Ruled by the world's last military junta, Burma is shunned by both governments and tourists. Yet its people are crying out for contact. So what's the ethical traveller to do?

On the boat to Mandalay the same thoughts kept turning in my mind. The red orb of a full moon ­appeared, casting streaks of gold across the placid water of the Irrawaddy river, but even this beauty failed to displace the questions that haunted our two-week stay earlier this month. Why were we in Burma? Was our trip giving comfort to the country's military dictatorship, by common consent one of the world's worst regimes?

Burma never has been a popular destination, and after the bloody ­suppression of the monks' protests in September 2007 and the government's delay in helping hundreds of thousands who lost everything in Cyclone Nargis the following May, the tourist trickle almost dried up. Only 47,161 people came from Europe last year, mainly from France and Germany, making Burma the country least visited by ­British people anywhere in Asia (with the exception of North Korea).

So was our party of visitors wrong to buck the trend? Not if you go by the number of people who eagerly ­approached us to practise their English and, after a tentative start, wanted to say what they thought of their rulers. "They're mad," one driver told us as he steered his creaking banger past a crush of Chinese bicycles and motorbikes, the commonest form of transport on Burma's rutted roads.

In decades of reporting I have ­generally stuck to journalism's rule number one: don't quote taxi drivers. But in a few places (Manhattan, Havana, and now Burma) you meet such a ­variety of characters forced to earn a living behind the wheel that their opinions offer a broad range of views. This driver had trained as a computer engineer before serving in a Burmese embassy in a western country. "Life is not improving here," he said. "Most people don't like the government. We have no legislative body. We have no democracy." (Apologies for breaking journalism's rule number two: don't use anonymous quotes if they are ­pejorative. In Burma, critical sources deserve protection.)

Another driver was making political comments within five minutes of our hiring him from Rangoon airport into town. Asked if it was our first trip to Burma, I said yes, and then added, "I see you call it Burma." "Burma good name, Myanmar new name," he replied mischievously. When we ­inquired what the attractive gardens were behind locked gates on the left, "That was the university. Now closed," he commented. "Because of the ­demonstrations, when we had ­demonstrations. They moved all the universities out of Rangoon. Now it's quiet," he added, before smiling ­sarcastically: "Good idea."

An intelligence officer, I wondered fleetingly, working at the airport to test arriving foreigners? If so, he wasn't much of an expert, since his only ­question, apart from whether it was our first trip, was where we came from. The one good thing he found to say of the ­regime was that it had ­allowed English to be taught again in primary schools. "For a time they stopped it. The army doesn't like ­English but now it's OK again." That certainly seemed to be true. ­Rangoon's main shopping street is brimming with cramped ­bookshops, full of English grammar and vocabulary manuals. Similar titles were laid out on the ­pavements alongside food stalls and fruit-drink stands.

In contrast to Thailand, where ­linguistic communication is a struggle and faces in public transport are blank and unwelcoming, Burmese friendliness is a delight. Burma is multi-ethnic and, until the military coup of 1962, was open to the world. For decades its elite spoke good English and even today most people in Rangoon and Mandalay have a smattering. Keenness for contact with foreigners is strong, for its own sake and as resistance to enforced isolation.

Of course, some friendliness is ­commercially driven. Vendors with bright smiles and the chat-up line "Where are you from?" can turn into leeches at some sites. But genuine ­curiosity is more common. In the hour before sunset, when tourists routinely climb the thousand or more steps to Mandalay Hill, young monks emerge to engage in conversation, especially delighted to meet someone who speaks "real English".

The regime itself uses English for a few publications. Who buys them is hard to say, except perhaps the diplomatic community. They offer a dreary diet of ministerial visits to new hydro­electric projects, with the one benefit of reminding you that Burma is the last country in the world ruled by a military junta: the minister for ­information is a brigadier-general; the minister for construction is a major-general. More bizarrely, so too is the minister for culture.

One copy of the government-owned newspaper New Light of Myanmar that I picked up showed the ministers of culture of Cambodia, Laos, Burma and Vietnam at a recent conference. In full military dress and medals, Burma's minister looked eccentric beside his three conventionally suited counterparts.

The junta wants to shed its anachronistic image. Elections announced for this year are ­intended to give the regime a civilian face, of a sort anyway. The new constitution provides for a presidential system with 14 regional governments. Sizeable blocks of seats will be reserved for the army, and the commander-in-chief will have extraordinary powers. Aung San Suu Kyi, the icon of the opposition ­National League for Democracy – which won the last elections in 1990 but was prevented from taking office – is of course still under house arrest. But even if she were not, this new consti­tution bars her from standing for ­president. The poll will be tightly ­controlled in other ways and opposition groups are unlikely to have much room to campaign, ­although election regu­lations have not yet been finalised.

While people's willingness to give foreigners their opinions was the biggest surprise of our trip, the amount of access people have to dissenting views also ran counter to our preconceived picture. The BBC's Burmese radio ­service is widely heard. An Oslo-based exile TV station, the Democratic Voice of Burma, can be picked up by satellites that are easily available. Rangoon and Mandalay have numerous internet ­cafes, which are invariably full. When I clicked on the BBC website in Burmese it came up promptly.

To resist this, the regime makes the feeblest of propaganda efforts. For a flavour, take the instructions that ­appear under the bizarre headline The People's Desire in newspapers and on occasional roadside hoardings: 1. Oppose those relying on External ­Elements, acting as stooges, holding negative views; 2. Oppose those trying to jeopardise the stability of the state and national progress; 3. Oppose foreign nations interfering in the internal affairs of the state; 4. Crush all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy.

The fourth of these points encapsulates the junta's preferred strategy for handling criticism – repression. The country has around 2,100 political ­prisoners, including many of the monks who led the 2007 street protests from Rangoon's majestic Shwedagon ­Pagoda. Dozens were shot and killed during those protests, and public ­assembly is still severely restricted. The authorities are so determined to prevent crowds gathering that they have even fenced off a corner of the vast concourse, full of minor temples and Buddha statues, that surrounds the Shwedagon's golden stupa in Rangoon. This corner contains a monument to student demonstrators killed by the British in 1920, and the regime wants no parallels drawn or flowers placed in memory of more recent deaths.

