Pathways that Changed Myanmar 9781350221697, 9781783605071

Citation preview

Acknowledgements

Sadly, the people who deserve the most thanks and acknowledgement, those who welcomed me into their homes and communities, guided me, and shared their perspective cannot be credited by name. This book is the product of their personal insights. The research also benefited greatly from the feedback offered by experts. These experts provided both advice and candid perspectives. I would like to offer a special thanks to those individuals who dedicated a significant amount of time and feedback during the research, including Voravit Suwanvanichkij, Mael Raynaud, Aung Naing Oo, Elliott Prasse-Freeman, Hla Hla Win, Sunny Snowden, Ya Tu, Yan Min Aung, and Brian Wadman. I would like to thank the entire academic and administrative staff at the Institute of Human Rights and Peace Studies, Mahidol University. I’m particularly indebted to Dr Mike Hayes and Dr Sriprapha Petcharamesree, who provided years of guidance. Thanks to Kim Macquarrie and Ciara Byrne for both insights and writing support sessions. Professor James Scott provided an insightful review of the research, for which I am very thankful. Many thanks to those who provided invaluable chapter comments: Elliott Prasse-Freeman, Ya Tu, Mael Raynaud, Nwet Khaykhine, Brian Wadman and Dr Mike Hayes.

viii

acknowledgements The transition-specific research was made possible by Mentors, a foundation dedicated to assisting people through transitions to self-sufficiency. Mentors funded a research project designed and coordinated by Ya Tu with the assistance of Elliott Prasse-Freeman and myself. Without Mentors’ support, this research would have been incomplete, as it was Mentors’ funding and flexibility that made gathering field accounts of transitioning Myanmar possible. A special thank you to my wife, Brooke, for being a constant source of inspiration, love, and sanity.

one | Introduction

As non-state armed groups prepared to defend their land and ways of life, community organizers sat with soldiers to broker permission for new projects. While leaders of global Free Burma Campaigns lobbied in foreign capitals for sanctions and shaming, a network known as the Third Force chose to engage the regime and sought ways to mobilize opportunities for community organizers. In Thailand and around the world, migrant workers from Myanmar weathered uncertain migration to undertake strenuous, high-risk, low-paying jobs. Their remittances created opportunities and changes never before possible. All the while, in every corner of the country, communities constantly navigated, resisted and reconstructed the situation around them. These individuals neither set out abroad nor stood up and spoke out. Theirs was a hidden, subtle, often messy struggle. Pathways to change in and around military-ruled Myanmar crossed, meshed, clashed and diverged. It was a milieu where the worst and best of humanity were on display. The oppression and brutality of military governance was palpable, seen in the regime’s threatening propaganda found throughout the cities, the predatory presence of security forces surveying everyday interactions and the absence of functional public services and welfare systems. Formal powers and

2

one processes during the military reign embedded and exacerbated vulnerabilities. The junta’s Four Cuts campaign aggressively sought control in ethnic areas, leaving communities with three choices: “fight, flee or join the Tatmadaw” (Smith 1999: 259– 60). Laws such as the Electronic Transaction Law (2004), the Unlawful Association Act (1908), the State Protection Act (1975), or the Emergency Provision Act (1950) gave the state sweeping powers to target anyone using a computer or socializing publicly. All things formal became synonymous with predation, rather than protection. Cheesman (2010: 101) writes “habeas corpus in Myanmar ultimately could have … detrimental rather than beneficial effects on a society that is already profoundly demoralized.” Dually notable were the grit, creativity and innovation that lent to self-protection and systems of resiliency. Unwritten protocol around the corruptibility of local officials (Malseed 2008a, 2008b, 2009), the rules of silence and honesty (Fink 2001, 2009b), schemas around “local ‘behind the scenes advocacy’” (South et al. 2010: 3), the rules of engagement with different authorities (Thawnghmung 2003a, 2004), unique local customs and other schematics could guide individuals to informally organize, funnel remittances and resources, share information, broker, bargain, defy orders and engage in other everyday resistance, and start local projects in a system that extensively forbad such action. Picture the cruelty of Than Shwe’s dictatorial regime meeting the enduring resilience of Nobel Peace Prize winner Aung San Suu Kyi and those who fought alongside her. Beyond this lie stories that are simultaneously inspiring, elusive, complex and loaded with contradictions and unknowns. Headlining and hidden struggles all fed into the dissolution of the military dictatorship in early 2011 and, eventually, to a watershed moment on 8

introduction 3 November 2015, as the National League for Democracy (NLD) won a sweeping majority of parliamentary seats in Myanmar. One can only guess at who or what ultimately brought Myanmar into a transition. The change agency of a migrant worker who worked, saved and sent money back to Myanmar, for instance, may only be comprehensible in the communities to which his or her remittances flowed. Absent any mass uprising or trigger, changes in military-ruled Myanmar culminated over a period of time: a reformed 2008 Constitution; a November 2010 general election (the first since 1990); the 13 November 2010 release of Nobel Peace Prize winner Aung San Suu Kyi from house arrest; the dissolution of the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC), the junta, in March 2011; an August 2011 commitment to nationwide ceasefires; the gradual release of political prisoners and freeing of expression; the April 2012 by-elections when the NLD including Aung San Suu Kyi won seats in Naypyidaw; the NLD victory in the 2015 election; then in early December 2015, NLD leader Aung San Suu Kyi had a meeting that would have been unthinkable just years before with the man who had held her under house arrest for years, the former head of the military junta, Than Shwe. This was enough to motivate a gradual lifting of international sanctions and new waves of international praise and investment. Myanmar’s transition has, thus far, cut many ways. For some, the transition has been a period of uncertainty and feelings of new and expanding vulnerability. Waves of anti-Muslim violence spread throughout the country. The targeting of the Rohingya, a particular Muslim group living mostly in Western Rhakine State, may amount to acts of genocide. Mild inflation has outpaced wage increases, leaving people struggling to survive.

4

one Invigorating a state capable of protecting the rule of law, delivering public services and ensuring welfare would require fundamentally overhauling the machinery of “a military-state with hybridimperial structures, characterized by high despotic but low infrastructural modes of power, and fueled by rent-extraction” (Prasse-Freeman 2012: 371). Such transitions are always uncertain and imperfect. As much international money and attention flowed to Naypyidaw to fix governance problems, there were concerns that such support could be contributing to aggressions, dislocations and other injustices resulting from authoritarian development agendas. Thus far, from below, the transition appears to be a tale of both new opportunities and new vulnerabilities: Informant perceptions suggest that vulnerability has defused from emanating from one primary source (the military-state) to being experienced as tied up in a number of different institutions (the market, the law, society itself in the cases of those who are different). In this diffusion, there is evident a thickening and expansion of the subjective experiences of vulnerability. Indeed, the many institutions that are the vehicles of the transition insinuate opportunity (through the idioms of development, rights, formalization, democracy, the rule of law, and progress), while simultaneously introducing vulnerabilities as well. (Mullen et al. 2015: 66)

While the struggle is far from over, now, as the era NLD-led Myanmar begins, is a ripe time to consider what brought about change during that critical window from 2009 to the November 2015 elections in Myanmar. This book attempts to do more than simply recount the diverse stories of oppression, resistance and overcomings that over five hundred informants throughout Myanmar shared from 2009 to 2015. It is an attempt to extract

introduction 5 lessons from their stories and struggles. Many lessons are on offer. While there was much focus on the headlining clash between the junta and its public opponents, struggles from below and within the corridors of Naypyidaw, the grandiose capital city that the junta built for itself, were transformative in ways that may never fully be understood. There was no one site or source of change in Myanmar. Change was under way everywhere. Everyday struggles and shifts at the grassroots were uniquely and immensely transformative of life within the system and the system itself. Proof of changes emanating from below, above, abroad and within the system is in the inability to point to any one juggernaut or trigger. Rather, available evidence suggests a culmination of disparate efforts, each of which contributed in its own way. The pathways that changed Myanmar are many and each holds lessons about human resilience and unforeseen opportunities and challenges that emerge when peeling back the layers of systemic oppression. Change in Myanmar came from above and below, through protest and engagement, from local and global forces, from those who spoke out and those who worked in silence. There was no voice of the people. There were sensational, straightforward efforts, but also messy, complex action that was less clearly memorable and righteous. These less well-known pursuits of change are what this book brings to the forefront. Struggles for change were endlessly diverse, as were the interests of those struggling. And that is part of what makes the story behind change in Myanmar so awesome.

Contrasting pathways to change Reflecting unique strategies and techniques, each pathway that changed Myanmar was personal. Pathways here are metaphorical;

6

one a meme for understanding distinct strategies and action. On a daily basis, individuals fought for something different, something better. They did so by resisting in their own way and pursuing whatever type of change they sought. Some moves were purposeful, cerebral, guided by something philosophical. Other actions were reactive and subconscious. Some of the time, people could be methodical, for instance the Karen villager who spoke about arranging things so that soldiers would be in dialogue with older women from their village. This could make things awkward for the soldier as they “would have to negotiate with their grandma or mother,” as the villager explained. Other times, survival drove behavior. Taken collectively, the day-to-day action produced a certain path. With each path personal and unique, any attempt to categorize efforts risks oversimplification. Prasse-Freeman (2011: 373) illustrates the depth of complexity that one must account for in even mapping the networks that were struggling for change in military-ruled Myanmar: Against simplistic binary descriptions – totalitarian accounts in Burmese commentary and classic authoritarian portrayals in political science – I describe Burma’s political space as incorporating multiple particular governmentalities …; I examine those by exploring (a) the institutions or actors that de facto govern subjects (states, customary leaders, CS representatives, businesses, spiritual guides, etc.); (b) the modes that those forms of governance take (“rights”-based, negotiated bargains, implicit deals, etc.); therefore (c) the kinds of relationships that develop (patron/client, state/citizen, corporation/employee, NGO/“partner,” “international community”/victim); through which (d) power then flows to produce, regulate, punish, discipline, or expel subjects. And finally (e) how the different zones constituted by these different fields of governmentality, with their

introduction 7 respective intensities, intersect with and hence influence one another to create a broader system of assemblage.

Such an intricate network of identities and action can create both a pull to a simpler frame and a hesitation to search for trends. Yet both intricacy and generalizations are crucial for understanding a situation such as the struggle for change in Myanmar. This book attempts such nuance and generality by using a Linnaean typology, which allows for taxonomy of the contrasting pathways that changed Myanmar. It allows for a categorical understanding of an endlessly complex struggle. Three pathways reflect, generally, the diversity, contrasts and contradictions between pursuits of change. More will be written on each of these pathways in forthcoming chapters. But given that these pathways are this book’s lexicon, it is useful to establish a glossary up front. In simple terms, the three pathways that changed Myanmar were contention, subversion and creation. The first pathway, contentious politics, entails people organizing and publicly challenging political targets (contention), in this case the Myanmar junta. This pathway is familiar to anyone who watches the news. Contentious politics, interchangeably known as contentious performances, brings together “three familiar features of social life: contention, collective action, and politics” (Tilly 2008: 5). In recent Myanmar history, the 8/8/88 uprising, the ethnic armed movements, the 2007 Saffron Revolution, and the struggle of Aung San Suu Kyi and thousands of other prisoners of conscience captivated and inspired international audiences. Visuals and stories of people organizing, taking to the streets, standing up and fighting back have the tendency to galvanize those watching. Challenging power by speaking directly to

8

one it has significant appeal. There is no mystery as to why such displays grab headlines. Yet this type of public opposition may not be feasible or effective “for most of the world most of the time” (Scott 2010). Contention was certainly not what one found traveling around military-ruled Myanmar. Open dissent in everyday settings was almost certain to end in arrest or worse. While contentious performances were rare, a subtler, constant method of resistance was commonplace: everyday resistance (subversion). Scott and Kerkvliet describe this pathway as “a vast and relatively unexplored middle-ground of peasant politics between passivity and open, collective defiance,” which entails the use of “the ordinary weapons of subordinate groups” for purposes of “self-help” (1986: 1). More specifically, everyday resistance entails tactics such as “foot dragging, dissimulation, false compliance, feigned ignorance, desertion, pilfering, smuggling, poaching, arson, slander, sabotage, surreptitious assault and murder, anonymous threats, and so on” (Scott 1989: 5). Evasion and obstruction were part of daily life in military-ruled Myanmar. Subversive techniques allowed even the most marginalized and threatened communities to disrupt the system. While millions in Myanmar used this pathway, it received only minimal attention. Reasons for this will be the focus of Chapter 4. The final pathway to change, reconstructive politics, transforms conditions via the creation of new space, opportunities and relationships (creation). While contentious politics and everyday resistance are theories with much scholarly backing, reconstructive politics took shape as a theoretical frame during the field research. There was a strand of action on display during the 2009–15 struggle in Myanmar that was hard to explain

introduction 9 and in need of its own theory. Reconstructive politics is a theory built around the people throughout Myanmar who undertook a brick-by-brick process of (re-)creation, both locally and on more macro scales. Everyday citizens, elites, and state officials all had access to this pathway. Manifesting itself as calculated compliance, negotiation, relationship building, concealed capacity building, avoidance and bribery, reconstructive techniques were meant to avoid, disorient and persuade officials. Reconstructive politics was the pathway of the Third Force, a loose network of individuals and organizations who sought change through engaging the junta or creating opportunities where the state was failing. That is not to say that all of those using reconstructive politics were formally or informally part of the Third Force. Reconstructive politics, as a strategy and action, took place outside of Third Force networks as well. But it is through the Third Force that reconstructive politics had its most obvious structure. Through disorientation and persuasion, reconstructors were able to sideline, soften or penetrate the state. This network did get recognition. Heidel (2006) brought attention to hundreds of thousands of community self-empowerment projects working in a climate where civil society had been declared dead or more accurately “murdered” by “the Burma Socialist Programme Party (BSPP)” (Steinberg 1999). Then again, around the time of Cyclone Nargis in 2008 and the elections of 2010, there was much talk about mobilizations of the Third Force. The extent of building and brokering was notable. One could literally see community organizers creating change throughout the country. But while people took note, there was much uncertainty as to what members of the Third Force and others using reconstructive politics were actually doing and why.

10

one Combined, contention, subversion and creation changed Myanmar. Contrasts between these three pathways are discernible at first glance. Confrontation and isolation clash with avoidance and engagement. Reconstructive politics and everyday forms of resistance focus on the everyday, making their politic of interest “everyday politics.” Contentious politics confront institutions with demands. By contrast, everyday politics is the realm of constant and cumulative “pushes and pulls, influences and counter-influences,” which Kerkvliet and Porter (1996: 67) summarize through the lens of a Vietnam that was undergoing major shifts in the 1980s and early 1990s: Sometimes such politics shade into the formal, state sanctioned forms of participation, and sometimes they tilt the other way into unauthorized, illegal activities. Everyday politics includes trying to live within, bend, or modify the prevailing contours as well as engaging in subtle, non-confrontational everyday resistance to slip under or to undermine them. In such everyday politics in Vietnam, villagers may have no expectations, perhaps even no intentions of affecting national policies, though they might well be trying to modify, even subvert policy implementation in their locality. But cumulatively such actions, even though not organized and coordinated, can have an impact on state agencies when done in large enough numbers, in generally the same direction, and “read” or understood by higher officials to mean that it is in their interest of the interest of the state to change.

In practice, the interactions between contentious politics, everyday resistance and reconstructive politics complicate further when personalities, priorities, and policy preferences come into the mix. Debates about which pathway was most pure and effective remain impossible to resolve. Notions of sacrifice and

introduction 11 progress did not mesh across vast circumstances. Complicating matters further, this was a global struggle. Donors, media outlets and policy-makers from all over the world had their recognition and resources on offer. Global networks also brought their own visions of change. With recognition, resources and change itself on the line, the stakes could not have been higher. Through tensions and frustrations the struggle for change in Myanmar went on. Behind the metaphorical pathways were the personal stories: the cook in Kachin State who undercooked soldiers’ food, the organizer in Sagaing who built a school, the tutor in Karen State who taught about topics that were then forbidden, the villagers in Shan State who used threats and bribes to keep officials at a distance, the young men and women from Chin State and all over Myanmar who found their ways, by foot or any other means, through the border hills to India, Thailand and other nearby countries in search of work that would enable them to send money home, insubordinate soldiers and police, ethnic and student groups who took up arms against the Tatmadaw, the Myanmar state military, the activists who took on authorities despite threats, exiled advocates and their international colleagues who brought sanctions against the regime, and the Third Force organizers who constantly sought new openings and opportunities. Converging, intersecting and diverging, these individuals and their pathways made a grid that was both mighty and messy. This book talks about change in Myanmar without defining what change actually means. This is deliberate. What change means to me is irrelevant. Structuralist definitions are unhelpful in assigning what change meant from 2009 to 2015 in Myanmar. What matters is what change meant to each informant. No one

12

one definition or generalization could capture that. Consider two definitions from the field: “when the generals face trial, we can start talking about change,” and “if I can do something today that I couldn’t yesterday, that is real change.” To say that one notion of change is more real than another becomes an ontological debate that ends in stalemate or gives way to subsequent ontological debates on agency or democracy. Change can be empirical. Even then, a metrics that measures change through the size of the economy or the number of non-junta faces in parliament may have no connection with the type of change people feel or value in their everyday lives. Indeed, while foreign direct investment increased and economic measures showed impressive growth in transitioning Myanmar, everyday citizens spoke of survival being harder than ever. Change is the transformation people seek around them. What this entails is for individuals to define. An NGO worker who worked with farmers throughout the country offered a useful summation: When people talk about change, they’re talking about improvements they can feel. Change is going to mean something different in each situation. The mistake is ignoring or fighting this. Activists sometimes separate real and fake change. But real change to them, like something about voting or law reform, may be useless in the eyes of people who are in a survival situation.

The research From 2009 to 2015, more than 500 informants from throughout Myanmar told of what kind of change they sought and how they pursued it. What set these 500 interactions apart from the thousands of others that took place during the field research was depth. These were situations where I was able to speak with

introduction 13 individuals at length and gain in-depth insight into their experiences. These 500 informants may not be representative of the 50 million-plus people throughout Myanmar. But these 500 views crystallize the many different experiences undergone in militaryruled and transitioning Myanmar. When data crystallizes it creates “symmetry and substance with an infinite variety of shapes, substances, transmutation … creating different colors, patterns, arrays, casting off in different directions” (Richardson 2000: 934). Trends and perspectives hold relevance even if they are unique to the sample pool. Without boring those who have little interest in research methodology, my goal in this section is to contextualize the data and arguments put forth in this book. The first note in contextualizing the data is recognizing the crucial role that many local assistants and friends, many of whom I met in the field, played in gathering it. Often, meetings on the street or along trails would result in introductions to entire communities. Informants would set up meetings with friends in other towns. Trekking guides went out of their way to find diverse perspectives. Most interviews took place through translation. But local guides were more than translators. They were navigators. With local knowledge of who would want to talk and, importantly, who to avoid, they made the collection of unfrequented data possible. The research began as an attempt to capture grassroots perspectives on sanctions. Sanctions were not the interest, per se. Rather, sanctions were an entry point to investigate the apparent disconnects between the global campaign for human rights and democracy in Myanmar and realities on the ground. While studying human rights and peace in Thailand, I was able to study and work with a range of students and organizations from Myanmar. Sanctions were a common topic of conversation among this

14

one network. While many colleagues supported sanctions, others found sanctions counterproductive and harmful. There was obviously something to investigate. The main question in entering the field was who to speak with. I sought local perspectives, but local, grassroots, everyday, and ordinary are all problematic typologies. Thomas G. Weiss (semistructured interview)1 spoke to the challenge of extracting and making sense of diverse, local voices: We all agree that people know their situation best. These individuals know better than anyone what they want and how to get it. Great. Now the challenge is to determine which voices to listen to, and what questions to ask. It’s surprising how little we know about local dynamics in some places. We know the information is there, but we’ve struggled to extract it. But this just goes to show how truly complex information-gathering is in some environments.

To better define whose perspective I was after I turned to Foucault’s concept of a marginal discourse. Foucault spoke of the intertwining of knowledge, truth and power. In doing so he drew attention to those perspectives that go unheard. Foucault drew a distinction between dominant discourses, those discourses that are readily accessible and accepted, and marginal discourses, which are often difficult to access and are rejected or less readily approved of. Roderick (1993) explains Foucault’s point about exclusion through a historical lens: “Certain people didn’t get to talk in the history of Western civilization. They were excluded from the conversation. The deviant were excluded … criminals, the mad, and of course the more normal exclusions: up until very recently, women, the young, the old, the infirm, and

introduction 15 so on, excluded in a certain way from the conversation.” Around military-ruled Myanmar, it was rare to hear the voice of anyone outside of activist networks in the public conversation. Much research had been done on advocates in and around Myanmar. My interest was in the struggles outside these networks. Groups in Myanmar that were commonly left out of the conversation had unique perspectives. Such voices could help to explain the apparent contradiction I set out to examine: the paradox of local frustration with sanctions alongside the advancement of sanctions on behalf of local populations. Of particular interest were the relations between contrasting struggles. Collecting such perspectives entailed traveling around Myanmar and searching for diverse everyday spaces. A trekking guide advised in the early days of the field research that the only way to learn about life in military-ruled Myanmar was to get away from the paved roads and walk. The goal was to conduct research in every state and division in Myanmar. All told, I was able to do field research in all states and divisions, with the exception of Rakhine State, as well as conduct interviews along the Thai–Burma border. During the field tenure I had to choose between field research in Chin State or Rakhine State, both of which required extensive review and permission. I chose Chin State because I found this group to be the least represented in my sample. In both urban and rural settings, I spoke with people in their everyday spaces: fields, houses, tea shops, workplaces, temples, churches and mosques, whiskey and beer shops, public transport, and so on. Additionally, I wanted to engage soldiers, police and other local authorities whenever possible. The idea of giving voice to state officials drew criticism and warnings. However,

16

one contacts from Myanmar regularly spoke of interactions with officials. Interacting with officials was part of everyday life. Attempting to understand both sides of these exchanges made sense. State officials were important data sources with unique insights into oppression and resistance in military-ruled Myanmar. These were the individuals carrying out, or dismissing, the orders of the junta. Hence, discounting officials as evil or unworthy data sources would contradict the goal of better understanding the function and impact of the system. Semi-structured interviews with analysts and key informants played a supplemental role to the field research. These interviews were particularly useful in early stages when I was working out how to frame questions and approach the field. While feedback from these key informants was largely consistent, there was stark disagreement as to whether I should prepare for political sophistication or ignorance. There somehow remains a picture of repressed or marginalized populations as unaware of the dynamics of governance. Yet data from the field turned out to be in line with the experience of documentarians Kim MacQuarrie (semi-structured interview)2 and Ciara Byrne (semi-structured interview),3 who offered a reminder that political sophistication was not a luxury in environments such as junta-ruled Myanmar. Knowledge of how the system ran, even if only locally, was necessary for survival, and one could only begin to comprehend the resulting understanding of how authoritarianism functions. Conducting field research in military-ruled Myanmar, one had to be prepared for the unknown and unpredictable. Flexibility was a key ingredient of the research design. I used a fluid, flexible framework in grounded theory that enables researchers to slide into interviews and give informants signifi-

introduction 17 cant control. Military-ruled Myanmar was not a setting where a researcher could simply walk up to individuals and start throwing out politically loaded questions. The only thing worse would be to bring along a notepad or informed consent forms. Formal ethical procedures did not always translate well to the dictatorial climate in the field.4 “Sliding” may be the best term to describe the technique that allowed for appropriate interviewing. I had no need for formal personal details such as names, age and occupation. Collecting or presenting such information could have put informants at risk. By approaching individuals in their everyday space, I had adequate demographical context. With anonymity as a precondition, interviews in the field began as normal conversations. Often, it was not me asking the questions directly. Rather, local resource people would start with casual exchanges. Somewhere in the discussion I would slide in a political topic, such as Naypyidaw, sanctions or political shifts in Myanmar. I would provide some type of warning that a sensitive question was coming prior to asking. In many cases, one question was all it took for an outpouring of personal experiences and opinions. If the informant was not comfortable, he or she could simply change the subject. All of this allowed individuals to self-select. Every component of the field research was a slide: in and out of interviews, from informant to informant and from site to site. Sliding and self-selection certainly had implications, but none that would compromise this book as an illustration of the array of experiences and efforts surrounding change in Myanmar. The sliding methodology proved useful even after surveillance and control began to lighten in Myanmar. During the five-year research window, the milieu in Myanmar shifted but uncertainty

two | The clash that galvanized a global movement

Newsstands, bookshelves, and box offices around the world framed politics in military-ruled Myanmar as a battle between “the beauty and the beast.” Titles of news and magazine articles, book chapters, and books used or spun this phrase. The beauty – Nobel Peace Prize winner Aung San Suu Kyi, known also as Daw Suu or simply “the Lady” – represented everything good and worth fighting for. The beast – then leader of the SPDC General Than Shwe – was the leader of evil and image of everything worth fighting against. Gorsevski proclaims: “Discourse and image unite in a metapictorial jab at her political opposition: Suu Kyi’s [performances] constitute a visual rhetoric of culture and nonviolence that contrasts sharply with the drab, military garb, cultural disowning, and violence of her opposition: members of the SPDC” (2004: 107).1 Surrounding this clash of main characters was a plot needing minimal explanation. One need only see Daw Suu detained behind the fences of her home with armed guards nearby, the peacock and star of the NLD flag opposite the Tatmadaw’s insignia, students with red headbands standing in solidarity opposite heavily armed soldiers, photos of displaced or exiled ethnic groups and activists, or clips from the 88 protest or Saffron Revolution to get the gist. A domineering, oppressive state had virtuous challengers at home and abroad. And opponents of

the clash that galvanized 27 the junta had the might of the world’s most powerful democratic forces behind it. Contention in military-ruled Myanmar had gone global, and anyone could take part in the encounter. Bravery clashing with brutality not only captivates diverse audiences, it calls them to act (Guinness 2005: 86). And act transnational networks around Myanmar did. Indeed, the history of international sanctions and statecraft against military-ruled Myanmar, a history that will come into focus in Chapter 6, runs parallel to the most notable contentious performances in contemporary Myanmar history. Contention was the catalyst around which the international campaign for human rights and democracy grew. In the border town of Mae Sot, Thailand, home of a large Myanmar activist community built by exiles who had fled the regime, walls sported photos of Aung San Suu Kyi, the face of non-violent opposition in Myanmar, next to Che Guevara, who celebrated violence as a necessary means to achieve political change. International viewers gravitated to what these figures share: an unwavering commitment to standing up and speaking out. Non-violent and armed efforts alike were rallying points for global action. This chapter focuses particularly on two landmark contentious performances, 8/8/88 and the 2007 Saffron Revolution, as well as the history of ethnopolitical armed insurrections, some of which continue today. While contemporary Myanmar history is neither linear nor simple, there are a number of historical turning points that help put these topics and this chapter in a broader context. Ethnopolitical contestations pre-date modern notions of Myanmar. But they took their current shape during British rule, when the British chose to govern diverse groups differently and use ethnic forces for defense and security in the Bama-majority

28

two plains. It is from this British colonial period that a basic timeline can be drawn as a reference point. The following is an adaptation of Aung-Thwin and Aung-Thwin’s (2012) timeline in A History of Myanmar Since Ancient Times: 1842–1942 British colonial period 1937 Burma becomes crown colony of the British, separate from India 1942–48 The Second World War, the Japanese, and independence 1942 Japan occupies Burma with help from the British Independence Army 1942–45 British Independence Army transitions to Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL) and launches resistance against Japanese 1945 British and AFPFL liberate Burma from Japanese occupation 12 February 1947 Panglong Agreement about autonomy of ethnic territories 19 July 1947 Assassination of Aung San, Father of the Nation 4 January 1948 Union of Burma declares independence 1948–62 Civil war and the “parliamentary” experiment March 1962 General Ne Win launches coup, begins rule by decree 1962–74 The Revolutionary Government and the “Burmese Way to Socialism” 1974–88 The Burma Socialist Programme Party 8/8/88 Uprising and military crackdown 1988–97 Military rule under State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC) 27 May 1990 General election, NLD victory which military refuses to recognize 1996–2010 Military rule under State Peace and Development Council (SPDC)

the clash that galvanized 29 2003 SPDC launches “roadmap to democracy” 2007 Saffron Revolution and crackdown 7 November 2010 Military party, Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP), wins military-controlled general elections 2011–November 2015 “Disciplined Democracy” 8 November 2015 The transition to an NLD-led parliament

8/8/88 provides an appropriate entry point to narrate contention in military-ruled Myanmar. On display in both the 8/8/88 uprising and the Saffron Revolution was the willingness of the people to stand strong in the face of danger and the regime’s willingness to meet this resilience with brutality. General Ne Win’s often cited order that guns were “not to shoot upwards” captures the intent and intensity of the 8/8/88 crackdown.

