore democracy represents a beacon of hope for a better future for his homeland.
“I would like all of you understand the brutality of the Myanmar junta and Min Aung Hlaing,” he says. “He is using his last strategy to make civilians fight each other! So, please, share my voice and my message to your friends and your family and everyone you know! If there is no dictator Min Aung Hlaing and his brutal regime, Myanmar will be a beautiful a peaceful country as we used to be in the past. Now the people of Myanmar are suffering a lot from the dictator Min Aung Hlaing. But the people of Myanmar, actually, we are kind and we are very friendly. So, now we need help from all of us from all of you.”