Britain's long occupation

For British visitors, the monument is a useful reminder of Britain's long occupation of Burma, the most graphic account of which can be found in George Orwell's Burmese Days, a ­fictionalised memoir of the odious colleagues he worked with as an imperial policeman in northern Burma in the 1920s. The book is certainly an essential text if you want to understand the racism, brutality and violence which the ­British empire entailed, and another key text for any visitor to Burma is ­Amitav Ghosh's epic, The Glass Palace, covering three generations of two ­Burmese and Indian families. One of its most powerful sections covers the dilemma confronting Burmese nationalists during the second world war – whether to support the Japanese against the British Raj, or defend the very empire they had long sought to overthrow. The most prominent leader to face this agonising choice was Aung San Suu Kyi's father, General Aung San, who first joined the Japanese but came back to the British side.

One morning in Rangoon we tracked down his house, a rambling wooden building with delicately carved gables on a hillock in a northern suburb. It has long been closed to Burmese but, according to the guidebooks, foreigners could wander in and admire family photographs, some showing the young Aung San Suu Kyi. Not any more. "Only on 19 July," a gardener told us through the locked railings. That is the anniversary of the day Aung San, by then Burma's prime minister, was murdered by a political rival on the eve of independence.

Where there are faint signs of hope for Burma is in the aid field. Thanks to an international boycott, Burma receives less help than any other country in the world. This is one reason for the catastrophic rates of infant mortality and child malnutrition. But in recent months western governments have started to think again, since the denial of assistance hits only Burma's poorest. Foreign donors are stepping up develop­ment aid on top of the ­emergency grants supplied after Cyclone Nargis, which left an estimated 140,000 dead or missing.

The junta's initial reaction to the ­cyclone was to refuse international help. It carried on with a refer­endum on the new ­constitution, as though Nargis had not happened. This further blackened its image. But under pressure from governments in the Association of South-Eastern Asian Nations (Asean), the junta changed its line and inter­national aid agency officials now say the regime has been working well with the UN and Asean in agreeing programmes, priorities and relief projects, and allowing donor money to reach people. ­Foreign aid workers get permits to ­enter the ­affected areas in the ­Irrawaddy delta. Big western non-­governmental ­organisations such as Oxfam and Save the Children are well-established in Burma, with a network of local staff.

As tourists, we were allowed to spend a day in Twante, one cyclone-­affected area about 20 miles out of Rangoon. A driver whom we found ­independently invited us home to lunch where his wife and other women relatives were feeding two dozen monks, a gesture the family makes about twice a year, he said. The temples played a key role in collecting clothes, food and money for cyclone victims. Private companies funded the rebuilding of many houses and schools.

After the disaster, Burmese students and other young people poured into the area to help. Some were so moved that they later set up aid projects and small NGOs without government ­obstruction, we were told. As a result, according to a western aid worker who travels regularly to Burma, Cyclone Nargis has resulted in a broadening of independent civil society activity.

Suspend travel bans

Optimists argue that the institutional changes enshrined in the new consti­tution will also enlarge the space for progress. There may be a clampdown in advance of the poll, one observer said, but the fact that Burma will have legislative bodies at national and local levels for the first time in more than a generation gives scope for wider ­debate. The International Crisis Group, which often reflects the views of the liberal wing of the western diplomatic elite, takes a similar line. "Even assuming that the intention of the regime is to consolidate military rule rather than begin a transition away from it, such processes often lead in unexpected ­directions," it wrote in an analysis of the pre-election scene.

The group suggests western governments suspend their travel bans on junta members, resume normal contact and push the message that political prisoners must be released and election campaigning be allowed to go ahead freely. The Obama administration has also announced a shift in US policy on Burma towards engagement rather than isolation, though without ­specifying any concrete steps.

According to articles on the online opposition website Irrawaddy, Aung San Suu Kyi's party, the National League for Democracy, is involved in a tough internal debate over whether to take part in the elections. It might back certain candidates even if, as is ­assumed, it is barred from competing in its own right. Taking part would ­allow the party's supporters to revive their networks and contacts.

Meanwhile, the western investment boycott has left the field open to Chinese companies. They are especially visible in Mandalay, which has a large mall called the Great Wall Shopping Centre. "People respect the Chinese – they think they're cleverer than Burmese," said a young man who studied briefly in ­another Asean country. "They don't like Indians because Indians were the main agents of the British occupation. But the Chinese are taking over. They're close to the regime. Each side helps the other. It's like a mafia," he added.

Back, then, to the nagging question: should we have toured a country with so bad a regime and such little prospect of improvement? This young man had no doubt. "Bring in tourists who can spread the word from the outside world and also tell people in their own countries about Burma," he said.

In Britain, the Burma Campaign UK criticises tourism and investment and publishes a "dirty list" of firms that do business with Burma. This includes travel companies as well as the Lonely Planet guidebooks. The campaign's website contains a December 2002 quote from Aung San Suu Kyi: "We have not yet come to the point where we encourage people to come to Burma as tourists."

Two other exile lobbies, Voices for Burma and Free Burma Coalition, which used to support a tourism boycott now take the opposite view. Voices for Burma also enlists Aung San Suu Kyi, though its sourcing is flimsy. Its website says: "According to a close acquaintance, not yet identified but reportedly from her party, the National League of ­Democracy, Daw Aung San Suu Kyi has been quoted as saying that travel to her country can now be encouraged, provided arrangements are made through private organisations. She now believes that tourism might be beneficial, should the result of the visit draw attention to the oppression of the people by the military junta."

While favouring engagement, Voices for Burma and the Free Burma Coalition urge tourists to do as much as possible to help private Burmese citizens and not put money in the government's pocket, and in fact it is possible to do so now as a tourist. Some fees, such as the entrance ticket for the ruined city of Bagan, the visa charge and airport departure tax, cannot be escaped. But in 2003 the government dropped the requirement that every tourist change $200 at an official exchange place. ­Instead of going on a package or using a UK- or Bangkok-based tour company that inevitably has contacts with the Burmese government, visitors can travel on their own by picking one of the many family-owned Burmese travel agents that work from tiny ­offices in Rangoon. You make your ­arrangements either on the spot or by email in advance. There are also ­numerous family-owned guesthouses and restaurants and thousands of ­private souvenir-makers and sellers. Thanks to the web, details of how to plan your trip are readily available.