8/8/88 The 8/8/88 uprising refers to a series of nationwide strikes and marches, surrounding 8 August 1988. By 1988, superstitious Soviet-style central planning by the Burma Socialist Programme Party (BSPP) had taken its toll: Not only foreign, but domestic wholesale and even retail, trade was nationalized. All industrial enterprises, including the successful ones launched by ethnic Burmese entrepreneurs under the democratic regime, were also taken over. Only peasant agriculture was not “nationalized”, but even here farmers were subjected to a battery of physical and price controls. The extent of “socialism” shocked even the Soviet and East European diplomats and visiting officials and academics. (Khin Maung Kyi et al. 2000: 10–11)

To make things worse, the regime’s capricious leader, Ne Win, reportedly on the advice a soothsayer, had demonetized

30

two the currency, gridlocking the already moribund economy. By the late 1980s, Myanmar had become one of the most impoverished countries in the world (Tallentire 2007). In response to the economic and political suffering, from 8 to 12 August 1988 masses rose up all over the country. Accounts point to a disagreement at “a tea shop between university students and people linked to the government” as the trigger that “eventually grew into a student-led movement calling for democracy in the summer of 1988” (Wallace et al. 2013). A seemingly local and everyday exchange was all it took to activate a mass, countrywide uprising. Crowds moved through the streets, stopping to listen to speeches from opposition figures. The protesters came from all walks of life, displaying the breadth of discontent. Orders came down to bring soldiers from the armed conflict zones of ethnic territories into the cities and towns. Soon after came issuance of an order to open fire on the crowds. Initially the shooting did not entirely deter the crowd, as protesters threw whatever they could, including Molotov cocktails and sharp objects, to counter the military’s push. With neither side backing away, protests became increasingly violent and clashes between the military and demonstrators became commonplace (Boudreau 2004: 210). On 26 August 1988, Aung San Suu Kyi, then known mainly as a living legacy of her father, Myanmar’s independence leader Aung San, made her first major public speech in Yangon. General Aung San, approvingly known as Bogyoke, the General, led the Myanmar revolution that ultimately won independence from Britain on 4 January 1948, after Aung San’s assassination. Ne Win and subsequent military regimes tried to leverage Aung San’s legacy. But in 1988 and after the 1990 elections, military regimes began to dismiss and disregard his legacy. With Aung San Suu

the clash that galvanized 31 Kyi on the stage, the military could no longer control the narrative of General Aung San, a legacy that resonates with the Bama and ethnic minorities for reasons brought into focus below. General Aung San’s legacy was holding a microphone and launching a new struggle for freedom. Aung San Suu Kyi left the stage in August 1988 as the face of a movement and remains the consensus true leader of Myanmar, a status legitimized twice as she led the May 1990 NLD electoral victory over the junta and the NLD’s landslide victory in November 2015. The stance she took on the stage in 1988 led to global praise, including the 1990 Andrei Sakharov Prize for Freedom of Thought and the 1991 Nobel Peace Prize. At home, her stance led to years of threats, arrests, murdered friends, and other physical and psychological attacks. Over the years, she became the international community’s voice of Myanmar. Her statements and writings became a guide for all. Sought or not, the discourse built around her insights. Her profile is proof of contentious politics’ two analytical dimensions: what you stand for and how you stand for it. Following 18 September 1988, when the military launched a final offensive on protesters, General Saw Maung repealed the constitution, imposed martial law, and established the State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC). Accounts from the final crackdown report soldiers marching through cities firing indiscriminately on any civilian in sight (Ferrara 2003: 314). Casualty numbers from the clashes range from the official government figure of ninety-five to estimates upwards of ten thousand.2 Despite appeals to and from the international community, the SLORC took control of the state. In addition to those killed and wounded, hundreds went missing, thousands were arrested, and tens of thousands headed into exile or into armed resistance

32

two territories. Imagery of the 88 crackdown continue to act as a reminder of the cruelty and callousness the regime was capable of (Fink 2001: Fong 2008). 8/8/88 was the event that changed everything in terms of international viewership. Much of the international community was vaguely aware of the troubling situation in Myanmar prior to the 1988 student-led uprising. When the stories and imagery from 8/8/88 emerged, the international community could no longer ignore the dire situation. No foreign delegation could detach itself from the oppression. To simply do nothing was to be complicit. As a mass migration of civilians fled the country a global community of exiles led international campaigns. A steady outflow of political activist and ethnic communities into Thailand, India and elsewhere continued for decades. The ability of this network to organize and appeal led to one of the strongest global activist movements, and made it possible to “carry violations through the border and to the Senate floor,” as a border activist characterized. This international network, with its roots in the 88 uprising, was alert and active when the 2007 demonstrations began to unfold.

The Saffron Revolution Commonly referred to as the Saffron Revolution, the 2007 demonstrations began in mid-August after the “88 Generation Students Group – comprised of former political prisoners who had led the 1988 pro-democracy demonstrations” organized marches to protest against a sudden removal of “fuel subsidies, resulting in massive price increases for diesel and compressed natural gas” (Fink 2009a: 355). After the demonstrations began, a group of monks joined the cause to speak out against the suffering of the population. On 5 September, hundreds of monks took to the

the clash that galvanized 33 streets for a peaceful march. Not long after momentum began to build, the regime ordered a crackdown. Monks and citizens were beaten and arrested. As outrage spread and the regime failed to fulfill the apology request from the All Burma Monks Alliance, the monks planned a larger demonstration. On 18 September, thousands of monks took to the streets. Nuns and citizens joined the marches as the peaceful demonstrations grew, prompting protests in Mandalay and elsewhere. In Yangon, protesters marched through barricades to give blessings to Aung San Suu Kyi, who was then still under house arrest. Tensions between the protesters and the regime escalated until a mass crackdown occurred on 26 September. Unrelenting, the attack displayed a complete disregard for the civilian population and the sanctity and moral authority of the religious institution, Theravada monasticism, much of the population reveres. The total number of deaths during the Saffron Revolution is unknown. Reports confirmed nine deaths, including one Japanese journalist, whose murder was caught on video and shown around the world (Lewis 2007). When individuals tuned into the news, they became witness to soldiers chasing and firing at groups who were doing everything to flee through the streets of Yangon. The events led to another surge of international interest in Myanmar. Throughout the world, campaigns were held in front of embassies. People all over the globe held rallies and displayed signs saying “I Support the Monks.” Symbolic and practical punishment of the junta was quick to follow. The USA stepped up its financial sanctions against those on its black list, and in 2008 the Tom Lantos Block Burmese Jade Act passed. In response to the shooting of the Japanese journalist, Japan temporarily cut its aid to Myanmar. The EU’s 1996 sanctions were modified and

34

two expanded. Canada’s Special Economic Measures (Burma) Regulations (SOR/2007-285) came into effect on 13 December 2007, months after the crackdown. Similar to 8/8/88, the Saffron Revolution led to a wave of international action. Unlike 8/8/88, when the Saffron Revolution took place a vast transnational network in both the cyber and the material world was ready to work and spread the word: When the government cracked down on the demonstrators, killing monks, civilians, and even journalists, the world watched in horror as the Internet gave people outside Burma a peek into what was actually happening inside the country. Activists from around the world joined the democratic struggle through protests and demonstrations in their respective countries. (Chowdhury 2008: 4)

Events such as 8/8/88 and the Saffron Revolution give the world a reason to watch, listen, and act. Attention and resources can be fleeting, which is why the focus comes and goes. But even after the focus turns elsewhere, the narrative and schema endure. Whether such events provide adequate information to shape global stances and policies is a matter forthcoming chapters will question. Clear here is that contention does become the narrative through which understanding and action formulate. In situations like 8/8/88 and the Saffron Revolution, it is not hard for the international community to take a clear stance. This is less true when it comes to sustained armed insurrection.

Armed resistance Not long after independence, the Tatmadaw changed from a liberating force, under the leadership of General Aung San, to

the clash that galvanized 35 a predatory entity that was particularly active in ethnic frontiers. Even at the dawn of independence, the stage was set for ethnonationalist armed resistance. Tensions had deep roots before Aung San and select ethnic leaders even began to negotiate the February 1947 Panglong Agreement. Pre-colonial arrangements of ethnonationalist rule and militancy, as well as diverse priorities, identities, and interests within ethnic groups, made a peaceful transition to Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League (APFL) leadership unlikely. Yet the legacy of Aung San and Panglong endures in many ethnic communities. Fink (2001: 22) summarizes well why General Aung San’s legacy extends beyond Myanmar’s independence: The British had set up a serious problem by governing the frontier areas differently from the plain. The fact that ethnic minority soldiers in the colonial defence force had participated in putting down Burman rebellions against colonial rule had also increased Burman resentment towards the ethnic nationalities. At the same time, many Burman leaders saw themselves as superior to the minorities and did not want to give in to their demands. The one person who seemed to have the vision and diplomatic skills to resolve this problem was General Aung San … He selected nonBurmans for several other high-ranking posts in the government, made trips to ethnic nationality areas to meet with ethnic leaders, and organized a multi-ethnic conference at the Shan town of Panglong to come up with a political structure which both Burmans and the ethnic nationalities in the frontier areas could accept.

Even with the positioning of ethnic groups as autonomous equals there were flaws in the arrangement. The Panglong process was neither fully representative nor indicative of a consensus within or between different ethnic groups: “The leaders of

36

two the various ethnonational groups were first thrown into disarray when they confronted the Burman nationalists’ proposal for particular and territorial arrangement to be incorporated in the 1947 constitution” (Thawnghmung 2011a: 4). From independence to the 1962 coup by General Ne Win, any hope for a peaceful resolution progressively diminished. Thawnghmung (ibid.: 6) summarizes: Under the elected AFPFL government that came to power in 1948, the newly independent country was soon mired in civil war, as left-leaning and communist members of the ruling elite and various ethnic groups, including a number of Karen, Mon, and eventually Kachin and Shan organizations, took up arms against the state for independence or greater autonomy. Following a major split within the AFPFL, the military, led by General Ne Win, served as a caretaker government from 1958 to 1960 in an attempt to restore stability to the country and prepare for a nationwide election. This relatively successful attempt at rule enhanced the confidence of the generals and facilitated their seizure of power in 1962 – ostensibly to reunite the country and prevent it from falling to multiple insurgencies. Burma was to be ruled by the iron-fisted, authoritarian Ne Win and his socialistleaning government for a further 26 years.

Under military rule, the armed forces saw themselves as patrons of the over 135 ethnic groups of Myanmar. By “making enemies,” the military sought to legitimize their grab for power, as “the military solution to internal crises crowded out other potential state reformers, turning officers into state builders and militaryas-institution into military-as-state itself” (Callahan 2003: 206). Military offensives into ethnic areas became a method of statebuilding in the Four Cuts policy. Developed in the 1960s, the

the clash that galvanized 37 Four Cuts policy had a rhetorical aim of eliminating any support for the armed resistance groups. This was to be accomplished by cutting channels to food, money, intelligence, and recruits of the Non-State Armed Groups (NSAGs). Unsurprisingly, this blunt policy led to mass human rights violations and general suffering in ethnic communities. Smith explains: “For the Tatmadaw in the Four Cuts campaign, there is no such thing as an innocent or neutral villager. Every community must fight, flee or join the Tatmadaw” (1999: 259–60). The Four Cuts policy was modified, deactivated and reactivated following its inception. Even in rural areas absent of armed resistance, the state attempted to increase Tatmadaw presence by establishing new military bases (Selth 2002). The Tatmadaw destroyed well over 3,200 ethnic villages from 1996, forcing residents into internal displacement or “peace villages” (Malseed 2009). Forced displacement or relocation was the product of both military strategies and state-led development projects.3 Formally and informally, remnants of the Four Cuts campaign remain well into the transition. Four Cuts led to an intensification of ethnonationalism throughout the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s. The next significant evolution in armed insurrection came following the 8/8/88 crackdown when student groups took up arms alongside pre-existing ethnonationalist struggles. A loosely cohesive armed front began to take shape. Tucker (2001: 6) summarizes the movement, preceding the emergence of the Mong Tai Army: In 1989 the National Democratic Front, a military alliance of the main ethnic insurgent groups opposed to Rangoon, comprised the Chin National Front, Kachin Independence Organization, Karen National Union, Karenni National Progressive Party, Lahu National Organization, New Mon State Party, National Unity

38

two Front of Arakan, Palaung State Liberation Party, Pa-O National Organization, Shan State Progress Party and Wa National Organization. The military wings of these insurgencies were known as the Kachin Independence Army, Shan State Army etc. The Democratic Alliance of Burma … comprised of all the members of the National Democratic Front except the Karenni National Progressive Party and ten other groups, including the All Burma Student Democratic Front.

Missing from this list of NSAGs is the Communist Party of Burma, a party found by General Aung San, who did not join the alliances, but supported many groups with arms. Many breakaway factions occurred over decades, but the summary of the 1989 NSAGs structure portrays the extensive foundation of armed insurrection in Myanmar. The armed resistance movement reached a new level of complexity when Khun Sa and Moh Heng, notorious drug and warlords, introduced their Mong Tai Army into the equation.4 For a stretch of the late 1980s and early 1990s the Mong Tai Army was thought to be the Tatmadaw’s most formidable foe. But given its reliance on heroin and use of child soldiers, there was a hesitancy to support Mong Tai’s momentum. While Mong Tai’s narcopolitics were likely an anomaly, all armed resistance groups in Myanmar could find themselves in precarious spaces where one could encounter sentiments of rights, freedom, and justice, but also a narcoeconomy and child soldiers. A major shift in the armed insurrection movement came in 1992 when the military reversed its commitment to defeating all oppositional ethnic forces. The regime issued a call for national reconciliation and peace by way of ceasefire negotiations. In 1994 many ethnic leaders of the NSAGs responded to these calls by proposing a process of peace mediation (Saw U 2007). The

the clash that galvanized 39 causes, consequences and apparent direction of these conflicts vary from case to case.5 While some groups accepted ceasefires in return for promises of liberty, land rights, and economic development, other groups denied or forfeited ceasefire commitments.6 Debates about ceasefire continue, as the Tatmadaw has followed up ceasefire agreements with sporadic military offensives, such as the 2011 Zwe Man Hein Campaign and more recent clashes in Kachin and Shan States at the outset of 2015. The military pursued control and expansion at all costs. The junta consistently spent around 1 percent of its annual GDP on education, and a similar amount on healthcare, while 40–60 percent of annual GDP was allocated for military spending (DVB 2011; UNGA 2011). Even with such expenditures, armed groups, particularly those of the ethnic liberation parties, were able to fend off decades of expansion efforts. Armed insurrection was an extreme response to extreme oppression. The sustainability and diversity of ethnic insurgencies in Myanmar were evidence of the regime’s insistent and merciless reach into the ethnic territories. They were also evidence of what was at stake: land and resources, identity, liberty, and political participation. From conversations with supporters and combatants in ethnic armed groups, it was apparent that there were both aspirational and existential reasons to keep up the fight. Victory could mean greater autonomy, whether that be visions of federalism, autonomous economies or self-determination. Losing or laying down arms left groups susceptible to a loss of land, history, language, liberties, customs and identity in general. From this perspective the fate of the ethnicity was on the line. International support for the NSAGs of Myanmar was said to be significant, but clandestine. Informants on both sides of

three | The Third Force

The “Third Force,” an informal group of local NGOs, CBOs, and political parties, as well as international academics, activists, and practitioners, had two elements to their collective identity. First, the Third Force was defined by what it wasn’t. This network was separate and distinct from the NLD’s public opposition network as well as the military’s network. The Third Force was literally a third network of political power and agency. A representative from the Third Force explained: We represent the third way to change. We’re anti-junta, but we’re also against the strategy of the democracy movement. You’ll find that most people here hate the government, but they aren’t thrilled with the NLD or the exiles. We don’t represent these people, but we take that middle way. The military movement and the democracy movement are both revolutionary, and they sort of cancel each other out. We are really just pragmatist.

Secondly, members of the Third Force bonded to a similar strategy. Pragmatism is a description that many but not all Third Force members embraced. Semantics aside, the Third Force consistently took a consequentialist stance and was always open to engagement. The goal of the Third Force was to create space

the third force 49 and opportunities in spite of military rule, and they were willing to play whatever games made this happen. Despite its might – interviews with members of the Third Force estimated its formal and informal members to number from hundreds of thousands to millions – and unique position in Myanmar’s political landscape, this group received only passing, sporadic mention in the dominant discourse. When the Third Force did come into focus the angle was often scrutinizing. Third Force political parties, namely the National Democratic Force (NDF), the Democratic Party of Burma, the Shan Nationalities Democratic Party, and the Rakhine Nationalities Development Party, contested the 2010 general elections and gained parliamentary seats. In doing so, they became part of the state apparatus while it was still under junta rule. Public opposition groups were quick to criticize this move. A boycott movement emphasized the need to delegitimize what was clearly a fraudulent election. By contrast, Third Force groups heavily campaigned for and promoted participation in the 2010 election. Third Force informants acknowledged the fraudulence of the election, but saw it as an opportunity to de-isolate the regime and promote progressive figures in Naypyidaw. The aim of this chapter is to extract such reflection from members of the Third Force. This network does not have a body of literature devoted to it, as the networks in Chapter 2 did. Therefore, what follows is an attempt to construct a narrative of what the Third Force was to those who were part of it.

Profiling the Third Force Determining when the Third Force actually came into being is a difficult task. While it entered the spotlight during the 2010

50

three election, organizations and individuals had started their work long before. Cyclone Nargis in 2008 acted as an important event in the Third Force’s evolution. The disaster resulted in the expansion of INGO works, as well as an influx of formal NGOs, many being Third Force organizations. Few informants from the Third Force focused on Nargis as a major event in their evolution. A foreign member of the Third Force explained that this was probably because many Third Force organizations were established long before Nargis, namely Metta in 1996 and Myanmar Egress, the most talked-about of the Third Force organizations, in 2006. The ambiguous historical roots of the Third Force are in part related to its strategy, which used numerous faces. One face was public – this was the one Naypyidaw and all other observers saw. This public face was nonthreatening, even accommodating. The other face was masked. The masked face hid sensitive activities and oppositional intent that could be intensely Machiavellian. The Third Force may very well have its roots in a quiet but thriving civil society that was rediscovered after domestic civil society was thought to be dead throughout the mid to late 1990s. Thawnghmung (2011b: 18) criticizes the tendency to exclude what she describes as “quiet” forces of change, and speculates that this exclusion is “partly because they do not attract attention from the outside world and partly because many of them have resorted to a low key, non-adversarial approach to addressing their personal and collective needs.” During the field research, it was rare to find a community or village that did not have some kind of CBO or local organizer. An NGO representative from Yangon, who worked with rural CBOs throughout the country, explained:

the third force 51 The reality is that most local organizations here are not registered. They don’t have any big donors or advisory boards to answer to. They are not tied to any formal mandate. They know what they need and they know how to get it done. They make a deal with the local officials and they start working. You could look at this and say that it would be better if they were formalized. But this way they are flexible, and difficult to track. This way they don’t have to answer to anyone, and they’re hard to regulate.

This manifestation of civil society seemed to be everywhere. Studies suggest that it was. Heidel (2006)1 claimed that there were over 270 indigenous NGOs and 214,000 CBOs throughout military-ruled Myanmar. Before such studies, the prevailing assumption was, as the introduction states, that domestic civil society was still dead, because “civil society died under the Burma Socialist Programme Party (BSPP); perhaps, more accurately, it was murdered” (Steinberg 1999). However, in the early 2000s the international community detected signs of the living, active, and growing domestic civil society. The issue was not existence. Rather the issue was a failure to see and recognize. The dominant understanding of civil society has its flaws, as “many common definitions of civil society fall short … because many rely on exclusion criteria” (Itriago 2004). A liberated understanding of civil society in Myanmar allowed it to be rediscovered: [I]t is important to realise that a large number of these informal as well as formal local initiatives were not new and had already existed for decades, or in some cases even longer. In a sense, the existence of civil society in Burma was “rediscovered” by international NGOs and Westerners studying the topic. These local initiatives were not noticed earlier, partly because they did not

52

three fit standard Western criteria or definitions of what civil society looks like, and partly because these local organisations were selfsufficient and not looking for international financial and other support. (Kramer 2011: 11)

This departure from certain criteria or expectations made the Third Force, like the rest of the quiet civil society it seems to have come out of, hard to define and forecast. Profiling the Third Force is as challenging as locating its roots. First, sceptics question whether or not it was actually a “third” force. Critics argued that its networks were really just an extension of the junta and its cronies, working against the democracy movement. Zarni summarizes his feelings on the Third Force: “what this ‘civil society’ group really is – that is, a regime’s propaganda proxy with below-the-radar commercial, intelligence and familial ties to the generals – [has] been typically defensive and neo-Orientalist in character” (2012: 297–8). This type of speculation became less common in the face of tangible political changes in Myanmar. Even members and proponents of the Third Force struggled to describe what it was. Descriptions ranged from a local NGO network promoting education and development (Beech 2010), to pro-negotiation and reform-minded activists (Lall 2012), to the “new opposition parties” (Lall 2010), to reform-oriented technocrats and think tanks, to “anti-isolationist” elements of civil society, as one Third Force informant suggested. Any attempt to generalize the Third Force inevitably falls short. The size and diversity of the Third Force translated to vastly different activities and agendas. Moreover, the Third Force had no clear identity and therefore was not exclusive. I met everyday

the third force 53 citizens in Yangon who referred to themselves as members of the Third Force, despite lacking any organizational ties. To some, the Third Force was more about strategy than formal networks. It was the belief that citizens and communities could navigate and manipulate officials and the system itself to create opportunities and substantial shifts in the socio-economic and political climate. There was a common schema at play that I try to frame as reconstructive politics. Others emphasized the alignment aspect, implying that the Third Force’s defining feature was its non-alignment. A relevant profiling came from Metro (2011: 11): Besides differences in education and self-perception, I also noticed variations in political tactics between older exiled democracy activists, and the new generation inside the country who made up what some called a “third force” between the regime and the opposition. In contrast to my friends on the border, many of whom had spent time in prison or in armed resistance movements, one young woman living in Rangoon explained her approach to political change to me this way: “I want to help my country. I don’t want to sacrifice my life for my country.” This attitude led her to a decision to participate in the [2010] election rather than protest against it.

