Chiang Mai, in northern Thailand, is a bustling town ringed by green hills and overrun with kitschy coffee shops, screaming mopeds and, apparently, a lot of free wi-fi. I once listened to Blues Traveler and had a nose ring, so I can't rag on the backpacking set that flocks here for cheap noodles, excellent foot massages and the slightly-off-the-beaten-pathness of it all, but what brought me to Chiang Mai was a visit to the Burmese human rights network that has made the city its ground zero, oftentimes in secret.
The Democratic Voice of Burma (DVB) is an underground television and radio network broadcasting inside the country to nearly 15 million Burmese. It is also responsible for some of the most arresting and important video footage to come out of Burma in the last two years (see "Burma VJ" for more). In 2007, when tens of thousands of saffron-robed monks took to the street to protest the ruling regime's brutal policies -- only to face truncheons, arrest, and death -- secret DVB journalists smuggled out videotape documenting their marches. These tapes were then brought to the DBV offices in Chiang Mai, where they were uploaded via satellite and broadcast to the world on CNN and the BBC, which were unable to get their teams inside the country. Along the way, DVB reporters faced arrest and torture; several were taken in by Burmese authorities, jailed and have yet to be released. Click play below to watch excerpts from DVB's "Saffron Revolution" footage:
When Cyclone Nargis hit the country one year later, it was DVB reporters who captured the ghastly scenes of corpses floating in the water, residents who had lost everything to the storm, and a government that was nowhere to be seen. They faced the same persecution for their reportage as human rights activists inside the country: extended jail sentences under extraordinarily harsh conditions.
The DVB offices in Chiang Mai are in an undisclosed location in the middle of a tree-lined, residential section of the city. Inside the complex is a rabbit warren of rooms fashioned into ad-hoc editing and sound studios, complete with green screens, radio-quality mikes and digital cameras. There is a youth news department, several online desks, and rooms dedicated to breaking and ethnic news. If you follow Burmese affairs even marginally closely, then you've probably seen DVB's work -- most recently, when news broke of collusion between the North Korean and Burmese governments, it was DVB that smuggled out video showing secret tunnel projects built inside Burma and overseen by North Korean engineers. Its work has informed international policy; it's a gross understatement to say that it is both very critical and very brave.
Like other battle-scarred journalists who cover conflict areas and grave violations of human rights, the editors and writers at DVB retain a healthy sense of humor about the difficulty of the task at hand. In the name of fair and balanced journalism, when covering state-sponsored aggression or violence, the DVB often tries to get a response from the Burmese government -- a laudable, if fruitless, endeavor. DVB's resident "troublemaker" for this is a tenacious, sweet-faced young woman who recalled for me a recent effort at contacting the government for a statement. There are two numbers for the Ministry of the Interior, it was explained. One number rang and rang and rang -- no one ever picked up. The other number rang for some time until finally, someone answered. When asked for a response, the person on the other end of the line explained, "I can't make a statement. I'm just the guy who cleans the offices." Not so surprising, given the fact that the government abruptly moved its capital from Rangoon to the remote town of Naypyidaw four years ago -- without telling anyone in advance. Following the move, no phone lines were installed. Diplomats looking to contact the Burmese government were told, simply, "to send a fax."
As chuckle-inducing as the government's behavior is, it is also very serious and deeply menacing when it chooses to be. A few weeks ago, the Burmese regime published a photo in a national magazine of a DVB reporter working secretly inside the country. It was a stern warning to others like her: We are watching you. The DVB took it in stride -- the past few weeks have seen the network expanding its offices into remote areas of the country where the military has been particularly active, training new reporters in video journalism, and beginning work on a series of special news features. DVB's Chiang Mai bureau chief brought me into one radio room, which, he explained, "had been the previous owners' dog house or something," and added, "We are too big for this space." It was, to my mind, cause for celebration. The good guys may not be winning, but they sure as hell aren't giving up.