The big decision is whether to go at all. No one should imagine tourism is automatically going to make Burma a better place. But can anyone credibly argue the tourism boycott has made it better either?

Jonathan Steele is a regular Guardian columnist and roving foreign correspondent. He has written several books on international affairs, including books on South Africa, Germany, eastern Europe and Russia.

Environmental Justice Foundation report says 10% of the global population is at risk of forced displacement due to climate change

Global warming will force up to 150 million "climate refugees" to move to other countries in the next 40 years, a new report from the Environmental Justice Foundation (EJF) warns.

In 2008 alone, more than 20 million people were displaced by climate-related natural disasters, including 800,000 people by cyclone Nargis in Asia, and almost 80,000 by heavy floods and rains in Brazil, the NGO said.

President Mohamed Nasheed of the Maldives, who presented testimony to the EJF, said people in his country did not want to "trade a paradise for a climate refugee camp". He warned rich countries taking part in UN climate talks this week in Barcelona "not to be stupid" in negotiating a climate treaty in Copenhagen this December.

Nasheed urged governments to find ways to keep temperature rises caused by warming under 2C. "We won't be around for anything after 2C," he said. "We are just 1.5m over sea level and anything over that, any rise in sea level – anything even near that – would wipe off the Maldives. People are having to move their homes because of erosion. We've already this year had problems with two islands and we are having to move them to other islands. We have a right to live."

Last month, the president held a cabinet meeting underwater to draw attention to the plight of his country.

The EJF claimed 500 million to 600 million people – nearly 10% of the world's population – are at risk from displacement by climate change. Around 26 million have already had to move, a figure that the EJF predicts could grow to 150 million by 2050. "The majority of these people are likely to be internally displaced, migrating only within a short radius from their homes. Relatively few will migrate internationally to permanently resettle in other countries," said the report's authors.

In the longer term, the report said, changes to weather patterns will lead to various problems, including desertification and sea-level rises that threaten to inundate low-lying areas and small island developing states. An expert at the Institute for Sustainable Development and International Relations in Paris recently said global warming could create "ghost states" with citizens living in "virtual states" due to land lost to rising seas.

The UN's Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) predicts sea-level rise in the range of 18-59cm during the 21st century. Nearly one-third of coastal countries have more than 10% of their national land within 5 metres of sea level. Countries liable to lose all or a significant part of their land in the next 50 years, said the EJF report, include Tuvalu, Fiji, the Solomon islands, the Marshall islands, the Maldives and some of the Lesser Antilles.

Many other countries, including Bangladesh, Kenya, Papua New Guinea, Somalia, Yemen, Ethiopia, Chad and Rwanda, could see large movements of people. Bangladesh has had 70 climate-related natural disasters in the past 10 years.

"Climate change impacts on homes and infrastructure, food and water and human health. It will bring about a forced migration on an unprecedented scale," said the EJF director, Steve Trent. "We must take immediate steps to reduce our impact on global climate, and we must also recognise the need to protect those already suffering along with those most at risk."

He called for a new international agreement to address the scale and human cost of climate change. "The formal legal definition of refugees needs to be extended to include those affected by climate change and also internally displaced persons," he said.

Behind Aung San Suu Kyi stand hundreds of lesser known writers and activists paying the price for speaking out

There was a powerful moment at the end of a recent vigil held to mark the 64th birthday of Aung San Suu Kyi and to call for an end to her decades long detention. One of the demonstrators pinned a photograph of General Than Shwe, the head of Burma's ruling military junta, to the doorway of the silent but watchful Burmese embassy, across the portal from a picture of Aung San Suu Kyi.

The juxtaposition of the two faces highlighted, far more forcefully than a dozen speeches or articles, the gaping moral gap between a regime responsible for brutal and systematic persecution and a profoundly human opposition.

Aung San Suu Kyi's dignity and beauty are undoubtedly powerful tools in the campaign against the junta and one of the many reasons that the ongoing campaign for democracy has supporters right up to the highest level, including our own prime minister who is said to telephone the UN's Ban Ki Moon, just returned from an apparently fruitless mission to Burma, twice a week to discuss the situation there.

But we must not forget the many hundreds of lesser known writers and activists who live in daily fear of assault or assassination or are wasting away for lack of medical help in some of the world's most notorious jails.

In some cases, there are only one or two photographs of them in existence – grainy snaps of their younger, more hopeful selves – for us to look upon and mobilise around.

That is why tomorrow, English PEN, with the help of comedian Jo Brand and poet Ruth Padel among many others, will be highlighting the situation of imprisoned and persecuted writers around the world.

Those like Mexican writer, Lydia Cacho, author of several books on the child pornography trade who lives in fear of having her throat slit by shadowy forces who want to stop her work. Or the Saudi Arabian author and journalist Wajeha al-Huwaider who has been arrested and harassed repeatedly for her human rights writing and activism.

The tomorrow's main focus will be on Burma. We will hear the words of Aung San Suu Kyi whose trial on trumped up charges begins again on Friday. But there will also be readings form the work of the Burmese comedian and poet Zargana who was sentenced last year to 59 years in prison, commuted to 35, for leading a private relief effort to deliver aid to victims of the Cyclone Nargis in May 2008.

Many other writers have been rounded up during recent crack downs; those like journalist Zaw Thet Htwe, sentenced to 19 years for helping Zargana in the relief effort or the Burmese musician and Win Maw, arrested in a Rangoon tea shop and charged with "threatening national security" after sending news reports and video footage to the Norway-based Democratic Voice of Burma radio station during the protests in August and September 2007. Win Maw is now serving six years in the infamous Insein prison in Rangoon.

It is for these brave individuals just as much as Aung San Suu Kyi, that we need far more decisive international action against the junta. Her global fame offers a level of protection.

