The Lady and Her Tribe

The number one lesson Westerners seem to be learning about Aung San Suu Kyi this year is that she won’t say no to her tribe. As the number of Rohingya pushed into Bangladesh from Myanmar surpassed the number remaining in this country, her words have sounded strikingly similar to the words of the military—an institution dominated by her fellow Bamar ethnicity. She has spoken of security, stability, and sovereignty. She hasn’t challenged assertions by members of her own government that the Rohingya faked rapes and burnt houses. Instead, she has asked, “Why are these people fleeing?”

International criticism of her has been sharp. Several of her awards and honorary degrees have been rescinded. It’s difficult for outsiders, who maybe created and surely want to believe the fairy tale in which Myanmar’s dark past is wiped clean by an attractive woman with a Nobel Peace Prize, to watch the symbol of that story say the “wrong things.” It’s even more difficult to sit idly by as satellite photos and refugee stories emerge to confirm the reports of mass killings and other atrocities that the military and government have been denying. Maybe the most damning words of all came from Suu Kyi’s fellow Nobel laureate, Desmond Tutu, who wrote her to say that “if the political price of your ascension to the highest office in Myanmar is your silence, the price is surely too steep.”

To the Myanmar general public lately, she is not saying the wrong things and her silence is appropriate. If anything, she is becoming a martyr in the minds of most Myanmar people. “We stand behind Mother Suu,” read the placards at impromptu demonstrations here. Other posters, declaring many areas of the country to be “Muslim-Free Zones,” have appeared with increasing frequency of late. Anti-Rohingya talk both pleases crowds and keeps the spotlight away from politicians’ failures.

Who knows what feelings lie buried in her heart? She clearly knows what her tribe wants her to say and not say.

Crosswise Conversations

On the subject of Rohingya refugees and how they came to be displaced, conversations quickly become quite tense here.

Let’s say you and I were chatting, and let’s say you were Burmese, born in Yangon. Right away you might start to bristle at my use of the word “Rohingya.” Maybe you wouldn’t say anything, but you might be thinking that the word must have its roots in the word “Rakhine,” the Myanmar state that the refugees left from on their way to Bangladesh. You might feel it’s wrong for Bengalis (the word you likely prefer) to claim anything having to do with that state: not status, not land, not a name.

I might carry on using the word, knowing that many Myanmar people don’t like it, but taking the view that groups have the right to call themselves whatever they want.

Then you and I might turn the talk toward the suffering of those people. You might suggest that the Bengali brought many of their problems upon themselves: either by teaming up with “radical Islamists,” or by burning down their own villages as they departed in the hope that political points would be gained when the destruction was blamed on the Myanmar military. I might counter that an exodus this large—over half a million and growing—doesn’t just happen by itself, and that nobody should have to endure violence and loss because of their ethnicity.

“Oh, taking a human rights approach,” you might say. “What about a country’s rights? I stand by my government. I stand by my army. I stand by Aung San Suu Kyi.” To which I might sadly shake my head, thinking about how not so very long ago most Myanmar people had no use at all for their government and their army. Their dislike for those institutions explained the 2015 electoral victory by Suu Kyi’s party. Yet on this ethnic issue, when the military’s clearance actions line up with the severe dislike most Myanmar people feel for Muslims, then it’s suddenly OK to support Min Aung Hlaing and the other generals.

The point being: storylines here are miles apart. The “international” take on the recent ethnic conflict, as voiced by the U.N. and other rights-based agencies, tends to be polar opposite the “local” viewpoint, which shows up starkly on facebook and in Myanmar’s English language newspapers. I’m told the comments in Burmese are even rawer and louder.

As it happens, such polar views arose a few times this past week while I was in Rakhine State itself. Three local pals joined me and an American friend for a long-scheduled cycling trip. These Burmese bikers are used to hanging around foreigners but don’t make a habit of talking politics. They’re all very nice guys. In the way of many humans, I often think that because they are my friends they must generally think the way that I do.

Our trip took place far south of the areas where Rohingya and Rakhine people live(d) side by side. (We wouldn’t have been permitted to cycle up there.) During our trip, the folks we waved to each day were mostly Rakhine, mostly Buddhist, and mostly poor, even by Myanmar standards. We didn’t ask what they thought about the atrocities taking place in the northern part of the State, nor how they felt about Rohingya refugees some day returning to again live near Rakhine people.

