Hard Choices

by Hillary Rodham Clinton

  For the United States, the chance to help Burma move from dictatorship to democracy and rejoin the family of nations was tantalizing. On its own, Burma was worth the effort; its millions of people deserved a chance to enjoy the blessings of freedom and prosperity. There were also outsized strategic implications. Burma was situated at the heart of Southeast Asia, a region where the United States and China were both working to increase influence. A meaningful reform process there could become a milestone of our pivot strategy, give a boost to democracy and human rights activists across Asia and beyond, and provide a rebuke to authoritarian government. If we failed, however, it could have the opposite effect. There was a risk that the Burmese generals were playing us. They might be hoping that a few modest gestures would be enough to crack their international isolation without changing much of anything on the ground. At home, many thoughtful observers believed I was making the wrong choice by reaching out when the situation was so unclear. I had my eyes open about the risks, but when I weighed all the factors, I didn’t see how we could pass up this opportunity.

  For two hours Suu Kyi and I sat and talked. She wanted to know how America would respond to reforms the regime was considering. I told her that we were committed to match action for action. There were many carrots we could offer, from restoring full diplomatic relations to easing sanctions and spurring investment. But we needed to see more political prisoners released, credible elections, protections for minorities and human rights, an end to military ties with North Korea, and a pathway to ending the long-running ethnic conflicts in the countryside. Every move we made, I assured her, would be aimed at nurturing further progress.

  Suu Kyi was clear-eyed about the challenges ahead and the men who controlled her country. Her father, Aung San, a general himself, had led Burma’s successful fight for independence from the British and Japanese, only to be assassinated in 1947 by political rivals. Suu Kyi was first imprisoned in July 1989, less than a year after entering politics during a failed democratic uprising against the military the previous year. She had been in and out of house arrest ever since. In 1990, when the military allowed an election, her political party won a resounding victory. The generals promptly nullified the vote. The next year she won the Nobel Peace Prize, which was accepted on her behalf by her husband, Dr. Michael Aris, an Oxford professor and leading scholar of Tibetan Buddhism, as well as their sons. During her years of house arrest Suu Kyi was able to see her family only a handful of times, and when Aris was diagnosed with prostate cancer, the Burmese government denied him a visa to come spend his final days with her. Instead they suggested that Suu Kyi leave the country, which she suspected would mean permanent exile. She declined and never had a chance to say good-bye. Aris died in 1999.

  Suu Kyi had learned to be skeptical of good intentions and had developed a thoroughgoing pragmatism that belied her idealistic image. The possibility of a democratic opening was real, she thought, but it needed to be carefully tested. We agreed to meet again the next day to dig into more details, this time at her home.

  As we parted I had to pinch myself. When I became Secretary of State in 2009, few could have imagined that this visit would be possible. Only two years before, in 2007, the world had watched in horror as Burmese soldiers fired into crowds of saffron-clad monks who were peacefully protesting against the regime. Now the country was on the brink of a new era. It was a reminder of how fast the world can change and how important it is for the United States to be ready to meet and help shape that change when it comes.

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  Burma is a nation of close to 60 million people strategically located between the Indian subcontinent and the Mekong delta region of Southeast Asia. It was once known as “the rice bowl of Asia,” and its ancient pagodas and lush beauty captured the imagination of travelers and writers like Rudyard Kipling and George Orwell. During World War II it was a battleground between Japanese and Allied forces. A sharp-tongued American general nicknamed “Vinegar Joe” Stilwell helped reopen the famed Burma Road as a vital supply route into China, and the wartime leadership of Suu Kyi’s father helped to ensure Burmese independence following the end of the conflict.

  Decades of military dictatorship and economic mismanagement turned the country into a poverty-stricken pariah. Now Burma ranked among the world’s worst abusers of human rights. It was a source of instability and hostility in the heart of Southeast Asia, and its growing narcotics trade and military ties with North Korea represented a threat to global security.

