Abstract
This article traces inconsistencies and consistencies of penal practices in Myanmar from dynastic times until today. With inspiration from Foucault's history of the present and Holland and Lave's history in practice, the article demonstrates how penal practices are shaped by legacies of the past. Additionally, the study shows how the continued use of practices from authoritarian times revealed the weakness of the democratic transition in Myanmar. To do so, three practices are studied through interviews with former prisoners conducted during long-term ethnographic fieldwork. These are the use of convict officers, amnesties and torture. These practices are described in first-hand accounts by former prisoners and traced back through time by comparison with existing research on penal histories in Myanmar. This tracing reveals that some practices have been used continuously across dynastic rule, colonial times and independence, while others have been discontinued only to reappear. The penal practices in Myanmar today continue to be deeply influenced by their history and reveal the continued presence of authoritarian ideas.
This article is inspired by Foucault's genealogical approach to the study of punishment. Although Foucault (1977) focused on transformations of ideas of punishment and discipline, this article stays within the walls of the prisons, focusing on everyday practices. In so doing, it draws further inspiration from Holland and Lave's (2001) study of history in practice. Where Foucault demonstrated the importance of studying the history of the present to understand how prisons have become what they are today, Holland and Lave show the importance of understanding histories as they are practiced and negotiated between actors. Their perspective adds an understanding of the multiplicity of histories and how they are negotiated in social practices. This article goes beyond the negotiation of histories as described by Holland and Lave, by looking at the ways in which everyday practices in Myanmar prisons reflect histories of the past, even while they are grounded in daily necessities. These practices are carried out by prisoners and prison officers as they are subjected to and carry out state power. They are carried out and experienced as everyday practices, by people who do not necessarily know or consider the history of the practices themselves. Still, these practices have been shaped by history and as they are carried on they represent continued legacies of (past) political regimes.
This article traces histories of the present, as they are negotiated through everyday practices even when their histories and politics are implicit. By tracing the practices across political regimes the article sets out to articulate the unarticulated and make the continued presence of authoritarianism visible. By doing so the article contributes to understanding of legacies from past political regimes and what is needed to break free from an authoritarian past.
This is not a comprehensive history of prisons in Myanmar. Rather, this article traces three practices, identified in interviews with former and current prisoners, and shows how the history of these practices illustrate the continuities and discontinuities of penal practices across history. The selection of these specific practices happened first through a thematic analysis of ethnographic data and secondly through a selection of which of the identified practices could be traced through netnography 1 after the military coup in February 2021. The practices are Convict officers, amnesties and torture.
The article draws on ethnographic data from 15 months of fieldwork conducted in two rounds from 2016 to 2018, supplemented with data collected online through encrypted apps and media coverage after the 2021 military coup. During fieldwork, 43 interviews with former prisoners and one interview with a former prison officer were recorded in audio. Additionally, ten interviews were conducted with prisoners inside Insein Central Prison and recorded in handwriting (Gaborit, 2019). Participants were imprisoned in the period 1988–2018, and the prison officer had worked in prisons from the mid-70s until the turn of the millennium. The ethnographic accounts feature examples from a time when Myanmar had gained independence and reveal the continued use of practices originating in dynastic and colonial times. Through this material, the article unfolds an ethnographic history of detailed first-hand accounts, tracing practices from the accounts back to the origin of prisons in Myanmar.
To trace the history of these practices, the article draws on Thet Thet Wintin's (2006) work on pre-colonial prisons and Ian Brown's (2007a, 2007b) work on colonial prisons in Myanmar. These are supplemented by other sources, such as the narrative of Henry Gouger (1862), a British merchant imprisoned during the first Anglo-Burmese war in 1824–26, the Burma Jail Manual (1883), and NGO and news reports describing prison conditions after 1988. Since the historical descriptions are drawn from previous studies and do not include additional archival work, it is not possible to describe in detail how the practices underwent transformations or were continued across regimes. This article demonstrates that practices persisted and mutated across regimes and that this must be considered to understand prisons in Myanmar today. By doing so, the article reveals how the continued presence of authoritarian practices in Myanmar prisons during times of transition was a symptom of the weakness of the nascent democracy.
The article commences with a brief description of the history of prisons in Myanmar, introducing three historical periods: the Burmese kingdoms (mainly the Kongbaung period from 1752–1885), colonial times (1824–1947) 2 and post-independence (1948 forward). These periods mark important shifts in the political situation in Myanmar, though some penal practices were carried on across regimes despite major shifts in ideas about punishment.