Three young female teachers from Myanmar Egress offered a similar characterization when asked whether the Third Force should be seen as an oppositional force, or something else. Their response was revealing: “We’re definitely not the same kind of opposition as the NLD. But if you say that we’re not part of the opposition then you’re saying that our work is favouring the military.” Another teacher added: “Yeah, I wouldn’t say that I’m part of the opposition because everyone would think that I’m in the

54

three democracy movement. But I’m working to make the people stronger. I want to make the people stronger than the military. I’m definitely working against the military, just in a different way.”

The pathway: reconstructive politics The aim of reconstructive politics is to create change by literally creating new space, relationships, and opportunities. This was the pathway of the Third Force. Creation through engagement, persuasion, negotiation and disorientation was the calling card of Third Force action. Reconstructive politics involves a process of reconstruction, a process of reshaping that which already exists, or building from scratch. Reconstruction of this kind is often non-threatening and can be halted and adapted as needed, because reconstruction does not require contention, claims, or non-compliance. Rather, space and opportunities emerge when working with and around state officials. The reconstructive politics blueprint is something of an antithesis of contentious politics. While contentious performers stand in opposition to a regime and deliver demands, Third Force practitioners attempt to change the system by engaging with it or quietly working around it. Using disorientation and persuasion the Third Force and others who employed reconstructive politics throughout Myanmar found ways to push the boundaries. It is in the how that the art of reconstructive politics lies. Reconstructive efforts blended in with business as usual, as everyday efforts to make life a little bit better. They manifested as engaging, forging relations, brokering, making deals, figuring out what was possible and going to work. It was in the ability of locals to organize themselves and find a win-win scenario, even when they had minimal materials to offer, and drive through initiatives that

the third force 55 made the Third Force’s collective contribution immeasurable. A community organizer in Sagaing Division described himself and others doing similar work as the “work horses” of the movement. Prasse-Freeman (2012d) captures this sentiment, while also emphasizing the savvy of these community organizers: Indeed, a remarkably robust and powerful set of citizens, selforganized into groups outside of the state, has performed the necessary heavy lifting that has enabled society’s survival under a capricious and abusive military government. Many observers may have missed this because these groups have flown under the radar. Their genius under the regime was to deliver services, subvert abusive policies, and mobilize local resources, all the while steering clear of anything that could be construed as politically threatening.

Third Forcers used disorientation and persuasion, working with and around state officials, to provide, protect and challenge the boundaries when chances arose. They were reconstructing the status quo, even if only by creating orbits of protection and welfare that were previously absent. They worked quietly and constantly, building brick by brick. This was not a glamorous struggle, but it was one anyone could engage in when opportunities arose. Community organizers, NGO practitioners, intelligentsia and state officials alike turned to reconstructive politics. Because there is no outright challenge to the state, those within the system could work to reconstruct it. Perhaps unsurprisingly, these tactics were a source of controversy in and around Myanmar. Critics have bases. Third Force networks and others committing to reconstructive politics avoid contention and claims. Instead they comply, cooperate,

56

three participate, or avoid. When engaging officials that are part of a predatory system; dilemmas arise: “brokering often involves bribery and some type of compliance with oppressive authority. On the other hand, brokerage could be seen as an innovative way to realize rights in the face of even the worst oppression” (Mullen 2013b). The trickery is purposeful. It is part of the reconstructive politics blueprint. Reconstructive politics is not a channel to a Nobel Prize. It was, however, a means of creating change under and within a military dictatorship. A dynamic toolbox made it possible for reconstructors to create space, opportunities and ultimately change under a regime that sought maximum control. Techniques in the toolbox include calculated compliance, negotiation, relationship building, concealed capacity building, avoidance and bribery. Calculated compliance: To survive, the people of Myanmar had to decide when and how to comply. False compliance, an everyday resistance technique wherein an individual appears to be complying when they are actually not, which will be looked at in the next chapter, was one approach. Individuals regularly used false compliance, but they also fully and actually complied frequently. Informants explained that this compliance was strategic; it was a way of both avoiding punishment and gaining something. Compliance could disorient officials. It could distract attention away from change-seeking behaviour. By actively complying at certain times individuals gained what a young lady in Karen State called “some free passes.” She explained: “It is about making life easier for everyone. We do what we’re told some of the time so we can do what we want most of the time. Soldiers will make your life easier if you make their life easier.” One soldier, a low-ranking officer who was on his way home

the third force 57 from his station in Rakhine State, spoke to this same notion: “If people cooperate with me, I cooperate with them.” Informants explained how they weighed the risks and benefits of compliance. Compliance on rent payment and community reporting was common, but individuals may evade more intense experiences like forced labour and forced relocation at all costs. In other words, if a village has ambitions to start a local project or hold an event that would challenge Naypyidaw’s rules, they may report when they are told to report and pay certain taxes and then refer back to this compliance when engaging officials to broker. Calculated compliance could minimize tensions, leading to more space to act. In non-hostile environments, this trade-off of compliance for free passes occasionally took place as actual transactions. This is where calculated compliance intersected with negotiation and bribery. The game of compliance was one that could lead to a range of opportunities and benefits. Civilians were not the only people in Myanmar using calculated compliance. State officials fulfilled at least some orders and duties to avoid suspicion or scrutiny from above. Following regulations when superiors were watching could gain subordinates the freedom to operate without constant surveillance from above. Soldiers, police and civilians all spoke of the same logic; compliance could be traded for freedoms and favors. With years of practice, people found the minimum effective dosage. This was a game that had direct benefits. It was also, however, a game often deprecated in dominant discourses. Negotiation: Opportunities were not offered in Myanmar; citizens had to negotiate for them. People gave something to gain something. Community leaders, elders and other persons of influence could use their social roles and resources as collateral. As a

58

three young man in Yangon who was a leader in his church explained: “The officials want to be respected. They know that an easy way to get support is through getting approval from the most active people in the community.” The value of respect and recognition made it possible for the poorest of communities to bargain. A young man in Sagaing Division wanted to start a number of projects including a local school, a farm, and income-generating activities. He had already made a funding deal with a tourist he had met, but he needed approval from the local officials. His offer was to give the officials credit for any achievements, if they would allow him to start the projects. A year later, the local authorities hosted a number of ranking officials to show off their successes, taking full credit for the school, garden and shops the community had built. Though it was an unjust arrangement, by positioning the activities as a win-win situation the community was able to transform the local status quo. Relationship building: “Everything comes down to who you know. The rules really mean nothing here if you have the right friends. I know many officials in Mon and Karen State, so we can do almost anything you want.” This statement from a taxi driver in Mon State was echoed in many forms. Redefining state–citizen relations at the individual, local level was an important first step in forging change. For some, creating good relations with the authorities was the ultimate end. By shifting the priorities and allegiances of state officials, the people could effectively rob Naypyidaw of its agents. The result would be a fingerless state, echoing the political science meme of governance that is all thumbs. Furthermore, state officials had the ability to grant privileges and favors in defiance of the state. A young man in Bago captured the malleability of state–citizen dynamics: “It’s good if they don’t

the third force 59 bother you. It’s good if you don’t have to ask them for permission. But you can do even better. You can get them to work for you.” Even in the most hostile environments, mutually beneficial relationships were possible. Communities were experts in how to approach these local relationships. Depending on the situation, a community may put forward a community leader, an elderly person, a charismatic or comical person, an attractive man or woman, the most threatening figure in the community, whoever could tap into the apparent weaknesses or interests of the authorities. Creating mutually beneficial, or at least mutually tolerant, relations had many benefits in terms of gaining favors and opportunities. A villager in rural Karen State, who was involved in black market trading of goods from Thailand, said: “We hate everything they [the local authorities] represent, and they definitely don’t like Karen people. But we are both hurting, we [both parties] don’t like the way things are right now. We know that we need to work together, even if we don’t want to.” His ability to work with the authorities made it possible for his operations to continue. Many informants spoke of mutual hurt when talking about mutual benefit. Hurt was a basis or bond for personal relationships. In particular, shared suffering seemed to make for a complex bond between citizens and low-ranking soldiers. Whatever the bases, personal relationships enabled citizens to manage space or even motivate officials to participate in change. Masked capacity building: The regime attempted to determine who had access to what. Those who were not a part of the regime’s scheme were marginalized, barred from access to social, political, and economic opportunities. Poverty, lack of education, insecurity, and segregation were symptoms of dictatorial rule. In this environment, an income, an education, and social

60

three ties transformed one’s power and status. Financial stability and knowledge, in particular, made people more self-reliant and capable of undermining the system. Accordingly, organizers worked to mobilize resources, information, education and social ties for their communities. An older man, who ran a medical clinic in Mandalay, commented: “If a community can teach itself and feed itself, they become more powerful than the authorities. This can be bad because the authorities may try to take the money and information away. But most of the time officials just want in on the deal.” Delivering political and social ideas and skills was no easy task. Yet social and political savvy was a powerful counterweight to the brute force of the military state. Information and ideas countered the junta’s indoctrination attempts. Rather than protest for their right to teach or train on sociopolitical issues, individuals would conceal or disguise their exercises. Capacity building activities could be hidden below ground, as they frequently were by activist groups, or they could be disguised above ground. One of the most popular vehicles for capacity building was reading clubs. College students would gather their friends and communities and someone would lead the discussion. These were pitched as book clubs and were often informal enough to avoid any serious scrutiny. Those activities aimed at reaching a critical mass tended to be more organized and formal. To operate openly and formally, larger, more public Third Force organizations dressed their training sessions as apolitical capacity building efforts. A Third Force respondent explained: “They [the junta] are only listening for those key words; those words that trip the alarm. They aren’t worried about what you teach or what you do. They focus on what you call it. Third Force trainings about

the third force 61 development, communication or other safe topics are packed with controversial lessons.” The task was to make politically and socially motivated activities appear non-threatening. Third Force organizations were adept at this. Their training topics had to gain approval from what was called a “clumsy” state review board. The curriculum and class discussions were not to delve into sensitive subjects, namely human rights, democracy, or politics. Circumventing this was often a simple matter of changing the terminology. In Karen State, a young lady used her English lessons to distribute what were then illegal ideas. She read about human rights and conjured ways to integrate those ideas into her class: “Like the word equal, I would spend thirty minutes talking about freedom and rights, without using those words. Sometimes local officials monitor my classes, but they never catch what I’m doing.” Individuals would simply replace trigger words – for instance, rights – with another word – for instance, development. A group of students in Yangon became so good at navigating sensitive topics that they traveled from township to township offering training. They would invite communities and local authorities to speak about community struggles. One student from the group explained: “We resolve conflicts. We create new community projects. We try to explain what governing is supposed to look like. The officials don’t fight us on it, because they are part of it. They are thrilled because they are gaining something. They had no idea we were teaching everyone about human rights and peace.” Third Force networks saw capacity building as something with immense political capital. Capacity was seen as a catalyst for change. This was as much about gaining leverage over officials

62

three and the state as it was about injecting new ideas into communities. A woman in Bago Division spoke of an elusive but real shift in power: “They have the guns. They will always have the guns. So we have to gain something they can’t. I can’t explain how it all works. Each situation is different. But what I can say is that if the soldier wants something, they have to come ask the people because they don’t know how to get it on their own.” Citizens could gain knowledge, networks and skills that officials often lacked and wanted. A woman in Kachin State put that logic into a broader context: “When the people can better help themselves, they can better help each other. Then the people won’t need the government. And soon the people will see that they have more power than the government.” There was a vision behind capacity building that was Machiavellian to the core; it was about getting leverage. Avoidance: “The people who can get away with the most are the people who aren’t fazed by the obstacles. It’s like watching Ronaldo dribble through a crowd. It is really an art,” a retired medical doctor in Yangon declared. Without sidestepping some aspects of the state, individuals would have been paralyzed. Even individuals who enjoyed relatively many liberties and opportunities had to navigate oppressive forces. An understanding of which obstacles could be conquered and which to avoid was built over years of experience and knowledge sharing. Navigation could follow many trajectories. In some cases, people tried to create new opportunities and space by avoiding the state completely. Their bad experiences led them to conclude that working with the state was futile. On a train to Mandalay, a middle-aged woman of observable affluence noted:

the third force 63 The best option is to stay away from the government. If you fight them or play with them, you will lose. I think of the government as a snake. It will never stop me from doing what I want, and I have no reason to touch it. I just stay out of its reach. I have some businesses and projects. I trade radios and satellites. I loan people money and find things people want. I don’t ask permission to do any of this, I just do it. Most of these young government people are too scared to say anything.

Patience was not always a virtue in military-led Myanmar. While select informants spoke of how waging a war of attrition in exchanges with the authorities could be very effective as officials would get bored or face increasing scrutiny from their colleagues and, thus, give in, others saw it easiest to create space by simply sidestepping exchanges. In this sense, avoidance was about being able to act now. This refusal to wait was a trait that many in the Third Force saw as virtuous. Bribery: Bribery takes all parties into precarious moral territory. Malseed notes that citizens “bribe officers and civil servants, undermining their authority” (2009: 13). This research found bribery as part of delegitimation, which is an end that will come into focus in the next chapter in the context of everyday resistance, as well as part of creation. This latter thrust of bribery was strategic, part of a broader blueprint. Individuals knew that bribery was frowned upon internationally, but were emphatic about the power of bribery locally. In a situation where local officials possessed loose and fragile allegiances to Naypyidaw, space, opportunities and officials were all for sale. A young man in Mandalay, who had worked in the UAE, summarized: “The world talks about feeding the regime, but the military leaders are terrified of bribery. They know

64

three that if the young officials are offered a bribe for a favor, they will do it.” Some informants appeared hesitant to talk about bribery, others were forthcoming and unapologetic. For some, bribery was a legitimate tool. A village head in rural Shan State said: “Bribery can get anything done. It can keep the government away and it can get you anything you want.” At a table full of taxi drivers in a Yangon pub, an older man declared: “sure, I pay bribes. You would too. It’s pretty damn simple. If you want to get something done, you have to make the payment. If you don’t bribe, you can’t get anything done … then what good are you doing.” Bribery could get immediate favors, but it could also be part of broader, sustained efforts. A business owner in Mandalay explained this notion: “You have to bribe them at first, but then you have a partnership. They stand to make money from you. Now they are working for you instead of the government.” KHRG presents a relevant story of a female village head who used bribery and flattery to negotiate with a Democratic Karen Buddhist Army (DKBA) commander. The village head took around four pounds of goat and chicken to discuss village concerns with the commander. Before offering the meat, “the head of M— village immediately greeted the commander, praised his character and thanked him for bringing security to the village. After this flattering introduction, the commander’s anger appeared to subside and he smiled back at the villagers” (KHRG 2009: 3). The story concludes with the commander accepting the goat and chicken meat and fulfilling some of the requests of the village head the following day. Even in the absence of extensive resources, people found ways to reconstruct the situation around them.

the third force 65 Constructing reconstructive politics An older man from Tanintharyi Division stated: “The only way to find your way is to try something new. If it works, try it again, and try something similar. If it fails, try something else. It does not take long before you know what will and won’t work.” Third Force networks and others using reconstructive politics in Myanmar forged new ways to transform the situation around them without external guidance or inspiration. This is a pathway that grew organically, through trial and error. A man from Rakhine State who worked for a Third Force NGO in Yangon explained: “People know their communities and local politics. They know what will get you killed and what will get you help. No matter how much outsiders try, they will never understand why a person can get killed for saying one thing and rewarded for saying another thing.” This quote reveals the notion that each locale was unique and required distinct navigation skills. In each locale, there were unique entry points and pitfalls. Accordingly, those engaging in reconstructive politics had to be constantly prepared for new obstacles and opportunities. Human resiliency, adaptation and strategizing were on full display when reconstructive politics came to fruition in militaryruled Myanmar. In this sense, reconstructive politics is definitively fluid. Reconstructive politics was not a pathway to immediate regime change. At the same time, many reconstructors dismissed the “one step at a time” attitude normatively associated with reformists. Prasse-Freeman notes that reformers who think that reform is an end “will forever be reacting to government backsliding, rather than proactively pushing their own vision” (2012a). Informants with Third Force ties took pride in small, tangible victories, but

66

three many articulated a vision of change that was revolutionary. They saw revolutionary potential in local and sequential changes. A cross-border relief worker based in Chiang Mai presented a similar view of micro and macro changes in Myanmar: “When I hear stories of local villages challenging officials without being punished, I realize that serious change has occurred. This reflects a huge step forward for the political identity of everyone involved. This huge step was really a bunch of small steps that headed in the same direction.” Reconstructive politics grew organically, but international actors had an important role. In order to start up projects, reconstructors needed new resources and information, which were hard to access in military-ruled Myanmar. Many of these resources, whether money, materials, information or technical assistance, came from abroad. Cross-border aid and development organizations helped to mobilize a range of reconstructive efforts. Migrant workers had a massive impact on local status quos through their remittances. As forthcoming sections and chapters will discuss, numerous informants credited remittances, money being sent back to Myanmar from people working abroad, as “the” force multiplier behind change in Myanmar. It was the ability to leverage any and all opportunities, such as international and intercommunity connections, which allowed those working locally to continuously create and reconstruct.

Engaging a malleable system We usually associate the term [dictatorship] with the notion of a small group of people who take over the government of a given country by force; their power is wielded openly, using the direct instruments of power at their disposal, and they are easily

four | Everyday resistance

People bribe officers and civil servants, undermining their authority. Civil servants drag their feet; even the junta’s propaganda writers pen statements and stories so outlandish that they are patently unbelievable. State news reports of infrastructure projects celebrate the “voluntary contribution of labour” by tens of thousands (with exact numbers given) of farmers, which provides activists with detailed statistics on forced labour. The text of pro-democracy pamphlets is reprinted in state media in articles condemning them as “subversive”. It is difficult not to smell subversion in all of this. (Malseed 2009: 13)

Many pathways to change went unseen, unless they were sought. Smiles, handshakes, salutes, complacency, and compliance hid subversion. Every day, every hour, and in every corner of the country people sought ways to undermine the system, even if only symbolically. In culmination, these efforts were transformative. They were disruptive and erosive in and of themselves. In allowing the populace to express their disapproval and cope with frustrations on a daily basis, everyday resistance was also enabling in efforts that went beyond subversion. As the next chapter will discuss, there is debate as to whether to even consider everyday resistance “real” resistance, much less transformative. But considering the magnitude of subversion constantly under way in

76

four junta-ruled Myanmar, and placing everyday resistance as part of a broader struggle for change, this pathway was not only meaningful but foundational. Everyday resistance was foundational in that it neutralized attempts to dominate and made it possible for the struggle, for pursuits of change, to endure. Everyday resistance allowed people to constantly push back and sustain their struggle. It was a pathway in and of itself, because this type of action affects relations and the system itself. Everyday resistance made the imposition of tyranny an exhausting exercise. It was constant, lurking, everywhere. In this sense, everyday resistance made the struggle for change in military-ruled Myanmar exhausting for those governing and sustainable for those defying.

Weapons of the weak in military-ruled Myanmar Weapons of the weak were by all indications the weapons of choice under the junta’s rule. When Scott summarizes the everyday resistance techniques that he termed “weapons of the weak,” he describes them as relatively safe “self-help” (1985: 1) weapons of “first resort” (1989: 34). Weapons of the Weak is the title of Scott’s book that set out to explain why obviously exploited peasants chose not to engage in open revolt as one might expect them to. While the term “weak” denotes significant power disparities between the oppressor and the resister, the term “weapons” highlights the potency of the techniques. After spending fourteen months in the small Malaysian village of Sedaka, Scott concluded that peasants used disguised techniques to both symbolically and pragmatically undermine the people and structures exploiting them. These weapons allow people to accomplish oppositional ends without calling attention to themselves. The list Scott provides includes “foot dragging, dissimulation, false compli-

everyday resistance 77 ance, feigned ignorance, desertion, pilfering, smuggling, poaching, arson, slander, sabotage, surreptitious assault and murder, anonymous threats, and so on” (1989: 5). There is some sort of consciousness present around this action, but it is fluid. Resistance blends in with everyday life. When people in military-ruled Myanmar spoke about everyday resistance they often implied instinctive efforts. People simply found ways to make resistance part of their daily routines. Everyday forms of resistance are subversive as well as a method of accomplishing “political, economic, and social goals” (Henry 2011: 149). The fundamental purpose is to apply pressure and probe “for the weak points in the defenses of antagonists, and testing the limits of resistance” (Scott 1989: 58). These weapons were often a starting point for more ambitious action. A number of techniques were common and straightforward. False compliance could be seen everywhere. Taxi drivers and businesses would turn away or sabotage state officials, when they could. Villagers told one another of incoming officials and planned accordingly. For a community in Chin State, visiting officials meant it was time to let the dog off his or her chain. Individuals took any chance to trick and evade the state, keeping as much distance from the regime as possible. Citizens did whatever they could to slow down operations at state work sites, working slowly and sloppily. Even things like posture, looks, and standing or sitting closer together could send warning messages to officials. Other everyday forms of resistance were more complex, requiring an understanding of the system and its local functioning. Divestment: Citizens could subvert the state by not investing in it, opting instead to deal with shadow markets and local entrepreneurs. Complicating things, many state or crony businesses

78

four offered cheaper services and goods. A person wanting to make a call could choose between the state phone service, which cost about three cents per minute, or the private street phone, which cost about seven cents a minute (as of Fall 2011). State-subsidized taxis were both newer and cheaper, but individuals chose the privately owned cars. Car and truck owners would stop at makeshift stands by the road or in front of houses, and citizens would come out with bottles of fuel. Even when it came to instant coffee and alcohol, individuals bought either a private or a Thai brand whenever they could. The vast shadow market became a field of resistance where individuals could evade the state. Bus and taxi drivers were quite literally the vehicles of shadow markets. They would transport people, resources and opportunities around the junta’s reach. Their function in Myanmar mirrored dynamics described in Sopranzetti’s work (2014). Investigating the role of motorcycle taxis’ in different Bangkok protests he concludes that motor-taxi drivers held “multiple roles, both as transport operators and as political mobilizers” (ibid.: 120). Taxi drivers in military-ruled Myanmar could mobilize opportunities, making them literal vehicles of change. Locals knew how to work these shadow markets. Citizens were aware of who stood to benefit from their purchases. They were careful not to invest in crony enterprises and knew how to divest. Education: Public education was an indoctrination tool for the junta. The curriculum was both pro-Burmese and pro-military. Classrooms were run like boot camps. Ethnic groups were not to teach in their own language or teach about their unique histories. However, private teachers and select public teachers throughout the country taught their own curricula, using their own pedagogy in whatever language they sought to promote. This was a way of

everyday resistance 79 preserving and promoting local languages and local histories. It was also a swipe back at the regime’s vision. Rogue classrooms taught students why and how to question authority. CSO schools became sites of political training where ideas and techniques were imparted. In both formal and everyday ways, education was a means of pushing back and mobilizing. Threats and murder: A number of individuals told of how they had threatened or killed local officials. They were not doing so as part of an armed group, but as citizens living alongside the authorities. Two of these stories stood out. A young woman on the outskirts of Yangon said: “When a new official arrives I tell them that all of the houses will come to fight if they harm any of us.” Whether she could deliver on such a threat or not, the official had to reckon with the absence of fear and the willingness to impart violence. A taxi driver in Mandalay kept a loaded gun under his seat with specific targets in mind: “If I am in a bad situation, I will kill them before they kill me. I have shot at one soldier in the countryside. I don’t know what happened to him.” Soldiers and officials certainly did not have a monopoly on the ability to inflict harm in military-ruled Myanmar. With power in numbers and fortitude being a way of life, civilian populations would show the authorities glimpses of prowess as a reminder of what could happen. Sabotage: Sabotage was a common but high-risk technique. A cook from Kachin State would undercook or use bad ingredients when preparing meals for state officials. “They would be in the bathroom for days,” he boasted. Numerous people spoke of popping the tires of state vehicles. Sabotage anecdotes circulated widely. Often these were second-hand stories of valor, such as placing bombs near state buildings, setting fire to military

80

four outposts, attempting to destroy government supply routes, drugging or poisoning officials, siphoning fuel from state vehicles, and painting graffiti on government buildings and propaganda signs. Such attempts to destroy or defame that which belonged to the junta could result in beatings, imprisonment or worse. For some, sabotage was worth the risk. Evading taxation: By underpaying or avoiding taxes, individuals could minimize the flow of money to Naypyidaw. This was done by misreporting – for instance, lying about profits or income. Informants would lie about having already paid their taxes or claim they had no money to pay. At outposts, drivers would simply drive through barricades run by young men and women, slap the open hand of the gatekeepers, or throw small bills on the ground while driving off. Another means of tax evasion was bribery. Bribing local officials was often seen as a preferable alternative to paying full state tax. These bribes would take on a new significance when they were offered to gain permission for dissenting activities. People were well aware that their tax kyat was being funneled straight to the regime. An interesting question is whether attitudes towards taxation and bribery will change with the transition to NLD leadership and what will hopefully be a functioning state. Insubordination: As the last chapter points out, it was common to find a broken chain of command in military-ruled Myanmar. Local authorities would ignore orders, often allowing locals to engage in “illegal” activities, such as meetings, projects, and celebrations. Higher ranks would not pass orders down. Lower ranks would lie about carrying out orders. Soldiers abandoned their posts for days at a time. Projects that could be completed in days would drag on for months. Authorities assisted in smuggling

everyday resistance 81 people and drugs. Substance abuse was said to be as common among officials as it was among citizens. State officials spoke of leaking sensitive or classified information. Like citizens, state officials would put on a mask for Naypyidaw and follow their own agenda on a daily basis. Misreporting and stocking resources: Villagers, in particular, sought to conceal as many commodities and animals as possible from the extraction-obsessed state. Gems and gold were taken from government mines and sold in the shadow market. Certainly, there were kickbacks. But paying off a local official was cheaper and for personal reasons preferable to formal reporting. Those undertaking the extraction would pocket or intercept whatever they could. In Kachin and Shan States, numerous individuals told of illegal citizen mining occurring alongside the government sites. The absence of supervision or regulation was obvious on one such site observed in Kachin State. This made for a dangerous mine and setting, as a vertical wall with no grading or reinforcement could have come down on scores of miners at any second. The living environment was unpredictable. But it also allowed the possibility of making money without having to pay rent or tax to the military. Private extraction of teak, metals and gems led to large flows of money around the regime. Farmers all over the country similarly hid stocks of pigs, chickens and anything of value on their land when they could. In different business sectors people would lie about the number of customers they had, and their revenue. Numerous business owners cited the biggest challenge as finding ways to store piles of money and goods. Whether rich or poor, individuals would falsify their books and answer for only a fraction of their yields. When necessary, they would make side deals with local

82

four authorities. A chicken hidden from Naypyidaw may seem minor, but in many villages that chicken had serious value both as food and as a bargaining instrument. The hidden transcript: Forceful critiques, insults and expressions of frustration could be heard out of the regime’s earshot. Through this dialogue the subordinate group could mock the dominant group, as Scott (1990) describes. Informants spoke of this transcript as more than a platform where people could mock the generals. While people would sit around and discuss the ridiculousness of the state, they would also share ideas about resistance. At tea shop tables, stories would pass about how they subverted and manipulated local officials. They spoke of their victories and failures. Between the laughter, lessons and strategies were being spread. Blogging and the media: New methods and mediums of everyday resistance were possible because of technology. A common one was the anonymous oppositional blogger. Politics and social struggles were broadcast to the world under pseudonymous names. This weapon was exclusive, as were media channels. Myint Zaw (2005) presents a study of privately owned print media, illustrating how public and private media outlets wrote between the lines to get past the censorship board, used book reviews to disseminate political and social perspectives, and otherwise sneaked through progressive or controversial material. Placement and presentation were key. The regime set aside space for propaganda, the so-called “policy pages.” While this was unavoidable, as all print had to pass the state’s review board, media outlets could marginalize this content by placing it in awkward places and using low-quality or black and white print. In other words, these outlets found numerous ways to maximize the

everyday resistance 83 quality of “alternative views on political ideas, concepts and perspectives,” leaving “no space” for the regime’s input (ibid.: 59). The use of media and blogging to subvert Naypyidaw is proof positive that people sought any and all opportunities to exercise their political muscles. The cumulative impact of these continuous efforts was immeasurable. Even if their impact is unquantifiable, it is not hard to imagine how these weapons were obstructing and undermining the functioning of the state.