  For me, the road to Rangoon began with an unusual meeting on Capitol Hill in January 2009. I knew Mitch McConnell reasonably well after eight years together in the Senate, and we rarely saw eye to eye on anything. The conservative Republican Minority Leader from Kentucky made no secret of his intention to oppose the new Obama Administration on virtually our entire agenda. (At one point he said, “The single most important thing we want to achieve is for President Obama to be a one-term president.”) But there was one area of foreign policy where I thought we might be able to work together. Senator McConnell had been a passionate champion of the pro-democracy movement in Burma since the brutal 1988 crackdown. Over the years he led the fight for sanctions against Burma’s military regime and developed contacts in the dissident community, including with Suu Kyi herself.

  I came into office convinced that we needed to rethink our Burma policy, and I wondered if Senator McConnell would agree. In 2008 the regime had announced a new constitution and plans to hold elections in 2010. After the failure of the 1990 elections, few observers took the prospects of a new vote very seriously. Suu Kyi was still barred from holding office, and the generals had written the rules to ensure that the military was guaranteed to hold at least a quarter of the seats in Parliament, and likely the vast majority. But even the most modest gesture toward democracy was an interesting development from such a repressive regime.

  To be sure, there had been moments of false hope before. In 1995 the regime had unexpectedly released Suu Kyi from house arrest, and Madeleine Albright, then U.S. Ambassador to the UN, had flown to Rangoon to see if the military might be ready to loosen its grip. She carried with her a poster from the UN Women’s Conference in Beijing that I and others had signed. But reforms proved elusive. In 1996, while visiting neighboring Thailand, I gave a speech at Chiang Mai University calling for “real political dialogue between Aung San Suu Kyi and the military regime.” Instead, starting in 1997, the generals began sharply restricting Suu Kyi’s movements and political activities, and by 2000 she was back under house arrest. Bill recognized her heroism by awarding her America’s highest civilian award, the Presidential Medal of Freedom, which she of course could not accept in person. Engagement, for the moment, had failed. But by 2009, it was hard to argue that our policy of isolation and sanctions was working any better. Was there anything else we could do?

  I told Senator McConnell I wanted to take a fresh look at our Burma policy, from top to bottom, and I hoped he’d be part of it. He was skeptical but ultimately supportive. Our policy review would have bipartisan backing. The Senator proudly showed me a framed note from Suu Kyi that he kept on the wall of his office. It was clear how personal this issue had become for him. I promised to consult him regularly as we moved forward.

  There was one more Senator I needed to see. Jim Webb was a decorated Vietnam veteran, Secretary of the Navy under President Reagan, and now a Democratic Senator from Virginia and chair of the Senate Foreign Relations Subcommittee on East Asian and Pacific Affairs. He was feisty and unconventional, with strong views about U.S. policy in Southeast Asia. Jim told me that Western sanctions had succeeded in impoverishing Burma but that the ruling regime had only become more entrenched and paranoid. He was also concerned that we were inadvertently creating an opportunity for China to expand its economic and political influence in the country. Chinese companies were investing heavily in dams, mines, and energy projects across Burma, including a major new pipeline. Jim thought a Burma po
licy review was a good idea, but he wasn’t interested in going slowly. He pushed me to be creative and assertive and promised to do the same from his perch on the subcommittee.

  I also heard from the other side of the Capitol, where my friend Congressman Joe Crowley of New York had long been a leading proponent of sanctions against the regime. Joe is an old-school straight shooter from Queens. When I was in the Senate and we’d run into each other at New York events, he’d serenade me with Irish ballads. He had been inspired by his mentor on the House Foreign Affairs Committee, the late, great Tom Lantos, to champion human rights in Burma. His support and advice would also be crucial as we moved forward.

  On my first trip to Asia, in February 2009, I consulted with regional leaders for their thoughts on Burma.

  The most encouraging was Indonesian President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono. He told me that he had talked to the Burmese generals and came away convinced that progress was possible. That carried weight with me since he himself had been a general who took off the uniform and ran for office. What’s more, he reported that the regime might be interested in starting a dialogue with the United States. We had not had an Ambassador in Burma in years, but there were still channels through which we occasionally communicated. The prospect of more robust discussions was intriguing.