The lesser known must live in fear of the worst fate of all; that they will become just one of the many faceless disappeared.

English PEN Writers in prison committee and JAM host Breaking Through the Silence. St Margaret's Church, Westminster Abbey, July 9, 7.30pm. Tickets from English PEN.

How the UK Department for International Development has helped people rebuild their lives in the areas devastated by Cyclone Nargis a year ago

Kyaw Kyaw Min is 16, and the sole provider for his two younger siblings since he lost both parents to Nargis. He and other child orphans tell their story

Fears for half a million people ahead of monsoon season

A year after the devastating cyclone that laid waste large swaths of Burma, more than half a million people are still living in makeshift shacks which are unlikely to withstand the imminent monsoons, according to Save the Children.

Sea water has inundated wells throughout the Irrawaddy delta and turned almost 2m acres (800,000 hectares) of Burma's most fertile rice paddies into salt-contaminated wastelands.

Aid coordinators say 240,000 people in remote villages still rely on drinking water that is delivered by boat in large rubber bladders. In some places diesel-powered filtration plants work around the clock, turning brackish estuary water into drinkable water.

When cylone Nargis hit Burma on 2 May last year, killing at least 138,000 people and devastating the lives of millions more, the refusal of the ruling junta to allow foreign aid into the affected area left observers pessimistic about the future of those living there.

For more than three weeks after the­disaster Burma's generals refused to grant visas to foreign relief workers and blocked aid from reaching the delta, the worst-hit region.

The government eventually agreed to allow emergency teams into the delta after intervention by the UN secretary general, Ban Ki-moon, but scepticism remained about whether aid really would reach the 2.4 million people severely affected by the cyclone.

Nevertheless, a year on from the disaster foreign NGOs working on the ground say the relief effort has gone far better than they dared hope.

"What has been achieved over the last year has much exceeded what anybody predicted would be possible," said Paul Sender, Merlin's country director for Burma, based in Rangoon. "There was initially a lot of concern about whether anybody would be able to work here, or monitor where the aid was going, but we have found that the aid has been getting through to the people who need it."

Sender, who is also head of the UN's "health cluster" in Burma, said that the predicted outbreak of malnutrition and disease had not happened. "Figures from the clinics show there hasn't been a significant increase either, in the past year, which reflects the fact that there are health provisions in place." .

Dan Collison, director of Save the Children's emergency programme in Burma, said: "Not one Save the Children truck was stopped from reaching its destination, and in those first few weeks we reached 160,000 people, even when we weren't supposed to. We have no evidence at all that the regime confiscated or misappropriated aid, even in the early days."

This optimistic view is not shared by everyone. A report from Johns Hopkins University in the US this year, which collated information from interviews by local researchers working undercover in the delta, found "systematic obstruction of aid, wilful acts of theft and sale of relief supplies, forced relocation, and the use of forced labour for reconstruction projects, including forced child labour".

Sender said: "My biggest frustration working here is that there looks as though there will not be nearly enough money to continue our service provision. The recovery plan for health for the next three years is predicted to cost $54m (£37m), but so far all that has been made available from donors is $6m."

And despite the broad optimism among aid workers, there is no sign that Burma is moving towards democracy – as was underlined by the EU's decision in April to renew sanctions against Burma.

Numerous human rights abuses continue to be documented. In November Zarganar, a popular comedian active in Burma's democracy movement, was sentenced to 45 years in jail after being found to have violated the Electronics Act, which regulates electronic communications. He was detained last year for criticising publicly the government's slow response to cyclone Nargis.

Rappers, journalists and comedians have discovered a new crime in Burma – helping people devastated by cyclone Nargis

This year's Burma human rights day was commemorated by the launch of an international petition campaign to free political prisoners in Burma. Led by the Assistance Association for Political Prisoners and the Forum for Democracy it was supported by around 170 civil society groups with events from Dublin to Tokyo.

Inevitably this launch and most of the publicised activism occurred outside Burma, with former prisoners and activists rallying concerned folk globally; and inevitably the notion that the petition should be aimed at those who hold the keys to the cells of the more than 2,100 prisoners of conscience is not even considered.

The number of political prisoners – which has doubled since 2007 – is perhaps the most debilitating of issues for any chance of reconciliation or democratic progress in Burma; internment, and the fear that this breeds in those not detained, castrates society, depriving it of viable leadership and dialogue and leadership. It eradicates many of the most original and inspiring voices from the nation's life.

Perhaps the most vindictive prosecutions are those carried out against people for helping the victims of cyclone Nargis. Last week Min Thein Tun was sentenced to 17 years in jail for co-ordinating relief via the internet. He will join Eint Khaing Oo, a young award-winning journalist, on the list; her "crime" was the simple act of interviewing a victim.

While democracy is referred to like a brand, its principles – namely freedom of speech and association – are feared by the regime, to the extent that even actions that are not conspicuously anti-government in any form are ruthlessly suppressed. Ideas and actions of the slightly humanistic or questioning are painfully at odds with the notions of politics that are held by the junta.

Despite "showboating", as the journalist Larry Jagan calls government human rights PR, the numbers show no sign of diminishing. The "showboating" incident was a release of more than 6,000 prisoners, of whom a mere 20 or so were political – and, according to Bo Kyi of the Assistance Association for Political Prisoners, these had served lengthy sentences already. Indeed, if the release of such a large number of genuine criminals is not bad enough, it has been suggested that the clear-out was to free up cells for incoming politicals.

If that is the case it could well be because of next year's supposed election. Which is set to be a strange affair, as the constitution on which it is based is a charter that explicitly legitimates military rule, is illegal to campaign against and was "voted" in by a staggering 98% of the vote – a result that is indicative of the ridiculousness of the whole charade, as the UN constitutional expert Yash Ghai noted: "The cynicism with which the regime held the referendum and manipulated the results was on a par with the cynicism and coercion by which the draft was prepared."

Of the younger groups joining older generations of activists, perhaps most notable is Generation Wave. The youth group has undertaken graffiti and leafleting campaigns, and among its members is the now detained rapper, Zayar Thaw, one of the most popular musicians in Burma and founder of the band Acid. After his trial for "dealing in foreign currency" and belonging to an "illegal organisation" an attempt has been made to arraign the judges before the international criminal court. The rapper was allowed no time in private with legal representatives and prosecution "witnesses" were not cross-examined.