After the historical introduction, the analysis of penal practices begins. The first section shows how convict officers during dynastic rule were part of a brutal regime of physical punishment, how the British continued the use of convict officers, but formalised their role, and how even today, some of the brutal characteristics of convict officers remain. The second section is concerned with the use of amnesties. This practice illustrates discontinuities in history, as it was introduced during the dynastic period, largely absent in colonial times and re-introduced in 1962, when General Ne Win claimed power of the country. The final practice discussed is torture. During the Burmese kingdoms, punishment was corporal and torture was inherent to the penal system. During colonial times, the British introduced the modern prison system which changed conceptions about the acceptable forms of state violence. After independence, with the introduction of Ne Win's authoritarian regime, torture reappeared as targeted towards a growing number of political prisoners. During the decade of democratic transition from 2011, the use of torture decreased inside prisons, only to make a violent return with the military coup of 2021.
History of prisons in Myanmar
In pre-colonial times (mainly the Kongbaung period from 1752 to 1885 described by Thet Thet Wintin, 2006), the area known as Myanmar today consisted of multiple competing kingdoms. In the kingdoms, confinement was not punishment in itself. Confinement did however take place in lockups, while detainees awaited corporal punishment. Lockups were basic bamboo structures, and prisoners were restrained in chains to avoid escapes. People who had committed crimes were marked by tattoos that declared their crimes, enslaved and subject to corporal punishment or execution. Although the royal lockups and colonial prisons serve different purposes – as places to await punishment or places of punishment, the following analysis shows that similar violent practices exist within these institutions.
In 1824, the first Anglo-Burmese War marked the start of colonial rule. The transition to colonial rule was gradual, and only by the end of the third Anglo-Burmese War in 1885 did the last king of Myanmar, surrender. When the colonial regime gained control, establishing a prison system was among the first things they did to assert their power (Brown, 2007b). Gradually, the British imported and developed technologies for a modern prison system. The most significant change was the shift from lockups as places to wait for punishment, to prisons, where confinement was punishment and in which the aim was to reform prisoners. To create this system, the British had to build prisons fit for confinement. The architectural development was incremental. The first prisons constructed by the British were similar to the bamboo constructions of the Burmese lockups. Gradually, as the British established their control over a greater geographical area and imprisoned a greater number of people, the need and possibility to establish a different kind of prison arose and facilitated the break with past penal practices: “It was only with the construction of brick and iron prisons, in Burma from the final decades of the nineteenth century-monumental institutions on the Pentonville model-that a decisive break with the past could begin.” (Brown, 2007b: 229)
Since the British left Myanmar and its prisons in 1948, the prison population has gradually increased. In 2018, it had reached 92,000 prisoners. These prisoners are housed in buildings that are mostly the same as what the British left behind, with only a few additions taking them to a capacity of 66,000 prisoners (World Prison Brief, 2018). With an occupancy level of 139% and repeated reports about intense overcrowding from the Myanmar National Human Rights Commission (2015, 2016), contagious diseases like tuberculosis thrive in the prisons.
After independence in 1948, the prison population changed in accordance with the political situation. As opposition to the military regime grew stronger, the prison housed to a growing number of political activists. Political prisoners can be grouped according to the year of their imprisonment, as the year of arrest indicates what regime they were protesting and what treatment they were subjected to. The first generation after independence is the ‘62 generation, who revolted against Ne Win's regime. Many generations succeeded them, most famously the ‘88 (8888 uprising), ‘91, in protest of the democratic election in 1990 which the military regime overruled, ‘98 and ‘99 in connection with the 10-year anniversary of 8888 and ‘07 (Saffron revolution). Since 2021, a new generation of political prisoners has been arrested by the military junta after the coup. At the time of writing (March 2022), more than 12.000 have been arrested, more than 9000 of whom are still imprisoned (AAPP, 2022).
When the first military coup took place in 1962 and Ne Win's authoritarian regime seized power, torture and amnesties were re-introduced to prisons. ‘Justice’ was defined according to the will of the leader and amnesties and torture existed side by side. This created a ‘culture of fear’ not only in prisons but in all of Myanmar (Skidmore, 2004). This culture of fear and inhumane treatment went on for decades, and parts of it lived on in conflict-ridden areas of the country where the military influence was strong during the decade of nascent democracy (2011–2021). In the prisons, however, changes began while the brutal military regime was still in power. Former prisoners often point to 1999 as a turning point. This was the year when the ICRC conducted its first prison visit in Myanmar. Many narratives by prisoners are structured around before and after the visits of the ICRC. Prison life before 1999 was characterised by inhumane treatment and time spent confined within the cell, except for during the 15 minutes prisoners got to shower and empty toilet bowls. When ICRC started working with prisons in Myanmar, they focused on the identification of incommunicado prisoners and connecting prisoners with their families, while also providing beds, blankets, medicine, books and board games. In parallel, prison governance loosened up. Prisoners gained more freedom in their daily life, through access to reading materials and more time outside the cell, and many experienced a decrease in inhumane treatment. From interviews with prisoners who lived in prisons after 1999, it is however clear that these reforms were not comprehensive throughout the prison system. Although some report major improvements in the treatment they faced, others continue to report degrading treatment and torture.
