Saving Commander Than Naing

By AUNG NAING OO

May 1989, Camp Thay Baw Boe: Than Naing was an ex-Burmese army corporal attached to an artillery division. A slight man with a smug face, he conveyed a no nonsense attitude and walked with the gait of someone who though he was important.

He held a post of responsibility as the commander of ABSDF Regiment 206, located in Moe Kel, a few kilometers from Camp Thay Baw Boe.

His unit, unlike those from Camp Thay Baw Boe, was one of the first armed by the Karen rebels, and it had been involved in combat several times by early 1989.

I knew he looked down on our camp because, although we were the largest camp, we had been given only a few weapons. He considered us cowards.

It was, perhaps, his contempt for our camp and a perceived unfairness in the distribution of food and other supplies that led him to commit certain acts that nearly cost him his life.

The first incident occurred in April, when I was away from camp, escorting 40 students to Manarplaw where we were to form a combined army with the Democratic Alliance of Burma. At the same time, Maj Robertson, the Karen officer handling student affairs in the area, took most our camp residents on a week-long training exercise in a nearby forest.

While most of the camp’s residents were away, Than Naing showed up with some of his soldiers—fully armed—and he forcibly confiscated most of our camp’s food, medicine and some office equipment that was stored in a warehouse.

Later, we confronted him, and he claimed that the supplies had been unfairly distributed. I never knew if this was true or not because I was not involved in the details of food supply. We had complained to Col Soe Soe, the KNU officer in command of student affairs in the region, and the issue was supposedly resolved, including an agreement to return some of the supplies and equipment, which was done.

But Than Naing failed to apologize for his action.

Many of the student revolutionaries in our camp were not satisfied with how the issue had been resolved, and events came to a head on a quiet May afternoon around 4 pm when a blue, rice delivery truck from Mae Sot rolled into our camp. Three people sat in the front seat—commander Than Naing, Kyaw Zeya from Moe Taung camp on the southern Burma-Thailand border, who died about a year later, and a Thai driver.

Sitting on the rice sacks in the back of the truck were Kyaw Kyaw, the chairman of the ABSDF Territory Office, and his colleague, Khin Maung Soe. Two foreigners from a relief organization based in northern Thailand also accompanied the food delivery along with several workers from a rice company.

At the time a group of us were chatting in the teashop with Phoo Law Khwa, the officer in charge of the Thay Baw Boe market, who was visiting the camp with his Karen soldiers.

The workers began to unload the rice quota for our camp, and Camp Chairman S. Aung Lwin and I started to chat with the visitors. Some students moved around leisurely, listening to our conversation. Everything was quiet and normal.

Than Naing, with his usual smug look, and Kyaw Zeya got out of the truck to stretch their legs.

Thi Thi Khin, who now lives in Australia, recognized Than Naing and challenged him. She accussed him of being a thief. "Here is Than Naing, the robber!" she said. Hearing her, more women came out of their living quarters to join Thi Thi Khin, shouting abuse at him.

It was suddenly clear many students harbored a serious grudge and wanted to put Than Naing in his place.

Worried that things could get out of hand, I told the women to go back to their barracks. They ignored me: "Atwin Yei Hmoo (Mr Secretary)! You don't know what happened because you were not in the camp when he stole our supplies. We need to teach him a lesson."

More students arrived on the scene, demanding that Than Naing be held to account for taking the supplies. They called him a coward, a robber and hurled other abuses. Some began to shout, “Kill him.”

Than Naing was outnumbered, and the smug look had disappeared from his face. Sensing the danger, he climbed back into the front seat, leaving Kyaw Zeya standing outside by the truck’s open door. More angry students arrived, surrounded the truck, and joined the shouting. S. Aung Lwin and I tried in vain to disperse the gathering crowd.

Suddenly one student, Aung Lun, lunged forward to punch Kyaw Zeya in the face. Commotion ensued. But it was defused when the students realized the victim wasn’t Than Naing, but the confused Kyaw Zeya, an innocent man who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. He looked to us for help, and we told him to move away from the truck. Grumbling and rubbing his face, he followed along.

S. Aung Lwin and I immediately called the camp leaders for help. Salai Yaw Aung and Sgt Pe Thein, another ex-army soldier, joined us to protect Than Naing. But the small group of leaders was no match for the hundreds of students who were now shouting abuses, with some calling for Than Naing’s death.

In the half hour since Thi Thi Khin had recognized Than Naing, the camp leaders, about 15 of us, were up against nearly 500 furious students whose anger filled the evening air.
One student, Nay Win Naing, pulled a knife and lunged for Than Naing. Salai Yaw Aung intervened and was cut by the knife.

