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The Danger of Defending the Defenseless in Myanmar
Robert Bociaga
Southeast Asia

The Danger of Defending the Defenseless in Myanmar

Lawyers that offer to represent protesters detained by the junta are themselves facing abduction and arrest.

By Robert Bociaga

In broad daylight, Daw My Zun Ko, a female lawyer providing free services for young abductees in Myanmar, was beaten and abducted in Mandalay. For Myanmar’s legal community, such arbitrary arrests are something they must reckon with on a daily basis.

“Even before the coup, we have been working to ensure that the basic legal rights of every person are respected in case of an arrest or judicial accusation. This has become even more challenging in recent times,” says Miriam Chinnappa, who heads a large-scale criminal justice program implemented by International Bridges of Justice (IBJ) in Myanmar.

Since 2013, IBJ has pioneered efforts to secure legal aid in the country, by training hundreds of lawyers, providing early legal representation, and raising rights awareness among the people. Presently, it is one of the few international organizations remaining in Myanmar, and its lawyers continue to engage with the criminal justice system to open entry points for people to access justice.

“Myanmar’s air-kiss with democracy had raised big hopes for the people of Myanmar and especially young lawyers who had immense faith in the future of rule of law and peace. They are now deeply affected by the uncertain fall into a political and legal abyss,” Chinnappa says. She adds that “we’ve provided them with support to manage stress and care for their mental health and well-being during this time of crisis.”

“I felt crushed by the coup,” says May Zin Oo*, a 33-year-old lawyer based in Mandalay. “Erasing the whole profession which I am dedicated to is very difficult for me.”

The unlawfulness unleashed by the coup has resulted in the police and military acting against ordinary vendors and pedestrians. “We used to sue them for wrongdoings, now we can’t do much when they demand bribes,” she adds.

“When a vendor was threatened by police to bail out his nephew with cash [or have his nephew face arrest], I could only advise her to go with someone who is helpful in negotiation,” May Zin Oo says. “I can’t facilitate bribery, also the presence of a lawyer could make the things worse.”

For lawyers like her, “it is really frustrating that we can’t be as vocal as before.”

“We really wanted the criminal justice system to function even in these circumstances, but in the very beginning many lawyers had dilemmas whether to accept politically related cases at all,” she adds.

“I was so scared that a police truck would come at night that I couldn’t sleep,” says lawyer Myint Myat. Based in a town in central Myanmar, he knew, however, that the local community relies just on him and a couple of his colleagues.

“In February, we didn’t want to be confrontational, so we kept a low profile, and carefully selected the cases,” he says. “However, back then just a few lawyers dared to do so. When we took the first cases, we were under the radar of the military.”

According to the Assistance Association for Political Prisoners, the number of people arrested, charged, or sentenced in Myanmar since the military coup of February 1 had topped 4,200 as of May 20, in addition to 812 who were killed by the junta.

Delivering legal representation to those arrested has become more complicated, however, with the recent amendment of the legal aid law. The amendment puts restrictions on people who are eligible for legal aid, clamps down on early access to people arrested, and curtails the powers of the legal aid boards.

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The Authors

Robert Bociaga is a traveling photojournalist specializing in international affairs. He holds a master’s degree in law.

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