Successful coping Indomitability, as a condition that enables everyday resistance and the pursuit of change more broadly, requires successful coping. Life under the junta was a marathon of frustration. Fatigue and paranoia were widespread, but so too was happiness. The refusal to live the sad, angry, or fearful lives on offer from the junta was a first line of defense. This was a decision. A woman on a river boat in Kachin State said: “I refuse to let the military make me miserable. If I am constantly angry or sad, I am giving my life over to them. I won’t give them that satisfaction.” Over coffee in her house, a middle-aged woman in Yangon went farther: Just like everybody else, we don’t want to feel different or desperate. We know things aren’t normal here. But we don’t want to feel different or be treated differently just because we have a bad government. We have to remind ourselves that we are in control. We have to do things we would do if we lived in any other place. So we go to the market or temple. We enjoy friends and family. We don’t sit around and talk about politics all day. I don’t know why people think we are all interested in politics. We talk about family, and work, and money. The men talk about football, and the women talk about how lazy the men are.

84

four Numerous informants argued that indomitability, even survival, was in and of itself resistance. Voravit Suwanvanichkij (semi-structured interview),1 who has done extensive work on both sides of the Thai–Burma border, proclaimed: “in a juntarun Burma, simply surviving is absolutely a form of resistance.” Ashley South (semi-structured interview)2 took a different position, questioning the resistance as an everything, everywhere schema, noting that “it’s unclear when farming is resistance, and when farming is just farming.” Resistance or not, the pursuit of normalcy was certainly a display of indomitability. This is not to brush aside the danger of trivializing resistance as every activity undertaken under repressive conditions. The research found that it is not enough to look at an action and say that is or is not resistance. Rather resistance action requires a certain mindset and conditions. Not all farming is resistance. But farming that directly challenges directives from officials or occurs as part of broader efforts to undermine the status quo should absolutely be seen as resistance. In other words, when farming feeds resistance it is absolutely part of the resistance equation. Beyond farming, people pursued and held on to a satisfaction in self, family and community, allowing them to pursue change when the time was right. Trivializing the action that makes resistance and change possible produces a narrow understanding of how change behavior comes to fruition. Young men and women whose jobs were mentally and physically exhausting came together at the end of the day to play sports, chat, drink, dance, and spend time with their family. These moments were theirs. People put their energies into enjoyable everyday activities: debate about the fate of their favorite English

everyday resistance 85 Premiership teams; scheduled stops at their favorite tea, food and whiskey shops; complaints about kids in cities spending too much time in internet cafés; debates about religion; conversations about movies; weekly gatherings at temples, churches, mosques or markets; village gatherings for birthdays, holidays and harvests; and complaints about the weather. Thoughts and time were devoted to those aspects of life that provided satisfaction and a sense of normalcy. Normalcy did not just come to individuals, it had to be worked for. By repeating their daily routines, pursuing hobbies and interests, individuals took ownership over their existence under a fearmongering regime. Managing emotions was the first step. In a Mon State temple, a women stated: “As long as we can laugh and enjoy our friends and family, we know that our life is our own.” To assert a sense of calm was to exercise control over the situation and system. A young woman in Mandalay, who had worked for two years in Qatar, spoke of how checking emotions was, to her, a natural, subconscious exercise: “You change your way of thinking. You don’t complain about the situation. You laugh about it, and then you find a way to change it. You have to be happy. This is how you free yourself and then you know what to do.” Similarly, a taxi driver in Bago saw this tradeoff as a natural impulse: “Of course we don’t like the government, but we have other things to live for. I feed my family and stay healthy so that I can always provide for them. Risking your family for politics just doesn’t make sense.” Unfortunately, asserting normalcy and happiness often meant tolerating some level of oppression: “In any established system of domination, it is not just a question of masking one’s feelings and producing the correct speech acts and gestures in their

86

four place. Rather, it is often a question of … suppressing a [natural impulse for] violent rage in the interest of oneself of oneself and loved ones” (Scott 1992: 63). If an individual were to act on their outrage, punishment was sure to follow. While this willful silence had value in military-ruled Myanmar, it can be difficult to see this sacrifice and the utility of silence outside the context, as the next chapter will discuss. Asserting a relatively normal, happy life did not indicate an acceptance of fate. A young female teacher in Yangon said: “Just because I’m happy doesn’t mean I approve of the way things are here. There is a lot that I want to change. There’s a lot that I will try to change in my life, but I refuse to be unhappy in the process.” Happiness and normalcy were not indications of apathy. This was a main point of discussion with a college student on a bus near Mandalay: I always hear about foreigners being amazed at how happy and calm the people in Burma are. I think they come here expecting to see miserable people, because when they think about living in a run-down place controlled by a military they can’t understand how anyone could be happy. But, when this is your life, when you can’t just pack up and leave, you have to decide if you want to enjoy your life or be angry. And the military wants to break us down, because they want to control us. The people here know that. They know that they should be angry and miserable, but we won’t give in to that. If the generals change how we feel, then they win.

These perspectives rebut what a young internet shop worker in Kachin State described as a “fight or hide” understanding of military-ruled Myanmar. This is where one can see how the control and contention binary forecloses on the full picture and leaves

everyday resistance 87 observers unaware of other change action that may be under way. On this point, an INGO worker from Shan State captured a sentiment commonly communicated by respondents: When everything focuses on the generals and the activists you miss everything else. You get the wrong impression that life is a 24/7 struggle between people who want democracy and people who support the dictatorship. You don’t see that there are a lot of good people in the government. You don’t see that most people see protest as counterproductive. You don’t see that ordinary people have found ways to beat the system.

Not all saw protest as counterproductive. But the point of emphasis for everyday resistance is the notion that it takes a particular lens to see such subtle, everyday opportunities and action. Seeing this realm of struggle requires a liberation from overly formal and restrictive notions of what challenges to oppression look like. Assessments of a dictatorial situation that dismiss or overlook everyday coping, resiliency and resistance can lend to harmful conclusions. Beyond the possibility of seeing a population as apathetic that is anything but, there is the possibility of seeing people who are constantly searching for footholds as part of the problem. Relevantly, a US-based researcher (semistructured interview) who worked in and monitored North Korea for decades drew a parallel: I think it’s important to be honest about the positive side of life in North Korea. We are all more than familiar with the negative side. But, when all that we see is misery, we start seeing North Koreans as something other than human. Then we’re willing to treat them differently. I always promote Barbara Demick’s book [2009, subtitled Ordinary Lives in North Korea], because it

88

four shows that, yes, there are many terrible aspects of life in North Korea, but it also presents anecdotes of people enjoying their lives; enjoying their family and friends.

Capturing the indomitability of populations under dictatorships does not downplay the suffering being endured. Rather, stories of indomitability reveal resilience and agency. Tagliacozzo and Chang (2014) present a range of in-depth narratives which illustrate the many complexities and challenges that ordinary citizens in Myanmar faced every day. There were traps and barriers to indomitability at every turn. One notable pitfall was ensuring that coping did not descend into addiction and involvement with criminal networks. Successful coping mechanisms, specifically psychological coping, enabled individuals to remain calculated and vigilant. When coping mechanisms broke down, oppression could overwhelm. South et al. argue that in the context of junta-ruled Myanmar coping mechanisms were more accurately “self-protection” measures (2010: 6). The term “self-protection” may better capture the overlap between coping and survival. In the field, two means of self-protection or coping stood out: religion and intoxication. Many individuals turned to religion to give injustices some type of perspective. Yan Min Aung (semi-structured interview)3 spoke of the temple as a site of coping: “In Burma people go to the temple to re-establish freedom, which in the Buddhist worldview means freeing oneself from fear, hatred, anger, jealousy and greed.” The temple is, thus, a place to neutralize anger and frustration, where people regain a sense of control over their surroundings. Yan Min Aung referred to the Mass Lay Meditation Movement of the 1960s and 1970s, when individuals flocked to

everyday resistance 89 mediation centers, as an example of organized, effective coping. This movement highlighted the role of the temple as a rallying point where people could escape, recover, and re-energize. Churches, mosques and other religious sites acted as similar locations of psychological or spiritual rejuvenation. Beyond healing, spiritual sites and rituals were mediums through which a certain moral and social authority could reassert itself. Writing about the Burma Lay Meditation Movement, Jordt (2007: 196–7) states: The sangha always holds the moral high ground, and the king must justify his power and rule in terms of the sangha or a sect within it if he is to maintain control over the population. Therefore, sangha, state, and laity can best be viewed as a ternary order in which each has some power in keeping the others in check by invoking purification as the outside condition of ultimate moral force. The king’s will to power is always constrained not by a social contract between the state and civil society but by a moral causal law that sustains that power according to two principles: the continued production of meritorious actions for purposes of sustaining the king’s merit stores (in other words, present actions and mental intentions creating the continuation of power) and the kammic relation between the ana-bain (the owner of power) and those under his ultimate sovereignty.

At a very different site of coping, a whiskey stand in Sagaing Division, a man noted: “Nobody parties like Burma. We really know how to celebrate.” He was right. At the same time, it was often difficult to decipher between partying, numbing, and addiction. The temporary numbing and mental liberation associated with drugs and alcohol attract people all over the world. Coping via intoxication can be liberating and constructive. But there were some unique elements to intoxication in Myanmar that made it

90

four arguably more volatile. One was the constant weight of oppression that could add a nihilistic push down paths of violence and addiction. During a conversation with a local horse and buggy driver in Bagan, a colleague of his began brutally hitting his horse with a piece of wood. This type of scene took place numerous times in different forms during the field research. After the man was told to leave, the colleague I was sitting with reflected on the spectacle: “He is frustrated and drunk. If you have a couple of days with no business, you get into real trouble. Getting drunk is an easy way to feel better. What do you do, stand up for the horse? People don’t like to see this but we all know the feeling. We all go there sometimes.” In addition to added pressures, production and consumption routes to even the hardest drugs were easily accessible. At the end of 2010, Myanmar ranked as the world’s second-largest producer of opium poppy, with an estimated 1.2 million farmers involved in the production, 77 percent of whom grow it to pay for food, and the world’s largest producer of amphetamine-type stimulants (IRIN 2010). Nightlife in junta-ruled Yangon, Mandalay and elsewhere was intoxicated, unpredictable, and regularly violent. Free-for-all environments made for a constant threat of enjoyment downsliding to danger. In all, this was a situation where what started as a temporary escape could easily take an unfortunate turn. For everyday resistance and the struggle for change in general, emotional fortitude was the starting point.

Flexed political muscles at the extremities It seemed important to accept that the analysis in question should not concern itself with the regulated and legitimate forms of power in their central locations … and the contrary affect of

everyday resistance 91 these. On the contrary, it should be concerned with power at its extremities, in its ultimate destinations, with those points where it becomes capillary, that is, in its more regional and local forms and institutions … In other words, one should try to locate power at the extreme points of its exercise, where it is always less legal in character. (Foucault 1980: 96)

Seeing the power of everyday resistance requires a lens unbound from traditional top-down, elite-centric frames. Post-structuralist critical theorists propose a reimagination of power and politics to challenge the fallacy that is the “totalizing image of a central locus of power” (Contreras 2005: 25). Dominant discourses surrounding oppression and opposition often ideate power as emanating from a central source. Foucault came to term this sovereign power; those people or institutions that govern or control the masses. Granted, Foucault’s study of power had a focus on historical shifts in European governance. But as theory and paradigm, as a source of understanding, his observations have application. Much like a king emanating power from his throne, the regime in Naypyidaw sought a sovereign status, as the totalizing locus of power. If one accepts this concentration of power, meaningful action is that which confronts the regime directly. Contentious politics is meaningful because it can target directly the central locus of power. Everyday resistance does not reach the centre or the sovereign in the same way. But when accepting an alternative paradigm of power, everyday resistance becomes immensely relevant. Everyday resistance has meaning because power decentralizes. Power is ultimately defined or redefined in its local exercise. This is an ascending frame wherein power de-concentrates into power at the extremities. Power at the extremities is less tangible

92

four than sovereign power because it “is less legal in character” and manifests in local interactions and behavior (Foucault 1972: 545). Power takes the form of subjugation or lack thereof at the ultimate exercise or “ultimate destinations” of power (ibid.: 545). This is where the regime’s power is upheld or falls apart. Sovereign power is no longer a “uniform edifice” (ibid.: 544). Rather, power decentralizes and the question becomes how attitudes and actions change. Foucault advocates for a focus on power at the extremities because this is the “level of those continuous and uninterrupted processes which subject our bodies, govern our gestures, dictate our behaviours etc” (ibid.: 545) and because this understanding of power is “liberated from the principles of sovereignty” (ibid.: 550). Foucault was interested in the how of power as there are “no relations of power without resistances” (1980: 142). Are prerogatives upheld or not? Is there domination? Discipline? Are people doing as they please? Are they subverting? When reconceptualizing power in this way, everyday resistance takes on a whole new meaning. Everyday resistance is powerful because people do not passively receive sovereign power as it disperses through goods, wealth, laws and knowledge. They are vehicles through which power passes. No one owns power. It is not a commodity. Foucault advises measuring power “at the extreme points of its exercise” (Foucault 1972: 545). He calls for a liberation: “We must eschew the model of Leviathan in the study of power. We must escape from the limited field of juridical sovereignty and State institutions, and instead base our analysis of power on the study of the techniques and tactics of domination” (ibid.: 548). Yet one cannot simply dismiss the sentiments of sovereign power.

everyday resistance 93 Laws that made it possible to arrest virtually anyone for anything did change behavior in military-ruled Myanmar. Soldiers did convey a threat of force. Wealth did concentrate in the hands of a select few. The regime did transmit power. But so did the entire population. Laws, policies and political institutions do not simply determine behavior. There is no one concentration of power, only a dissemination of it. Foucault proposes a focus on the “finer channels” that power passes through, producing a view where “power is employed and exercised through a net-like organization” (ibid.: 546). Overlooking these finer channels fails to recognize that “each individual has at his disposal a certain power, and for that very reason can also act as the vehicle for transmitting a wider power” (Foucault 1980: 72). Scott appeals for a similar “emancipation” from the kind of fixed understandings that delegitimize the power of everyday forms of resistance: “these activities should most definitely be considered political, that they do constitute a form of collective action, and that any account that ignores them is often ignoring the most vital means by which subordinate classes manifest their political interests” (1989: 4–5). With a new economy of power, one that sees power at the extremities, one can see the political muscles that flex locally, every day. And political muscles at the extremities – borrowing Prasse-Freeman’s (2010) phrase, the “political muscles of the grassroots” – can flex in many ways. Everyday resistance was a constant flexing of political muscles that had a cumulative impact on the capillaries that power passes through. Political muscles at the extremities were formidable in a large part owing to their adaptability. Subversion was possible because, for example, “the complexities of power in Burma are not lost on the millions who

94

four live there, people will continue to navigate them” (ibid.). This is well captured in Karen Human Rights Group’s (KHRG) work. Their 2008 report Village Agency: Rural Rights and Resistance in a Militarized Karen State discusses local resistance strategies of villagers in Karen State and presents the concept of “village agency.” Village agency rebuts what KHRG describes as “a disproportionate emphasis on isolated incidents of particularly emotive violent abuses in rural areas and a concurrent neglect of the many ways villagers have sought to resist such abuse” (ibid.: 1). Personal testimonies from over 110 KHRG field informants show that everyday resistance techniques change over time, and in different contexts. In SPDC-controlled areas, in particular, everyday resistance techniques would alter to fit changing restrictions and exploitative demands. Examples of such resistance strategies include: Establishing hiding sites in preparation for expected displacement; Hiding food stores in the forest; Monitoring troop movements and employing advanced warning systems to alert villagers to approaching army patrols; Retrieving food and other supplies left behind at villages during flight; Cultivating covert agricultural fields; Establishing temporary “jungle markets” to covertly trade with villagers from SPDC-controlled areas; Sharing food with friends and family; Utilising locally-available foods and medicine; Accessing indigenous organisations providing aid cross border from Thailand; Providing community education and social services; Assisting family and community members in the daily challenges of life in hiding. (ibid.)

When considering the impact of this type of action, Malseed, an advisor to KHRG, concludes: “I would argue that the main

everyday resistance 95 reason that SPDC and Tatmadaw are so weak in non-state spaces is not armed resistance, but civilian noncompliance. Whether people are living under nominal state ‘control’ or in a condition of strategic displacement, theirs is a struggle for sovereignty, not just over territory but sovereignty over people’s lives and livelihoods” (2008b: 22). In “Networks of noncompliance: grassroots resistance and sovereignty in militarised Burma,” Malseed describes “complex forms of resistance involving inter-community action and solidarity across wide regions” (2008b: 365). Malseed highlights the prevalence of ignoring demands, as a means of resistance. Village heads would simply ignore “demands until they are reinforced by threats of violence; demands for forced labourers; money, or food, for example, are followed up in subsequent days by a second third, even fourth and fifth notice” (ibid.: 14). This tactic was dangerous, but it was symbolic and practical, in that the military was unable to appropriately execute plans. Interview after interview in the field reiterated this core point: out of sight, everyday forms of resistance constantly transform power locally, culminating in pressure on the entire system. It was at the extremities that centrally dictated laws, policies and taxes were subverted or ignored completely. At the extremities people found ways to undermine the system and assert their own order of power, however limited. When flexed, political muscles at the extremities can “define [local] legal and cultural norms of property, resources access and management principles,” leading to “conflict within state agencies and different levels of government,” and “contested domains of policy and legal authority” (Sivaramakrishnan 2005: 258). In this sense, the micro-dynamics of everyday politics

96

four are where the power ultimately comes to fruition. The microprocesses and shifts fit well into what Foucault describes as webs of power (1972: 546). There may have been no direct clash with the sovereign or formal political procedures, but at the extremities of military-ruled Myanmar politics and power rarely followed a formal order. The chain of command was unreliable, the system malleable. Political muscles at the extremities flexed out of sight or “quietly” (Thawnghmung 2011a). But this did not lessen their might. The mistake is confusing the subtlety of the political muscles of the extremities with a lack of strength. On this point, Henry concludes that “everyday politics” “is present everywhere, in every society, but is resistant to many traditional research methods that are geared more towards tracing and explaining the changing dynamics of formal politics and towards understanding the strategies, motivations, and effective influence of elite actors” (2011: 142). Ranajit Guha (1997: 141) proposes that one issue is “a conflict between two different disciplines characteristic of the separate and parallel domains of subaltern and elite politics.” Sovereign power, as a paradigm, may be incapable of or unwilling to account for the power at the extremities. Historiography and research methodology regularly impose, unfittingly, an elite order onto the subaltern. But by emancipating understanding from elite orders it is possible to see the political muscles at the extremities and the power they exert through action like everyday resistance. Malseed (2009: 365) offers a useful concluding point, noting that rethinking power and politics in military-ruled Myanmar may reveal that “civilians evade and undermine state control over their lives, showing that the military regime’s brutal tactics represent not control, but a lack of control.”

everyday resistance 97 The exclusion of everyday resistance For most of the world most of the time, the possibility of publicly assembling, creating organizations, having demonstrations, creating open democratic processes simply does not exist. The late (great) Charles Tilly and I disagreed about this. For him to consider something a political movement it had to have a durable public presence and have large public goals. I, on the other hand, tried to identify a zone of political action where it was considered inexistent before. About all these situations in which a formal and restricted definition of politics does not apply, I simply asked the question: “What happens if we consider this politics?” And in fact foot-dragging, not complying, and other such tactics that people deploy when faced with brutal or authoritarian power, are often the only political tools available for the most of the world’s population for most of the world’s history. (Scott 2010)

Voices and events do not grab headlines by chance. There is a schema, deliberate or not, that elevates certain stories and actions to the top of the agenda and brushes others aside. Recognition implies meaningfulness. That is why discourse can be such a mobilizing and marginalizing force. Dominant discourses shape conversations and policies. In military-ruled Myanmar, attention was a commodity that had opportunities tied to it. Whose resistance was worth covering and why? Whose actions had meaning? Who deserved attention and opportunities? Following campaigns and coverage of military-ruled Myanmar, contentious politics sat atop a hierarchy of real or meaningful resistance. Prevailing truths about power, politics, oppression, even human nature, all fed into this. Foucault (1980) notes that discourse results in the construction of truth, the negotiation of power, and the production of a tacit understanding of who is able to say what

98

four and where. Truths do not simply exist: “each society has its own regimes of truth, its ‘general politics’ of truth: that is, the type of discourse which it accepts and makes function as true” (ibid.: 131). Discourse determines whose priorities get priority. But how strong were the truths that led to the dismissal or downgrading of everyday resistance? Confrontations can have significant appeal, particularly for audiences. In the realm of everyday resistance the confrontation cannot be seen or heard. International audiences may look at everyday resistance and see compliance, or nothing. Thus, the attention goes to those who stand up and speak out. Those who comply, even if falsely, or work quietly tend to be positioned as less determined or committed to the cause, or even part of the problem. Tilly posits that everyday resistance is a “subversive indirect discourse,” not a “binding consultation” (2004: 44–5). Without an articulated political claim, there is no rallying point. The claim is what makes contention actionable. The claim equips the polity with a collective identity. Without the claim, the relational aspect of contention is ambiguous, as there is no way to specify the targeted authority (Tarrow 2011). A foreign NGO representative (semi-structured interview) based in Chiang Mai made his case: Daw Suu, the political prisoners and all the people fighting for rights along the border are signaling to everyone, their friends and family, the world, everyone. They are constantly reminding everyone that this military has no reason or right to do what they’re doing. If they went silent that reminder would be gone.