In the commotion, the camp vice-chairman, apparently drunk, was inciting the students to attack Than Naing, instead of joining our efforts to save him.

He had been in charge of the camp when the supplies were taken, and he had told us that Than Naing shot at him with a .38 revolver during a scuffle. He claimed the revolver had jammed, or else he would have been killed. No one in the camp could corroborate his story about the revolver, and since we called him "Gout"—for someone not right in the head after a severe malaria attack—we did not investigate the claim. But now— embarrassed that he had been bullied by Than Naing on the day of the "robbery"—he was seeking his revenge against the man who had humiliated him.

As the situation deteriorated, the Karen visitors sitting in the teashop got in their truck and left, fearing what might happen next.

As the Karen soldiers left, Sgt Pe Thein, realizing we could not control the crowd, threw his M-16—one of the camp’s few weapons—on the ground, crying out in frustration. He had cracked under the pressure. Luckily, I was standing beside him and snatched the weapon from the ground, while scolding him for his irresponsible act.
Crying and mumbling, he sat down on the ground. I handed the weapon to another commander, whom I knew to be calm and composed.

We had to change our tactics. We asked Tun Tun, a well-built man, to shield Than Naing. Another leader, Kyaw Min Oo, got into the driver’s seat of the truck. By this time, the Thai driver had left the car. We asked Sgt Kyi Win, another ex-army soldier and now one of the deputy commanders, to order all the camp residents to fall in. It took a while, but they reluctantly obeyed the order.

As I stood beside him, S. Aung Lwin addressed the formation of students. He shouted, "Why are you here in the jungle!" using his harshest military tone, as if in training camp.

In rote memory, some students shouted back, "To kill Ne Win and Saw Maung!" But then someone in the back shouted, "To kill Than Naing too!" Many students echoed in unison, "Yes, to kill Than Naing too!"

S. Aung Lwin continued to talk, trying to calm the hotheads, while we signaled the truck to leave the area. The students in the line-up didn’t protest.

I felt great relief, but it was short-lived when I saw that both exits were blocked with logs, and suddenly I realized why the students had not protested when the truck left: another group of students not in the line-up was waiting near the edge of the forest to attack Than Naing when he passed by. Luckily, the truck was able to reverse its direction before it was attacked.

I left S.Aung Lwin and joined the group protecting the truck which had returned from the main gate. The truck stopped near the parade ground but was immediately surrounded again by students, who again starting shouting for Than Naing's death.

I rallied a few people to join the effort to prevent a slaughter. They stood in front of the truck, which had its engine running. Two camp leaders climbed onto the truck’s hood to serve as human shields, blocking the windshield so that no one could attack from the front. For a brief moment, I joined them. It was a dangerous and desperate act. The driver gunned the engine, trying to move forward, but it didn’t scare the students into making a path so I climbed down, trying to figure out a better way to get the truck out of the camp.

Zaw Win, from Ngan Tay near Moulmein in Mon State, fired a mud pellet from his slingshot. The pellet penetrated the truck’s small triangular side window and struck Than Naing in the temple.

With the sense that the confrontation was nearing a dangerous and deadly climax, I stood in front of the truck and told the angry students that they had to get pass us to get to Than Naing. One student brandished an ax; others held long sticks and homemade weapons. They wanted blood.

As the man with the ax ran forward, I closed my eyes thinking I was going to die. For a brief moment, I had a complete blackout. When I came around, I was standing in front of the truck with a torn shirt. Some shirt buttons had been ripped away. I was not harmed, and I never asked anyone what happened.

From that moment on, things got a little better. The attackers realized that they would have to harm us to get to Than Naing. The mood softened a little, and the commanders were slowly able to get more students to join the line-up, even as a few holdouts continued to shout at Than Naing.

Finally, the commanders ordered the students to sing the student union song. As the song echoed through the nearby forest in the evening light, the truck finally drove out of the camp unharmed. A few of us rode along in the truck for about 500 meters, in case there were more angry students hiding in the jungle to attack Than Naing.

I don't know where Than Naing is now. I met him once or twice after the incident. We didn’t say much, but I sensed a change in his manner. Perhaps he had learned to be less arrogant and more humble.

A few days later, I wrote a letter of apology to the representatives of the relief organization. The incident was a serious test of the leadership of the camp commanders.
We were unprepared for the students’ anger, and we nearly lost control of the situation.
Saving Commander Than Naing was one of the most intense moments in my life, and when he was safe I felt a profound relief.

We did not spill any blood on that dangerous day. And no matter what kind of person Than Naing was, we saved his life.