At roughly the same time that Zayar Thaw was receiving his sentence the government slapped a savage 45-year sentence on Zarganar, the renowned satirist. His plight was sealed by a single interview with the foreign press about cyclone Nargis.

In their decades behind bars these political prisoners will face rape and torture and be deprived of food. And many are put in prisons far from their families, who are often their only source of decent nutrition and medicines. The denial of healthcare is routine even to those suffering from conditions such as heart disease. Within the crowded cells reading and writing is forbidden, and news is gleaned from the scraps of old newsprint used in the making of Burmese cigarettes, cheroots. Communication between cells is done through painstaking versions of Morse code.

There is very little room to manoeuvre within Burma for activists, yet the immense struggle continues clandestinely – just this week a campaign to deface banknotes began with slogans inside Burma as a way of supporting the international petition calling for the release of political prisoners.

• First independent research into disaster details host of abuses
• Study urges junta be referred to international criminal court

International aid for cyclone victims in Burma was deliberately blocked by the military regime, the first independent report into the disaster has found.

The junta's wilful disregard for the welfare of the 3.4 million survivors of cyclone Nargis – which struck the Irrawaddy delta last May, killing 140,000 people – and a host of other abuses detailed by the research may amount to crimes against humanity under international law.

The teams of Burmese volunteers and experts from a US university that conducted the research urged the UN security council to refer the regime to the international criminal court.

The report After the Storm: Voices from the Delta outlined how the Burmese authorities failed to provide adequate food, shelter or water for the survivors.

The storm surge coupled with intense winds swept away homes, fields, livestock and rice stores, leaving little or nothing for survivors.

But the military regime, which was at the time preparing for a national referendum on its plans to hold elections in 2010, insisted it could cope with the disaster despite its scale and shunned most international relief for weeks.

Researchers from Johns Hopkins University in the US and Burmese volunteers from the Emergency Assistance Team (Eat-Burma) spent months interviewing survivors and relief workers about the cyclone's aftermath.

Their study found that the Burmese army obstructed private cyclone relief efforts even among its own concerned citizens, setting up checkpoints and arresting some of those trying to provide help.

Supplies of overseas relief materials that were eventually allowed into Burma were confiscated by the military and sold in markets, the packaging easily identifiable.

"I went to some of the markets run by the military and authorities and saw supplies that had been donated being sold there," a former Burmese soldier who fled to Mae Sot across the border in Thailand told the researchers. "The materials were supposed to go to the victims. I could recognise them in the market."

The researchers were repeatedly told that surviving men, women and even children were used as forced labour on reconstruction projects for the military.

"[The army] did not help us, they threatened us," said one survivor from the town of Labutta. "Everyone in the village was required to work for five days, morning and evening without compensation. Children were required to work too. A boy got injured on his leg and got a fever. After two or three days he was taken to [Rangoon], but after a few days he died."

Professor Chris Beyrer, director of the centre for public health and human rights at Johns Hopkins, said the Burmese regime's response to the disaster violated humanitarian relief norms and legal frameworks for relief efforts.

The systematic abuses may amount to crimes against humanity under international law through the creation of conditions where basic survival needs of people are not met, "intentionally causing great suffering, or serious injury to body or to mental or physical health", he said.

Tha Hla Shwe, president of Burma's Red Cross, on how the people's spirit survived the devastation

The night of the cyclone was like hiding beneath a Boeing 747 with all its engines on. The wind was roaring and you could hear trees snapping. Iron roofs were being ripped off, making an incredible sound. I remember hearing satellite dishes being ripped out and flying around. I was not afraid for myself, as I live in an apartment which I know is safe, but throughout I was thinking of the people living in coastal areas.

It was not until around noon the next day that the wind began to die down, and by 2pm I thought it would be safe to leave my house. I went straight to the office to see what could be done. But this journey, which is normally less than 20 minutes, took more than two and a half hours. The roads were impassable, blocked with fallen electric lines, trees, lampposts. Volunteers, soaking wet, were already trying to help clear the roads. The streets looked as if a forest had been destroyed.

Though the storm first struck at midnight on 2 May, it was not until late evening on 3 May that information began to reach us from the villages. The phones were all down and so it was not until people arrived by motorbike to report that we knew how serious the situation was. It became clear that the hardest hit were Ayeyarwady [the Irrawaddy Delta] and Yangon. Many of the bridges connecting the villages of the delta had been washed away.

Now I think we are seeing the people's resilience - many are back on their feet, but the effect on people psychologically is still very hard to tell. As a doctor I know there must be many suffering from trauma, but physically people are coping. I think this is partly our culture, and the Buddhist religion - a belief in karma is a consolation. But this terrible event has also brought out the goodness of our people. I heard many stories. One village, Labatta, was destroyed and all its people lost their homes - but a village called Nyaumgmye, about 19 miles away, was mostly unaffected, and these people took in the whole village of Labatta. When the Red Cross arrived the people from Labatta needed help with shelter, as they were now living in sheds, but they told us they did not need food or water - this had been given by their neighbours.

Across Yangon the need for water was great, yet two Islamic mosques whose wells had not been badly damaged donated the water to all the families around. The Buddhist monasteries took many people in. It was a great shock, but we are now, physically at least, beginning to get back on our feet. Farmers, fishermen, peddlers are working. But psychologically the scars are still there.

Six months after a cyclone devastated the country aid workers are helping people rebuild their lives

Six months after cyclone Nargis wreaked devastation, Henry Makiwa reports on the progress of relief efforts

The extend of the destruction wrought by Cyclone Nargis in Myanmar is all too evident but relief efforts are starting to make improvements. Many in the township of Alat Chaung, by the capital Yangon, are in the process of re-building their lives. The impoverished township is home to thousands who work in the capital and many paddle across the brown waters of the mighty river Yangoon every day for work in the city. After the cyclone struck on May 2, none made the journey across.

