Aung San Suu Kyi and Ali

As anyone who knows anything at all about me might imagine, I spent much of this weekend following the news of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. For those of you who might have spent the last few days on Mars, yesterday Aung San Suu Kyi was finally freed unconditionally after spending the last seven years under house arrest. She has since called for reconciliation in Burma in recommencing her political work. Her release has been met with near-universal praise from world leaders and Nobel prize winners, while the world media has briefly flocked back to Burma to report on this good news.

It goes without saying that this news is hopeful, that I am uplifted and encouraged by reports of Burmese shedding tears of joy in the streets of Rangoon, for once unmolested by the police and security agents. Of course I believe that Aung San Suu Kyi is a deeply inspiring figure, probably the Nelson Mandela of our generation in terms of visibility, charisma and popular sympathy. Actually, I think not enough is made of her role as a woman in world politics, of the particular struggles and sacrifices made by women confronting and wielding power.

I also wonder how long she'll be allowed to remain free: previous releases in 1995 and 2000 were followed by rearrest on the flimsiest of pretexts. I cannot see that this release, coming a week after fraudulent elections were 'successfully' concluded, really constitutes the beginning of anything given the strength with which the Burmese junta is willing to enforce its position of authority.

For me a larger issue is no matter how euphoric or cautious, much of the media reporting about Aung San Suu Kyi's release has failed to draw adequate attention to the 2,100 other political prisoners who remain in Burmese jails, many of them detained for taking part in the 2007 protests. Most of them are nameless, faceless and outside of human rights circles, forgotten.

I think one of the things I most admired about Front Line, before and after I worked there, was it's focus on 'the little guy'. Sometimes we used to jokingly refer to the human rights 'rock stars', to the Aung San Suu Kyis, Shirin Ebadis, Liu Xiaobos and Balthazar Garzóns of the this world, along with many others whose names might not be known internationally but who can at least count on support from civil society within their own countries: the Yuri Melinis, Nabeel Rajabs Oleg Orlovs and Emad Baghis. No one can disparage the difficulties they face or the sacrifices they make; take Shirin Ebadi's ongoing exile or Liu Xiaobo's ongoing prison sentence if you want a case in point. It doesn't always translate to protection, but there are immense wells of support for those activists in crisis: the media will report with outrage, students will sign petitions, NGOs are interested and the diplomatic community becomes available.

But for every rock star and for all the applause, there are thousands who run equal risks and pay equal costs without the protection, support and fame which 'fame', of its kind, can bring. With every respect to Aung San Suu Kyi, in the eyes of the world media it helps immensely to be beautiful, elegant, eloquent and tragic. She's everyone's favourite romantic heroine.

I found myself wondering this weekend about the 2,100 other prisoners and whether they had even heard about her release, or whether it meant much. And for some reason, probably because it feels so much closer to home, I found myself thinking about Ali.

Some of you have heard Ali's story already. Ali Abdulemam is - was - the director of one of Bahrain's only independent online news websites, and within online and activist communities was known internationally for his work on freedom of expression and media issues. He spent several months with Front Line in Dublin on a fellowship, working with us in the office, staying in the organisation's apartment a few doors down the street. He ate lunch with us interns, told us stories about Bahrain, promised to bring us Middle Eastern food. He won a staff pitch and putt tournament and we teased him that he'd only won because he had the best golfing fashion sense. By the open fire in the pub he played around with my camera and took pictures of all of us which managed to survive the robbery of my camera and laptop a few weeks later.

On 4 September, a few weeks after his return to Bahrain, Ali was arrested along with about 28 other activists, writers, politicians and clerics. All were accused of taking part in a "terrorist plot" to execute a "campaign of violence, intimidation and subversion in Bahrain". We knew that he was being held incommunicado, without access to a lawyer or his family. We knew that he was most likely being tortured. He and 10 others are currently subject to an unfair trial whose date is continually deferred (from the 28 October, then to 11 November, now until the 25 November), most likely in what I see as an attempt to deter trial monitors from attending and to frustrate defence counsel from adequately representing their clients.

The deferred trial hearings did at least serve the purpose of finally allowing Ali and the other detainees to describe their experiences in detention over the past two months. Ali stated that:

“I was subjected to torture, beatings, insults and verbal abuse. They threatened to dismiss my wife and other family members from their jobs. I was interrogated in the prosecution without a lawyer, and the officer there who appeared to be from the National Security dismissed my denials to the allegations put against me. He never allowed me to respond to the questions he was asking, but rather answering them himself whilst I was stood behind the door as I was not permitted to sit during the investigation".

A blog run by Ali's supporters has in addition reported that he was hung from the ceiling, blindfolded, beaten, cursed and insulted.

If and when Ali and his fellow prisoners of conscience are released, the world media will not report on it. If previous patterns of arrests, tortures and trials are anything to go by, this entire process can be considered a form of punishment for their activities so far, as intimidation against continuing with such actions or activities in future, and of course as a warning to others not to step out of line. Ali he has a wife and young children and extended family at home, and when it comes to personal cost his actions and activism and bravery - to them, very understandably - might or might not seem so clear-cut and worthy of applause. It is perhaps easier to be the one applauded than to be the one left behind.

Aung San Suu Kyi has not been tortured like this, at least not physically in an interrogation cell (on the other hand, she was preventing from seeing her dying husband before he passed away, for instance). I know that one cannot compare different forms of suffering, nor try to quantify the effects of physical 'versus' emotional or mental torture. But does the release of one Aung San Suu Kyi only serve to distract from the very many others?

I suppose that all I want to say is that this weekend I congratulate Aung San Suu Kyi and the Burmese people, but that I have spent the past couple of days thinking about those who are not congratulated. For myself, I thought about Bety Cariño and Georges Kanuma (both of whom I wrote about before), and I thought about Ali. And I only want to ask you to do the same.