In 2015, the National League for Democracy (NLD) 3 won a landslide victory in the national election and became the first civilian government since the dark era of military dictatorship. This meant the transition of power to a civilian government that spoke for the importance of rule of law, led by Aung San Suu Kyi who had previously promised to work for the release of all political prisoners (2010). Although this development seemed promising improvements and reforms of the prison system remained absent and political prisoners remained behind bars. A new Prison Law was drafted but never approved (Amnesty International, 2016).
When the military coup took place in 2021 practices of former juntas were reintroduced in prisons. Mass amnesties were declared, the number of political prisoners increased and torture in investigation camps were re-introduced. This swift return to past violent practices makes the one term under a civilian government appear as a blip in the history of Myanmar prisons. Although it is clear from reports on the harsh treatment of imprisoned activists that some violent practices have returned (Anonymous Researcher and Gaborit, 2021), further research is needed to document the extent of this development, and whether the reforms that took place from 1999 to 2015 have been rolled back. The following sections demonstrate how the dramatic changes that took place in Myanmar prisons after 2021 must be understood as part of a historical development, and how the development of these practices give insight into understandings of political regimes and transitions.
Convict officers
Convict officers, also called convict jailors, were first used in lock ups under dynastic rule. They were convicted detainees marked by tattoos – circles on their cheeks, and the crime they had committed written across their chest. These tattoos warned other people and made it impossible for convicts to return to normal life after punishment. In the lockups, convicts had a chance for a life as convict jailor. They lived off money extorted from detainees, which gave rise to a culture of corruption (Thet Thet Wintin, 2006). Furthermore, according to Buddhism, harming someone is believed to result in losing merit and having to return to suffering in future lives (Walton, 2016), so having convict jailors carry out punishments and interrogation served as a way for officials to avoid hurting other people directly. Henry Gouger, a British merchant detained during the Anglo-Burmese war in the 1820s recounted his experiences in the book ‘A Personal Narrative of Two Year's Imprisonment in Burmah’. He described convict jailors: “They were all condemned malefactors, whose lives had been spared on the condition of their becoming common Executioners: the more hideous the crime for which he had to suffer, the more hardened the criminal, the fitter instrument he was presumed to be for the profession he was henceforth doomed to follow. If a spark of human feeling remained, it could hardly be expected that any of these men would voluntarily adhere to their calling;” (1862: 144) “[C]onvict warders shall be allowed (1) to eat their food apart from the other prisoners; (2) to sleep in places specially allotted to them; (3) a small mat or for spreading darion the floor; (4) a piece of white cloth, as a bedsheet; (5) a pillow of gunny, stuffed with coir; (6) a cake of country soap; (7) beef or fish once a week; (8) the use of tobacco in the shape of pipe-smoking, twice daily, in the presence of a jail official; (9) a gratuity not exceeding eight annas a month.” (Burma Jail Manual, 1883: 105)
In addition, their sentence could be decreased up to two months per year they served as convict warder without misbehaviour. Thus, convict officers were allowed basic necessities that allowed them a sense of dignity rarely available to common convicts.
Although the formal description of tasks of convict officers changed, accounts from prisoners continue to describe physical punishment at the hands of convict officers even today. Some former prisoners described during interviews how they were beaten with sticks by convict officers for not working fast enough while in labour camps. Although the British formally redefined the role and practices of convict officers, the legacy of the lock ups persisted in everyday practices.
During colonial times, the majority of jailors, to whom convict officers reported, were Indian. Although attempts were made to recruit Burmese prison staff, Burmese people showed little interest in these jobs. Although working for an institution that performs punishment can itself be problematic for potential Buddhist candidates, the main reason for their lack of interest in the job appeared to be low salaries. The inadequate salaries made it harder to attract staff with skills and motivation and increased the likelihood of prison staff engaging in corruption to supplement the low salary. As a result, the British were unable to find local staff and had to import workforce from the Indian colony. Although the British managed to staff the prisons, the officers did not readily abide by their rules: “In 1880, with a total warder staff in the gaols of British Burma of 282, warders were punished for serious offences and failures on no less than 328 occasions. They were possibly more criminal than the inmates.” (Brown, 2007b: 244)
After a tumultuous democratic period (1948–1962), Myanmar became a military regime led by General Ne Win. Under his regime, the military became an elite with access to power and resources. This affected prisons where military officers were transferred into powerful positions, with little if any experience within the prison service. A former prison officer, with no military background, described how prisons had two kinds of staff: those for whom being a prison officer was a family trade and the military officers: “There are two kinds of prison officers; one is called, Thandey; it is the prison officers’ family who each of the generation work as prison officers. However, the commanders come from the Military. The military commanders are transferred to prison to be a commander in chief; 90% of them are really strict and only 10% of them can interact with the rest of the prison officers. These military commanders rarely become chief jailors, they, at least, become a deputy superintendent and superintendent. They are strict because they do not usually interact with prisoners and they do the decision-making. The prison officers who actually interact with prisoner never became a superintendent so that is the reason why – although there are prison officers who actually care for prisoners, the prison is still notorious among the public.” (Interview, Former Prison Officer, May 2017)
Meanwhile, below the prison staff, the practice of convict officers remained in place. Formally, convict officers are appointed according to the rules of the Jail Manual. When speaking about prison life, however, prisoners refer to different titles than those described in the Jail Manual. A key position of convict officers is that of the ‘Thansee’ which refers to the leader of a cell or area of the prison. In dormitory cells, there are main thansee and sub thansees (Si Kan Thein). The thansee maintains discipline in the cell and prisoners have to go through him to access privileges. Thansees rule over sleeping arrangements and charge people for the more favoured places – away from the toilet, closer to a window – while people who are unable to pay must resign themselves to temporary spaces far from windows and closer to toilets. As such, being thansee can bring a significant income, from which prison staff expect to get a cut.
