July 6, 2013
AP
Todd Pitman
MEIKHTILA,
Myanmar (AP) — Their bones are scattered in blackened patches of earth
across a hillside overlooking the wrecked Islamic boarding school they
once called home.
Smashed
fragments of skulls rest atop the dirt. A shattered jaw cradles half a
set of teeth. And among the remains lie the sharpened bamboo staves
attackers used to beat dozens of people to the ground before drowning
their still-twitching bodies in gasoline and burning them alive.
The
mobs that March morning were Buddhists enraged by the killing of a
monk. The victims were Muslims who had nothing to do with it — students
and teachers from a prestigious Islamic school in central Myanmar who were so close to being saved.
In
the last hours of their lives, police had been dispatched to rescue
them from a burning compound surrounded by swarms of angry men. And when
they emerged cowering, hands atop their heads, they only had to make it
to four police trucks waiting on the road above.
It wasn't far to go — just one hill.
What
happened on the way is the story of one of Myanmar's darkest days since
this Southeast Asian country's post-junta leaders promised the dawn of a
new, democratic era two years ago — a day on which 36 Muslims, most
teenagers, were slaughtered before the eyes of police and local
officials who did almost nothing to stop it.
And
what has happened since shows just how hollow the promise of change has
been for a neglected religious minority that has received neither
protection nor justice.
The
president of this predominantly Buddhist nation never came to Meikhtila
to mourn the dead or comfort the living. Police investigators never
roped this place off or collected the evidence of carnage left behind on
these slopes. And despite video clips online that show mobs clubbing
students to death and cheering as flames leap from corpses, not a single
suspect has been convicted.
International
rights groups say the lack of justice fuels impunity among Buddhist
mobs and paves the way for more violence. It also reflects the reality
that despite Myanmar's bid to reform, power remains concentrated in the
hands of an ethnic Burman, Buddhist elite that dominates all branches
of government.
"If
the rule of law exists at all in Myanmar, it is something only
Buddhists can enjoy," says Thida, whose husband was slain in Meikhtila.
Like other survivors, she asked not to be identified by her full name
for fear of retribution. "We know there is no such thing as justice
for Muslims."
___
The Associated Press
pieced together the story of the March 21 massacre from the accounts of
10 witnesses, including seven survivors who only agreed to meet outside
their homes for security reasons. The AP cross-checked their testimony
against video clips taken by private citizens, many with the date and
time embedded; public media footage; dozens of photos; a site
inspection, and information from local officials.
The day before the massacre began like every other at the Mingalar Zayone Islamic Boarding School — with a call to prayer echoing through the darkness before dawn.
It
was Wednesday, March 20, and 120 drowsy students blinked their eyes,
rising from a sea of mats spread across the floors of a vast
two-story dormitory.
Set
behind the walls of a modest compound in a Muslim neighborhood of
Meikhtila, the all-male madrassa attracted students from across the
region whose parents hoped they would one day become Islamic scholars
or clerics.
The
school had a soccer pitch, a mosque and 10 teachers. It also had a
reputation for discipline and insularity — the headmaster, a strict yet
kind man with a wispy beard, only allowed students outside once a week.
Muslims made up about a third of Meikhtila's 100,000 inhabitants,
compared with just 5 percent of Myanmar's population, and they lived
peacefully with Buddhists.
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