According to Angwe Ma, a 31-year-old mother of one, the storm was the most ferocious natural disaster her family had witnessed for three generations. She said: "Our homes simply crumbled and collapsed. The rivers banks dropped guard completely and we soon found ourselves in chest-high waters. I was praying for my very life with my child and 63-year-old mother when the Red Cross volunteers rescued us. They went from door to door taking the weak to the Buddhist monastery whose building was strong enough to resist the storm."

Angwe has since rebuilt her house and Alat Chaung has become a good example of the strength of the Red Cross movement's volunteer force after they managed to save all 6, 000 lives on the settlement. In the aftermath of Cyclone Nargis, rebuilding efforts in the township are progressing under the influence of a community-based network of Red Cross volunteers.

Overall an estimated 84,500 people were killed as a result of the storm while some 53,800 are reportedly still missing. According to the United Nations, at least 2.4 million people were affected by the cyclone.

Since the inception of relief efforts by the Red Cross movement, emergency shelter has been provided to over 80,000 households. The aid offered includes tarpaulins, ropes, saws, shovels, hoes and nails. Plans are now underway to strengthen community buildings and to help 10,000 households who do not yet have homes.

The Red Cross plan to launch the reconstruction phase with the erection of embankments in the village of Kyein Chaung Gyi. The work will run for two months with villagers not only earning some income for their labour, but also ensuring the safety of their homes and lives if a disaster like Nargis were to occur again.

"We are optimistic that we can make a difference and retain a semblance of normalcy in our lives despite the destruction caused by Nargis. Thanks to the goodwill of many across the world and our brothers within the Red Cross movement, we now see a ray of hope," said Myat Thu Rein, a Myanmar Red Cross Society information officer.

Dr Aung Kyaw Htut has helped the relief efforts. From his office in downtown Yangon, he sees Burmese people go about their business: young women selling fruit and vegetables on the pavement, men cycling trishaws carrying city commuters and corporate executives strutting in smartly-cut suits. Here in the capital, nothing appears amiss, he said. It is the poor in townships who bore the brunt of the storm, but relief efforts are bringing new hope.

• Henry Makiwa is media relations officer for the British Red Cross in Ayeyarwady Delta Division, Myanmar

Not only does Lord Levene let Lloyd's insure the junta; he is also on the board of Total, which pays Rangoon $2m a day for oil. Nick Mathiason reports

Baron Levene of Portsoken's 45-year career has been a procession of glittering achievements. The son of an antique dealer from north-west London, Peter Levene has been adviser to one Prime Minister and a number of senior government figures. And such is his unalloyed reputation among City grandees that the 66-year-old Chelsea fan became Lord Mayor of London in 1998.

Since 2000 he has chaired Lloyd's of London - the most important job in the insurance industry. By rights, he should now be retiring after nearly completing two terms at Lloyd's, but legislation is currently going through parliament to allow him to extend his tenure.

This weekend, however, Levene's burnished reputation has been called into question by a growing coalition of senior politicians spanning the political divide. They argue that Levene is in the unfortunate position of being one of the most important Western business figures enabling the repressive Burmese military dictatorship to cling on to power.

Levene has long faced criticism at Lloyd's for failing to rebuke those of its syndicates that share the reinsurance risk on key aviation and shipping interests owned by the junta. The insurance in effect means Burma can trade with the outside world. The Foreign Office took the unusual step last month of writing to Levene reminding him of the UK government's official position of discouraging business with the country.

But Levene is also a director at Total, the French energy giant that has signed agreements with Burma to extract gas and oil there - agreements thought to benefit the Burmese generals to the tune of $2.66m each day.

Levene's two roles means he is a leading force within the two most important Western firms doing business in Burma; this despite calls from the pro-democracy movement for all foreign businesses to cease trading with the regime.

John Bercow, the Conservative MP who is chairman of the all-party parliamentary group for democracy in Burma, said: 'By its massive investment in Burma, Total props up one of the most barbaric dictatorships in the world and this is to its eternal discredit. It is therefore a great sadness that Lord Levene, a businessman of distinction who could doubtless have his pick of commercial opportunities, has sullied himself by becoming a director of this company.'

Labour MEP Glenys Kinnock called on Levene to resign from Total. She says: 'If he searches his conscience he must conclude that he should discontinue his position with the company or use his position to secure Total's withdrawal from a country currently ruled by evil. This revelation again confirms that businesses are continuing to put profit before people and proves the need for targeted EU sanctions, which we in the European parliament have consistently demanded.'

In a terse statement, Levene said he was not considering resigning from Total, where earlier this year he was reappointed for another three-year term. He stated that his directorship at Total did not 'sully' his reputation or affect his views on issuing guidance to Lloyd's managing agents and brokers dealing with Burma. And he rejected the argument that revenues from oil and gas, as well as Lloyd's reinsurance of key infrastructure owned by the Burmese junta, help it retain power. 'There is no evidence to support this,' he said. He refused to discuss whether Lloyd's had any insurance business with Total.

But, speaking to The Observer, Maung Maung, the Burmese union leader regarded as the likely Prime Minister if the south east Asian nation overthrows military rule, warned that Lloyd's could eventually be prosecuted for possible complicity in human rights abuses associated with the brutal regime. 'Lord Levene should advise Lloyd's to stop all Burma's insurance being marketed with and at Lloyd's... Lord Levene should also note and inform Lloyd's that cases on crimes against humanities are being built up to be applied at the International Criminal Court as well as some countries that practise international jurisdiction.'

Lloyd's insiders say the drive to impose sanctions against Burma, supported by detained pro-democracy leader, Aung San Suu Kyi, is not supported by all campaign groups and that some Europeans believe engagement with the country helps the people of Burma.

But Johnny Chatterton, campaign director at Burma Campaign UK, said this was a minority view argued by those with business interests there. 'This link poses yet more awkward questions for Lloyd's,' Chatterton says. 'Does Total insure its Burma operations through Lloyd's? Was Levene present when Total's board discussed Burma? The reputation of the entire Lloyd's market has been dragged through the mud by being associated with Burma's murderous dictatorship. Lloyd's must clean up their act now or they will be associated with Burma in the same way that Barclays was with apartheid South Africa.'