One evening we were sitting around after dinner, looking at our phones. I received a Burmese-language text message from my phone service provider. The message included the English language acronym, ARSA, for the Rohingya resistance army. I asked my friend to translate. He explained that the text offered phone customers the opportunity to donate money “to those affected by the ARSA.”

I was surprised that this company, a government entity, would think it appropriate to promote a funding appeal that many customers would read as aimed at helping only people who hadn’t fled. The message didn’t specifically say “help Rakhine people only,” but I guessed it might be interpreted that way. Despite a historical rivalry between the Rakhine people and the rest of Myanmar, for the moment the Rakhine are seen as victims, the last defense against Muslim extremism.

The message also didn’t say “help those affected by the Myanmar military,” which is what an international NGO’s funding request might say. I asked my friend what he thought about the message. At first he replied, “You have awakened me.” I figured he would agree with my sense that the company was being one-sided. Then he continued, “I didn’t know about this opportunity. I think I will make a donation.”

Later I learned that the government has requested that all phone providers send similar texts to their customers. This is the same government that has attacked ARSA as a terrorist group, saying that it kills civilians.

Fight Flight Freeze

“Tragic” doesn’t come close to describing the nationalist decisions made these past two weeks by the Myanmar and U.S. governments about who gets to remain in their countries. Dreamers and Rohingya can’t be compared perfectly, I know. Yet both countries will be better off if they can sort out their citizenship rights issues and prevent future episodes of flushing out minority groups.

Growing up in America I recall glowing references to the “melting pot,” or the “land of opportunity.” We were taught that it’s good to embrace otherness, and that everyone has an equal chance to prosper. Later, I began to understand that the U.S. melting pot might in fact be more of a salad bowl, and that the meritocracy doesn’t always work.

Myanmar prefers separate plates rather than pots or bowls. Conformity is valued more than variety—a place for everyone, and everyone in their place. Thus conflicts over identity easily flare here, especially when you throw onto the fire other tinder such as land, history, and trafficking. Recent news reports from Rakhine State, with titles like “Trail of Suffering,” describe village burnings and uncommon levels of both fight and flight.

This new chapter in the old strife between several communities appears to contain a familiar theme: the excesses committed by both minority and majority seem especially lopsided. One armed contingent attacks another security force, using makeshift weapons, causing X number of deaths. “Revenge” is then taken by a much larger military unit, causing many times X number of deaths. Of course none of the excesses is acceptable, and comparing them may not be useful. In any case, these numbers can’t be confirmed precisely.

What seems certain is the flight by Y number of people who don’t want to be caught in the crossfire. That number has climbed steadily since August 25th, when a newish group claiming to represent Rohingya interests struck Myanmar government outposts close to the Bangladesh border. Since then the Myanmar military has hit back, and the number of people crossing that border has averaged over 19,000 people per day. We can be reasonably certain about this count, as it is provided by international humanitarian sources who are attempting to furnish emergency relief to those displaced people.

Another thing we can be certain about is that issues connected to living in a plural society truly expose the worst in people here. Comment forums on internet websites and following facebook posts feature tirades and broadsides and abuse rivaling anything you might hear at, say, a rally in Charlottesville.

Nobody must manage such hostilities more than Aung San Suu Kyi, Myanmar’s elected leader and so-called counselor. On diversity issues she has been unable to lead and unwilling to counsel, saying most recently that such issues are dogged by “misinformation.” No doubt she feels the pressure that all politicians feel to say what will please voters, who in this country are mostly biased against Rohingya. To a lesser degree she may also want to respond to the mostly international voices who say her refusal to recognize the Rohingya cause is grounds for the overturning of her Nobel Peace Prize. In the end, she can neither ignore nor overrule the decisions of Myanmar’s military leaders. She appears paralyzed.

Sure, she’s under enormous stress, so her freeze response may be understandable. But it’s hardly the quality that can move Myanmar forward. Silence suggests a lack of hope—precisely the quality on which she was elected. Silence from Aung San Suu Kyi is a double shame, because she has a ready-made roadmap for next steps in Rakhine State. The Advisory Commission on Rakhine State Report’s recommendations, issued the day before the most recent troubles began, provide her with a plan, legitimacy, and balance. When hardliners last year questioned the need for the commission, Parliament voted a green light for it.

In a time dominated by mobs and tweets and post-truth, solutions and peacemakers are thin on the ground. Aung San Suu Kyi holds a few cards that nobody else in the country can claim. She could start by finding her own freedom from fear and acknowledging that violence has never solved Rakhine’s State’s problems. From there, she could lead a push for, as the Rakhine Commission puts it, “an acceleration of the citizenship verification process in line with the 1982 Citizenship Law.” Perhaps such an effort here would even inspire American political leaders as they debate a Dreamer Law in hopes of harnessing the power and benefits of the nation’s mosaic.