This also applies to other roles prisoners can be assigned to, some of which are of a more practical nature not described in the Jail Manual. Aung Soe, a former prisoner, describes in his autobiography how he gained the position as ‘Board of the Bathroom’ by paying a bi-monthly fee to officers. He in turn made money as people paid him for access to showers and paid extra for special treatment, like cutting the queue, showering more often or using extra water. “I became the Board of the Bathroom, I had to pay to get that position, and I spend 500,000 kyat for all 4 years to be the board person. Every prisoner had to pay 2000 per month if they wanted to take bath really nicely with efficient water. Seventy out of one hundred prisoners could afford to pay it. I had to save money as well because I needed to offer the authorities 10–20 thousand once in two weeks. If the bathroom's board person could not pay money to authorities, he will not last long, for one month or may be two.” (2015)
Although Aung Soe earned money from being ‘Board of the Bathroom’, a former prison officer described how the management used prisoners in such positions. He described how he used ‘Toilet Boys’ to gain information about the prison he governed. Both titles, ‘Board of the Bathroom’ and ‘Toilet Boys’, are colloquial terms used inside the prisons, not formal titles according to the Jail Manual. The main task of Toilet Boys is to empty toilet bowls both in their own dormitory cells and in small cells housing one or a few people. To empty the toilet bowls, Toilet Boys move around the prison and became a useful source of information. “We have our ways of getting information as well; we received information from Toilet Boys who can go anywhere to collect toilet pots. These Toilet Boys are the ones who were about to be released within 3 months and less. These Toilet Boys inform us what is happening and where is it happening. For example, they will report to us like there is a group of prisoners who are playing cards in the farm and there is a group of people who are planning to escape from the prison. Prisoners do not care whether the Toilet Boys are around them or not because they do not even think that they are exist because everyone knows that these Toilet Boys are going to release sooner or later.” (Former prison officer, Interview)
Since the military coup convict officers played an important role in how arrested activists experience their imprisonment. Some of the politicians arrested after the coup are former political prisoners, familiar with life inside prisons. However, many young activists who were arrested during street protests are not familiar with prison life, far from it. For them encounters with convict officers are possibly among their first encounters with the criminal world. This contrast and lack of knowledge about how to navigate prison life is a major challenge for new prisoners who often have to rely on older prisoners to show them the ropes (Jefferson and Gaborit, 2015). For political prisoners, being grouped with ordinary prisoners can be intimidating. This was also the case for some of the female activists imprisoned after the coup, who described how they were scared of the Board of the Bathroom and rejected medical treatment performed by an untrained prisoner who served as a medical assistant for prison officers (Anonymous and Gaborit, 2021).
The use of convict officers has stretched across the three periods discussed in this article and exists beyond Myanmar in other counties of the Global South (Darke, 2018; Narag and Jones, 2017). Convict officers enable prison systems to function where the prisoner-to-staff ratio is high – such as in Myanmar where there are approximately 7800 employees in prisons housing 92,000 prisoners (Phyo Wai Kyaw, 2019).
In Myanmar, convict officers have been corrupt since the dynastic period. When the practice was established, the prisoners working as jailors did not receive a salary. Corruption was, therefore, necessary for subsistence. During colonial rule, convict officers were rewarded privileges. However, low-paid jailors, looking for ways to supplement their income engaged in smuggling drugs and other illegal activities from which they could earn money from prisoners. Since convict officers support jailors in carrying out their tasks, they were also involved in these practices. Today, convict officers are involved in corruption in even mundane tasks such as showering. Although major changes in the prison system have occurred, and formal rules for the use of convict officers have been established, it appears that some characteristics of convict officers have persisted since dynastic times. Because of continued corruption and violence, having convict officers only benefits those directly involved in the system. The governance structures inside prisons mirror power structures outside prison, where the military is far removed from the people but maintains a heavy grip on the nation's economy through corruption. Further, this practice is an example of the divide-and-rule approach, which has been applied by the British as well as succeeding military juntas. Such parallels between prison governance and societal structures have been found in prisons around the world and demonstrate the potential of using prisons as a prism for the study of wider societal dynamics (Butler et al., 2018; Jefferson and Martin, 2020; Piacentini, 2004).
