‘They threw my baby into the fire’
HUNDREDS of women stood in the river, held at gunpoint, ordered not to move. A pack of soldiers stepped towards a petite young woman with light brown eyes and delicate cheekbones. Her name was Rajuma, and she was standing chest-high in the water, clutching her baby son, while her village in Myanmar burned down behind her.
“You,” the soldiers said, pointing at her.
She froze.
“You!”
She squeezed her baby tighter. In the next violent blur of moments, the soldiers clubbed Rajuma in the face, tore her screaming child out of her arms and hurled him into a fire. She was then dragged into a house and gang-raped.
By the time the day was over, she was running through a field naked and covered in blood. Alone, she had lost her son, her mother, her two sisters and her younger brother, all wiped out in front of her eyes, she says.
Rajuma is a Rohingya Muslim, one of the most persecuted ethnic groups on earth, and she now spends her days drifting through a refugee camp in Bangladesh in a daze.
She relayed her story at one of the camps, where hundreds of thousands of Rohingya like her have rushed for safety. Her deeply disturbing account of what happened in her village, in late August, was corroborated by dozens of other survivors, and by human rights groups gathering evidence of atrocities.
Survivors said they saw government soldiers stabbing babies, cutting off boys’ heads, gang-raping girls, shooting 40millimetre grenades into houses, burning entire families to death, and rounding up dozens of unarmed male villagers and summarily executing them.
Much of the violence was flamboyantly brutal, intimate and personal – the kind that is detonated by a long, bitter history of ethnic hatred.
“People were holding the soldiers’ feet, begging for their lives,” Rajuma said. “But they didn’t stop, they just kicked them off and killed them, they chopped people, they shot people, they raped us, they left us senseless.”
Human rights investigators said that Myanmar’s military killed more than 1,000 civilians in the state of Rakhine, and possibly as many as 5,000, though it will be hard to ever know because Myanmar is not allowing the United Nations or anyone else into the affected areas.
Peter Bouckaert, a veteran investigator with Human Rights Watch, said there was growing evidence of organised massacres, like the one Rajuma survived, in which government soldiers methodically slaughtered more than 100 civilians in a single location. He called them crimes against humanity.
On Wednesday, the United Nations human rights office said that government troops had targeted “houses, fields, food-stocks, crops, livestock and even trees”, making it “almost impossible” for the Rohingya to return home.
Myanmar’s army has claimed it was responding to an attack by Rohingya militants on August 25 and targeting only the insurgents. But according to dozens of witnesses, almost all of the people killed were unarmed villagers, and many had their hands bound.
Satellite imagery has revealed 288 separate villages burned, some down to the last post.
Human rights groups said the government troops had one goal: to erase Rohingya communities. The unsparing destruction drove more than half a million people into Bangladesh in recent weeks. UN officials called the campaign against the Rohingya a “textbook example” of ethnic cleansing.
Nearly each night here in coastal Bangladesh, up the Bay of Bengal from Myanmar, bodies wash up in the foamy brown tide – children, men, old women who tried to escape on leaking boats, their faces bloated from seawater.
Rajuma barely made it to Bangladesh, escaping on a small wooden boat a few weeks ago. She cannot read or write. She does not have a single piece of paper to prove who she is or that she was born in Myanmar. This may be a problem if she applies for refugee status in Bangladesh, which has been reluctant to give it, or ever tries to go home to Myanmar. She thinks she is around 20, but she could pass for 14 – painfully thin, with wrists that look as if they could easily break.
She grew up in a rice farming hamlet called Tula Toli, and she said the place had never known peace.
The two main ethnic groups in her village, the Buddhist Rakhines and the Muslim Rohingya, were like two planes drawn to never touch. They followed different religions, spoke different languages, ate different foods and have always distrusted each other.
A community of Buddhists lived just a few minutes from Rajuma’s house, but she had never spoken with any of them. “They hate us,” she said. Azeem Ibrahim, a Scottish academic who recently wrote a bookontheRohingya,explained that much of the animosity could be traced to World War II, when the Rohingya fought on the British side and many Buddhists in Rakhine fought for the occupying Japanese. Both sides massacred civilians.
After the Allies won, the Rohingya hoped to win independence or join East Pakistan (today’s Bangladesh), which was also majority Muslim and ethnically similar to the Rohingya. But the British, eager to appease Myanmar’s Buddhist majority, decreed that the Rohingya areas would become part of newly independent Myanmar (then called Burma), setting the Rohingya up for decades of discrimination.
Myanmar’s leaders soon began stripping their rights and blaming them for the country’s shortcomings, claiming the Rohingya were illegal migrants from Bangladesh who had stolen good land.
“Year after year, they were demonised,” Ibrahim said.
Some influential Buddhist monks said the Rohingya were the reincarnation of snakes and insects and should be exterminated, like vermin.
The persecution fuelled a new Rohingya militant movement, which staged attacks against Myanmar security outposts on August 25.
In terms of the tactics used, the weapons fired, the openness of the killings, the gang rapes and the level of military organisation, the accounts from many different Rohingya areas present a distressing harmony.
“Stories of atrocities are universal,” said Anthony Lake, the executive director of Unicef.
He said he was deeply troubled by what Rohingya children had been drawing in the camps – guns, fires, machetes and people on the ground with red streaming out of them.
In Tula Toli, Rajuma fought as hard as she could to hold onto her baby, Muhammad Sadeque, about 18 months old.
But one soldier grabbed her hands, another grabbed her body, and another slugged her in the face with a club. A jagged scar now runs along her jaw.
The child was lifted away from her, his legs wiggling in the air.
“They threw my baby into a fire – they just flung him,” she said.
Many people in the refugee camps have been eerily stoic – seemingly traumatised past the ability to feel. In dozens of interviews with survivors who said their loved ones had been killed in front of them, not a single tear was shed.
But as she reached the end of her horrible testimony, Rajuma broke down.
“I can’t explain how hard it hurts,” she said, tears rolling off her cheeks, “to no longer hear my son call me ma”.
[T]hey didn’t stop, they just . . . killed them, they chopped people, they shot people, they raped us, they left us senseless