Annan Report Released

Yesterday a commission led by former UN Secretary General Kofi Annan released an important report regarding the future of Myanmar’s Rakhine State. It recognizes the many root causes of conflict there.

At the top of the report’s pile of recommendations is a call for reviewing the country’s 1982 Citizenship Law. That law as currently interpreted is partly responsible for more than one million Muslims in Rakhine State being stateless. The law’s critics say it defines citizenship along ethnic lines.

Many other factors beyond the citizenship law explain why so few Muslims (only 13,000, according to the report) in that area have been recognized as full citizens or naturalized. Yet if tweaks to the law increased that number by even a modest amount, it would send an important signal that the future there won’t be dominated by extremists.

Asking for that signal might be asking too much. Moderates on Rakhine State issues are a rare and endangered species. As one veteran UN official told me over lunch recently, “there’s no nuance there.” Surely the Annan Commission heard that opinion expressed often. Just the same, I’d like to believe its report can be a tool for tolerance.

H1N1 on the Brain

For the past couple weeks Yangon has had flu on the brain. Influenza virus always peaks during rainy season in SE Asia.

Mixed in with regular flu this year have come many cases of H1N1, otherwise known as swine flu. This strain, like seasonal flu, can lead to serious health problems for some people.

Health officials have tried to calm the public through awareness campaigns, but the memory of the 2009 global H1N1 pandemic remains fairly fresh. Also, rumor control becomes more difficult in the Facebook era. Pharmacies are sold out of everything flu-related.

I wasn’t surprised to find a mask-clad man when I answered the doorbell the other day. Slowly it dawned on me that he was the same guy who shows up once a month to hand-deliver the bill from the internet service provider (mail delivery isn’t too reliable here). Sometimes, as a token of gratitude for using its services, he also hands me a small gift from the company: a package of candles at light festival time, or stickers around Valentine’s Day. Today, along with the invoice, he presented me with two masks.

Is it Myanmar or is it Burma?

A fine language teacher came my way and provided a new-to-me answer to a common question: is it Myanmar or is it Burma?

This fellow, an anthropologist with an interest in language, says that essentially the two words are the same.

It turns out that the dominant tongue here, spoken by most people as either a first or second language, has both a high form that mainly shows up in formal or literary situations, and a "low" form used for everyday exchanges.

Speakers of the high form, since as far back as anyone can remember, have pronounced the name of this place as “Myan-ma,” with two squeezed-together syllables and without an “r.” The informal form of the language, at some point long ago, began substituting a “b” introductory sound for certain words that had previously begun with “my….” So it was that in colloquial language “Myan-ma” became “Ba-ma.” All along, both names were in use. When the colonizing British showed up, they wrote the everyday name in English as Burma.

Forty years after independence, a new military regime declared that the official English name would thereafter be “Myanmar,” tacking on an “r” to the English spelling as a way perhaps of hinting that the final “a” sound should be lengthened. This declaration took place as part of the junta’s attempt to do away with spellings introduced by colonizers.

Of course things are never that simple.

Political dimensions of the name choice resurfaced. The formal English name and its consequences weren’t brand new debates. This time, not only was the new regime quite unpopular, both inside and outside the country, but it also continued to use the term “Ba-ma” when referring to the country’s majority ethnic group, which the British had spelled Burman. The generals claimed that of the two previously interchangeable place names, their choice was more inclusive of the entire population. “Nonsense,” said many of the minorities in this country where the borders were drawn by outsiders. Even today, thirty years after that decision, no term exists in any of the languages spoken here that includes all of the ethnicities living here. 

The non-Burman third of the population, along with several international human rights groups, suggested that the “new” name simply continued a policy of successive governments to Burmanize the country. My new language teacher friend explains it this way: “It would be as if a new government in Washington, D. C. one day said, ‘We’re no longer the United States of White America; we’re now the United States of Caucasian America.’”

Buses Upgraded

One place the NLD government can claim a measure of success is in public transportation. Major changes were made to the bus system in Yangon, starting about three months ago. Most of the buses are now new enough that you can't see the road through the holes in the floor anymore. Very few remain with wrong-side steering wheels.

In theory, routes, timetables, and salaries are now fixed. Profits are now shared across the system, instead of depending on the number of round trips completed. Drivers no longer have incentives to speed or take short cuts.