Amnesties
Amnesties are the first example of a practice, which was discontinued during colonial times, but re-appeared in 1962 with Ne Win's authoritarian regime. Amnesty is when the ruler of a country release or decrease the sentences of a group of prisoners. In legal terms, a pardon signals forgiveness for a wrong act committed, while an amnesty signals that imprisonment was wrongful and the act should not have been criminalised. This is the case when amnesties are used in times of transition (Jeffery, 2014). In Myanmar, the two are often conflated and the word amnesty is used to describe practices more akin to pardons. This article follows the emic use of the term amnesties, though it should be noted that this use does not correspond with the legal definition. Prisoners show little concern for this legal distinction (Gaborit and Jefferson, 2019). Some were imprisoned for acts they did not commit or believe to be wrong, while others see their imprisonment as a result of political oppression but recognise that their actions were illegal. Furthermore, amnesties are sometimes conditional, meaning that authorities can re-arrest the released person at any given time to serve the rest of their sentence. In some cases, amnesties lead to uncertainty rather than freedom, and in all cases, they are a pathway to release but not to justice (AAPP, 2015). The amnesties discussed here are given to groups (hundreds or thousands) of prisoners, often with varying sentences and different cases. They are thus different from amnesties or pardons in which a president decides about a specific case.
In the dynastic period, amnesties were used by kings to demonstrate sovereignty and omnipotence. General amnesties were given when a new king took power, as prisoners of his predecessor had not challenged the authority of the new king. New kings did not leave lockups empty for long, as they would soon be filled with people who the king feared might challenge his authority. In the palace of Mandalay, there was a special lock-up for detainees from the royal family, high-ranking officers and monks. In addition to amnesties given at accession, it was traditional for kings to grant general amnesties on important dates such as the Burmese New Year, Thingyan. These amnesties demonstrated the sovereignty and mercy of the king and earned him merit. In the dynastic era, monks were the only other actor who had the power to pardon and show mercy to convicts. Thus, while amnesties normally demonstrate the ruler as the highest power, amnesties in connection with Thingyan and pardons by monks, illustrate that Buddhism is at the foundation of the moral universe in Myanmar (Walton, 2016).
Under colonial rule, the number of prisoners increased significantly, as such, the number of people who could receive amnesties increased. However, the number of prisoners receiving amnesty did not increase. Records show pardons 4 were given only in connection with the Sayasan uprising in the 1930s. From 1931–36, pardon was given to 173 ‘rebel convicts’ (May Sapai Kyi, 2009: 106). As the prison system was established while subjugating the Burmese peoples to the British empire it is fair to expect that the ‘rebel convicts’ of the Sayasan uprising were not the only people imprisoned for resistance to the colonial regime. However, no more pardons or amnesties were granted until Myanmar gained independence in 1948, when all prisoners were released. Rather than demonstrating the authority of the leaving regime, this was an attempt to complicate things for the new Burmese government, and a necessary humanitarian act, since the staff vacated the prisons and there would be no one to care for prisoners (Brown, 2007b). Thus, under the British, the use of amnesties on a regular basis did not take place.
Since the British had emptied the prisons, there were no prisoners for the new Burmese regime to grant amnesties after independence. Fourteen years later, when the young democracy was taken over in a coup d’état by Ne Win and the Burma Socialist Programme Party, amnesties were granted in connection with the transition to a new political regime. In 1962, Ne Win declared a general amnesty and established the practice of amnesties as an action the president could perform without consulting with the parliament, as a political issue above the law. With the military regime, Ne Win thus brought back the practice of the kings of Myanmar and demonstrated his sovereignty (Cheesman, 2015; Taylor, 2015). Since Ne Win's first amnesty, amnesties have continuously been granted in connection with significant holidays such as Thingyan and Independence Day. As the prison population grew, so did the number of prisoners released on amnesties.
When the country started to open to the outside world around 2011, amnesties became an important tool, not only to show the sovereignty of the ruler but also to show the mercy and goodwill of the regime. Thus, many former political prisoners recount being released on amnesty in 2012 in connection with the presidential visit of Barack Obama. Although these amnesties declared a sign of goodwill to the international society, activists pointed out that while many political prisoners were included in the amnesties, most amnesties went to ordinary prisoners. Notably, after Obama's visit, some were re-arrested for shorter periods to be interrogated about what took place during the visit. Thus, amnesties were used as a political tool in a time of transition, as a bargaining chip for rekindling international relations after years of isolation, rather than as part of transitional justice (Jeffery, 2014).
