conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled Finding George Orwell in Burma about Well-researched, mdash;San, Francisco with the genre: Travel, Asia
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: "Well-researched and fascinating...Remarkable." &mdash;San Francisco Chronicle
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first two paragraphs for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Finding George Orwell in Burma
  We were interrupted by a loud screeching noise from the printing press, immediately followed by a chorus of groans from the workers. The electricity had been cut and the machine had juddered to a halt. One of the workers went outside to start up a small generator, and after a few moments the press slowly coughed its way back to life. Though the power source in Rangoon is more reliable than elsewhere in the country, the electricity still cuts out daily—sometimes for a few minutes, but more often for a few hours. In some parts of town, such as Golden Valley, a wealthy neighbourhood north of the city centre where many of the generals live, the electricity supply is fairly constant. Elsewhere in Rangoon power comes on for only a few hours each night. For most businesses, private energy supplies are a necessity, and outside the big hotels and condominiums you can see generators the size of houses growling loudly throughout the day and night.
  Ko Ye tapped the last cigarette out from his packet of London brand. 'The PRSD has been controlling all published material in Burma for over forty years,' he said, 'and now we have a whole generation of young people who have grown up within the curtailed reality it has created.' He told me that his son was reading a political novel from the 1950s, printed during Burma's brief period of press freedom, and was surprised to learn that it had once been possible to criticize the government. He knew, of course, that you could do it behind closed doors (he'd heard Ko Ye enough times), but he never knew you could once do it in print. 'One day they may give us more economic freedom and more freedom of movement,' Ko Ye said of the regime. 'But they will never, never allow us to have freedom of expression. They know that if we published the truth—if people could know the truth—the full truth, they would be forced out within a month.'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: four more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I walked along an overgrown pathway in search of someone who might be able to help me. Around the back of the church I came across a man asleep in a hammock on the verandah of a small hut. He seemed a little startled to see me, but eagerly offered to help me look through the church's old gravestones for members of the Limouzin family. Informing me that he was the caretaker, he disappeared into his hut and emerged a few moments later with his grotty singlet covered by a collared white shirt. As we walked back to the front of the church he picked up a large stick and began poking in the foliage of weeds and thorny vines alongside the path. I heard his stick tap something hard and watched him uncover a headstone that lay flat on the ground. Together, we unearthed a few more discarded headstones, but they were impossible to read—the metal inscriptions had fallen off, and the stones were caked in the mud and grime of some 150 years.
  Inside the church were rows of worn pews, and high above them a wooden ceiling seemed to sag dangerously. The brick pillars along the nave were stained with white waves of what looked like icing sugar—damage caused by Japanese soldiers, who had used the church as a warehouse for storing salt during the Second World War, explained the caretaker. I found only a few hints of the church's former grandeur. The choir stalls were made of oak which must have been shipped from England, and were beautifully carved with vines bearing plump grapes. And, on the floor around the altar, cream, black and red tiles shone through the dust.
  The caretaker pulled a small slab of black marble from the stack of headstones. He wiped the dust off the surface, and I watched with growing excitement as the words 'Eliza Emma Limouzin' appeared beneath his hands. Eliza was Frank Limouzin's first wife, who had died at the age of twenty-three in 1865. The headstone provided no details about how she died, but noted that her children Arthur (two years and eleven months) and Emily (one year and four months) were buried with her. All three of them must still lie beneath the central Moulmein police station.
  We didn't find any other remnants of the Limouzin clan, and I disappointedly helped the caretaker slide the headstones back behind the vestry. Our footsteps echoed through the silent church as we walked back to the door. I looked again at the cement that held parts of the church walls together, like patches on a leaking ship, and asked the caretaker how he managed to keep the building from collapsing. He told me that the church had a very small parish as only a handful of Anglicans remained in Moulmein. 'There is much work to do here, but we cannot afford it,' he said wearily. 'All we can do is pray that the church won't fall down.' Before I left the church, I pushed some banknotes through the cobwebs strung around the donation box.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last four paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: In a few short minutes we had left Katha behind us. Damp bamboo fronds brushed against the windows, and small pagodas loomed ghostly white above the paddy fields. A familiar feeling of excitement swept through the bus as we set off on our journey, careering along a dirt path into the darkness.
  The government issued a statement claiming that members of the NLD travelling with Aung San Suu Kyi had provoked a group of pro-government youth and a skirmish had resulted in which four people were killed and fifty injured. According to the statement, Aung San Suu Kyi was being kept in protective custody and, for her own safety, details of her exact whereabouts could not be released. Was she alive? Injured? There was no way of telling. Others were missing, too: nearly 20 senior NLD members and over 100 people who were part of the cavalcade had yet to return home.