I've been riding buses more and more often lately, rather than sweat it out on my bike or paying taxi fare. When they're going where I'm going, they're better than both. Also, it’s hard to beat the local flavor. I especially like the conductor's horizontal water bottle, resting on an above-window grab bar, waiting patiently for him to come by now and then and take a swig.

Yesterday I took one of the new yellow Chinese buses. Replacing the conductor was a little plastic basket, taped on a pole next to the driver, into which you drop your 200 kyat (make your own change... honor system). The seats had lots of legroom, the aircon was really strong. Not to worry: this one still had some classic Burmese touches. Jasmine flowers and stuffed bears hung from the rear-view mirror, and Buddha stickers were mixed with long lists of rules about whoknowswhat.

ASSK, One Year On

Many commentators last month noted the one-year anniversary of Aung San Suu Kyi’s ascension to the country’s top job. She continues to enjoy nearly complete admiration from the majority of people.

Yet in spite of that good will, Myanmar has not become any easier to govern than it was a year ago. In fact, this government is arguably still military-led. By order of the constitution, the most important ministries remain controlled by the generals, who also have the right to appoint 25% of parliament and to decide their own budget.

Those same generals maybe even prefer the current arrangement to when they held all of the cards. Now, they’re allowed to pull most of the strings economically and militarily, while ASSK and her party get to struggle with a long list of political headaches and then take the blame when they turn out to be unsolvable.

Ethnic groups, for example, seem no closer to winning any concessions on the issues they consider most important: revenue sharing, some degree of political autonomy, and local language promotion. The day when peace accords get signed appears not to be any closer than it was a year ago.

Chinese influence in Myanmar has only grown during the year that ASSK has been in office, while simultaneously the international community’s interest in democracy promotion here has diminished during that same time.

No wonder, then, that The Lady’s recent speeches have sounded less responsive to the needs of the people than her campaign rhetoric did. She now urges communities and individuals to find "courage" and "self-confidence." As if the people of Myanmar haven't been self-reliant enough during the many years of military-led governments.

To give her the benefit of the doubt, it would be nice to think that ASSK and the NLD will spend the next four years working with civil society to expand opportunities for the country's poorest, least educated, and least powerful people. 

Yet polls (no telling how scientific or trustworthy) suggest that a growing number of citizens believe Myanmar is headed in the wrong direction. The NLD may be starting to squander the body politic's trust. High hopes for civilian leadership can't last if its actions remind people too much of the previous military government. Stay tuned.

The F Word, or On the Assassination of U Ko Ni

Federalism, or governing both centrally and through local administrations, struggles as a concept here in Myanmar. Sharing power has been discussed on and off for decades. In practice, control and returns from natural resources have never been well distributed between the union and state governments.

Chief ministers for each state and region are appointed from a distance rather than elected by local populations. Taxes, to the extent they are collected transparently at all, must be deposited at the union level before being reallocated. Services such as education and health have rarely been funded or administered locally. As a result, in many areas of the country governance and revenues are contested by people who back their claims with weapons.

Regional and ethnic leaders, as part of peace discussions, have proposed constitutional changes. They see federalism as an opportunity to create a unified country with diverse parts. The central government’s military perceives that federalism would erode both its sovereignty and its profits.

Amidst these challenges and conversations came a political assassination this past Sunday. The death of U Ko Ni, a lawyer who pushed for constitutional reform, is a blow to anyone aiming to create a Myanmar where benefits are shared fairly and where local cultures and histories are maintained. He argued frequently for peaceful protest, against hate speech, and in a spirit of people’s participation.

At the time he was gunned down, U Ko Ni had been serving the new government as its most important legal mind on questions related to religion and race. His own father was a Muslim from India, while his mother was a Burmese Buddhist. He held many views considered threatening to the powers that be. Specifically, he believed that the country’s constitution should be replaced, in part because under it federalism could never truly take root.

The 2008 Constitution, which the military leaders of the country designed and treasure, falls far short of what international observers consider a reasonable standard for collaborative governance. Critics accuse the document, among many other flaws, of failing to grant equal rights to all races and religions. The news of U Ko Ni’s death has thus stirred not only debate about constitutional reform and self-determination but also religious freedom.

There are many federalisms around the globe. I’m not clear which of them, if any, are right for Myanmar’s situation. What I am clear about is that this murder was heartbreaking. One commentator said that the bullet that killed U Ko Ni also “hit the constitution.”