  In March I sent Stephen Blake, a senior diplomat and Director of the State Department’s Office for Mainland Southeast Asia, to Burma. In a show of good faith, the regime offered Blake a rare meeting with the Foreign Minister. In return Blake agreed to be the first American official to travel from Rangoon to Nay Pyi Taw, a new capital city the military had built in a remote part of the jungle in 2005; according to a widely circulated rumor, the site was chosen on the advice of an astrologer. He was not allowed to meet Suu Kyi, however, or the country’s aging and reclusive senior general, Than Shwe. Blake came home convinced that the regime was indeed interested in a dialogue and that some in the leadership were chafing at the country’s deep isolation. But he was skeptical that it would lead to real progress anytime soon.

  Then, in May, came one of those unpredictable quirks of history that can reshape international relations. A fifty-three-year-old Vietnam veteran from Missouri named John Yettaw had become obsessed with Suu Kyi. In November 2008 he had traveled to Rangoon and swam across Inya Lake to the house where she was imprisoned. Avoiding police boats and security guards, Yettaw climbed over a fence and reached the house undetected. Suu Kyi’s housekeepers were aghast when they found him. No unauthorized visitors were allowed at the house, and Yettaw’s presence put them all in danger. Reluctantly he agreed to leave without seeing Suu Kyi.

  But the next spring Yettaw was back. He had lost seventy pounds, and his ex-wife reportedly feared he was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Yet in early May 2009 he made the swim across Inya Lake again. This time he refused to leave and claimed to be exhausted and in poor health. Suu Kyi allowed him to sleep on the floor and then contacted the authorities. Yettaw was arrested at about 5:30 A.M. on May 6, as he attempted to swim back across the lake. Suu Kyi and her housekeepers were picked up the following week for violating the terms of her house arrest. Yettaw was eventually convicted and sentenced to seven years of hard labor. Suu Kyi and her staff were given three years, which was immediately commuted by Than Shwe to eighteen months of continued house arrest. That would ensure she remained imprisoned for the promised 2010 elections. “Everyone is very angry with this wretched American. He is the cause of all these problems. He’s a fool,” one of Suu Kyi’s lawyers told the press.

  When I heard the news, I too was furious. Suu Kyi and the progress we desperately hoped to see in Burma should not have to pay the price for the reckless actions of one misguided American. Still, because he was an American citizen, I had a responsibility to help him. I called Senator Webb and Senator McConnell to strategize. Jim offered to go to Burma to negotiate Yettaw’s release, and I agreed. It was certainly worth a try.

  In mid-June, there was another potentially explosive event. The U.S. Navy began tracking a 2,000-ton North Korean cargo freighter that we and our South Korean allies suspected carried military equipment, including rocket launchers and possible missile parts, bound for Burma. If true, this would be a direct violation of the ban on North Korean arms trafficking imposed by the UN Security Council in response to a nuclear test in May. Reports swirled of contacts between the Burmese military and a North Korean company with expertise in nuclear technology and of secret visits by engineers and scientists.

  The Pentagon dispatched a destroyer to shadow the North Korean freighter as it sailed through international waters. The UN resolution empowered us to search the ship, but the North Koreans vowed to take that as an act of war. We reached out to other countries in the region, including China, looking for assistance. It was crucial that every port where the ship might stop along the way enforce the UN edict and thoroughly inspect the cargo. Chinese Foreign Minister Yang agreed that the resolution “should be carried out in a strict manner so that a strong unified message can be sent to the North Koreans.” At the last minute, the North Koreans blinked; the ship turned around and went home.

  In August Senator Webb went to Nay Pyi Taw. This time Than Shwe agreed to meet. Jim had three items on his agenda. First, he asked to bring Yettaw home on humanitarian grounds. The man was refusing to eat and suffering from a number of ailments. Second, he wanted to meet Suu Kyi, which Blake had not been allowed to do. Third, he urged Than Shwe to end her house arrest and allow her to participate in the political process; that was the only way the upcoming elections would be taken seriously. Than Shwe listened carefully and did not betray his thinking. But in the end Jim got two of his three requests. He went to Rangoon and met with Suu Kyi. Then he flew to Thailand with Yettaw on board a U.S. Air Force jet. When Jim and I spoke on the phone, I could hear the relief in his voice. But Suu Kyi remained imprisoned.