  As the weeks passed, I followed the confused and contradictory reports that seeped out of Burma. When the attack began, many people fled into the surrounding jungle and watched what happened. Afterwards, they did not dare go back to their homes, but hid in monasteries and safe houses across the country. Some escaped to neighbouring Thailand, and, as they did, a very different picture of events began to come into focus. Eyewitnesses estimated that some 70 NLD members had been beaten to death and that over 100 had been arrested. The attackers were members of the USDA, and included government soldiers dressed in civilian clothes. It is believed that the regime organized the attack to intimidate Aung San Suu Kyi and to frame her and the NLD as troublemakers intent on destabilizing the country. It also provided the generals with a convenient excuse to make Aung San Suu Kyi disappear. Just over a week later, a United Nations envoy flew to Burma and was able to obtain a meeting with her. He reported that she was in good health, but was unable to divulge her whereabouts. There was speculation that she was being kept in special quarters in Insein Prison. It was not until three months after the attack that she was returned to her home in Rangoon and was placed, yet again, under house arrest.
  The latter months of 2003 were marked by violent anti-Muslim riots believed to have been instigated by the regime to detract attention from the events of 30 May. The following year, in May 2004, the generals hosted a national convention designed to give the impression that democratic process would be instilled in the Burmese constitution. The convention was a sham: hand-picked delegates were prohibited from debating the articles within the regime's proposed constitution and proceedings were effectively rendered null and void by the fact that NLD party leaders were not released from house arrest and therefore could not attend the convention. In October 2004 it was announced that the SPDC's second-in-command, Khin Nyunt, who is considered by some to hold the most moderate views among the senior generals, suddenly retired due to health reasons. The similar "retirement" of numerous ministers who had close ties to him and the dismantling of the Military Intelligence, which came under his jurisdiction, indicate that his resignation had nothing to do with health. Rather, it has been interpreted by Burma analysts as a consolidation of strength within the military government; with the removal of Khin Nyunt and all those loyal to him, the country's most senior general, Than Shwe, no longer has any potential rivals to his power.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Rather, it has been interpreted by Burma analysts as a consolidation of strength within the military government; with the removal of Khin Nyunt and all those loyal to him, the country's most senior general, Than Shwe, no longer has any potential rivals to his power. Damp bamboo fronds brushed against the windows, and small pagodas loomed ghostly white above the paddy fields. A familiar feeling of excitement swept through the bus as we set off on our journey, careering along a dirt path into the darkness.
  The government issued a statement claiming that members of the NLD travelling with Aung San Suu Kyi had provoked a group of pro-government youth and a skirmish had resulted in which four people were killed and fifty injured. According to the statement, Aung San Suu Kyi was being kept in protective custody and, for her own safety, details of her exact whereabouts could not be released. Was she alive? Injured? There was no way of telling. Others were missing, too: nearly 20 senior NLD members and over 100 people who were part of the cavalcade had yet to return home.
  As the weeks passed, I followed the confused and contradictory reports that seeped out of Burma. When the attack began, many people fled into the surrounding jungle and watched what happened. Afterwards, they did not dare go back to their homes, but hid in monasteries and safe houses across the country. Some escaped to neighbouring Thailand, and, as they did, a very different picture of events began to come into focus. Eyewitnesses estimated that some 70 NLD members had been beaten to death and that over 100 had been arrested. The attackers were members of the USDA, and included government soldiers dressed in civilian clothes. It is believed that the regime organized the attack to intimidate Aung San Suu Kyi and to frame her and the NLD as troublemakers intent on destabilizing the country. It also provided the generals with a convenient excuse to make Aung San Suu Kyi disappear. Just over a week later, a United Nations envoy flew to Burma and was able to obtain a meeting with her. He reported that she was in good health, but was unable to divulge her whereabouts. There was speculation that she was being kept in special quarters in Insein Prison. It was not until three months after the attack that she was returned to her home in Rangoon and was placed, yet again, under house arrest.
  The latter months of 2003 were marked by violent anti-Muslim riots believed to have been instigated by the regime to detract attention from the events of 30 May. The following year, in May 2004, the generals hosted a national convention designed to give the impression that democratic process would be instilled in the Burmese constitution. The convention was a sham: hand-picked delegates were prohibited from debating the articles within the regime's proposed constitution and proceedings were effectively rendered null and void by the fact that NLD party leaders were not released from house arrest and therefore could not attend the convention. In October 2004 it was announced that the SPDC's second-in-command, Khin Nyunt, who is considered by some to hold the most moderate views among the senior generals, suddenly retired due to health reasons. The similar "retirement" of numerous ministers who had close ties to him and the dismantling of the Military Intelligence, which came under his jurisdiction, indicate that his resignation had nothing to do with health.In a few short minutes we had left Katha behind us.