The Burmese people have endured a horrific year as the violent repression of an uprising led by Buddhist monks was followed by Cyclone Nargis, which is thought to have claimed well over 100,000 lives. While Levene, Total and Lloyd's continue to profit from doing business with Burma, they must hope that its people have short memories when and if democracy is restored.

In the wake of Cyclone Nargis, we must respond to the suffering of people who cannot wait for distant political change

Megaphone moralising is not a policy and will not help the people of Burma. The west has tried it for two decades, and it has failed.

Unfortunately some, like Benedict Rogers, would rather criticise those who suggest a new direction than offer anything as practical as a policy.

Contrary to his article, the International Crisis Group's new report on Burma/Myanmar is very clear about where the blame lies for the appalling situation:

Growing impoverishment and deteriorating social service structures have pushed millions of households to the edge of survival, leaving them acutely vulnerable to economic shocks or natural disasters.

If not addressed, the increasing levels of household insecurity will lead to further human suffering, and could eventually escalate into a major humanitarian crisis.

Government repression, corruption and mismanagement bear primary responsibility for this situation.

Crisis Group does also say that the errors of western policy have played a role, noting that in their attempt to defeat the regime by isolating it, western governments have sacrificed opportunities to promote economic reform, strengthen social services, empower local communities and support disaster prevention and preparedness. After cyclone Nargis, we see another such opportunity, and we hope the west doesn't blow it again.

The truth is, the efforts to help Burma recover from Nargis are going surprisingly well. In sharp contrast to their initial obstructionism, the Burmese authorities are now cooperating with the international aid effort. If western governments can continue to show generosity – and resist the siren call of measures which punish the people for the failings of their government – there is a chance to build on this opening to address Burma's wider humanitarian and development crisis and promote change in that country.

Nargis was the worst natural disaster in Burma's recorded history. It devastated south-west Burma, leaving maybe 200,000 people dead and 800,000 displaced.

The world looked on aghast at the regime's initial response. As always, the generals put security and political concerns first, and their people's welfare last. They denied foreign aid workers visas, and turned back local volunteers attempting to reach the affected areas. They pressed ahead with a referendum on a new constitution, designed to institutionalise military power.

But what happened next is an untold story. With the referendum out of the way, and encouraged by skilful diplomacy by UN secretary-general Ban Ki-Moon, the generals finally decided to open the door to foreign aid.

Western governments mostly put aside their distaste for the Burmese regime and made generous pledges of aid. And the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), long criticised for its lack of action on Burma, stepped up to the plate, coordinating international aid operations and helping overcome the regime's suspicions of western agendas.

By July, UN humanitarian chief John Holmes could describe the relief effort as "a normal international relief operation". While there are still problems, the cooperation between the Burmese authorities and the international community is unprecedented. Visas and travel permits are quicker and easier to obtain than before; bureaucratic obstacles have been removed; communication channels opened; and donors' demands for an independent needs assessment met.

The biggest problem today is lack of funds: the initial generosity of donors has not been maintained. The UN has asked for $482 million, but received barely half that amount. It is essential that this shortfall is met. But there is an opportunity to do much more than the humanitarian minimum. For too long, Burma has been an aid orphan, receiving twenty times less per capita aid than the average for least developed countries – far less even than other pariah states like Zimbabwe or North Korea.

Western policies have restricted aid to just a few sectors such as disease or promoting democracy. And they have severely limited the activities of agencies such as the World Bank or UNDP.

Meanwhile, a development crisis of major proportions has developed. According to the UN, 90% of the population are living on less than 65 cents a day, and more than a third of children under five are malnourished. Educational levels are declining, and civilian institutions decaying: not a promising basis for political reform.

Government repression and economic mismanagement bear primary responsibility for this situation. But 20 years of sanctions and restrictions on aid have made matters worse.

Such restrictions made sense 20 years ago, when it seemed possible that the military could be pushed from power. They make no sense today, when the repression of the 2007 monks' protests, and the regime's determination to push ahead with its referendum in May, have confirmed their imperviousness to external pressure.

It is not a question of "rewarding" the generals. It is simply a matter of responding to the suffering of the people who cannot wait for the distant prospect of political change.

Donors now need to meet the shortfall in funding for post-Nargis recovery work and expand the scope of bilateral aid programmes beyond the narrowly humanitarian, to include support for livelihoods, health and education. The World Bank, Asian Development Bank and IMF should be allowed to work in Burma – not to engage in large-scale lending, but to provide technical assistance and support economic reform. And we need to see an end to measures that prevent ordinary Burmese making a living, such as economic sanctions in the garment, agricultural and tourism sectors. In short, funding decisions for development projects should be made like they would in any other least developed country.

Of course, donors will face challenges. Burma is a difficult place to operate, with a restrictive and intrusive government and a level of corruption rated second in the world by Transparency International. But aid organisations with a presence on the ground have proved that, despite the difficulties, it is possible to deliver assistance in an effective and accountable way.

Aid restrictions have not succeeded in pushing the generals from power. Given the desperate needs of the country, a fundamental rethink is well overdue. Aid engagement offers a practical – as opposed to purely symbolic – western policy on Burma.

On the anniversary of last year's uprising by monks, Mimi Mardon finds a Burma cowed by its rulers and shattered by nature

Around the ancient and celebrated temples of Bagan, a tour guide blandly dispenses historical nuggets to tourists, his fury hidden beneath a bright smile. Myint Win, a novice monk, is taking a break from his monastery to earn some money in the town whose temples make it one of the country's premier tourist destinations.

But times are hard. The protests against the Burmese regime that began a year ago renewed awareness of the tourism boycott of the country, and only the determined make it here these days. In Bagan, few hostels have more than one guest, tour guides say they haven't had a client in months and at the most celebrated temples there is a frantic edge to the hawkers as they plead for custom from the occasional visitor.

The irony is not lost on Myint. "Protesting not good for business," he says with a wry smile.