Everyday resistance conceals, rather than sends messages. Thus, it can be confused with acquiescence. Havel notes that the

everyday resistance 99 majority of oppressed populations tend to accept the “rules of the game” (1985: 31), in order to secure relative safety and stability. Havel explains: “In doing so, however, he has himself become a player in the game, thus making it possible for the game to go on, for it to exist in the first place” (1985: 31). The question thus becomes, are individuals engaging in everyday resistance accepting the rules of the game? Many have argued or insinuated that they are. Everyday resistance is regularly deemed “unorganized, unsystematic and individual … opportunistic and self-indulgent … [possessing] no revolutionary consequences” (Scott 1989: 21). Champions of everyday resistance are thus written off as populists, attempting to be “the champion of peasants and other underdogs” (Tilly 1991: 595). However, dismissing everyday resistance as somehow inconsequential is to accept a certain arrangement of power. Why presume that individuals who take to the streets are more powerful, and thus more relevant, than individuals who attempt to discreetly undermine power? Both scenarios can involve a struggle for political power. Kerkvliet (2005) illustrates the “political behaviour” – that is, actions which had “political meaning and consequence” – of small unorganized groups of ordinary Vietnam farmers, who used everyday resistance techniques to undermine national collective farming policies. These farmers disrupted the state’s operations and ultimately prompted policy changes. Would these farmers have been more powerful if they had organized and protested? Would they have brought about more expedient systemic change by standing up and taking on the powers that be? Contentious politics scholars and everyday resistance scholars may provide different answers to this question, as well as different rationales for their answers.

100

four Everyday resistance is something of an inversion of contentious politics. Everyday resistance can carry on in even the most tyrannical conditions. The resistance component denotes the consequences of these techniques. Scott and Kerkvliet explain: “The initial premise is that such forms of resistance, though less dramatic or headline-worthy than uprisings, are more or less constant and … have an appreciable impact on class and authority relations in the countryside” (1986: 1). Far from being an event or performance, everyday resistance blends in with everyday life. Subtle, undramatic, and hidden, everyday resistance has been relegated to the fringe of dominant discourses. Everyday resistance rarely gains recognition from “historians, political scientists, journalists, statesmen, or leaders of popular movements” (Scott 1989: 34). Governments rarely express solidarity with or deliver support to those engaging in everyday resistance. Media outlets do not run stories about marginalized communities using disorienting techniques to subvert oppression. Donors struggle to tap into undefined, unorganized activities. The relegation of this realm of resistance gives the impression that weapons of the weak are inconsequential. Students and operators of everyday resistance diverge. Singh concludes on three general consequences of everyday resistance: “First, the resistance behaviour brings a sense of welfare to peasants. Second, it contributes to the erosion of the normative principles supporting the structures of domination. Third, everyday forms of peasant resistance prepare the ground for the open expression of pro-peasant political action” (2001: 219). There is no performance. Rather the transcript is hidden. While public transcripts can be seen and heard by all, the hidden transcript is hidden from the dominant group. In the hidden transcript, the dominant group is mocked and plotted against. This

everyday resistance 101 hidden transcript occurs in safe spaces within which normally suppressed identities can be “expressed freely and defiantly” (Rao 2010). Scott illustrates its function: Slaves, serfs, tenant farmers and workers say in public pretty much what their masters, lords, landlords, and bosses expect them to say. Yet, there are likely to be hidden transcripts of what subordinates actually think that can be recovered in everyday conversation in slave quarters, veiled cultural performances (e.g. folk-tales, carnival). (1989: 59)

Everyday resistance’s focus on the disguised and hidden is in stark contrast to contentious politics. Much of everyday resistance literature comes from anthropology or grounded sociology, particularly peasant studies. When reviewing the literature one may observe a definitive focus on class or identity struggles in rural areas. The nature of anthropology and grounded sociology allows for a focus on the margins and a fluid study of everyday life and politics. By contrast, contentious politics occurs under the umbrellas of political science and international relations. Scott (ibid.: 34) offers a useful conclusion: The Brechtian or Schweikian forms of resistance I have in mind are an integral part of the small arsenal of relatively powerless groups … Resistance of this kind is ironically abetted by both elites and social scientists whose attention is largely concentrated on those forms of resistance which pose a declared threat to powerholders: social movements, dissident sects, revolutionary groups and other forms of publicly organized political opposition. Such groups, of course, are far more likely to leave the written records – manifestos, minutes, membership lists, journalists’ descriptions, and police reports – that help ensure them a firm place in the historical record.

102

four Contentious politics scholarship often entails extensive quantitative and qualitative historical reviews of events. Tilly’s work exhibits the nature of contentious politics research. In European Revolutions, for instance, Tilly (1993) examines 500 years of contentious performances. He concludes (ibid.: 5) that the great revolutions of Europe changed not only the character of the country where revolution occurred but the relations between countries. In Popular Contention in Great Britain, –, Tilly (1995) analyzes 8,088 contentious gatherings to find that between the 1750s and the 1840s Britons abandoned collective venting of frustrations, in the form of commodity seizures, destruction of property, and physical humiliation of people, in favor of things such as marches and public campaigns built around a political objective. In Contentious Politics (2007), Tilly and Tarrow provide analytical tools and procedures for students who seek to “study, compare and explain” different events. Contentious Politics and Contentious Performances (Tilly 2008) refer to massive studies that map and analyze events by reviewing available newspapers and other available accounts. These are impressive displays of political science inquiry. However, they all follow a distinctly positivist line. This leads to the conclusion: “People learn a limited number of claim-making performances, then mostly stick with those performances” (ibid.: 4–5). When looking at similar events, similar behavior can be found in the records time and time again. The coverage reproduces similar storylines. That which does not fit these storylines becomes unworthy of consideration and ultimately unmeaningful. Everyday resistance and contentious politics as scholarly disciplines diverge on what constitutes genuine politics, resistance, and power. Everyday resistance clearly embraces the everyday

five | From bullets to bribery

Contention juxtaposed with engagement, claim-making juxtaposed with avoidance, sanctions juxtaposed with creation, performance juxtaposed with subversion, bullets juxtaposed with bribery – contrasting pathways to change had vastly different purposes and functions. Struggles were distinct and personal. But pathways were inseparable. Metaphorical pathways to change converged, intersected, diverged, and collided, creating a grid that was both mighty and messy. This chapter looks at the tense intellectual and practical relations between contrasting struggles and forces. Tensions among those struggling for change went beyond competition. Hostilities were palpable and everyone seemed to take an interest in the drama. Things escalated to the point where one local analyst concluded: “I would argue that the movement has turned on itself. We’re all fighting against the generals, but we started fighting each other years ago. I don’t know why this happened. It’s hard to fix.” Whether the contrasting forces that changed Myanmar were a movement is debatable. Struggles were interwoven but disparate. Yet there was a certain solidarity, even among actors who had conflicting views, that will come to the forefront in Chapter 7. The problem was that solidarity and cooperation were less spoken about than divisions. Divisions and disagreements were what respondents brought into focus.

112

five One could focus on the separation between groups, namely the democracy movement and the Third Force. Then there was the separation between violent and non-violent factions. One could draw distinctions between ethnic and Bama struggles. One could categorize based on strategy using a typology such as this book does. Alternatively, Metro (2011: 9) notes that “[w]e are judged by the linguistic company we keep.” The use of Myanmar or Burma, writes Steinberg, “has become a surrogate indicator of political persuasion and even projected legitimacy, causing considerable antipathy and confusion in both official and popular circles” (2006: xx). Metro (2011: 9) makes what she calls an “unscientific observation” about linguistic preferences: Burmaphiles are likely to be pro-democracy, left-leaning Burmese exiles or foreigners sympathetic to the “Free Burma” movement. They are found on the Thai–Burma border or in Scandinavia, the UK, Australia or the US … Myanmarites, on the other hand, are more likely to live inside the country or visit frequently, whether they are Burmese or foreigners … As a compromise, some have attempted to please both sides by using the terms “Burma/Myanmar,” “Myanmar/Burma,” “Myanmar (Burma),” or “Burma (Myanmar).” Many international organizations take this approach, as do some people who spend time both inside and outside the country … They may wish to bridge the gap between the two camps, to address both without offending either, or to reject the Burma/Myanmar binary.1

En route to specific issues, this chapter starts with a look at the evidence of infighting.

from bullets to bribery 113 Published and palpable tensions When we talk about criticism among the opposition and prodemocracy people, it is mostly personal attacks. When it comes to the culture of criticism towards each other, we are still weak in using fact and figures and lacking the skills to make the other side hear us out calmly. (Aung Zaw in an interview with the Democratic Voice of Burma, 2008)

Hostilities between public figures made for great opinion pages and gossip. The Irrawaddy, the Democratic Voice of Burma, the Bangkok Post, the New York Times, Mizzima and domestic papers such as The Voice and the Myanmar Times became platforms where individuals and groups took aim at one another. So prominent was the infighting that feuds within the movement would occasionally overshadow the original struggle: the struggle against the junta. Literal and figurative barriers made it nearly impossible for contrasting groups to handle grievances in-house. Unable or unwilling to discuss differences privately, scores were settled through print or on air. In some cases, the feuds were blatant. Names were named and accusations waged: Many of [“the self-appointed representatives of civil society”] indeed congregate around Myanmar Egress, the best-known and perhaps most controversial local NGO, managed and supported by regime cronies, the army-bred and international scholars like Taylor. They share well-known sympathies for the dictatorship and, conversely, considerable hostility towards Aung San Suu Kyi and the democratic opposition at large. (Zarni 2012: 297–8)

114

five Other shots were more subtle: In fact, co-operation with the [Third Force] would probably be the best strategy to unite those fighting the regime, albeit from different political positions. Whilst Aung San Suu Kyi is unlikely to compromise, she risks marginalizing the NLD movement in the long run with an uncompromising stand. Those who are fighting for change with the new structures will ultimately be able to find some common ground with the regime, leaving the NLD out in the cold. (Lall 2010)

Whether obvious or underwritten, published tensions were polarizing. Selth concurs: “since 1988 the Burma studies community has become highly polarized, with political and moral factors often featuring more prominently in the public debate than considered arguments based on objective analysis” (2010: 401). Accusations and questions about motives were a means of discrediting other networks, and reinforcing the legitimacy of one’s own side. The result was a climate of skepticism and hostility. Everyone claimed to be the real opposition; the opposition of the people. “All parties are saying: We understand the struggle of the people, and we represent their interests. The problem is that there is no ‘voice’ or ‘interest’ of the people,” stated a donor consultant. Echoes of figurehead sparring could be heard at the grassroots. Villagers and organizers spoke passionately in defence of their approach to change. An activist in Chin State: “The people here are just too forgiving of the government. They are willing to give so much. They say they want change, but then they ask for the government’s permission.” A comparable sentiment from another pole came from an informant in Kachin State: “The ‘Free Burma’ people can’t do anything because they only want

from bullets to bribery 115 to scream and complain. The government isn’t listening to them. The people aren’t listening to them.” Everyone wanted to be waging the purist struggle. Pointing out the privilege of other networks was one way to delegitimize them. A young Kachin woman working as a nanny in Chiang Mai, Thailand, took aim at what she saw as a contradiction: “Activists want everyone to risk their lives. They talk about bravery, but most are here in Thailand or in a rich country.” She later shed light on one cause of her frustration: “My friends and family help people, but they can’t get any money. All the money goes to the activists who talk about fighting the government.” Labelling contrasting forces of change as unpure or over-privileged was often a way of swiping back at the allocation of resources and attention. It also seemed a way of embedding a sense of certainty that their struggle was worthy. Behind each pathway to change was a will. Struggles became part of people’s identities. Some spent decades fighting or taking a particular approach and people sought recognition for their efforts. Those who avoided contention did so because it fit their local and personal circumstances. The same can be said for those who took up arms or took to the streets. For those who were in high-risk situations, subtle everyday resistance techniques were often most fitting. For those with more space, opportunities, and security, a more bold, performative approach may be preferable. Burma scholars and researchers regularly found themselves at the heart of the controversy: Burma studies in the fields of political science and international relations has, in recent years, become increasingly politicized. Political scientists have taken lucrative contracts to work for multinational organizations that have interests in Burma. Others have lobbied the US government and the European Union to remove

116

five their sanctions banning business in Burma and Burmese experts. International conferences have occasionally been the scene of such public lobbying in the guise of scholarship, without the obvious conflicts of interest being declared. Several political scientists have argued that American sanctions prohibit them from gaining course materials necessary to teach about Burma. Both political scientists and international relations scholars and students have produced reports for international lending organizations that urge cooperation with the military regime … In their zeal to become “Burma experts,” faculty at some universities have taken a pro-engagement stance toward the military regime …, often in contravention to their own government’s position of non-engagement with Burma … The Burmese expatriate activist community was damning in its condemnation of what it has labeled “pro-military scholarship” and in particular, against those political scientists known as the “Brussels Four.” (Skidmore 2011: 46)

Scholarship that did not match one’s outlook on the struggle was characterized as blasphemous. Numerous scholars whose work came under fire, namely Steinberg and South, made public pleas to their critics. South appeals: “Exiles, political activists and their supporters are denigrating independent researchers who dare challenge orthodox views and long-held assumptions regarding the political situation in Burma. I would like to make a plea that commentators focus on substantial issues, rather than descending to personal insults.” For researchers, activists, organizers, anyone who took part in the struggle, there seemed no such thing as a safe stance where one could steer clear of the controversy. There were different views on the extent of infighting. On the one hand, a foreign observer with extensive experience on both

from bullets to bribery 117 sides of the Thai–Burma border argued: “The divisions between people and organizations have always been over-represented because those who throw rocks at each other become the centre of attention. It makes for great entertainment, but more often than not differences are respected and settled through civil discussions.” Indeed, the most hyperbolic exchanges tended to gain the most attention. And there were many examples of respect and constructive debate among contrasting groups in the field. A Yangon-based organizer shared a view common among various informants: “Everybody is playing a part. Everybody is contributing. Some people try to discredit other people, but we don’t think too much about that. They are trying to change things and we respect that.” Conversely, however, many other informants argued that the tensions found in print reflected real, widespread, and serious tensions. When asked if the media had inflated divisions, a journalist in Yangon noted: “I don’t think anything is being inflated. Sure, it doesn’t sound the same in local communities, but people are really divided about what opposition should look like. And things are even more personal amongst ordinary people, because it’s not their job or interest, it’s their life.” Taking infighting at face value was an error. Divisions between groups were not clear and consistent. Even individually, nothing was fixed. A person might take to the streets one day and reach out to local officials the next. With a change of perspective, an individual could change their position. An experienced political analyst saw this in his work on both sides of the Thai–Burma border: When I work on the inside, I find that people are oriented towards subverting laws. This focus is flipped within circles I

118

five work with outside Burma. As one young Shan lady pointed out to me long ago, “we [the domestic population] don’t have the time or energy to talk about problems. We need to spend our time on solutions.” This is an important role of the exile community: raising issues that those on the inside can’t.

The stakes could not have been higher, generating a tinderbox climate. Political activists were sitting in prisons, civilians were being raped, killed, forcibly relocated, forced to do labour, and kept in dire living conditions. “You have to remember we’re dealing with issues such as drug-resistant malaria. This isn’t a situation where we can take chances and let the outcome play itself out,” reminded Suwanvanichkij (semi-structured interview).2 Combined, these high stakes and limited international attention and resources meant that everything became more intense. Disagreements could easily descend into hate. In this environment, the targets of criticism were not necessarily the actual sources of frustration. A public health practitioner concluded that the infighting was symptomatic of “decades of frustration, trauma, and competition for limited attention and resources.” Individuals channelled their frustrations to tangible targets. People were frustrated by systematic oppression and injustices, but the regime was rarely a reachable target. A trauma specialist who worked in Yangon provided one way of looking at the tensions: “Often times, the whole goal is to prolong the debate, because the debate is a safe way to vent. In that sense the infighting is really healthy. If these guys didn’t get some relief or excitement out of taking jabs at one another, they wouldn’t waste their time on it.” Infighting was something of an outlet or distraction for some. It was partly cathartic. Yet infighting was an exercise that had real consequences. Numerous informants spoke of death

from bullets to bribery 119 threats and sabotage attempts. In the absence of trust and dialogue, those competing for limited attention and resources could become enemies. Mistrust regularly reflected some type of material gain. People knew that there was money to be made in the struggle for change. Whether it be donor money or favors from Naypyidaw, there was much talk about who was benefitting and how. A young man in Shan State, who was a transporter in the black market, observed: “All of the exiles are living in nice houses and receiving lots of money from the West. They scream about human rights and poverty and they get more money. It’s really like they’re using us.” A Burmese human rights activist in Chiang Mai expressed a similar sentiment when asked about engagement: “It’s not about benefitting the country. It’s about gaining benefits. People who team up with the officials and sing their praises get cash and special favors. They are doing it for themselves.” Evidence or examples did not accompany these types of accusations. Speculation and mistrust led to sweeping statements. Things could quickly become blown out of proportion. Much of this was a product of the junta’s dictatorial temperature. Even so, it was obvious that different individuals and groups disagreed on some fundamental things.

“Real” change What advocates don’t see is that every inch matters for us. If we can do something today that we couldn’t do yesterday that is a big deal. Some say our work is fake or meaningless, but those changes matter to us. If we gain an inch in our community we have changed the whole situation. And when this is happening all over the country, the whole situation can change in a major way. (A community-based organizer on the outskirts of Yangon)

120

five What one informant saw as real, substantive change, others saw as meaningless. Just as with the focus on control or lack thereof, individuals could focus on progress or lack thereof. Defining success was something of a gamble, because almost all changes were tenuous and reversible. Even at the grassroots, communities knew that soldiers could walk in and destroy all they had accomplished. At the same time, for many informants the gamble was worth it. Enjoying and emphasizing change was a means of building excitement and momentum. The lack of consensus on what success and substantive change meant was predictable. For some, success came in the form of direct local change; change that could be felt at the grassroots. Even if only local in nature, improvements at the grassroots could be life changing. These individuals did not focus on institutions or laws. Rather, substantive change was seen in terms of increased personal and community security and opportunity. Security and opportunities meant liberating communities from vulnerabilities, providing them with orbits of protection and freeing them up to fight for more. By contrast, there were individuals who defined success in terms of institutional reforms and accountability. An NLD supporter spoke of her measure of success: “The job is to establish the truth, bring the generals to account, and put in government the people who were elected decades ago. Until this happens, we can’t say that any real change has occurred.” Accomplishments short of systemic change were not necessarily unimportant, but they were not seen, from this viewpoint, as cause for celebration. Particularly among those who were committed to contentious politics, there was a common sentiment that “success should not be claimed prematurely,” or “celebrations should wait until the

from bullets to bribery 121 job is done.” Here, one can see a more definitive vision of change. There is nothing abstract about regime change and prosecution of past perpetrators. To prioritize certain types of changes was one thing. To downplay or dismiss the type of changes that matter to others was another. To dismiss a certain type of change was to undercut the work behind it. When a sign of progress would come to fruition there were some groups who took pride in the change and others who said this was not progress at all. In lieu of a clear measurement of “real” change, all notions of progress could be called into question. Prasse-Freeman (2012e) quotes Aung Khaing of the Association for Assistance of Political Prisoners in Mae Sot, Thailand: We can see this is not a genuine change, that there’s something beneath the surface. We cannot point to it, but we can feel it. We’ve been in prison, constantly fighting with them, we can sense the trap … Remember 23 years of terrible military rule. These are the same people in different clothes. They present themselves as the saviours of Burma, and they are the ones who killed so many people? Come on.

“At what point do you say, yes, something good is happening here?” asked a guesthouse manager in Shan State. This question became more appropriate around the opening of the bicameral legislature at the end of January 2011. From one viewpoint, because almost all the representatives had military ties, nothing had changed beyond a clothing swap. The parliament showed no sign of seriously taking on areas of health, development, education, demilitarization, and other indicators of democratization. Yet even if the repackaged government was largely a publicity stunt, the military was attempting to redefine its image in

122

five Myanmar society. Those who fought and brokered for Naypyidaw to move away from its hardline identity saw this as a vital step in the right direction. A foreign coordinator of an INGO provided a schema for thinking about such scenarios that appear to be both change and lack thereof: The separation between local and structural or institutional changes is really a false one. If a campaign improves something at the institutional level, but does nothing to improve the lives of communities, then the change is empty. If a local project does not lead to structural changes, then the change is only a band-aid.

People were not about to sit by idly as their change and accomplishments were brought into question. The changes were products of their struggles, fruits of their labour. This led to emotional back-and-forths. A woman who ran some community development projects in Mon State commented: This change we’ve made here is real. You can change the government and give the power over to the NLD, but that doesn’t mean things will change here. You can look around and see that our kids are strong and getting educated. You can see that people are getting an income. No laws or projects from the government could make that happen.

No one group was at fault. Success or change was clearly subjective. Yet people found themselves defending their efforts in opposition to others. Htoo Chit (semi-structured interview)3 concludes: Denying change when it is occurring is a bad practice, but everybody does it. Just because it is not the type of change we desire

from bullets to bribery 123 doesn’t mean it’s not significant for someone. We are sometimes willing to undermine the work of others to promote our own without realizing it.

From immediate priorities to long-term visions of success, measures of change differ in concurrent realities. The problem was never the subjectivity of change. Rather, it was the propensity to order or make false separations between “real” and cosmetic or empty changes that drove frustrations.

Speaking for others International observers sought the voice of the people, but there was no such voice. That voice was an illusion. To expect a massive, diverse struggle for change to have one interest, one agenda, seems irrational. But that is precisely what was sought. Informants in the field took aim at both the discourse that gave the international platform to so few, and the trend of speaking for others without speaking to them. Htoo Chit (semi-structured interview), who fought in the jungle as part of the student army before shifting to migrant worker activism in southern Thailand, spoke about the trap of “speaking for others”: “speaking for others is an endemic problem in Burmese advocacy. These people aren’t silent. They’re silenced by the people who speak for them, rather than listen to them.” Htoo Chit’s concerns were echoed by an 88 student activist living and working in exile: “The exiles have got in a bad habit of speaking for the people, without speaking to the people. Sure, they have people on the inside, but these people are also activists. I would like them to be clear about who they represent and what mandate they hold. I know the international media makes people on the inside angry. They have every right to be angry. The way the ordinary people are portrayed is

124

five misleading and unfair.” Speaking for people without speaking to them effectively takes away their agency and positions them as passive or helpless victims. KHRG, an NGO with a mandate to document those oftignored voices of villagers in rural Burma, posits: [I]nternational journalism and advocacy around Burma has often contributed to portrayals of rural villagers as helpless victims passively terrorized by the Burma Army. By marginalizing the agency of rural villagers in this way, such portrayals have perpetuated the exclusion of these individuals from the ongoing political processes which affect them. (2008: Abstract)

In an interview, Matt Finch from KHRG (semi-structured interview) put this another way: “A situation can develop where entire populations are painted as passive victims. Passive victims have no agency or capacity to respond. Passive victims can only be worked for, not worked with. Furthermore, when individuals are portrayed as agent-less their suffering can be used for political purposes.” Sensational narratives often fed into the problem of silencing people, relegating them to passivity and dependency, as these narratives could give the impression that groups were guardians or saviors. This predictably results in considerable frustration of the kind captured by Weiss (2011), quoting an activist from Myanmar: “We’re tired of being represented in your newspapers as cowering in fear and barefoot, scrabbling in the mud. It’s just insulting.” In ‘Can the subaltern speak,’ Spivak (1988) concludes that subaltern subjects cannot speak because those speaking for them actively silence them. When colonial, governmental, advocate, or expert voices speak for the

from bullets to bribery 125 subaltern they re-present the subaltern, positioning them in the shadows. The question that emerges is whether the subaltern needs to be spoken for. The answer from this research echoes Spivak’s: no. Beyond robbing populations of their voice and undermining their agency, speaking for others can contribute to an incomplete understanding of the situation and, thus, short-sighted responses. Malseed (2008b: 12) notes that even human rights documentation can wrongly characterize individuals and undermine their agency: [H]uman rights reports and other writing on Burma usually limit themselves to documenting the repression described … and the suffering caused, without exploring the many ways in which civilians respond and resist. This can lead to assumptions that people living in repressive situations lack agency or political identities, that military power is incontestable except by armed struggle and that civilians are apathetic bystanders; which in turn leads to the exclusion of village voices from negotiation processes.

For whatever reason, desires to bring grassroots voices forward did not translate to shifts in dominant practices. The rhetoric around voice and inclusion would rarely mesh with the practice and the natural consequence was the exacerbation of frustrations and tensions. Informants understood that not all opinions could be accounted for. They also understood that without an open political environment, communication would be inherently haphazard. Prasse-Freeman states: “Opposition groups have therefore found it difficult to hear what people want: without a political process it is difficult to reflect desires of constituents – to turn needs into

126

five policies” (2012c: 384). However, the feeling was that little was being done to facilitate inclusion. “If I try to talk with the activists, they won’t listen to anything I say. I’m speaking from experience,” a Karen schoolteacher and community organizer said of her efforts to make it into the conversation. Whether such accounts are objective or embellished, there were those who felt that the silencing of others by speaking for them was strategic, a way of shaping a certain agenda. Relevantly, Narayanan Ganesan (semi-structured interview)4 stated: “There has indeed been an overemphasis on the elite rather than the people at large. This is meant among other things to undermine the legitimacy of the junta and keep attention focused on the political process and absence of legitimacy.” Strategy or otherwise, the monopoly of voice, the speaking for others, was effectively silencing others and undercutting everything their voices could mobilize. Agency, political muscles, visions of change, policy preferences, all of this was squashed. Indeed, the propensity to speak for others in military-ruled Myanmar led to widespread and deep frustrations. Lest speaking for others be seen as an individual character flaw, the elevating of some voices and silencing of others fed the dominant discourse the audience-friendly, binary storyline it sought. Where there was no clash, there was control or nothing at all. With convenient, sensational and actionable narratives, it may be too easy to overlook the devastating impact that speaking for others can have on those who are spoken for.

