The Camp Committee Vs. The Veterinarian

By AUNG NAING OO

Camp Thay Baw Boe, May 1989: The veterinarian was in his late twenties. He was in charge of the camp hospital. He was assisted by another veterinarian, a couple of medical students and a few nurses. A decent-looking man with a personable smile, he seemed to be popular with the women.

We didn’t call him "Doc." He was known as "Saya"—a general Burmese word which can be used to refer to teachers, medical doctors, veterinarians, or anyone with superior knowledge.

How did a veterinarian get the top job in the hospital, especially when there were so many medical doctors who had joined the revolution?

It was a mystery. But apparently, he had a sibling or two who were medical doctors, and he had worked in their private clinic in Rangoon as a medical assistant.

Clearly, he had more experience than the medical students, which is perhaps why he was given the job in the first place.

Most of the doctors in the jungle had stopped working in the medical profession when they turned into "Che" revolutionaries. Basically, the real medical doctors were more interested in being revolutionary leaders than in spending their days in a bare bones, poorly supplied hospital treating ailing students suffering from malaria and diseases related to malnutrition.

We referred to these doctors as "Che Guevaras," and because we had so many "Che" medical students, the veterinarian had to step in to help fill the breach.

Take my old boss, Dr Thaung Htun, the current Burmese exiled government's UN representative. In 1991, he was the foreign affairs secretary in the ABSDF when I was the assistant foreign affairs secretary in Bangkok.

One day, he walked into our office in Bangkok. I was lying on a mat, weak and sick with malaria. I expected that he would examine me and give me advice. But he gave me a quick glance and said, "You'll be fine." He was right, but I realized then he had long ago become a "Che.”

Like others in the camp, at first I was grateful for the role the Vet played. The makeshift and rickety hospital was always filled with malaria patients, at least 20 to 30 inpatients on any given day and scores of out-patients. The Vet and his medical team were always busy.

The camp was still in disarray. It was more like a refugee camp than a military base for idealistic revolutionaries. In the same vein, the camp hospital was fraught with problems, although it did provide basic care.

We soon learned that the Vet was arrogant and didn’t get along with people. His popularity with women seemed to have waned, and we began to hear rumors of sexual harassment. The worst rumor was that he gave hormone drugs to women. We did not know if it was true or what the medical effect would have been, but the rumor heightened our suspicions about his medical practice.

Many disagreements arose, mostly concerned with the hospital’s operation. Once, before I was a member of the Camp Committee, I saw a man from Regiment 204 running towards the hospital with a machete in his hand and cursing the Vet. Several of his friends were attempting to restrain him. If they hadn’t succeeded, the vet could have been seriously wounded or worse.

Such incidents were not isolated. Once one of his assistants was caught red-handed selling medicines to a drug store in the Thay Baw Boe market. Camp residents believed it wasn’t the first time the hospital had sold medicines to local dealers. Clearly, it couldn’t have happened without the knowledge of the Vet, who now appeared to be a magnet for problems.

After I became camp secretary, I went to Mae Sot with the Vet and the camp chairman. The Vet was going to receive a donation to the hospital from the family of the late UN Sec-Gen U Thant.

The money was wired to the Porn Thep Hotel near the market in Mae Sot. After the vet collected the money, the three of us went to the market to eat. But our lunch was suddenly disrupted by the arrival of about 15 Burmese students who were involved in a dispute with some Karen and were living in Mae Sot at the time. They all came from various camps near Mae Sot, mostly from the Thay Baw Boe area.

When they showed up, they came with their leaders—Win Moe, Aung Naing and Ko Ko Oo, all well-known in the jungle for their tough talk during the uprising and for their aggressive style.

The group asked for a share of the donation, saying the money was intended for "all students," not just those in the jungle.

The Vet politely refused, insisting the money was for the camp, not for those living in Mae Sot. There was a heated exchange, and suddenly one of the students pulled a knife and lunged at the Vet.

I was sitting on a stool between the Vet and the Mae Sot students, and I stood up to prevent the attack. When I rose, the student retreated. It was a tense moment, and the group’s leaders realized things were out of control and left—but only after reminding the Vet that they now had a score to settle.

As time passed, we realized no one could control the Vet, or the hospital. We received many complaints, and camp residents began to call him “Sayawun Tareiksan” behind his back. Literally translated it means “Dr Animal,” a very derogatory expression.

Meanwhile, the Camp Committee struggled with how to confront the Vet, because the issue was now affecting everyone in the camp.

Our big break came with a report that a group of students had seen him making advances and harassing a woman named Suu Suu near the river.

We informed the Vet about the complaints and asked him to return to his mother unit, which would strip him of his control of the hospital and his source of power.

He flatly refused. With few options left, we decided to charge him with criminal conduct based on the complaints we had received from camp residents.

He was charged with 10 counts of wrongdoing, ranging from malfeasance and harassment of women to embezzlement. The charges also included one very serious accusation—that he was a spy.

The suspicion came from KNU leaders. Most of the charges were demolished by the Vet, who was a clever man. He successfully defended himself. He saw that our complaints included little real evidence. We lacked witnesses and concrete facts, and the charges appeared to be trumped-up.

But we succeeded on one charge of harassment. The woman would not come forward, partly because she was embarrassed, but there was a clear account of the harassment.

However, it was, in fact, a Kangaroo Court. We called no witnesses. It consisted of an interrogation by the Camp Committee—a classic case of raw, jungle law.

After we found him guilty, we said, "You are relieved of your duty at the hospital," and he was ordered to return to his unit.

He refused to comply with the order, but agreed to leave the camp. Eventually, he set up a medical clinic near the cattle market.

With the Vet out of the picture, our attention turned to his sidekick, aptly named "Hotshot," who was an accomplice to most of the Vet's wrongdoings.

Asked to return to his unit, he also said, "No!" and stood his ground. When he refused our order, we sentenced him to four days in jail and stripped him of his hospital duties.
He spent most of his time in jail reading a novel while resting in hammock, as if he was on a holiday.

Finally, we appointed Thura, another veterinarian—a quiet, hard-working man who helped us save Than Naing—to take charge of the hospital, and we eventually built a new hospital with proper beds and facilities.

For the next eight months, until the camp was overrun by the Burmese army in early 1990, we didn’t have a single dispute in the camp.

In the final analysis, we knew the entire process had been handled beyond the rule of law and order, but it had achieved our objective. It was a case of the end justifying the means—very crude, but overall a plus for harmony in the camp and a more efficiently run medical service.

About two months after the Vet left the camp, we received complaints from villagers that he was dispensing half doses of malaria medicine, and people were experiencing relapses. Many villagers came to our clinic for free medical help. I finally had to talk to the Vet and tell him to stop cheating the villagers. He eventually left the jungle.

The last time I heard of the Vet, he was in California where he had a run-in with the authorities over an illegal business that he had set up. I wished them luck.