In 2015, the first civilian government was elected. As the use of amnesties demonstrated the omnipotence of the king, it fit within the framework of an authoritarian regime but was less suited for a democratic regime. 5 Abolition of amnesties was, therefore, a logical consequence of the regime change. Even without amnesties, the NLD government released 199 of their supporters after being elected. This happened through a legal manoeuvre in which the now-late U Ko Ni 6 managed to get charges dropped against student activists arrested one year previously, for their protest against a new education law (AAPP, 2016). This approach aligned with the new government's strong support for rule of law. Internationally, however, transitional times are perceived as the time in which amnesties can be used as a tool to support peace and establishment of a new regime. Such practices imply distancing from the previous regime whom imprisoned the opposition (Jeffery, 2014). Although U Ko Ni found a way to release some political prisoners, others remained in prison (64 according to AAPP, 2016). Aung San Suu Kyi, leader of the NLD government, did thus not deliver on her pre-election promise to ‘free all political prisoners’ (2010). By not releasing prisoners on amnesties during the transition, the NLD government not only upheld their approach to rule of law but they also refrained from making a clear break with the military regime of the past through transitional justice. This approach could be viewed as a strategy to deal with the political situation, where the military was still a strong power holder even without being in full control of the government. However, as later events would reveal, such an approach enabled the continuation of authoritarian practices.
From 2016–17, the NLD government refrained from granting amnesties. In April 2018, however, as Win Myint, also from the NLD, took over the seat of president, amnesties were re-introduced. The amnesties he granted were not targeted at political prisoners. Rather, the primary beneficiaries of his amnesties were people convicted of petty drug crimes. This was in line with the political shift towards decriminalisation of drug users (Central Committee for Drug Abuse Control, 2018), but did not support the democratic transition.
At the time of writing, less than a year has passed since the military coup on February 1, 2021. Yet, four major amnesties have taken place. The first amnesty took place on February 12 when 23,314 prisoners were released (Aljazeera, 2021). These were people convicted before the time of the coup, among them political supporters of the junta and representatives of ethnic groups that the junta was seeking to collaborate with. On April 17, in connection with Thingyan (Burmese new year), 23,184 prisoners were released in a second amnesty (Myanmar Now, 2021b; VOA, 2021). In June, 2296 were released on amnesty, this time citing the risk of Covid-19 spreading inside prisons as the reason for release. The timing of this amnesty was a bit odd since experts had pointed to the risk of prisons becoming hubs for the spread of covid19 long before (Turton et al., 2020). At this point, when the disease had already entered prisons, the releases were likely to spread Covid-19 from the prisons to other areas as released prisoners travelled home. Finally, on October 18, an amnesty was announced in connection with Thadingyut Lunar festival. This amnesty was granted to 5600 prisoners, mainly political activists imprisoned since the coup (The Irrawaddy, 2021b). The amnesty was announced shortly after The Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) declared that the leader of the junta government, Min Aung Hlaing, would not be invited to their upcoming meeting. The junta government had failed to comply with previous demands from ASEAN, including the call for the release of all political prisoners and for ASEAN representatives to be allowed to meet with all stakeholders in the ongoing conflict. Rather than a genuine intention to reverse some of their wrongdoings, the amnesties appeared as a desperate call to ease condemnation from international actors. Rights groups in Myanmar rejected this attempt. Here, in the words of Assistance Association for Political Prisoners: Today's announcement by the junta they would release prisoners must not be met with applause. It is a tactic of the junta to stop international condemnation. (AAPP, 2021)
AAPP's reservations about the genuineness of the intentions behind the amnesty were confirmed as some activists were rearrested on the day of their release (The Irrawaddy, 2021a).
Combined these amnesties are massive and their proportion will only have been exceeded by 1962 when Ne Win released all prisoners. At the start of the year, the prison population will likely have been 90.000–100.000. Even with the arrest of more than 12.000 activists, more than 9.000 of which are still imprisoned (AAPP, 2022), this led to a significant decrease in the congestion level of Myanmar prisons. The prisons, which normally hold more than their capacity of 66.000, are now in the rare situation to hold only the number of prisoners they were built for (World Prison Brief, 2018). Although this on one hand might look like an improvement, it is more likely a necessary move to enable the prisons to manage the demanding task of detaining political prisoners, who are more likely to be in solitary confinement, to protest their arrest and the terms of their imprisonment and who are often mistreated by authorities.