  The next month I announced the results of our Burma policy review at the United Nations in New York. Our objectives had not changed: we wanted to see credible democratic reforms; the immediate, unconditional release of political prisoners, including Aung San Suu Kyi; and serious dialogue with the opposition and minority ethnic groups. But we had concluded that “engagement versus sanctions is a false choice.” So going forward, we would use both tools to pursue our goals and reach out directly to senior Burmese officials.

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  Over the next year there was discouragingly little progress. Suu Kyi remained under house arrest, although she was permitted to meet twice with Kurt Campbell. She described her solitary life to Kurt, including a daily ritual of listening to the BBC World Service and Voice of America to learn about events beyond her prison walls. The state-run newspaper cropped her out of the photo of Kurt that ran after his visit.

  Unlike in 1990, there was no pro-democracy landslide in the 2010 elections. Instead the military-backed party claimed an overwhelming victory, as expected. Opposition groups and international human rights organizations joined the U.S. in condemning the vote as largely fraudulent. The regime refused to allow journalists or outside observers to monitor the election. It was all depressingly familiar and predictable. The generals had missed an opportunity to begin a transition toward democracy and national reconciliation. Meanwhile the Burmese people were falling deeper into poverty and isolation.

  Though the election results were disappointing, a week after the vote in November 2010, the generals unexpectedly released Suu Kyi from house arrest. Then Than Shwe decided to retire, to be replaced by another high-ranking general, Thein Sein, who had previously served as Prime Minister. He would put away his uniform and lead a nominally civilian government. Unlike other members of the regime, Thein Sein had traveled around the region, was well known to Asian diplomats, and had seen firsthand how Burma’s neighbors were enjoying the benefits of trade and technology while his own country stagnated. Rangoon had once been one of the more cosmopolitan cities in Southeast Asia; T
hein Sein knew just how far it now lagged behind places like Bangkok, Jakarta, Singapore, and Kuala Lumpur. According to the World Bank, in 2010 only 0.2 percent of the country’s population used the internet. Smartphones were nonexistent because there was insufficient cellular service. The contrast to their neighbors could not have been starker.

  In January 2011 I called the newly released Aung San Suu Kyi for the first time to see what she made of these developments. It was a thrill to finally hear her voice, and she seemed energized by her new freedom. She thanked me for the firm support that the United States and Presidents of both parties had given her over the years and asked about my daughter’s wedding. Her political party was stepping up its organizing, testing the limits of the government’s new tone, and I told her we wanted to help and were prepared to share lessons from other pro-democracy movements around the world. “I hope I can visit you one day,” I said. “Or even better, you can come visit me!”

  That spring Thein Sein was formally sworn in as Burma’s President. Surprisingly, he invited Suu Kyi to dinner in his modest home. It was a remarkable gesture from the most powerful man in the country to the woman the military had long feared as one of their gravest enemies. Thein Sein’s wife prepared the meal, and they ate under a painting of Suu Kyi’s father. They would meet again that summer, in Nay Pyi Taw. The first conversations were tentative. The general and the dissident were both understandably wary of each other. But something was definitely happening.

  I wanted the United States to play a constructive role in encouraging the better instincts of the new Burmese government, without rushing to embrace them prematurely or losing the leverage our strong sanctions provided. Formally returning a U.S. Ambassador to the country would be too much too soon, but we did need a new diplomatic channel to start testing Thein Sein’s intentions. In our strategy sessions I asked Kurt and his team to get creative and develop various scenarios for our next steps. We appointed a veteran Asia expert named Derek Mitchell as the first Special Representative for Burma. Congress had created the position in legislation introduced by the late Congressman Tom Lantos in 2007 and signed into law by President Bush in 2008, but it had never been filled. Selecting a Special Representative to Burma would not confer the prestige of installing a permanent Ambassador, but it would open the door to better communications.