Whose concerns? Steinberg (2009: 3) notes: “We have been more concerned about political repression’s impact on human rights than human rights

from bullets to bribery 127 issues arising from endemic poverty, yet the latter is equally important.” When people spoke of their priorities and concerns in military-ruled Myanmar, it was common to hear about health, education, food, water, and shelter. This was unsurprising given the extent of poverty and absence of public services or welfare. But such priorities sat in contrast to the issues that global campaigns brought to the fore. Political imprisonment, violations of the freedom of speech and conscience, army offensives, these were the issues that drove global campaigns. This was a particular side of the struggle; one that did not necessarily encompass the daily struggle or survival mode that most families found themselves in. The result was a situation where people felt that their concerns and priorities were being overlooked. A common anxiety was the fear of getting sick. This was a scenario where individuals knew that they had few services, safety nets, or protective forces to turn to. Sickness could spell disaster in a number of ways. Firstly, the healthcare system was all but absent for ordinary citizens. When sick, individuals relied on shadow market medicines, the true contents of which were unknown, and whatever medical expertise they could find. Sick family members were sometimes carried porter-style out of the country to Thailand, assuming they were healthy enough to make the trip. If a son or daughter became sick, parents and grandparents would scramble to find a remedy. A stomach bug could mean death in the absence of basic care. Hospitals and clinics were equipped only to tackle the most basic illnesses. Even then, they were inaccessible to most. Parents spoke of the greatest fear being a sick child, but a provider falling sick could equally spell disaster. Most made literally just enough to keep their families fed and clothed. Days or a week out of work meant someone had to

128

five go without. Underfed and overworked, everyone was left more susceptible to sickness, a vicious cycle. Health was one of many issues where the problem was not the predatory, invasive nature of the junta, but the absence of any effective public services or welfare. The regime’s negligence, corruption, and over-investment in the military left people without public services, trustworthy markets, appropriate education, jobs, and basic securities. In some rural communities there were only traces of the state to be found. One such community in Shan State explained that beyond a soldier showing up randomly for a bribe they had no contact with the government. Far from living in a libertarian utopia, the community was left with no access to even basic services. There were some communities, particularly in rural and ethnic territories, where independence, in the literal sense, was desirable. A villager in Kachin State stated: I don’t care if it is the NLD or the KIO, we shouldn’t have to answer to anyone. We have been on this land for a long time. We take care of ourselves, we do everything ourselves. We don’t need help with anything and we shouldn’t have to ask permission from anyone. We choose to live here away from the cities. People only want to “include” us because they want our land and food.

The community in Shan State was not in such a situation. This village found itself facing problems they could not solve on their own. Unsanitary water and mosquitoes had led to the deaths of old and young members of the community. On top of this, there was growing concern about securing their landownership from external land-seekers. They could not mobilize an adequately sourced health clinic, ensure their resources, accredit their institutions, create an accessible market, regulate the quality

from bullets to bribery 129 of goods coming into their communities, or protect themselves against a magnitude of threats on their own. In rural and urban environments alike, there was no protection from outside forces, be they predatory businesses, criminals, vigilantes, or Mother Nature. Even when embracing Tilly’s analogy of the state as a racketeer, the need remains: [C]onsider the definition of a racketeer as someone who creates a threat and then charges for its reduction. Governments’ provision of protection, by this standard, often qualifies as racketeering. To the extent that the threats against which a given government protects its citizens are imaginary or are consequences of its own activities, the government has organized a protection racket. Since governments themselves commonly simulate, stimulate, or even fabricate threats of external war and since the repressive and extractive activities of governments often constitute the largest current threats to the livelihoods of their own citizens, many governments operate in essentially the same ways as racketeers. (1985: 171)

There were endemic collective action problems that communities could not solve on their own. One natural disaster or bad crop would have left that Shan community without food and water. Predatory businesses could exploit and dislocate communities with ease. There were no protections to ensure that transactions or operations were safe. A Yangon-based mother spoke of the fear that went into serving any meal: “I don’t feel safe eating here. There are so many dangerous fertilizers and chemicals that come in from China. These contaminate the foods in our local markets. Nobody knows if a meal is going to be safe or not. I think about this every time I cook for my family.” People knew

130

five they were unsafe in the economy because they had constant experience of exploitation and insecurity. Minimal market access, lines of communication, and travel infrastructure left few with opportunities. Young men and women set out to find work in surrounding countries. The means of migration described by informants who had worked abroad varied from official and relatively well protected to informal with minimal protection. These informants spoke of navigating health threats and armed conflicts. Numerous individuals had been imprisoned for lacking documentation, victimized at or around work, or trafficked. Two men in Chin State described being arrested after having been trafficked in Malaysia. With few exceptions, these individuals went through turbulent migration to undertake difficult, low-paying jobs. Like the people of Myanmar who weathered great risks to stand up and speak out against the junta, teenagers and young parents had to risk life and limb just to keep their families fed and alive. Under-governance left people vulnerable and made corruption and predation easier. Informants saw this negligence to be by design; as part of the junta’s scheme. It is a history of inaction that will have lasting effects. When talking about the transition in Myanmar, parent after parent drew the conversation back to the incompetent education system. Compensating for governance deficits while at the same time curtailing predatory power is likely to be the task for some time in NLD-led Myanmar. In the spectrum of concerns one could see the paradox that was the domineering and incompetent junta. Economic and social concerns that came to define everyday life in military-ruled Myanmar were at the margins of the global frame. Such issues were certainly deserving of a closer look.

from bullets to bribery 131 Concerns are of particular importance for pursuits of change because they determine priorities. “Protest doesn’t feed anyone or give people new skills or chances. Most of the time protest makes it harder to do the things that actually change lives and communities,” was the position of a female college student in Yangon. Whether delegitimizing Naypyidaw was necessary or even useful was a matter of outlook. If the immediate concern is regime change, then deligitimizing the junta deserves priority. An NLD member in Yangon spoke about the importance of maintaining a revolutionary strategy: “The people who preach about slow and steady change are ignoring how serious things are. If they had friends or family sitting in Insein [then home to many political prisoners] they would stop being soft.” Delegitimizing the junta is crucial in allaying this concern. However, those with a different hierarchy of concerns may readily sidestep the system that is responsible for its suffering. These individuals may not hesitate to quietly do the state’s job. Recalling Prasse-Freeman’s (2012d) characterization of the Third Force network as “a remarkably robust and powerful set of citizens, self-organized into groups outside of the state, [performing] the necessary heavy lifting that has enabled society’s survival under a capricious and abusive military government,” one can see how prioritizing development concerns led to a welfare and provision response. Indeed, as Prasse-Freeman (2012e) writes: “organizations exchanged political critique for the freedom to deliver services. In essence, civil society begged for permission to do the state’s job on its behalf.” Delegitimizing the state was not the priority. The priority was to address everyday concerns and by doing so transform everyday politics. This did not necessarily represent a lack of concern for regime change. Rather, it was indicative of a distinct frame of

132

five concerns and priorities motivating a distinct pathway to change. This action was a bailout, but it was a bailout with a purpose, as Aung Naing Oo (structured interview),5 argues: You don’t have to rely on the government to change the climate in Burma. There are countless ways to inform and empower the people. It’s about being creative. People argue that you’re bailing out the government, because the government should be providing the services and resources. But I would rather move forward than wait.

Compromise You know that saying, “I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees?” Well, when you’re dead you’re out of the government’s way, so they’re happy. The point is that you can still fight on your knees. That is what matters. You can still mess things up, change things, and help the people around you. In Burma, changing things is more important than being proud. (Middle-aged male taxi driver at a pub in Yangon) There is no easy way out of this. You can’t be willing to give one inch. You have to always remind yourself what this is. These generals are telling us what we can and can’t do. They are trying to control our lives. You can’t even act like this is OK. These people who are sitting down and making deals … it’s really bullshit. You have to always let them know that you don’t accept. They [the junta] have to know that you will rise up when you get the chance, just like in Egypt. (Middle-aged restaurant worker in Bago Division)

Compromise could be seen as giving up or giving in. Unwillingness to compromise was evidence of resolve. Neither active nor passive compromises were acceptable. A business owner on

from bullets to bribery 133 the outskirts of Yangon observed: ‘Silence is approval. If you agree to stay silent, if you agree to anything they ask of you, you approve their authority. This is the problem; too many people are bowing and following these stupid men.” It was this unwavering commitment to dissent that won Free Burma so many international fans. Even if tacit, to compromise, in this premise, was to legitimize. Scott notes that compromise is regularly assumed to accommodate “the structure of domination” because it accepts the rules of the game (1989: 21). Scott questions this supposition, because compromises, like ritualistic gestures, are often used to mask oppositional intent and activities that have an oppositional effect. Thawnghmung (2011a: x) reminds us that “actions that might perpetuate the status quo might just end up transforming it.” This is where the line between compromise and conformity becomes relevant. Htoo Chit (semi-structured interview)6 stated: “I support efforts on the inside. And I understand why people do things a certain way. But I think there is a fine line between working around the government or using the government, and working for the government, either directly or indirectly.” A foreign analyst spoke in defence of compromise: “These individuals interpret compromise against the backdrop of sacrifice and symbolic martyrdom. For some, the idea of never compromising and sacrificing yourself for the cause has huge appeal. For others, I would argue for most, this doesn’t have a bit of appeal because there is no guarantee that this will improve their lives or the lives of their children.” In this premise, compromise was not a giving in, but a necessary and often productive tactic. Compromise was seen as inevitable as it was often the only way

134

five to break stalemates. Young men at a tea shop in Mandalay spoke of the inevitability of compromise: “If you want something here you have to be ready to give for it. You have to be ready to lose something.” Compromise was about dealing with the unfortunate realities of the situation, and doing what worked. A group of young men in Irrawaddy Division spoke to this dynamic: “It is pretty simple here. The situation is that they have guns and we have food. They can come and point their guns at us, take our food and beat us. If we yell at them, they will just shoot us. So we say ‘we will give you our best chicken if you do something for us.’ This is not how it should be, but this is how it is.” Where people stood on compromise could often be seen in the language they used. Metro summarizes: “Burma” can be seen as a positive commitment to human rights, but their critics might accuse them of idealism and unwillingness to compromise with authorities who, like it or not, hold power … If they are Burmese, they might feel pressured to use “Myanmar” for their own safety, or if they are foreigners, they may wish to avoid attracting the authorities’ suspicions so that they can maintain access to their research site. Or they may simply take the practical position that “Myanmar” is the de facto name of the country, based on the long-standing Burmeselanguage term myanma. (2011: 9)

Speaking human rights, that is using human rights language in military-ruled Myanmar, was a way of taking a stand against compromise. Speaking human rights had consequences. Informants in the Irrawaddy Division stated: “The word ‘rights’ sets off a signal. It’s like an alarm.” In Yangon, an informant put it another way: “In Burma the fastest way to lose your rights is to talk about your rights.”

from bullets to bribery 135 Avoiding human rights language was a way of avoiding unwanted attention. Explained another way, human rights language was “a way of revealing yourself as an opponent,” as a woman on a bus in Kachin State noted. She went on: “If you reveal yourself as an opponent of the regime you should expect three things: you will be hurt or killed, your family will be hurt or killed, or you will be poor and lonely.” By contrast, to others, to avoid the human rights language was to avoid the real issues. This was a sidestepping of the regime’s failures. An 88generation student activist in Mae Sot said: “some people say it’s OK that people and organizations on the inside don’t talk about human rights. But if you don’t talk about human rights then how do you know who is at fault? How can you really talk about what is wrong and how to fix it?” In this view, human rights had to be spoken, out loud. To avoid human rights language was to capitulate and disregard all of the standards and expectations human rights discourse activates. It was to avoid or mask the obvious. Relevantly, Hannum notes: “Human rights advocates are often adversarial in their approach … [and prefer to] protect rights ‘the old fashioned way’, through courts, adverse publicity, and public pressure” (2006: 592). Indeed, those who spoke human rights were speaking a language familiar to the international community. Many who stayed clear of human rights language had no use for “the old fashioned ways” in their pursuits of change. “Human rights may make Burma popular internationally. And you may have a ton of campaigns. But when people face a constant threat of having their homes burned or their children killed they don’t care if you talk about human rights or the weather, they just want things to change,” observed an NGO worker from Rakhine State. By avoiding human rights language

136

five people could continue with their work, which was often human rights work. They could make progress and change the human rights landscape. This was not an abandonment of the human rights spirit, but a strategic masking of one’s intent. How one made sense of the use or avoidance of human rights language was a matter of perspective. Such tensions surrounding compromise were well captured in a Karen Women’s Organization (KWO) report referred to in Chapter 3 entitled Walking amongst Sharp Knives. The report highlights the use of negotiation by Karen women village chiefs. It presents numerous cases of negotiation, including a woman who appealed to monks to help her talk to the soldiers, and a village chief who agreed to some of the demands of the SPDC to ensure peace. Not all approved of these efforts. As the report notes, members of the armed resistance group had criticized and threatened the women for making concessions with the enemy (KWO 2010). Indeed, the NSAG soldier and the village head were not looking at compromise through the same lens. For those holding guns, there was clearly a choice to compromise or fight. Those without arms may not have felt the same privilege of choice. Nay Win Maung (semi-structured interview)7 questioned whether people in Myanmar really had a choice when it came to standing up and confronting the regime: Not all of us are Daw Suu [Aung San Suu Kyi]. If we disappear, nobody will know and the international community won’t care. Opposing the government is not a “choice” if opposition leads to certain harm. While I’m talking about myself here I’m talking more about my students. For some of them, asking them to join the democracy movement is like asking them to walk through a minefield.

from bullets to bribery 137 Perspective and personality appeared to shape one’s view on compromise. Many who spoke in defence of compromise felt they had no choice in the matter. Rejecting compromise was not an option. In interview after interview, analysts and citizens reiterated that it was easy to demonize compromise from a position of safety. Mael Raynaud (semi-structured interview)8 stated: “People on the outside cringe at the idea of working with the government. Most people on the inside don’t so much as question it, because that is how you get things done. It isn’t even held in a negative light.” Yet there were those who saw defiance and outward opposition as a must, even if it meant certain punishment. One’s position was not only about circumstance, but personality and strategy. Aung Naing Oo (semi-structured interview)9 conveyed the many variables that needed to be taken into account: I’m often criticized by hardliners because I teach people how to work in the system. They think I should be teaching people to challenge the system. But this is not safe or effective. I praise all who work for change. And I support creativity and people who are willing to find ways to accomplish a given goal. Hardliners call this conformity. I call this smart. My point here is that we really have to do a better job of thinking from their shoes.

Mael Raynaud offers a useful set of observations that illustrate why positions around compromise may have been difficult to reconcile but not necessarily irreconcilable in military-ruled Myanmar: Players who commit to activism often view themselves as the only real force that matter. At the same time, there are players who are

138

five dedicated to pragmatism, who look at activists as a nuisance. You hear things like “too extreme to contribute.” The thing is that the people in the streets need the people who are engaged in the system and working quietly in the grassroots. And the people in the system and in the grassroots need the people in the street. If you take China, activists believe that people like Liu Xiaobo are the sole drivers of change. They don’t see the role played by people within the party, in the private sector, and all over the country, who are working like hell to change things. It’s about the people in the street and the people in the system leveraging one another. More and more people in and around Burma are starting to see this.

Sacrifice There is a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart, that you can’t take part. You can’t even passively take part! And you’ve got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you’ve got to make it stop! And you’ve got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it – that unless you’re free, the machine will be prevented from working at all! (Mario Savio, Sproul Hall, University of California, Berkeley, 2 December 1964)

Those who dismissed compromise often saw sacrifice in terms of spilled blood, commitment to protest, speaking human rights, years of imprisonment, and a willingness to go into exile. Sacrifice as blood and bodily pain is easily understood. However, sacrifice need not always be sensational. It can be subtle, stoic. Those who chose not to stand up and speak out in military-ruled Myanmar would often discuss sacrifice in terms of overcoming constant insecurities and daily oppres-

from bullets to bribery 139 sion, committing to messy, monotonous struggles for change, corrall-ing one’s emotions, and biting one’s tongue. Views on compromise and frames of sacrifice consistently aligned with one another. “The headlines and the international praise [for Burma] is all about sacrifice,” said an organizer from Bago Division. It was common to hear informants compare their sacrifice to that of others. One’s level of sacrifice was proof of one’s resolution or desire for change. An informant on the border in Thailand, who identified himself as a member of the armed struggle, said: You can identify the people who really want change in Burma. These are the people who spill blood, who sacrifice. These people are put in prison or forced to escape the country. Other people say they want change, but they’re not standing up to the government. They’re laying down to the government like a dog. How can you take these people seriously?

Those who sacrificed the most could campaign as being most deserving of attention and resource support. An activist in Chiang Mai, Thailand, observed: “Look, if the person hasn’t spoke up or fought, then what have they done to help Burma? We cannot reward people for sitting on their hands. That is the only reason this disaster has lasted so long.” Beyond material rewards, recognition of one’s sacrifice mattered. Honneth posits that recognition is sought primarily for purposes of love, respect, and esteem, and non-recognition is experienced as harm and injustice (Van den Brink and Owen 2007: 1). Those whose sacrifices were unseen went without moral and material support. Sacrifice around armed conflict was a particularly divisive issue. Both soldiers and civilians saw themselves as enduring a

140

five great deal of sacrifice during the fighting. Civilians around the conflict zones argued that it was civilians, not soldiers, who were carrying the biggest burden of armed struggles. Conversely, a representative from the ABSDF offered a soldier’s perspective: “It is not fair that so many people are standing by watching while we are fighting in the jungle, bleeding for things to change. We are willing to sacrifice everything to make things better, and some people won’t even lift a finger.” Blood spilt and imprisonment were certainly proof of sacrifice, but not the only proof. Malseed discusses the implications of focusing exclusively on select sacrifices: Ignoring the villagers’ side of the struggle, however, denies their agency and results in their exclusion from the political processes required to change their situation; in conflict resolution, only armed actors are typically invited to the table, even when the conflict is between state and society. (2008b: 2)

A shop manager in Shan State spoke to the depth of sacrifice that everyday struggles for survival and change could entail: You know, I had a friend who went to Yangon to make money for her village. She got there and couldn’t find work. She couldn’t even get home. She went into prostitution to feed her kids and send money back to her people. She ended up getting very sick. She sacrificed everything, but now her family and friends have a chance. People from abroad may not understand it, but we understand it. I respect her a lot.

In military-ruled Myanmar, those who attempted to forge a better life for their families and communities weathered risks and suffering on a daily basis. They put their health on the line. Individuals worked days at a time, in terrible conditions. They put

from bullets to bribery 141 themselves in harm’s way when working with and around the authorities. They endured verbal and physical abuse from officials, including forced labour. They faced constant insecurity. They lost family members. Their houses were burned. They faced warfare with few defences. They faced the fear of reprisal and the constant mental pressure of oppression. These were the sacrifices of those who committed to a quiet, everyday struggle for change. A taxi driver in Mandalay Division responded to a question about sacrifice: I haven’t been put in prison and I haven’t fled my home. I chose to stay and put myself in harm’s way every day. I stay quiet, even if I want to scream. This is really hard, but it allows me to help people. Everyone is struggling, but not everyone sees that.

Informants in different circumstances spoke of different sacrifices. There were endlessly distinct perspectives on sacrifice, but two issues were particularly divisive. The first was going into exile. Exiled informants highlighted the sacrifice that exile entailed, including leaving one’s family and friends, leaving one’s country, enduring an uncertain status in foreign countries, and a range of other life changes. Conversely, many in the field highlighted the sacrifice that went into staying. By refusing to leave, individuals were committing to all the risks and challenges that went into living and pursuing change under a dictatorship. The second issue of much debate was whether more sacrifice went into speaking out or staying quiet. Those who publicly opposed the regime emphasized the sacrifice that went into protest, and there were many. The sacrifice was the refusal to be

142

five discreet and the willingness to weather the threats or promises of punishment. In contrast was the notion that the sacrifice was not giving in to the urge to speak out. This sacrifice was the constant restraint of emotions. These individuals spoke about wanting to scream, wanting to fight, but constraining those urges in order to continue their work. Parallels can certainly be drawn here with the debate about the “realness” of everyday resistance and the superiority of contentious politics. All of these different perspectives combine to reveal the subjectivity of sacrifice. There was no one group that sacrificed. Everyone struggling for change sacrificed. Hierarchies of sacrifice were in the eyes of the beholder. Recognizing the sacrifice that went into changing Myanmar is best done by recognizing the wide range of sacrifices individuals and groups endured.

Moral compasses When discussing an observation about contrasting strategies with a local NGO trainer in Yangon, she responded: “It makes sense. One group is focused on delegitimizing the regime, the other group doesn’t really care if the regime feels legitimate or not. If [the latter group] has to salute the flag in the process, they will. They have different principles.” Whether it was the use of human rights language or positions on compromise and sacrifice, divisive issues had moral undercurrents. The moral high ground in the struggle to change military-ruled Myanmar was often hard to locate. As is the case in transitioning Myanmar, it was never as simple as rallying around those fighting the good fight. Distinctions between right and wrong, moral and immoral, were anything but straightforward. Rather, distinct moral compasses appeared to guide individuals in different ways.

from bullets to bribery 143 What one saw as clearly immoral, say bribery or brokering, others saw as entirely appropriate. Not all accounts of morality in military-ruled Myanmar imply this moral conundrum. Fink states: “people [in Myanmar] have to face choices that are hardly imaginable in a free society. Should you take the high road and be honest or engage in corruption so your family can make ends meet?” (2001: 7). Fink later notes: “Under military rule in Burma, it seems that doing what is right is often directly opposed to doing what is necessary to survive” (ibid.: 100). Fink’s breakdown was one way of mapping the moral terrain, but an alternative mapping is possible. Was public opposition the moral route? Was it moral to make deals with officials? Was it immoral to work for the state? Was it moral to call on others to protest? Could bribery be morally justified? Could crime be morally justified? Was it moral to take up arms? Was it moral to prioritize politics over welfare, or vice versa? The list could go on. On each of these issues, informants took contrasting moral stances. No groups saw themselves as morally inferior. Rather they were measuring morality differently. Each informant held a personal moral compass, and most seemed to orient towards either deontology or consequentialism. Deontology judges morality in terms of rules and duties. Consequentialism judges morality in terms of consequence. The deontologist emphasizes the merit of the act itself; the means must always be justified. The consequentialist emphasizes the merit of the outcome; the end can justify the means. Activists, often driven by a deontological compass, gave focus to ideology, principles, and the adherence to a public profile. Symbolism and sending a message matter to the deontologist. That is why bribery or brokering were so morally reprehensible. It is never acceptable to

144

five hide or cooperate. It is never appropriate to look beyond an injustice. Members of the Third Force who were following a consequentialist compass counter this by focusing on the tangible result of an action. Symbolism and convictions are only worth a damn if they yield practical benefits. Morten Pedersen (semi-structured interview) commented:10 Many people define [the argument against sanctions] as immoral, because it promotes funding a bad regime. To me, morality is better looked at in terms of its consequences. I look at how our acts impact the Burmese people. If there is a net benefit from our acts for the Burmese people, I see it as moral.

If a non-ideological act, such as bribery or brokering, yields better results than the ideological act, such as protest, then the non-ideological act is actually the morally superior one. If an ideological act leads to regression or losses, then it is morally unacceptable. Many informants saw the promotion of activism as an immoral conscription, characterizing this as exploitative and unproductive. Activism and brokering were topics of much moral sparring, but neither was as morally divisive as sanctions, as Chapter 6 will discuss. For deontologists and consequentialitsts alike, doing what felt right could be an end in itself. In Mae Sot, a former soldier of an NSAG said: “Part of it is about winning, taking the government out of its seat and putting them on trial. The other part is about fighting the good fight, even if you lose.” From another perspective, a young woman involved in community projects near Bagan observed: “It doesn’t matter if the military or the NLD is in charge. The point is that no one is doing anything for us here. I

six | Sanctions: a cure and a disease

In a June 2014 Last Week Tonight interview between John Oliver and Ugandan LGBTI rights activist Pepe Julian Onziema the issue of sanctions against Uganda arises: John Oliver: Do you think that sanctions are helpful or harmful? Pepe Julian Onziema: In my opinion, very harmful … not just harmful, but very harmful. John Oliver: Why so? Pepe Julian Onziema: Because I live on the ground. I know guidelines on what people could do. And we’re divided on this issue. There are people who believe that sanctions work. Some believe it won’t work. I’m one of those people who believes that it doesn’t work, because however targeted it is, we’re the ones who end up suffering. I’ll give you an example. In the recent sanctions, there is aid cut from community policing. We have laid grounds to engage the police because we know the police are the immediate violators of LGBT people (arresting when the community call on them). Taking that money away from them [actually] endangers us. Why I say that is because in instances where the community is attempting mob justice there are police everywhere and they will intervene … they save you for that moment. Of course they will take you into custody and treat you as a homosexual. But that initial reaction is very important.