The amnesties after the coup sparked fear in multiple ways. Firstly, there was the fear that the amnesties freed up space for the imprisonment of more political prisoners, and secondly, there was the widespread fear of the released prisoners. This fear was built on two assumptions, firstly, that those released were ‘hardened criminals’ who would spread crime throughout the country. This is a fear that arises every time a major amnesty takes place, which is partly grounded in the lack of information about who is released on amnesties. Most of whom have committed petty crimes or have served most of their sentences. Secondly, people were afraid that the military would pay the newly released prisoners to stir up trouble in the streets, then only to blame the peaceful protesters for the violence. This fear turned out to be well founded as the media covered multiple examples of what was termed the 5000 kyat villains. These were newly released prisoners who received a daily salary of 5000 kyats to stir up trouble. Media showed lists of names of people employed in this way, and video documentation of such non-uniformed people being dropped off from police cars only to engage in violence shortly after. The reports, however, also included multiple cases of people deemed to look suspicious being detained in various neighbourhoods at night. Some of them were detained simply for loitering, while others appeared to have engaged in or tried to light fires in neighbourhoods. In sum, the cases appeared to conflate real fears and risks, with unfounded anxieties. Such conflation contributes to a generalised culture of fear, akin to what Skidmore (2004) has described under the rule of previous military juntas.
Although amnesties have been used in multiple ways throughout Myanmar history their use is rarely motivated by justice. Rather, they appear as a multitool that is used to cement the sovereignty of leaders, to spread fear and manage a failed justice system where an increasing number of people is sent to prisons that are above capacity and lack even the resources to function as human warehouses. This tool serves its purpose when authoritarian powers reign, but is ill-suited for governments that attempt to push Myanmar towards democracy and rule of law (Gaborit and Jefferson, 2019). Further, the practice of amnesties illustrates how historical developments are not always linear. The legacy of the kingdoms concerned with amnesties disappeared during colonial times but reappeared after independence. When the first civilian government was elected in 2015, it appeared as if the amnesties had been left behind with other legacies of the authoritarian regime. Yet, only two years later, amnesties returned. The return to amnesties, a practice best suited for leaders above the law, was a forewarning of what was yet to come. They were a sign of the weakness of the democratic regime and its commitment to rule of law. Weaknesses that since enabled the military coup of 2021 and the return of an authoritarian regime.
Torture
During the Burmese kingdoms, torture was an inherent part of the justice system. Verdicts relied mainly on confessions, often obtained through torture. Thet Thet Wintin lists five ordinary methods of torture used in lock-ups: stocks, special stocks that are more uncomfortable, breaking leg bones between bamboo sticks, putting nails under fingernails and applying pressure to the temples by clamping the head between wooden sticks (2006: 61). After sentencing, the convict risked further violence. Punishments during the Kongbaung era were death penalty, mutilation, tattoos, slavery, forced labour, exile and confinement 7 (Ibid: 104).
During the rule of King Mindon, reforms made the justice system more similar to the British system that had taken hold in the southern part of Myanmar. This led to the introduction of confinement as punishment and to attempts to reduce some violent practices: “In 1855 there were complaints that many accused had died during interrogation and also during punishment. Therefore, the royal order dated 17 July 1855 stated that no prisoner should die as a result of harsh treatment, especially when amputation, tattooing, and flogging were carried out.” (Ibid: 62)
After independence, under the military regime, systematic torture was re-introduced during interrogation and as a disciplinary tool inside prisons. Most accounts of torture stem from political prisoners. The use of torture, however, led to a violent culture that spilled over into regimes concerned with ordinary prisoners (AAPP, 2005; Swe Win, 2018).
In interviews, most accounts of torture started in military interrogation centres, where students were interrogated. Former political prisoners recount how they struggled to endure torture without revealing information. They were interrogated by officers who went at them in shifts, going over the same series of questions repeatedly. The accounts present varying degrees of physical torture and starvation, but all describe interrogation amounting to psychological torture. Many describe not being allowed food or water during interrogation, which could go on for days, weeks or months. Several former political prisoners described drinking out of the water bowl in the toilet, meant for washing after having defecated. Some recounted the humiliation of having to drink toilet water, while others proudly described it as an act of resistance.
Inside prisons, the prevalence of torture varied across time, where the amount of torture appears to have lessened significantly over the years, and varied between institutions. Mingyan Prison is often described as ‘the worst prison’, and many of the most horrible accounts of torture stem from there. Another factor that affects whether a prisoner is subject to torture is whether they engage in politics during imprisonment. Prisoners who engaged in political struggles either on local level for prisoners’ rights or on national level risked torture as punishment. One such instance happened to a political prisoner who engaged in politics while imprisoned in Insein Central Prison. As punishment, he was beaten up and sent to the notorious ‘dog cells’: “Once at midnight, I was brought to interrogation office with hands cuffed from behind and a black hood on my head by prison officers, military intelligence and police officers, in total there were 7 of them. Inside 40 cells there were 30 dogs, not in every cell, they barked when they saw white dresses [prisoner uniforms]. I had sensed that I was brought to somewhere else not the place they had brought me before. One man suddenly pushed me from behind so I fell down into the dog cells, I supposed, because I was so weak too. When I fell down, dogs beside me bit me so I tried to move to the other side but I hit the bar of the other cell and dogs from that cell barked at me. I could not stand anymore and I could not stop my heartbeat, I was so scared, even now talking about this story make me visualise these events. I thought I was already in the dog cell, but I was not, because they touched me with bamboo stick and told me to keep walking. I think I could walk half of the hallway but then I passed out.” (Interview, Former Political Prisoner, May 2017)
Although there are no formal statistics, the use of torture inside prisons appears to have decreased from 1999 to 2020 according to accounts by former prisoners. Other reports, however, suggest that torture was still taking place in Myanmar, in labour camps and conflict areas (Amnesty International, 2000; Swe Win, 2018; United Nations Human Rights Council, 2018). Rather than discontinuation of the practice, it appears the practice was pushed to the frontiers of the country, to areas where military influence was stronger, the reach of the civil government limited and oversight non-existing.
