BURMA:The hope generated by Ban Ki-moon's visit has failed to materialise for Burma's cyclone survivors, writes a special correspondentin Rangoon.
UN SECRETARY general Ban Ki-moon raised hopes for Burma's destitute cyclone survivors last week, but dismal signals from the ruling generals since then are blackening victims' prospects and the mood in Rangoon.
Aid workers who finally got their hands on visas and delta permits are still confronted by delays and obstacles in what some fear could deteriorate into an operational quagmire.
A week after the secretary general's visit, the promised "open access" to allow a proper aid response has not materialised. UN and international organisations battle red tape for limited permits to enter the delta, only to find when they get there that their worries have just
begun.
Access alone is of limited use without the telecommunications equipment, vehicles, boats and helicopters the generals will not allow in in any numbers.
An astonishing million or more survivors are still fending entirely for themselves in delta wastelands strewn with decayed corpses of people and animals.
Access to the other million or so that have been contacted by relief workers and private donors remains fraught with uncertainty, as the generals continue to evict thousands from roadsides and temporary camps where relief workers can reach them.
With cameras forbidden in the affected areas, the almost unimaginable scale of suffering is being hidden.
A World Food Programme chief returning on Thursday from Labutta, one of the worst-hit towns, although it has received a relatively high volume of aid, expressed "concern over the system's ability to meet needs". His measured language barely hid the underlying frustrations. Although some helicopter support had arrived, permission to access food, vehicles and other supports had not been forthcoming.
The organisation, like others, is managing to get some food and aid to many victims, but some are living in conditions barely above survival level.
The struggle to work effectively against a backdrop of red tape, stalled permits and refusals for vital equipment is reminiscent of a war zone, not a natural disaster.
This is why the private relief teams from Burma have operated from the beginning as though they were heading out behind enemy lines. I have not met a single Burmese who would contemplate, for one moment, putting their aid donations in the hands of township officials or soldiers. This means they lose time dodging checkpoints, making detours, hiding out, and lying about their activities if caught.
"You can't trust the military to give the donations to the people," said U Aung Myo, a white-collar professional who turned himself into a full-time aid worker for local and international relief operations weeks ago and has had barely a moment's rest since.
He is part of the "other army" of Burmese private citizens, monks, charities, youth groups, churches and business people whose heroic efforts over the past month will be an important memory to help this stricken society to heal from the Nargis body blow and four decades of crippling military rule.
"Our society has been breaking apart for a long time, but this is showing we can pull together," said a Rangoon woman.
Burmese show restrained fury but little surprise over the army's obstructive behaviour - and no surprise over the disappointing outcome so far of Ban Ki-moon's promised "open access" for foreigners. They know that the army believes - probably correctly - that unfettered access to the delta population could expose it to perhaps uncontainable outrage and threaten the iron grip it holds over daily life that sustains its hold on power.
So it stalls on access permits, forbids cameras, and tries to ensure that state officials are inserted between all delta helpers, Burmese and foreign, and the people who so badly need help.
Burmese citizens can often dodge the officials, but that option is not open to foreign groups, like the UN organisations attempting to work openly. They must negotiate with local representatives on a case-by-case basis, hoping that humanitarian impulses override other instructions.
In many areas authorities act in a way that hurts and bewilders victims, dismays local relief teams, and bodes badly for future prospects. Soldiers have told groups sheltering and waiting for aid along roadsides to move into rice fields where they are less visible and vulnerable to snakes, disease-carrying mosquitoes and other hazards.
Township officials have pushed villagers out of schools and monasteries and told them to return to areas that are destroyed. They have closed down
"tarpaulin towns" outside Rangoon and in other areas and sent homeless inhabitants away with a few dollars and a few cans of rice.
And they have confiscated privately donated blankets and tarpaulin, telling survivors these would be redistributed "later". The picture is grim, but the desperation of survivors means the relief effort must push on in spite of the surprises, bewilderments, and obstructions cropping up on a daily basis.
Foreigners are learning what it is like to be Burmese: no information and no rights, you take what you get. You deal with the uncertainty by trying to read the "signs". As usual these are deeply conflicting; as Ban Ki-moon's trip fades into the distance, the bad ones increasingly outweigh the good.
For weeks the regime's mouthpiece newspapers at least publicly welcomed international assistance. This week, for the first time, there was outright derision, with one writer in the state-run Kyemon mocking foreigners' attempts to access the delta with "chocolate bar" aid and frowning at efforts to enter "not just our kitchens but the living room and bedroom as well".
The writer failed to note that hundreds of thousands of his countrymen no longer have a kitchen, a living room, or a life.