154

six Sanctions against Uganda are distinct from those that were in place against the Myanmar junta. The sanctions are different, the governing setting is different, the dynamics are different. However, Onziema’s insights speak to sanctions against militaryruled Myanmar in a number of ways. First, there is disagreement among those seen as beneficiaries. Walking around militaryruled Myanmar, anyone would hear an array of support for and opposition to sanctions. Second, the reason for support or discontent depends on a person’s interpretation of the situation and their priorities. One of the things Onziema made clear was the vantage point: “I live on the ground.” On the ground, nuances that may not be seen from abroad or above come to the forefront. Onziema’s focus was on the effect of the sanctions. This was the same orientation many frustrations with sanctions against the military junta came from. People spoke of sanctions generally. They had little concern with the technicalities of a sanction or sanctions. Often sanctions were spoken of as an attitude or strategy. Their concern, much like that of Onziema, was how the presence of sanctions felt and how sanctions impacted the exercise of power. They knew sanctions had an impact because they felt it. For them, there was no need to separate the Canadian sanctions from the Australian sanctions from the layers of United States sanctions, all of which countries had a unique sanctions regime against the Myanmar junta. This was not a debate about the targeting specificities or technicalities of sanctions. The concern was a cumulative feel that sanctions gave people. And individuals throughout military-ruled Myanmar formulated their support or resentment accordingly. Champions of sanctions against regimes like the Myanmar junta argue that they accomplish at least one of two crucial ends.

sanctions 155 First, sanctions may destabilize a regime or incapacitate certain targets. Even if the sanctioning episode does not end in regime change, sanctions can undermine behavior. Second, sanctions send a message to the target and everyone watching. Sanctions are a clear message of disapproval. To both ends, sanctions allow the world to do something. Vindication through sanctions was notable in southern Rhodesia, Zimbabwe, South Africa, Cuba, Haiti, the former Yugoslavia and military-ruled Myanmar. Ostensibly and practically proponents sell sanctions as the righteous move. Critics of sanctions challenge this notion outright, arguing that sanctions are either ineffective or threaten the rights and livelihood of innocent populations. Critics may say, for instance, that sanctions ostracize entire populations, creating a hostage scenario where tyrannical regimes end up with more control. Supporters and critics alike have anecdotal evidence to back up their positions. But the debate constantly ends in stalemate. Those advancing sanctions argue that critics misunderstand the nuances. Critics rebut that no amount of targeting or packaging changes the impact of sanctions. Proponents of sanctions against the Myanmar junta won out time and again. Prasse-Freeman (2011) likened debates about sanctions against the Myanmar junta to “watching a re-run on television, subconsciously we already know how it’s going to end.” He went on: the sanctions debate has slid from a mere means (a tool to a larger end), to almost approaching that end in itself: the symbol has become larger than life, inflated by news articles, congressional hearings, and position papers. And in that process, sanctions have moved into the role of the central political question, becoming a platform for debates mostly between external audiences. (Ibid.)

156

six Advocates and politicians sold sanctions as an opportunity to delegitimize the regime and show support for the opposition. In this package, sanctions were interwoven with human rights and democracy. This left little space for challenges. But there were challenges, not least at the grassroots. As the Introduction explains, the research behind this book began as an attempt to understand the disconnects between grassroots views on sanctions and the meta-narrative coming from global campaigns. This chapter attempts to illustrate the sanctioning landscape in military-ruled Myanmar, from debates in foreign capitals to local communities around whom sanctions took effect. Beyond examining support and lack thereof at various levels, this chapter hones in on what sanctions are not. Speaking to personal experiences, many people throughout military-ruled Myanmar felt that sanctions do not bolster the type of resources and support that could transform everyday politics and allow individuals to take action on their own behalf. Indeed, sanctions are deprivation and confrontation; the opposite of what those wanting space and opportunities sought.

Sanctions as a cure Until early 2012, the junta and its cronies were the target of extensive sanctions. Early in 2012, sanctioning governments began to lift their sanctions layer by layer. From 2012 through 2015, already targeted sanctions become narrower to the point that as of 2015 only arms trading and a small number of industries and individuals, believed to be under the control of the former regime and their cronies, remained under restrictions. These were not blanket sanctions and there was no blanket lifting of sanctions. The emphasis has

sanctions 157 always been on targeting predators in Myanmar and sparing the opposition. Notions of predation shifted between 1988 and 2015 and so too did the extent of sanctions. Washington, DC, led the sanctioning regime from the beginning. Sanctions began after the State Law and Order Restoration Council’s (SLORC) seizure of power in 1988, and the subsequent refusal to turn over power to the NLD after their win in the 1990 elections. Washington’s immediate reaction was to pull the US ambassador from Rangoon. This was the first of many punitive measures, most of which were made possible by the 1990 Customs and Trade Act. Throughout the 1990s and 2000s the USA rolled out numerous acts and orders to reinforce and expand political and economic sanctions. Perhaps the most “blanket” of all US sanctions were the blanket banning of new US investment in Myanmar that began in May 1997 and stayed with no modification of scope until July 2012, and the ban on importation of any product from Burma that began in July 2003 and remained until revocation in August 2013. The standard set, other countries got in line. The European Union enacted its first set of sanctions through the October 1996 Common Position defined by Article J.2 of the Treaty of the European Union on Burma (96/635/CFSP). In December 2007, following the Saffron crackdown, Canada came in aggressively with the Special Economic Measures (Burma) Regulations (SOR/2007-285) that were to remain in place until the Burmese government showed genuine improvement in human rights and humanitarian situations. In the Asia Pacific region, Japan, Australia, and New Zealand brought sanctions against the regime. Japan’s history of sanctions is a useful illustration of how sanctions against the regime took place.

158

six Sanctions from Japan use the leverage of aid. In August 1988, Japan discontinued its aid program and put in place an arms embargo. From 1989 to 1991, Japan brought back select aid programs and in 1994 began offering new aid as a temporary reward after the regime met with Aung San Suu Kyi. Normalization of this aid began in 1995 after the release of Aung San Suu Kyi from house arrest. The next major shift came in 2003, when Japan put a freeze on aid following a clash between junta supporters and the NLD and the subsequent house arrest of Aung San Suu Kyi. Select resumption of aid took place until 2007. Kenji Nagai, a Japanese journalist, was in Myanmar covering the Saffron Revolution when he was shot by an SPDC soldier. After footage of the shooting was seen around the world, Japan promptly cut its aid program. Later, in May 2008, when Cyclone Nargis hit the Irrawaddy Delta, Japan chose to resume selected aid programs. Humanitarian aid began as a necessity in 2008 and the progressive resumption of other aid programs followed. This cycle seems to have come to an end as Prime Minister Shinzo Abe made an official state visit in 2013, the first since 1977, suggesting a new era of relations. Similar timelines and trends could be drawn for all sanctioning countries. That so many countries employed sanctions against military-ruled Myanmar for so long is proof of a strong logic and backing. Sanctions in Myanmar were one aspect of a global, decadesold exercise. The history of sanctions is extensive, dating back to 432 bc, when Athens denied the citizens of Megara access to Athenian resources, because Megara refused to join the Delian League against Sparta (Giumelli 2007: 3). The United States has made sanctions a common feature of contemporary geopolitics. It was the USA, outside of the UN, that was at the forefront of the

sanctions 159 vast majority of the more than two hundred official sanctioning episodes of the twentieth century (Hufbauer et al. 2007). Despite US domination of the sanctioning scene, sanctions are a key foreign policy tool of many countries that identify as democratic. Following the First World War, President Woodrow Wilson proclaimed that League of Nation sanctions would be a “peaceful, silent, deadly, remedy,” which could be employed as a means of “avoiding any future war” (Frank 2006: 5). This characterizing of sanctions as peaceful and effective continues to prevail. Sanctions can bring together classically opposing camps, such as leftand right-wing politicians. Campaigns in the USA unite strange bedfellows, including the Heritage Foundation, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, the Family Research Council, the American Civil Liberties Union, and conservative religious organizations (Tamm 2004: 697). President Obama received a near-universal standing ovation from both sides of the political aisle at his 2010 State of the Union Address when proclaiming: These diplomatic efforts have also strengthened our hand in dealing with those nations that insist on violating international agreements in pursuit of nuclear weapons. That’s why North Korea now faces increased isolation, and stronger sanctions that are being vigorously enforced. That’s why the international community is more united, and the Islamic Republic of Iran is more isolated. And as Iran’s leaders continue to ignore their obligations, there should be no doubt: They, too, will face growing consequences. That is a promise.

There are a number of reasons for the mass appeal. First, sanctions may work. Assessments of sanctioning history suggest a low success rate. Optimistic assessments put success at 34

160

six percent (Hufbauer et al. 2007: 183). Pape’s (1997, 1998) estimations are much lower at 5 percent and Levy (1999) argues that sanctions never have worked, not even in the foremost case of South Africa. Of course, this all depends on measures of success. Punishment can be thought of as a victory, even when it does not produce tangible change. Sanctions may be more a deterrent or leverage point than a transforming stimulus. In this sense, sanctions and the threat of sanctions may work 100 percent of the time. Measuring deterrence and leverage is all but impossible, but such intangibles are all important. Furthermore, the notion that sanctions could work, even if they rarely do, can be appealing. Even the possibility of destabilization, however slight or theoretical, has appeal. When the options people bring to the table include war, sanctions, and doing nothing, sanctions become very attractive. Finally, sanctions regularly sit alongside military measures. Sanctions are certainly more peaceful than warfare. In an interview, a foreign policy analyst observed: The costs of sanctions are placed next to the costs of war. You have the vision of rubble, combat casualties, refugees, and arms build-ups, as well as the possibility that the war may not be quick and the war may not be won. It seems to me that even in a worst case scenario, sanctions avoid a great deal of suffering.

Second, regardless of whether sanctions change behavior, they send a message. Sanctions enable societies and governments to plant a moral flag in the ground. Standing against tyranny and for the people requires action that people can point to, resting assured something is being done. A middle-aged male logistics manager in Shan State said: “I like the fact that the government

sanctions 161 is outcast. They have lost face internationally. The sanctions remind everyone how bad the government really is.” This type of perspective became the meta-narrative for sanction advocates. Sanctioning was a way to fulfil the will of the people of Myanmar. Campaign messages called for action in support of sanctions, reminding subscribers that: “The people of Burma still need our support” (email, Burma Campaign, UK, 6 March 2012). Following the lifting of sanctions, the Burma Campaign thanked subscribers for all their efforts, noting: These sanctions would never have been in place if it were not for the support of thousands of campaigners like you, who lobbied for years to get the British government and EU to introduce targeted sanctions. The Financial Times reported today that: “UK-based human rights groups … have significantly influenced the UK’s historically strong support for maintaining sanctions.” (Email, 4 April 2012)

To so much as question sanctions was to question the will of the people of Myanmar. Sceptics or critics in Myanmar were regularly seen as anti-human rights. Ashley South (semi-structured interview)1 captured this when reflecting on the treatment of the Wa: Sanctions have reinforced the notion of good ethnic groups, like the Karen, and bad ethnic groups, the Wa. The Wa are targeted and demonized internationally for opium. But what the international community ignores is that the Wa have begged for some time for the lifting of sanctions and the promotion of alternative economic opportunities.

An NGO representative who identified with the Third Force made an interesting observation in this regard:

162

six There’s no questioning sanctions. The voices that matter support sanctions. It doesn’t matter how much the rest of us hate sanctions, we will never be heard. If the NLD, the exiles, and, most importantly, the Lady, ask for sanctions, there will be sanctions. Everybody knows that sanctions will only change when Daw Suu asks for it. We love her, but it is not like everyone agrees with her on everything.

Packaging of sanctions brought the notion of speaking for those who cannot speak for themselves. This was often interwoven with the sentiment that some people simply knew best. Buzzi (2011) writes: “It remains essential to listen to the viewpoints of Aung San Suu Kyi … When the day comes for lifting the sanctions, she will let the whole world know.” Seeing a population facing tyranny and the prospect of war, and support for sanctions from the most public and sought-after voices of the democracy movement, there was little need for debate. Sanctions were clearly a cure.

Sanctions as a disease Sceptics on the global stage argue that sanctions, both blanket and target, have major flaws as a cure and may be an entirely new disease. What jumps out when looking at such critiques is how readily they are pushed aside by sanctioning governments and advocates. This is odd because critics make a number of substantive points. Critics question the unsure legal foundations of sanctions. Economic sanctions in particular are thought to be inconsistent with international and domestic legal principles, such as those set by the World Trade Organization laws and many Constitutions. Then there is the uncertain impact of sanctions. Quantitative studies suggest a low success rate, but

sanctions 163 there is also the possibility that sanctions can harm the wrong people. On this point, critics note, “in typical cases of Iraq, Haiti, Cuba and North Korea, sanctions have seemed only to empower dictators” (Kristof 2003). As will soon be brought into focus, regimes that have a certain level of control over public resources and channels of distribution have the ability to deflect and redistribute suffering that may result from shortages or isolation. As a result, the population has less, the regime lives lavishly and propaganda machines point to sanctions as the cause of suffering and a reason to stand strong against foreign forces trying to harm the nation. Here it is worth recalling the SPDC’s “People’s Desires”: Oppose those relying on external elements, acting as stooges, holding negative views. Oppose those trying to jeopardize stability of the State and progress of the nation. Oppose foreign nations interfering in internal affairs of the State. Crush all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy.

Concern over the impact of sanctions is largely concern over the impact of isolation. Sceptics of sanctions point out apparent contradictions regarding the simultaneous praise and outrage regarding isolation. The isolation of Palestine is condemned as a human rights tragedy, but the isolation of North Korea, Iran, Zimbabwe, and military-ruled Myanmar receive praise as human rights victories. Underpinning such critiques is the sentiment of sanctions as inhumane. This was a sentiment individuals throughout Myanmar spoke to in a range of ways.

164

six The Burma Campaign framed sanctions in terms of fulfilling the will of the people. This will or voice of the people is a problematic meme to begin with. But when finding significant frustration with sanctions in local communities, one sees a deeper issue. Htoo Chit (semi-structured interview)2 asked: “Organizations support sanctions for the good of the people, but who do these organizations represent? Who are they speaking for? Who granted them power?” A businessman who worked primarily in Mandalay spoke to this line of questioning: “Look, for me it’s simple. The people know what’s best for them. The people I meet are baffled by sanctions. I don’t fully understand why. I don’t know if they fully understand why. But that doesn’t matter. If the point is to help the people, that starts with following their feelings.” In community after community people spoke with frustration that seemed to carry resentment against sanctions. For these individuals, sanctions were in place for them, but in spite of them. The discourse left little space for those who had questions and concerns to come forward, leading to silenced but deep frustration. An analyst and donor consultant in Bangkok summarized his take: “You have to be really clear about one thing. Sanctions are not about the population. They’re about the advocates. There’s a big difference. However, advocates have created an environment where sanctioning is accepted as a way to serve the interests of the people.” A cross-border advocate in Mae Sot brought in the other variable in this equation: When it comes to the Burma lobby in DC, it’s important to recognize that Washington policy supports Washington policy. The senators are quite happy when people show up in their office and tell them that the people of Burma want them to take action. That’s pretty much all they need to start constructing a plan to punish a rogue state.

sanctions 165 In the end, there is a disturbing picture of sanctions as a selffulfilling prophecy sold in a normative package. The problem was that the package did not mesh with concurrent realities on the ground. It is hard to determine who ultimately suffers; who carries the burden of sanctions? Bueno de Mesquita and Smith (2011b) illustrate the ability of regimes to redistribute any hardships from themselves and their cronies onto the population at large. Peksen (2009: 75), in an extensive quantitative study, concludes that economic sanctions have worsened government respect for physical integrity rights including freedom from disappearances, extrajudicial killings, torture, and political imprisonment. This type of study provides an evidence-based reason to reconsider the harmless nature of sanctions. Kim Nossal (semi-structured interview)3 spoke to the evidence of social harm that correlates to sanctions: “We do have lots of evidence that sanctions can have all manner of pathological effects, including the criminalization of societies (Serbia, for example), or gendered effects (Iraq), or an increase in oppression by the state.” A former Bush administration official spoke to the economic impact sanctions can have: “Trade sanctions can function like a neutron bomb, destroying the economy, wreaking misery on the general population but leaving the policy establishment intact” (Lavin 1996: 146). This picture of local populations struggling to survive as the establishment lives comfortably is unfortunately present when thinking of militaryruled Myanmar. In fact, this disparity has far more to do with a predatory political economy than sanctions, but sanctions may compound the problem. Marinov refers to economic sanctions as “occupying a middle ground between words and war” (2005: 3). Yet there remains a

166

six propensity to position sanctions as peaceful, as Woodrow Wilson did almost one hundred years ago at the League of Nations. During an interview, a foreign policy analyst described sanctions as a way of “keeping the peace against regimes that are hell bent on war.” Perhaps sanctions are more peaceful than war, but to think of them as peaceful can trivialize the very real threat and harm they can do to regimes and populations. Dabashi (2012) argues: Sanctions are not a substitute for military strikes. They are the extension of the military logic by economic means … sanctions are not a substitute for war – they are war. Sanctions are the prelude and postscript of war, war by other means, the indiscriminate collective punishment of an entire nation in lieu of aerial bombing or land and sea assault.

Kim Nossal (semi-structured interview) put it in different terms: It is true that if I freeze your overseas bank account or prevent you or your family from taking a commercial flight it is not quite as nasty as if I put a Hellfire missile into your car or rig a cellphone bomb that blows your head off. But there is nothing “peaceful” about the process of my trying to harm you to get you to bend to my will.

When seeing sanctions as an attack, the question becomes how dictatorial regimes respond to the aggression. The concern, based on the design and implementation of tyrannical schemes, is that regimes will respond aggressively, with more oppression. In the  setting of a fictional prototype dystopian environment Orwell writes: “War is waged by the ruling group against its own subjects and its objective is not the victory … but to keep the very structure of society intact” (1983 [1949]: 430–31). While a

sanctions 167 fictional scenario, this has real relevance. Might sanctions serve warmongers the war they feed off? It is hard not to hear echoes of the SPDC’s “People’s Desires” listed above. A young man from Chin State who had worked abroad before returning to Yangon offered a potent portrayal of how sanctions felt to him: “sanctions are like putting a dog in the corner. They will fight harder and harder. They become more determined. The sanctions also put us in the corner with that dog.” Tyrants can use confrontations to further entrench their authority. Above, Peksen (2009) brings evidence to suggest that dictatorial regimes take aim at their opponents or perhaps anyone not on their side. Research into naming and shaming campaigns in 145 countries from 1975 to 2000 reveals that “governments put in the spotlight for abuses continue or even ramp up some violations afterward, while reducing others” (Hafner-Burton 2008: 689). Still, it is difficult to empirically draw the causal link between naming, shaming or sanctioning and surges in oppression. Even the correlative link can be tenuous. Perhaps this explains the absent pause. But the young man from Chin State above saw cause for pause. He felt the way in which sanctions intensified the environment. And he was by no means alone in this feeling. Everyday pursuits of change in military-ruled Myanmar were all about navigation and negotiation. Subversion and creation are easiest in non-threatening environments, where the rules and chain of command are lacklustre. The Third Force sought a malleable system. In a climate of complacency, negotiation was said to be easier. Authorities became more open to new ideas and projects. It was easier to find and exploit entry points. New space, relationships, and opportunities were easier to forge. Those

168

six seeking malleability and opportunities found sanctions working against them. Sanctions were a reminder of the existential threat to the regime. This type of threat elicits a return to rigidity and callousness. In other words, as individuals sought to make the system soft, malleable, and exploitable, sanctions sat as a reminder of the need to stay sharp and reinforce the status quo. Searching for apathy, opportunities, space, and relationships, sanctions were seen as closing off opportunities and prompting a tightening of command and control. A community organizer from Kachin State noted: People on the ground are trying to hide threats from the government because the whole system feeds off conflict. Sanctions are a conflict, and that conflict gives Naypyidaw an excuse to be combative. Naypyidaw uses sanctions to convince the young soldiers that they are at war. The sanctions are proof that the country is under threat. The people are trying to convince the officials that there is nothing to be scared of, that there is no reason to be aggressive. The generals are trying to convince everyone that we’re at war. You tell me who the sanctions are helping?

In Aung Naing Oo’s (semi-structured interview)4 experience there was an inability on the global stage for onlookers to see what was clear to those on the ground: The ordinary citizens of Burma understand the system better than anyone. They understand that the government thrives off having enemies. Military governments need enemies to justify their approach. The sanctions give them an excuse to act defensive, and be oppressive. This is most obvious to those who are victims of the oppression.

sanctions 169 Returning to the perspective of Pepe Julian Onziema, who spoke about Uganda, when deconstructing the relationship between the state and the population at both the macro and everyday levels different types of dynamics or perspectives come to the forefront. Beyond giving the military regime the kind of threat it sought, there was a feeling that sanctions were making it harder for people to become independent from the state. The junta ranks sought a dependent population and people sought ways to overcome this dependency. The feeling was that sanctions were on the wrong side of this equation. It is clear that sanctions do obstruct channels of international trade and exchange. That is the very purpose of most economic sanctions. This is true even in the case of the most targeted sanctions, because sanctions of any kind act as an alarm to the international community. Sanctions are a signal to travel, invest, and pursue opportunities elsewhere. Those who had resources, opportunities, and networks were able to push the boundaries by easing subversion and creation. Like it or not, bribery went a long way. It was not always about bribery, per se, but rather having something to leverage. Knowingly or unwittingly obstructing channels to goods, materials, ideas, and investment wrongly places populations within the pariah equation. A humanitarian analyst and practitioner (semi-structured interview) drew parallels with sanctions against Sudan: Even if sanctions are targeted they lead to isolation of populations, fewer interactions, fewer ways of staying in touch, fewer debates and emotional exchanges. The impacts go so much further than just the sanctions and their immediate impact. Sudan has exemplified the process by which people who feel alienated and isolated grab on to whatever they can. In Sudan,

170

six you have seen a rise of people turning to radical Islam, who have resources, and this is in a traditionally secular Islamic context. When you cut off avenues for individuals they become vulnerable to a long list of things. I try to tell the activists about the negative impact on local communities, but they never seem to lose their adamancy to sanction.

These concerns are not easy to back away from. At least they should not be. Yet Yaraslau Kryvoi (semi-structured interview),5 who has been publicly questioning the sanctioning logic and searching for dialogue on the issue, sees no major shift on the horizon: Sanctions will continue to be the weapon of choice because it is politically and logistically easier to deprive than to provide. It is much easier to call for change, focus on the lack of change, and punish the lack of change, than it is to create change. Until the deprivation attitude that fuels sanctions is replaced with a production-oriented mindset, sanctions will be the way forward.

What sanctions are not The pro-democracy coalition that has dominated Western geopolitical scripts since 1988 seeks a more comprehensive nationalscale shift to democracy from which a more open society can emerge. Its lack of progress, however, has led a number of commentators and activists, including former political prisoners, to question the appropriateness of promoting isolationist strategies to effect national-scale change in a [state system] that favours exclusion and non-interference. Alternative discourse coalitions, based on engagement and humanitarianism, are providing new ways of interacting with the state, and seek more localized improvements in human rights. (McGregor 2011: 161)

sanctions 171 Sanctions are statecraft. Sanctions are not built around the political muscles of the grassroots. They are part of a game to pressure regimes from above. There was palpable fatigue and disillusionment with this game in military-ruled Myanmar. Concerns regarding the savior orientation of sanctions led to significant shifts within one of the most notable actors in the Myanmar sanction game, the Free Burma Coalition. Maung Zarni founded the Coalition in 1995 and during the late nineties this group won the divestment of a long list of multinational corporations from Myanmar. He then made a stance shift in 2003, reforming the Coalition’s vision to “Towards an open society in Burma/Myanmar through interactions and integration.” Many in the Coalition did not agree with the step away from sanctions and reorganized into the US Campaign for Burma. Today, following years of reform, the US Campaign for Burma is less adamant about sanctions but maintains an identity as “the driving force in the United States for mobilizing political pressure for democracy and human rights.” The original Coalition online site is live and has a brief explanation for Maung Zarni’s shift. It states that “after having reviewed the effectiveness of our pro-sanctions campaigns against the objective of building an open society back home, we have categorically reversed our pro-isolation advocacy.” While lacking specifics about how sanctions were failing to open Myanmar and increase interactions and integration, one could consider whether it may be the very nature of sanctions which caused this reversal. Sanctions are not vehicles of creation, opportunities, and relationships. They do not have an everyday orientation. Rather sanctions reflect a conception of empowerment that has

172

six “historically focused on a formal, rather than substantive, power which is granted by upper level agencies rather than seized from below” (Mohanty 1995). Recalling the dichotomy between sovereign power and power at the extremities from Chapter 4, sanctions clearly have a sovereign orientation. Exhausted with policies that position the population as a spectator, a middle-aged shop owner from Sagaing Division declared: The West needs to stop playing games. You want to help us? Then help us. Don’t scheme about how to hurt the egos of the generals. They are too proud for that. If you think the generals give a shit about the West’s opinion, you don’t understand the generals. We don’t want you to play games with Naypyidaw. We want you to actually help us get things done.