In Mandalay, the tourists have vanished. The nightly performance of the Moustache Brothers, Burma's best-known comedians and renowned opponents of the regime, is struggling. Allowed to play only to foreigners, their audiences have dwindled. "Some nights we cancel," says Lu Maw, one of the brothers. "We can't perform with no audience."

In the capital, Rangoon, a year after the protests the streets project an eerie impression of normality. Brief chats with those who will risk speaking to a foreigner reveal the fear that conditions everyone's lives. Eyes flick round cafes and voices are lowered before any opinion is expressed. Conversations in taxis or on rickshaws – anywhere an informer might be listening in – are studiously avoided.

Today, Burma is back to the Orwellian paranoia that has passed for normality here for years, where anger and dissent must be hidden and the daily image of contentment maintained to ensure survival. The regime has tightened its grip, Human Rights Watch reported this week, with the continued arrest and detention of political activists.

Myint, the 29-year-old novice monk, first heard about the protests over rising fuel prices at the end of August 2007. Within days, demonstrations had spread across the country to become the largest Burma had seen in decades. A monk in Rangoon phoned Myint. "He said, you have to help us," recalls the novice.

And so Myint began to march. In the high plains of Bagan, the sun blazed down on the bareheaded protesters. Walking with thousands of other young, angry men, Myint remembers the glare of the light and his bare feet burning on the hot tarmac. "The people lined the streets to protect us," he says. "They made sure they were between us and the military and they gave us water. I wasn't afraid because I knew what we were doing was right."

Then the shooting began. Violating a core principle many believed even the junta must hold sacred, the authorities turned their guns on the monks. The images flooded out: soldiers shooting at unarmed, barefoot protesters, amateur footage smuggled across borders, illicit photos shot on mobile phones flashing around the world. The world reacted with shock; the junta's response was to shut down access to the internet and carry on.

There was no shooting in Bagan, but Myint and his colleagues watched satellite pictures of events in Yangon with mounting horror. "We watched the other marches – and then the violence. Everyone was shocked. The head of my monastery made the decision to stop the protests."

Elsewhere, the crackdown was biting hard. Up in Mandalay, as tens of thousands took to the streets of Burma's religious heartland, two middle-aged men watched the monks go by. The authorities knew exactly who they were: Moustache Brothers Par Par Lay and Lu Maw. Three days later they came for Par Par.

"To be honest we had been expecting them. They came at night – as usual - and said they wanted to ask questions," says Lu Maw. "They held him for just over 30 days." "They kept asking who was organising the protests," adds Par Par. "But I actually wasn't involved this time round, so I couldn't tell them anything."

By the time the protests had finally been extinguished, more than 4,000 people had been detained, according to Bo Kyi, of the Assistance Association for Political Prisoners, an organisation in Thailand that helps political prisoners inside Burma. Many were tortured; monks were forced to disrobe, beaten and some placed in solitary confinement. An unknown number were killed.

Those who escaped jail were cowed, and the protest movement evaporated as quickly as it had sprung up. The Burmese people who had dared to hope for real change retreated as the regime reasserted its grip.

Four months ago came another devastating blow. In the early hours of May 3, Aung Thin was woken in the small, wooden house she shared with five other family members in her village deep in the Irrawaddy delta by the howl of the wind, then water pouring in. As the water rose, the family scrambled on to the roof.

"We managed to climb into a banyan tree next to our house," she says. "Then the roof began to float and became trapped in the trees. So we climbed back on to it, like a raft. We could see children in the water. My father tried to pull them out but the current was too strong." There they clung for hours until day broke and cyclone Nargis, the worst storm to hit the delta in generations, finally passed.

Aung tells her story outside the flimsy frame of the new, temporary house her family has built. They were lucky: the storm claimed an estimated 130,000 lives.

Their problems are far from over. Four months on, they have a new fear: starvation. The storm swept away not just their harvest but their precious store of rice seeds, ploughing equipment and livestock. It dumped salt water in the paddy fields, rendering them infertile. "We need to plant," says the village chief. "We have got rid of the salt from fields. We've enough rice to live on for the moment – just," he says. "But we have to plant."

The needs could not be more evident, yet the response continues to lag. Money is short; the UN appeal has so far raised less than half of the money needed - $196m of $481m. The critical agriculture sector is just 14% funded.

Most cyclone survivors rely on the only support on which they can count: each other. Within days of the cyclone, Myint's fellow monks stepped in to coordinate the delivery of donations across the delta. In Mandalay, Par Par Lay organised donations from the local theatrical scene and drove them in a procession led by a float down to Rangoon. According to the UN, in the first six weeks of the response alone the Burmese people raised a staggering $11m worth of aid. "In the weeks afterwards, everyone was asking why there hadn't been more secondary deaths," says one aid worker in Rangoon. "The answer is simple: the local response was – and continues to be – incredible."

What happens next? The outlook is grim. There are widespread fears that the failure of the rice harvest will drive up prices of Burma's staple food, and the global credit crunch is biting hard. Black market costs of essentials such as fuel have gone up. Aung San Suu Kyi's house arrest shows no sign of ending. The initial protests may have been triggered by such hardships, but the chances of this happening again are remote. Anger at the inadequacy of the government response to Nargis has deepened the hatred of the junta, but it has not lessened the fear.

"We are still angry," says Myint. "But we bury it here" – and he thumps his heart. Myint says the monks are divided: some want more protests, others do not. There has been talk of an armed uprising and a desire for guns, but few see this as a real possibility. "The monks will never take up arms," says Myint. "Ordinary people, yes. But not the monks."

A year on, would Myint protest again? It takes him a long time to answer this question as he leans against the warm stones of the ancient temple and looks out across the Bagan plain. In the peaceful light of the late afternoon sun, it is hard to remember the awful realities away from this serene temple plain: the hunger that clutches at Aung and many thousands like her, the suffering of the hundreds still held in Insein and the sheer courage of Par Par Lay, who survived years of hard labour and still will not be silenced.

"I would," he says finally, "but we have no power, only our prayers and our mouths. The government has guns. We must wait and hope. One day, our time will come."

Names have been changed for this article.

Charity Mary’s Meals is working in Mae Sot, a Burmese refugee camp on the Thai border which is overflowing with refugees from Cyclone Nargis