Hands raised, thumb and forefinger pressed ever-so lightly together, she might be the Pope in the act of transubstantiation – turning bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ. Or a conductor poised to compose the orchestra. But she is Aung San Suu Kyi, and this is transubstantiation in reverse. Fine boned and slim figured, pictured next to Hillary Clinton last year she made the Secretary of State look like her….secretary. What possessed grande dame Rodham to don a damned Oriental tunic? Inevitably: mutton/lamb; tart/geisha. And too many big white American teeth compared to the close-mouthed, long-suffering elegance of Suu Kyi, who as leader of Burma’s National Democratic League underwent nearly two decades in detention, buried under a pile of international awards (start with the Nobel Peace Prize, work your way down), and still came out looking like Audrey Hepburn. During that time BBC newscasters had even learned to say her name with the pious punctiliousness previously reserved for ‘Mandela’ (lengthen the ‘e’ to make it sound more African), and, even earlier, Father Jerzy Popiełuszko (-lusko pronounced ‘whooshko!’ to beatify the Polish pro-Solidarity Catholic priest murdered by Stalinoid secret police in 1984). But Aunty Suu’s no longer coming up rosary. In recent photos she is confronted by Burmese peasants protesting against the expansion of a Chinese-sponsored copper mine, and demonstrating against the use of white phosphorus (grenades of burning flakes) to put down their previous protest. These faces not nearly so finely drawn; their pigmentation far ruddier than Suu Kyi’s. But suddenly her poise seems more like a self-interested pose; the posture of a political player still wearing the suit of sainthood. The saviour’s Body becoming stale bread.