TOM THOMSON

On the veranda of Aung San Suu Kyi's house in a leafy Burmese suburb almost two decades ago, we discussed the future of one of the most natural-resource-rich Asian nations brought to its knees by its unique version of socialism - a blend of Marxist, Buddhist and nationalist ideology.

Her words and pictures were like gold dust to the world's media when, as now, pro-democracy campaigners for whom she became the revered leader were roaming the streets. But then, as now, the hordes of foreign journalists and television crews who flock to the world's hotspots were absent, banned by the repressive regime.

We chatted each day of my visit as her husband, the late Oxford academic Michael Aris, made coffee. I shuttled around her home, mass protests and clandestine meetings with opposition leaders anxious to get their message to the world but taking awesome risks of reprisals, and pre-dinner drinks in the elegant British Embassy residence in the weird aftermath of the killing by troops days earlier of a reported 3000 demonstrators.

During these days in August 1988, I was the only western journalist in Burma and each interview was a scoop. Flying in on a deserted Thai Airways plane from Bangkok, I had feared either expulsion or possibly detention at Rangoon airport as a member of the hated foreign media. But sleepy customs inspectors merely confiscated my video camera and allowed me to enter with a still camera under the vague guise of being on business.

Suu, as she asked to be called, was back in Rangoon from her home in England to tend to her dying mother. The poised and elegant daughter of the hero of Burma's fight for independence from Britain, Aung San, was emerging as a saviour by opponents of strongman Ne Win, who had ruled the isolated south-east Asian country since a 1962 coup until stepping down a month earlier while retaining his iron grip. The then 43-year-old Oxford graduate's Nobel laureate and years of sacrifice were far in the future as, with characteristic modesty but with a humbling will of steel, she pledged to devote her life to the people of Burma at whatever personal cost.

That sacrifice was to include missing the funeral of her husband in England in 1999 when she knew she could never return to her people if she left. Ahead also lay years under house arrest at 54 University Avenue, where we chatted.

As history repeats itself this month, little has changed in Burma. The 1988 revolt was sparked by the ruling generals when they wiped out people's savings by suddenly ruling that large-denomination banknotes were no longer valid. Suu Kyi became the focus of the nation and the world as she stood up to the generals but was ignored.

The current crisis was triggered by the sudden withdrawal last month of fuel subsidies which doubled the price of fuel for a people in one of the world's poorest countries. Suu Kyi again holds the key to peace in the country but once more is snubbed by the regime.

But the difference is technology. Then my only link to the outside world was a telephone in the lobby of the faded colonial elegance of the Strand hotel where calls went via an operator and were subject to mysterious breaks. A telex machine to send news items was firmly locked in an office that the security services had ordered closed permanently to prevent information reaching the world. Dictating long stories of growing anger among the population and sinister military convoys snaking through Rangoon in darkness was a battle with the telephone system and the censors.

But, amazingly, a Scottish accent came to the rescue. Suddenly, the telex room was open. A hotel receptionist later confided that a secret policeman had ordered that I use telex because the telephone monitors could not understand what I was saying.

Pictures, taken by climbing trees to try to give the world a perspective of the scale of the demonstrations, were a bigger challenge in the pre-digital age. A very nervous airline pilot, fearful of the repercussions for breaking the ban on information, agreed to smuggle out film cartridges in his luggage to provide front-page pictures for the world's media of the extent of the protest.

Now the internet and mobile phones have broken the information stranglehold. The video on our televisions and text and pictures in our newspapers and websites are pieced together from content supplied by brave protesters and supporters on the streets of Rangoon and other Burmese cities.

Coverage is almost real-time as tech-savvy Burmese in internet cafes breach censorship firewalls set up at the internet's international gateway to the country. They upload video shot on mobile phones and digital cameras and provide running commentary on mobile phones live from the demonstrations.

Although, the government may try to shut down the internet and mobile phones, the power of technology may yet contribute to the defeat of a reviled regime.