DESPITE indications of popular unease since mid-August, recent events in Myanmar (Burma) took the world by surprise. Their consequences are far from clear, not least because much of the information emerging from that country takes the form of rumour or hearsay. But it would be a monumental shame if they do not lead, in the short term, to the deliverance of its people from four and a half decades of frequently brutal military rule.

That did not come to pass 19 years ago, when an estimated 3,000 pro-democracy protesters were shot dead by troops, although there were signs of hope. Two years later, in 1990, the junta permitted elections. However, the results — a landslide for the National League for Democracy led by Aung San Suu Kyi — were not to its liking, so it simply ignored them and has since then refused to budge.

Actually, that’s not entirely accurate, because two years ago the regime did budge: it shifted 200 miles out of Yangon (Rangoon) to Naypidaw, the new capital, constructed at considerable expense in a country where average annual earnings are not much more than $200 per capita. Its name means “abode of the gods”, and the move reinforced rumours that Senior General Than Shwe — who took over following General Ne Win’s resignation in 1988 after 26 years at the helm — is keen to be crowned king of the nation he renamed Myanmar.

Be that as it may, the regime’s migration clearly symbolised its desire to cut itself off from the people. The developments of the past two weeks suggest it was a canny move. The unrest did not, however, stem from cumulative unease over the political gridlock and long-term mismanagement of the economy. Just as the mass protests in 1988 were preceded by a currency devaluation that sharply diminished and in some cases wiped out the hard-earned savings of a sizeable proportion of the population, this time around the motivating factor was a sharp rise in fuel prices.

Somewhat surprisingly for a country that cannot, because of sanctions, obtain loans from the World Bank or the International Monetary Fund, Burma decided in mid-August to partially follow the advice of the two institutions by reducing fuel subsidies. The cost of petrol and diesel doubled overnight, while that of compressed gas — which is used to operate buses as well as domestic cooking appliances — increased five-fold. This not only meant that many Burmese faced the prospect of spending up to 70 per cent of their income on transport, it also entailed a flow-on effect on the prices of more or less all goods, and that too in an economic milieu where inflation was already running at 40 per cent.

Within days of the fateful decision, a few hundred Burmese took to the streets of Yangon, and there were reports of similar demonstrations in other parts of the country. During one such protest march in Pakokku on Sept 5, three Buddhist monks were wounded when government troops turned violent. The nation’s monks sought an apology from the authorities and set a deadline of Sept 17. When it wasn’t forthcoming, they took to the streets in much larger numbers, emboldening many of their compatriots, who followed suit.

Apparently caught unawares, the junta initially betrayed signs of indecision. Monks are a revered segment of society in largely Buddhist Myanmar, and their defiance was coupled with indications that they would withhold their blessings from representatives of the military regime. It is quite conceivable many army personnel feared that the coercive use of firepower would entail bad karma. Hence the monks were allowed to make their point, and were even able to exchange greetings with Suu Kyi, who has been under house arrest for much of the period since 1988.

However, by the third day of the protests, when it seemed that things may be getting out of hand, most compunctions were set aside. The government says 10 people died that day, but various other sources suggest the toll was far higher. Many monks were beaten up; some were imprisoned while the remainder were confined to their monasteries. The show of force succeeded as a deterrent — memories of 1988 are, inevitably, still fresh — and the number of protesters subsequently dwindled sharply.

Or that, at least, is how it seems. A clear picture of the situation is impossible to come by. There are hardly any foreign correspondents inside Myanmar: most of the reports and images of the early demonstrations were transmitted abroad by members of the growing breed known as citizen-journalists, using mobile phones and the Internet. Unfortunately, it is within the government’s powers to restrict access to such means of communication, which is exactly what it did. Words and pictures continued to seep out, but on a minuscule scale.

Partly as a consequence, the rumour mill has gone international, and it is hard to tell whether hints of a rebellion brewing within military ranks are anything more than wishful thinking. It is widely believed that such a revolt could offer the smoothest means of superseding the increasingly untenable status quo. It may be facilitated by the fact that Than Shwe has lately concentrated power in his own hands, whereas the previous norm was rule by a committee of generals. Besides, the largesse that the army accrues — mainly through foul means — is no longer widely distributed: the generals and other senior officers live in luxury (and Than Shwe’s tastes are reportedly particularly extravagant), but the rank and file broadly share the misery of ordinary Burmese.

Following a United Nations Security Council resolution, watered down at the insistence of China and Russia (both of which earlier this year used their first joint veto since 1972 to prevent the world body from focusing on Myanmar), UN special envoy Ibrahim Gambari arrived at the weekend to hold talks with the generals as well as Suu Kyi and other opposition representatives in an attempt to facilitate a peaceful resolution of the crisis.

His chances of success are not rated too highly, unless the junta comes under sufficient pressure from its main trading partners — China, Russia and India — as well as its neighbours in the Association of South-East Asian Nations (Asean). Beijing, as well as leading members of Asean, have been considerably more forthcoming than usual in their nuanced condemnation of the junta’s actions, and it has been reported that the US has requested China to provide sanctuary to the military elite if that can help persuade the latter to relinquish its stranglehold over the nation.

The trouble with the expectation that countries such as China, India and Russia will give precedence to moral scruples over profits is that it militates against the globalisation ethos. And if anyone were asked to name two countries worse off than Myanmar, the most obvious answers would be Iraq and Afghanistan — a fact that kind of pulls the high moral ground from under America’s feet of clay.

At the same time, however, there can be little question that the Burmese have suffered more than most former subjects of the British empire. Whatever the course of events in the weeks and months ahead, it would be tragic if they did not precipitate a drastic change of political course.

The writer is a journalist based in Sydney.

mahir.worldview@gmail.com