Ten years ago last August, on the auspicious eighth day of the eighth month of 1988, the Burmese rose up against their military government.
Hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets, day after day, in a national strike that paralysed the country. Over the following six weeks the uprising was crushed. More than 5,000 protesters were killed. Unarmed demonstrators were cut down by troops, monks were bayoneted, prisoners burned alive in civic crematoria.
At the height of the uprising, the government announced a number of co-operative ventures with western firms to build tourist hotels. The dictators who had for so many years isolated Burma - or Myanmar as the regime chooses to call it - wanted tourism to make them rich.
"The towers are built of fine stone and one has been covered with gold a good finger in thickness," wrote Marco Polo of the ancient Burmese capital of Pagan, " . . . really they do form one of the finest sights in the world."
Two years ago, while researching a book on the 1988 uprising, I returned to Burma and visited the now ruined city, climbing the narrow steps of Thatbyinnyu, one of more than 2,000 temples that remain on the arid plain. From the upper terrace, I tried to imagine the bustling, ancient city 200 feet below. As I watched the sun set beyond the Irrawaddy's great arc, I wanted to conjure up trading barques from Ceylon and Siam swaying in swells. But my imagination failed me as I became aware something was missing.
On the ride back to the guesthouse I asked the young driver of my horse-cart what had happened to the old village. "Kubla Khan destroy," he replied. "Rape and pillage all of old Pagan. Very bad man."
"No, more recently than that," I said. "Maybe last year? Two years ago?" The driver turned to stare at me and I thought for a moment that he hadn't understood. "There was a town here when I last visited."
"No town, no sir," he replied, fidgeting with the reins. A furtiveness had crept into his behaviour. "A few farmers, maybe, but no town."
"Ten years ago, I stayed at a place called the Mother Hotel," I insisted. "And I remember a sign at a restaurant which said, `Be kind to animals by not eating them'."
In 1989 Pagan - along with Rangoon and Mandalay - were chosen as the three destinations to be opened to tourists. A frenzy of hotel building razed old neighbourhoods and transformed city centres. In the capital one million civilians were relocated, according to the International Confederation of Free Trade. Over the next seven years the number of hotel rooms in Burma rose from 978 to an estimated 20,000.
In Pagan the expulsions were small in comparison with elsewhere in the country, but the methods employed were similar. The army simply announced through loudspeakers that the village was to be resettled. The 5,200 residents were told to pack their belongings.
Compensation of only 250 kyats - about $2 - was to be paid per property. No money was given for the buildings themselves. Two weeks later, the lorries and bulldozers arrived. People were taken away and their homes destroyed. The old village was replaced by a tourist enclave of modern hotels catering for dollar-bearing foreigners.
But, nearly a decade later, the great influx of wallet-waving holiday makers has not materialised. Western tourists have been deterred by international boycott campaigns and the Asian economic crisis has curtailed the visits of nationals from neighbouring countries.
As for the thousands of new hotel rooms, most are empty - while the evicted residents of the old neighbourhoods try to rebuild their lives in suburban shanty towns. The charismatic opposition leader, Aung San Suu Kyi, has asked tourists not to come to her country until it is again a democratic nation, until forced labour, arbitrary rape and extra-judicial killings are no longer commonplace.
Those of us able to travel, who choose to visit Burma while it remains under the rule of the same iniquitous junta, must go there with the express intention of bearing witness to the tragedy and suffering of the betrayed, golden land.
AFP adds: Aung San Suu Kyi was yesterday left without any channels of communication with the country's junta and protected only by youth supporters after she demanded official bodyguards leave her compound, party officials said.
The move aroused concerns for her safety. "We feel that Aung San Suu Kyi is now free from prying eyes inside her own compound," one official said. "But on the other hand, the youths who have taken over do not really have the experience to give protection."
Rory MacLean's new book Under The Dragon: Travels in a Betrayed Land is published by HarperCollins.