BEYOND RANGOON: THE MASSACHUSETTS/BURMA CASE

Our first day in Rangoon began auspiciously. Bearing 9,000 small red cards with our messages printed on them, we split up and went to pre-selected locations where we handed out our cards quickly and at random - so that we did not inadvertently endanger any Burmese citizen. Two colleagues and I leafleted together on a major thoroughfare. I was pleased by the smiles that greeted us.

After we finished leafleting, we flagged a cab. Once seated, we discovered that we'd aroused so much interest that a crowd had gathered near our cab. Before the cab even got a chance to start its journey, the crowd caught the eye of a traffic policeman. After realizing what we were doing, the policeman got in, commandeered the cab, and took my two colleagues and me into custody. By the end of the day, our entire group of 18 protesters had been arrested and, ultimately, all sequestered together in a military barracks.

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We were interrogated by Burmese officials, who were doubtless affiliated with Military Intelligence - Burma's internal security apparatus. They began asking questions - first angrily, then more calmly. Over and over, we asked to speak with each of our native countries' embassies - to no avail. Initially, the U.S. citizens, including myself, were falsely told that the embassy staff was "too busy" to come see us. When we were allowed a visit with State Department representatives, we learned that worldwide media coverage of our detention was growing daily. (Later, we also learned that Amnesty International had declared us "prisoners of conscience.")

Our detention was Kafkaesque. We were not told the charges against us. We were not offered the opportunity to talk to an attorney. Instead, after five days of interrogation, we were brought to a large pavilion next to Burma's notorious Insein Prison, which houses many of the country's political prisoners, and subjected to a seven-hour show trial. Scores of officials, a few Burmese journalists, and embassy staff looked on. Because we had no counsel, the prosecutor dominated the event. We were provided with only a cursory translation of the proceedings, but we did learn that we had been charged with inciting unrest under a statute commonly used against dissidents.

The conclusion of the trial was foregone: we were convicted. The judge sentenced us each to five years' hard labor in Insein. Law school could never have educated me about the importance of Constitution's protections for criminal defendants the way hearing that pronouncement did. What we struggled to defend, their government abridges with impunity. The rights that we assume, they can only imagine.

Within minutes, however, a military officer appeared to say that our sentence had been suspended and that we would be deported on the next flight to Bangkok. Why were we spared? I attribute it to a mixture of planning and luck. It helped that supporters on several continents rapidly mobilized to raise publicity about our detention. It also helped that our group was comprised of citizens from six countries - so that our plight brought considerable governmental pressure and media scrutiny to bear.

James Mawdsley was not as fortunate. And he is not alone. At a conservative estimate, there are between 1000 and 2000 political prisoners in Burma. Countless other people have been silenced by fear. The junta's horrific range of human rights violations also includes extrajudicial or summary execution, torture, ethnic and religious persecution, widespread use of forced labor, systematic programs of forcible relocation, and arbitrary seizures of land and other property.

Investment only furthers the abuse by propping up the junta: As Aung San Suu Kyi noted in a recent interview, "By investing now, business is supporting the military regime. The real benefits of investments now go to the military regime and their connections." And sometimes, the link between investment and abuses may be especially direct: Unocal is being sued in U.S. federal court for alleged complicity in human rights abuses of villagers living near a gas pipeline in which the company has invested. Given the junta's oppressive policies, Massachusetts did the right thing by deciding not to spend its money purchasing from corporations that invest in Burma, money that only ends up funding the junta and, allegedly, contributing to its human rights crimes.

In a few months, we will hear from the Court whether, legally, Massachusetts may speak out against these abuses. A question no one can answer, though, is how, morally, it could ever do anything else.