The continued use of the practice in areas under military control became evident when the military seized control of the country in February 2021. Their increased influence was accompanied by a radical return to past violent practices. New tales of torture were shared by activists who were imprisoned after the coup (Anonymous Researcher and Gaborit, 2021), the bodies of those who did not survive the torture revealed the extreme brutality of the torture and videos on social media showed the apparent impunity of officers torturing people in public streets (Milko and Gelineau, 281021; Myanmar Now, 2021a). This systematic use of brutal torture, like the fear instilled by amnesties, contributes to the culture of fear through which the junta rules (Skidmore, 2004).
Whereas amnesties were a practice that the civil government tried to abandon but returned to. Torture appears as a practice that the civil government did not actively use, but to which they turned the blind eye to. One example of this is the Rohingya genocide. In 2019, Daw Aung San Suu Kyi went to the International Criminal Court in Hague and protected the Tatmadaw from international critique by arguing that the government of Myanmar was capable of scrutinising the practices of the military and that an international committee on the matter would be interfering with domestic matters (Aljazeera, 2019). The civil government believed they could tame the beast of Tatmadaw and thought they could best do so without outside interventions. However, the situation in Myanmar today shows that the beast remains untamed and dangerous. By turning the blind eye to the continuation of authoritarian practices at the frontiers, the civil government allowed for the continuation of the political regime that would eventually overthrow the democratic powers of the country.
Conclusion
This article has told the story of the birth (or adoption) of prisons in Myanmar and how practices dating back to before the creation of prisons as we know them today are still in place. This is a history of how pre-colonial legacies found their way into an institution imported by the colonial regime and how this institution remained after independence, while practices inside it mutated and persisted. Practices persisted even across significant regime changes through a historical process that is far from a linear progression. It is complex, sometimes ruptured, and influenced by multiple actors who draw on differing logics to justify practices inside prisons.
The history of authoritarian practices in Myanmar prisons reveals connections between everyday practices and political systems. It is a story of how practices that were dormant during a century of colonial rule quickly returned once the colonial powers left and a dictator took control in the first coup in 1962. It is a story of how authoritarian practices such as political imprisonment and torture remained at the frontiers, even at a time where authoritarian powers appeared to be loosening their grip by implementing reforms and allowing a civil government to take its place. And, sadly, it is a story of how the continued existence of everyday practices from authoritarian times was a symptom of the continued influence of authoritarian powers, which led the way for Myanmar to slide back into the darkness as a new dictator took power in a military coup in 2021.
On a more general level, this is a history that shows the necessity of implementing political reforms on all levels. It demonstrates that a drastic change of political regime, whether it be from monarchic to colonial, colonial to authoritarian or from authoritarian to democratic, can only be successful if the political changes seep all the way down through the system. Changes do not only take place in parliament through reforms of laws and policies but must also be implemented in the everyday practices of civil servants who embody state power. Without changes implemented on all levels, practices can live on at the frontiers or exist in dormant forms as they are discontinued for periods only to reappear again. Therefore, if Myanmar is ever to break with its authoritarian past, reforms must take place all the way from the parliament in Naypyidaw to the wards and villages across the country. Practices of public institutions must be thoroughly examined, and only be continued if they are in line with the new political regime. If the new political regime is one that ascribes to rule of law, it must once and for all release the last political prisoner, and refrain from oppressing its opponents through arrests.
The history of prisons in Myanmar exemplifies how prisons are a prism to study how political changes on State-level seep down through the system to the everyday practices of embodied state power. This analysis adds to Dostoyevsky's famous saying, that to know a state, you must study its prisons, by adding historical depth to the argument. Not only do prisons disclose the true intentions of a given political regime in power but they also reveal the continued practice of legacies from past political regimes and can thus be used as measuring stick for the degree to which regime shifts have taken place.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the reviewers for poignant comments that let to reflections I take with me beyond this article. I am thankful also to colleagues from DIGNITY, Roskilde University and Lund University for feedback on this paper at various stages. Thanks also to the Prison Research Centre at Cambridge University for hosting me while writing the majority of this paper.
Lastly, I want to acknowlegde past, current and former prisoners in Myanmar, who have contributed to this paper and who continue to suffer under the horrible practices described here.
Declaration of conflicting interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
