It is infuriating that in the long run of setbacks for Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and Burmese democracy, the latest comes courtesy of an American religious zealot and his misguided "mission." As an American who has spent the past eight years raising funds for Burmese refugees and raising awareness about the political situation there, I am heartbroken that this nut has put Suu Kyi's potential (if unlikely) freedom in peril once more.
‘The Lady’ And The Tramp
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Yettaw knocked around town for a few weeks, taking a second-floor room in a cheap hotel. He also picked up a motorcycle and a Thai companion, according to the hotel owner, who ate with his Missouri guest almost every day. It was then—late September through early November 2008—that Yettaw began to get political, says the owner. He "talked about Aung San Suu Kyi and said Myanmar [the name the junta gave Burma] would never be a true democracy without her. He said he really needed to do something to better bring the world's attention to The Lady and Myanmar." Yettaw was making the rounds of a few NGOs in Thailand, trying unsuccessfully to get them to accept him as a kind of adjunct staff member, according to a relief worker who, like others interviewed for this story, requested anonymity out of fear of government retaliation. Another relief worker described Yettaw as "delusional," "unstable" and "hyperactive." "He's a nice person, well intentioned; he's not going to hurt you," the person says, but "he was saying, 'God told me this; God told me that'." It's hard to know for sure what happened next. It's possible that Yettaw acted alone, or else took an innocent conversation to be something more. But some time in October, he told the hotel owner about another dream, a vision of himself as a champion of the downtrodden. Then he disappeared, leaving behind an unpaid bill. He resurfaced in Bangkok on Oct. 27 to collect a Burmese visa, government records show, and flew to Rangoon on Nov. 7.
Three weeks later, on Nov. 30, according to court testimony, he made the first of his two attempts to reach Suu Kyi's house by swimming across the lake, but was turned away by her two on-site companions. At home in Missouri the next month, he told family that he had been captured at gunpoint on his way back from her house, but was released after authorities bought his story about having been fishing. (Burmese authorities have apparently not raised this point at the trial, and would not comment further.) Upset that he had been so close to Suu Kyi without having met her, he began mulling a second trip almost immediately.
With Suu Kyi now on trial, spray-painted messages of sympathy have popped up on walls around Rangoon. Behind closed doors there are rumblings of support for the woman who remains a symbol of hope to the 47 million people of Burma, and a million Burmese refugees in exile. But few of her supporters have spoken out publicly about her, perhaps mindful of the regime's brutal means of quelling protest.
The locals are less reticent about Yettaw. To some, he's a heroic idealist; to others, he's a dangerous imbecile who has jeopardized Suu Kyi's freedom and the possibility of democracy. Htay Aung, a former Burmese political prisoner in exile in Thailand, says Yettaw made "the complications more complicated. Now we don't know what's going to happen to Burma."
Verdicts are expected later this month. Yettaw, for his part, "is prepared for any punishment they impose on him," according to his lawyer. In prison, with two Burmese cellmates, he is refusing food in an effort to give himself another vision. He often cries at the thought of "suffering, war and cruelty" in the world. But at the same time, the lawyer says, he is "very happy." "He knows very well that Suu Kyi is in trouble. But that is for the time being. Instead of losing her life, he saved her—this is what he thinks."
Back home in Missouri, the Yettaw family doesn't know what's going to happen to him, either. The details coming out in court puzzle his loved ones, who say Yettaw's previous aquatic adventures had been limited to a front-yard wading pool. "It's getting pretty bizarre," says Betty of the bundle of items her husband allegedly took with him across the lake. "That doesn't sound like Dad," Brian adds. Although Betty says she's "very worried" because "these guys play hardball," there is little that anyone in the family can do, other than monitor the case's progress via media reports and updates from American diplomatic staff in the region.
They are doing their best to get on with life. Later this month the three youngest children plan to fly to California to spend the summer with their mother, Yvonne, while Carley and Brian stay in Missouri, fielding text messages and questions from curious friends: "OMG, I want details" and "Crazy. What's up with your dad?"









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