Sanctions are not a vote of confidence in transformation from below. The nature of the interaction is more dependency than an exchange of value or investment in what communities have to offer. Sanctions came across to some as an accusation of helplessness. A female English teacher in Yangon commented: “The only way to help the people is to allow them to help themselves. The people who like sanctions and all of those things are trying to save people.” An NGO worker in Yangon went further to suggest that sanctions are part of a dependency paradigm: The more time I spend following the campaigns, the more I feel that people on the outside don’t think that we are a dog in this fight. Really, how do sanctions help the people on the ground? We are the biggest dog in the fight and no one is feeding us. Just like a dog, we’ll continue to fight even if we don’t have food. But, lately, I talk to people who feel like they have to fight both the military and the advocates.

sanctions 173 Sanctions, by design, do not provide, they deprive, as Kryvoi argues above. Indication of this much can be seen in a statement by Canadian Foreign Affairs Minister John Baird on 24 April 2012 when announcing the easing of arguably the toughest regime of sanctions against Myanmar: “Canada stands ready to support Burma in building a free and prosperous society. The easing of these sanctions will help Burma move in that direction and create jobs, hope and opportunity for the Burmese people.” Of course, for those networks seeking to isolate the regime, sanctions were a vote of approval and solidarity. Sanctions brought moral and symbolic support, but did so by obstructing the channels of resources, opportunities, and interactions sought by many others. Roadblocks, restrictions, dysfunctional roads, and turbulent natural terrain obstructed the flow of people, resources, and information. Sanctions were seen as compounding these barriers. Regardless of the level of targeting or precision, people felt that sanctions were simultaneously isolating the regime and the people. Proponents of sanctions against military-ruled Myanmar point out that the population still had access to international interactions, resources, and attention. But there is a reason the young man from Chin State above spoke of being thrown in a corner with a crazed dog. He and others lived through the impact and saw sanctions as emboldening the regime and encaging the people. Having international connections was in and of itself leverage. This is why a woman with a street food shop in Myitkina was so quick to rebut arguments against tourism in military-ruled Myanmar: “Some people say that foreigners shouldn’t come here, that tourism helps the generals. But this isn’t fair. I know people

174

six oppose tourism to hurt the government, but they don’t see that tourism really helps people here.” International networks were a source of security for activists and the general populace citizens alike. The Mustache Brothers made this point at the end of each performance. The Mustache Brothers performed political satire for tourists in their Mandalay home. They were a Lonely Planet must. Two of the three brothers had served time in prison and labour camps. Amnesty International led a campaign for their release. When they were released from prison they were put on house arrest, during which they gave their nightly performance. At the conclusion of each show, the brothers advised the crowd to put pictures on Facebook, write articles, and spread the word. Lu Maw, one of the Mustache Brothers, said at the closing of one show: “We have to keep you foreigners coming here. We like to take your money. But more than that, we need people here every night. Otherwise, they [meaning the military intelligence officers around the house] will come after me and my brothers.” For individuals without a spotlight, having an international connection meant, at a minimum, they had somewhere to turn. This book makes reference to a plethora of Karen organizations and reports. This is not necessarily because there is an inherent curiosity about the situation in Karen or because the Karen circumstances are fundamentally different from other ethnic struggles in Myanmar. Rather, this is the product of extensive and effective international organizing that makes it possible for news in Karen State to quickly become international news. It is not only about mass organizing and networking. Communities all over the country began projects sponsored by a traveling family or a lone tourist. In fortunate scenarios, inter-

sanctions 175 national connections led to partnerships leading to sustainable projects. Naypyidaw used education and the media as propaganda platforms, making the exchange of ideas and information particularly important. Personal interactions and relationships were an important means of mobilizing such ideas. Yaraslau Kryvoi (semi-structured interview) referred to his personal experience of sanctions in Belarus: In places with authoritarian regimes such as Belarus, the authorities are trying to dominate and control public opinion and to avoid any meaningful political pluralism. It is always easier to create an outside enemy, usually impersonated the West which tries to impose its democracy on a sovereign nation. They need the soldier and the cop to be hateful of outsiders, the West. The best way to combat this is through human interaction. Meeting people exposes them to different ideas, and this contact reminds them that the propaganda is ridiculous. It is good for all parties because firsthand contact leads to a first-hand understanding on both sides.

While ideas and knowledge could be spread and used as leverage over officials, it was the access to funds that ultimately made new change possible. Money and resources could enable or stifle change. Individuals could go only as far as their funds allowed. Every community had its own vision, whether it was a local school, training, income generation projects or basic livelihood needs. This is where migrant workers became the faces of change. An exile and representative from a cross-border development organization argued, as did others, that remittances had been the foremost catalyst of change in Myanmar: People can point to sanctions, advocacy, protests, armed resistance, all of that, but the truth is that remittances have done

176

six more to change the political situation in Burma than all of those things. People know how to use the money to change entire communities. Remittances allowed people to invest in change. Change became a sort of business that everyone in the community could profit from. This isn’t a popular thing to say, but if you really want to change things and hand the power over to the people, then tap into the local networks, which already exist, and get them resources. Do you have any idea how much 200 dollars can do in the hands of a villager in Mon State?

Several migrant workers and communities in Myanmar gave lengthy explanations of how the remittance system worked. The regime sought a piece of, or a tax on, incoming money. People were not going to accept that. All banks were state run. Western Union was seen as too expensive and risky. Getting the money in usually meant literally carrying it across the border or transferring it through numerous business accounts. Making a transfer from a bank in a foreign country was not the challenge. If banks did not allow the transfer because of sanctions or other regulations, migrant workers and exiles would just transfer the money to a bank in Singapore, Malaysia or Thailand that could get the money through. The challenge was finding the right account (i.e. the right person) to transfer the remittances through. It was not as if just anyone could start an account and become the funnel of money. Naypyidaw would raise questions and want in. Individuals had to find the right people with the right connections, while somehow avoiding paying out to a bigtime crony. Word traveled and people found covers in the form of businesses that had accounts and deals with local officials. For sure, there was some level of cronyism and corruption in

sanctions 177 this scheme, but people sought the best options. For a minimal fee, those working and living abroad were able to get the money through. Remittances did not simply create change. Depending on the community arrangement, remittances could be a boon for change or could be money that was squandered seamlessly. Local temples, mosques, churches, community councils were important institutions of distribution. In the right community setup, remittances were precisely the type of direct investment that communities wanted and needed. Remittances used collectively and in coordination could provide communities with a great deal of leverage for projects and relations. Remittances enabled people to help themselves. With resources in hand, people could approach local officials with influence. This made it possible to break with adversarial or dependent relations. Citizens had something tangible, material, to offer. There was a chance for a win-win, for mutual benefit. There was a possibility that officials could simply seize goods or demand bribes. But citizens knew this. They were strategic about presenting or leveraging what they had. If a community wanted to start a project or hold an event, they did not always have to request assistance from the authorities. They had the resources. Some did need permission but communities could negotiate their way forward, perhaps with a bribe as supplement. This was not only about the ability to start a project or the ability to sidestep the officials. This was about changing the nature of citizen–official relations in the everyday. Resources made mutual benefit possible. Local authorities had a reason to show up and listen. Officials had a chance to benefit in their interactions with locals in ways that Naypyidaw could not begin to approach.

178

six By facilitating new opportunities, space, and relationships, remittances made it possible for people to break with dependency and build their own orbits of care. Remittance enabled local communities to build change. This is investment in the change agency of the grassroots. In Seeing Like a State, Scott (1998) argues that many schemes to improve the human condition fail because they miss the human component, specifically human emotions and interactions. Sanctions may be falling into this trap of dismissing what it feels like to be on the receiving end. A US-based analyst (semi-structured interview) of North Korea may have most adequately captured the apparent empathetic disconnect critics of sanctions spoke about throughout military-ruled Myanmar: Right now North Korea is being treated as a disease. The people are quarantined by their government and our governments. We need to be increasing exchange and doing whatever we can to build relationships between the people of North Korea and the rest of the world. The sanctioning attitude doesn’t facilitate this. This can only be accomplished through increased involvement, whether it be aid, development projects, whatever. Politicians and advocates ought to be mobilizing this exchange, and providing more incentive to both North Korean citizens and people from the US and elsewhere to work together. But right now they just try to punish the system, the disease, which includes the whole population.

Avoiding aristocracy Policymakers are in a difficult position. Inevitably, there must be a balancing of different interests and imperatives. Sanctions were a cure for some but a disease to others. This is the policymaking game. Whose priorities deserve priority and why? Who is to judge the merit of a policy? These questions are as discursive

sanctions 179 as they are technical. Frustrations relative to sanctions in military-ruled Myanmar were not about technicalities or design. People felt as though their needs and preferences were being thrown aside entirely, as though their suffering and voices were being used to benefit others, relegating them to a status of dependency and passivity. From their perspective, everything about sanctions was aristocratic. Sanctions in Myanmar did do harm. People all over the country were clear about that. Even if the harm is a feeling, it is still harm. Dismissing their hurt dismisses their voice and agency. Kim Nossal (semi-structured interview)6 observed: Even if sanctions produce negative results, there are times when a symbolic act is necessary to indicate to everyone concerned that you believe that the wrong-doer is doing wrong (denunciation) and that the act (in general) should attract harm (deterrence). What I object to is the rhetoric that pretends that sanctions will do the job of deposing the wrong-doer or causing the wrongdoing to stop, or that pretends that sanctions have no negative or unintended effects.

At the point that the human rights machine, that is the systems that facilitate human rights advocacy and practice on a global scale, cannot reckon with such inconveniences it becomes aristocratic, even imperialist. Such a machine can introduce idioms of justice, democracy, and righteousness and “bulldoze” populations, to borrow a metaphor from Malseed (2008b: 2). This type of machine can silence and alienate the very people it is meant to give voice to. Malseed observes “unease at relief and development processes in Burma, which exploit the villagers’ apparent voicelessness by speaking ‘for’ them using foreign frameworks” (ibid.: 2). It all starts with voice. Whose voices gain recognition? Who is

180

six spoken for? That individuals throughout Myanmar felt as though sanctions were working against their efforts to create change is one thing. Policymakers may be in a situation where they have to choose a path and deal with the consequences. There may be no way to adequately frame and respond to the countless perspectives on a given policy. The ease with which questions, concerns, and frustrations coming from below, from the very people sanctions were meant to benefit, were overlooked, dismissed, or silenced is less justifiable.

seven | Nay Win Maung’s funeral

Nay Win Maung was one of the most debated figures (if not the most debated) in the struggle for change in military-ruled Myanmar. In the same way that Aung San Suu Kyi was the face of the public opposition, Nay Win Maung was the face of the Third Force. He was a proud defender of those who broke with convention in their efforts to be transformative. Nay Win Maung himself was not afraid to change the rules of the game. He did not shy away from controversy. In addition to founding Myanmar Egress, he will likely be most remembered for engaging the highest ranks of the junta. He was a stirrer of ideas. Never bystanding in debates, Nay Win Maung publicly responded to critics. His medium was a weekly column in The Voice, a newspaper he founded through Egress, thought of by many as the Third Force’s newspaper. To his supporters, Nay Win Maung was an open-minded thinker; a trailblazer who mobilized thousands each year through Egress’s training and projects. His colleagues spoke with admiration of his willingness to put his image and reputation on the line in the pursuit of change. To his critics, “civil-society organizer Nay Win Maung was a man not to be trusted, with deep and suspicious ties to the country’s harsh military regime” (Barta 2012). Aung Din, executive director of the US Campaign for Burma, argued to the US Committee on Foreign Affairs in 2011 that Nay Win Maung

182

seven should be added to the sanctions list along with other “cronies who are providing the regime with political and propaganda support.”1 Nay Win Maung embodied what reconstructive politics is all about, particularly the element of taking risks that may not be popular or end well. He was playing a double game that could collapse subtly or explicitly. There were constantly questions about intent. And it remains unclear whether and how his efforts combatted the structural and cultural violence that plagued military-ruled Myanmar and continues to wreak havoc in transitioning Myanmar. That is, Nay Win Maung clearly had an impact at the personal level, but there is no way of knowing or demonstrating that such influence could reach systemic and root causes. Friend, foe, or otherwise, there was much interest in the unique position Nay Win Maung occupied. Alas, one can only imagine how a conversation between him and the NLD leadership would play out today. His funeral in early January 2012, following his 1 January 2012 death from natural causes, was a scene that brought together diverse and rival groups. His legacy lives on through the people he worked with and one can only guess as to whether he would be happy with the direction Myanmar is headed in.

Nay Win Maung: in his own words During two extensive interviews with Nay Win Maung, I had an opportunity to investigate his motivations and concerns. In the first interview, we spoke primarily about the tensions between him and his critics. His assessments were straightforward. In his eyes, his critics misunderstood what he was promoting and why:

nay win maung’s funeral 183 They know that Egress focuses on development and entrepreneurship. They take this and assume that we’re not concerned with human rights and democracy. We care about these things in a very real way, so much that we make sacrifices to get to human rights and democracy, and I’m talking about substance.

Nay Win Maung spoke consequentialism, the ethic of measuring the merit of an action based on its outcome, through and through. This, however, was not just rhetoric. He brought out his training curriculum, explaining in detail how each class, most of which were about development, project management, or entrepreneurship, had human rights and democracy built in. Trainers at Egress took me from class to class to show this in action. There was certainly a lot of talk about politics and power for what were sold as apolitical sessions. Beyond the training, he noted that many critiques of Egress were ignoring its track record, noting the significant role Egress played in mobilizing resources and assistance after Cyclone Nargis hit the Delta in May 2008. The dictatorship put in place extensive restrictions in an area where hundreds of thousands lost their lives and hundreds of thousands more were at severe risk. Egress became an interlocutor when other lines and channels were down in a large part because Egress was one of the only networks with a functional relationship with the junta ranks. Nay Win Maung said that the lack of interest in how Egress was able to mobilize in the Nargis area was proof that sceptics had already made up their minds: “They haven’t been very open to what we’re doing here, which is a shame.” Nay Win Maung spoke at length about what he saw as another disconnect between him and his critics – privilege: “Another big factor is privilege. My critics have the privilege to take the high road. I can’t accomplish anything on a high road, and my

184

seven students don’t have access to that high road.” In Chapter 5, Nay Win Maung posited that protest was only an option for people in particular circumstances. Others had to confront the oppression around them using unconventional means. He spoke of a sense of solidarity with this situation. While Nay Win Maung had a notable public profile, providing some type of insulation and privilege, his position was that strategies and approaches had to be scalable to have mass impact: “We have to find things that work in Naypyidaw and in the rural village.” From the topic of privilege, Nay Win Maung moved to risk. In particular, he focused on the vulnerable position he had put himself in. Blame and hate were sure to come his way. In defending himself, he was also defending his students and the Third Force in general. Failure was a real possibility for himself and others of the Third Force, and he knew it. Putting aside his confident public façade, we spoke of the risks and pitfalls of engaging the junta: “I’m fully aware that I’m sitting down with a military dictatorship.” He knew that some of his efforts were manipulable. His double game could collapse suddenly, without warning. He knew that if he said the wrong thing in a meeting with junta ranks they could make him disappear. If his engagement did collapse, if his double game did fall apart, it would substantiate what his sceptics and critics had said all along. Nay Win Maung spoke timidly about the stakes and risks. By no means was he alone in having to reckon with this kind of reality. Change agents of all kinds expose themselves to threats when seeking relief. Everyone pursuing change in military-ruled and transitioning Myanmar is subject to uncertainties, contradictions, and the potential for their strategy to blow up in their face. Nay Win Maung could have gone on about apprehensions,

nay win maung’s funeral 185 but he consistently moved the conversations to possibilities, the opportunities for change. To Nay Win Maung the potential for change was worth the risk: “We accept the reality that the guys in uniforms and helmets have the guns. We accept the reality of the situation, but that doesn’t mean we approve it. We hate this situation. It’s bullshit. And that’s why we put so much on the line to change it.” In the second interview, the focus shifted to strategy and vision. What stood out was the notion that while Nay Win Maung was a statesman, he was not embracing statesmanship for statesmanship’s sake. In other words, the game had to have a real benefit for people like his students. What that meant to Nay Win Maung was that engagement, training, and projects that did not shift power or behavior were not worth the time. According to his own assessment, Nay Win Maung did not promote participation in the 2010 election to appease Naypyidaw; instead he saw it as a long-term investment: Although the country’s constitution helps ensure military power by reserving 25% of all parliamentary seats for soldiers, among other provisions, Mr. Nay Win Maung focused on the fact that it at least offers a framework for implementing parliamentary democracy. He hoped that future elections – such as one expected in 2015 – would be free and fair. (Barta 2012)

He foresaw in his personal efforts a similar ripple effect. Nay Win Maung stated: “Egress, sitting down with higher-ups, standing up to our critics, it’s all about the Third Force. People get most worked up about having a relationship with the ranks. To me, it’s simple. Only the ranks are going to be able to change the ranks.”

186

seven In terms of how he went about engaging the junta, Nay Win Maung wanted to make it clear that he was acting both voluntarily and assertively: “It’s about getting hold of those moderates and using them. I can’t get too into the details of my relationship with those on ‘the dark side,’ but I can assure you that I’m not on my knees.” His belief in change from within and the power of the Third Force came across in intense, unapologetic stances: I focus on the work I can do, not the work I can’t. I can push for jobs, hospitals, schools, peace, and I can train tons of really bright future leaders. I hope there’s a day when the Third Force overruns the government and Daw Suu gets her chance. In the meantime, I’ll do my work and my critics will talk.

Nay Win Maung saw himself as a workhorse and joked about being a show pony on occasion. One thing that he made clear was that no amount of controversy was going to deter him from going to work. He was likeable, as are most political personalities. It seems important to read Nay Win Maung’s statements here as those of a politician. This is not to suggest a dishonesty in his positions; rather it is to be clear that Nay Win Maung was selling his position. He, like his critics, had to campaign for support of his pathway to change. Nay Win Maung died on 1 January 2012. His death marked a conclusion of sorts for at least one phase of the struggle for change in Myanmar. Early in 2012, the opening of Myanmar began with the lifting of most international sanctions and an influx of global involvement in the country. His desire to see Myanmar enter a new era of governance was coming to realization. He may have been a divisive figure, but his funeral was definitively uniting.

nay win maung’s funeral 187 A reconciliatory funeral His funeral gathered a crowd that on its own, by its number and the quality of those who formed it, gave the measure of the stature of the deceased. The following week, Aung San Suu Kyi as well as various government ministers, the representatives of all political parties, media, and the whole Burmese intelligentsia, in its diversity … visited the premises of Myanmar Egress to pay their last tribute to Nay Win Maung. (Mael Raynaud)2

Nay Win Maung’s funeral brought together public opponents. Those who could not attend the funeral paid their respects at Egress, in print and on social media. Images from his funeral feature handshakes and embraces of friends and rivals. The “I Vote” signs at the memorial reminded people of Nay Win Maung’s political stance, of his promotion of participation in the 2010 elections. The Myanmar Times described the scene: Also on show was an interview he gave to The Ray of Light before the election that never made it past the censorship board. But a more recent contribution, which may prove to be more important in the long term, was his attempts to broker peace between the government and armed ethnic insurgent groups. The memorial included photos of Dr Nay Win Maung with ethnic leaders from the Karen National Union, Shan State Army-South and New Mon State Party. Taken in the weeks before his death, they stood as testament to his resolve to tackle the country’s most difficult and deep-seated issues. (Nan Tin Htwe 2012)

The coming together of diverse figures combined with a range of public letters of remembrance was testament to the common bonds those struggling for change in junta-ruled and transitioning Myanmar held. Perhaps the most notable public memoriam

188

seven came from Maung Zarni, who had a very public and prolonged debate, or perhaps feud, with Nay Win Maung: While our political views came to diverge radically – and I had criticised him publicly – at the personal level I have always considered him a deeply patriotic man trying to do the impossible in spite of severe attacks on him, including from people like me. (Aung 2012)

The differences remain, but so too does a certain solidarity. Nay Win Maung set out to do what Maung Zarni saw as impossible. This is precisely the type of disagreement that took place at all levels of the struggle. Such solidarity, however qualified, suggests that the diverse struggles for change in Myanmar may be worthy of the name “movement,” even if they do not fit rigid criteria of one. At the points of divergence that Zarni cites, one can see differences of strategy, paradigms, perspectives, and personalities. Such disagreements will continue throughout Myanmar’s transition, even as the NLD takes over the lead role in parliament. What Nay Win Maung’s funeral shows is that beneath the differences are sentiments, a camaraderie of sorts among contrasting forces of change. One of Nay Win Maung’s students spoke of a realization of what the funeral illustrated: Underground CBOs and “development” NGOs all over the country have done amazing work to empower farmers. The farmers are better resourced and better educated as a result of these efforts. However, these CBOs and development NGOs could never organize the farmers into a union. This could only be done by the NLD. However, the NLD couldn’t have done all of those grassroots projects because they’re too visible and political. Here, you can see how each side has benefitted from the other.

nay win maung’s funeral 189 Nay Win Maung’s legacy Nay Win Maung will not have one legacy, but many. To his students and supporters he will likely be remembered as a Saya Nay – noble teacher – and trailblazer. To critics, Nay Win Maung’s legacy may be that of a trickster out for personal gain or a reformist; someone who was willing to settle for something short of the revolution. His legacy will be up for debate. Nay Win Maung set out to flood the system, and the dissolution of the Third Force into political parties and organizations at all levels may be the best tribute to this aim. Carving space, facilitating opportunities, and mobilizing new talent were one front. Shifting the conversation within the junta was the other. He spoke privately about wanting to change the faces of Naypyidaw. A notable accomplishment in this regard came on 31 October 2014. Observers called this the Five-Way High-Level Meeting, which was to begin a new chapter in Myanmar politics: The attendee list was most impressive: President U Thein Sein and his two vice-presidents, two house speakers, two Commanders-in-chief, Union Election Commission chairman and five political leaders, chief among them, opposition leader Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. (Aung Naing Oo 2014)

Nay Win Maung and his network set out to bring moderate, reformist figures in Naypyidaw forward. The scene on stage that day indicates that they had succeeded. He would likely have been on stage. At the least, he would have been in attendance. Yet, in speaking with him, his students, and his colleagues, it is unclear if Nay Win Maung would have seen that day as a victory. His rhetoric suggests that he saw little value in ceremony without consequence. President Thein Sein’s remarks that day did point

190

seven to some substance. At the meeting, he stated: “I would like to suggest that all political forces work in concert to ensure that the political transition will be smooth, that the 2015 elections will be free and fair, and that there will be a peaceful transfer of power.”3 This was the first official public commitment to that end. However, there is still the concern that such public appeals and formal shifts are smokescreens that hide or disguise deeply embedded structural and cultural violence. Nay Win Maung’s legacy as a visionary is hard to deny, even for those who did not approve of his vision. He was not playing Nostradamus. He was stepping back and looking at the shifting attitudes, taking note of how his conversations in Naypyidaw were changing. His students were coming in with new hope, new ideas and skills, and stories of how things were changing in their communities. Interpreting these shifts, he was hopeful that things were headed in the right direction. But there were some digressions in transitioning Myanmar that Nay Win Maung may not have had a clear response to. How would he have responded to protests in Monywa, Nomkam, Letpadaung and elsewhere where communities spoke out to fend off large extraction projects that violate land rights and result in environmental and social degradation? A March 2010 conference statement from Nay Win Maung shows a willingness to speak on corrupt and predatory business, but in a notably measured way: During the presentation’s Q&A session when responding to a question about military cronies getting prized national assets, Dr. Nay Win Maung acknowledged that while the current phase of privatization “is in a way shaping the future winners and losers” those who buy the assets would still have to remain

nay win maung’s funeral 191 competent business owners “because if you’re not competitive then you will go bankrupt. It’s not the 100 meter run, it’s a marathon. So, starting ahead of the rest of the players doesn’t necessarily mean you win.” (Mizzima 2010)

Whether Nay Win Maung would have been able to adjust to socioeconomic turbulence as it plays out in real time is up for debate. He certainly pushed for development and investment, but is it possible to qualify or scale back this push when projects turn out to be authoritarian or exploitative? What would his position be relative to the rise of anti-Islam sentiments and violence? Nay Win Maung would have been in a position to take a strong stance. Few with such a profile have. In a March 2013 blog post, Maung Zarni suggests that part of Nay Win Maung’s legacy may be contributing to the problem: “A categorically anti-Muslim/anti-Islam message tinged with the language of nationalist and national security is consistently and commonly coming from these sources: 1) Myanmar’s new media such as the late medical Dr Nay Win Maung’s The Voice, another medical Dr Than Tun Aung’s Eleven News Group.”4 It is all speculative, and depending on how one reads Nay Win Maung’s legacy people may direct blame his way or turn to his character for inspiration. Of the many questions that remain in framing Nay Win Maung’s role and impact, a more contentious one is: where was his line? This was and is a question with broad relevance. For those who are willing to make concessions and work within authoritarian systems, when does it stop? Those who saw contention as the only “real” resistance did not endorse engagement or concessions, in part because it was unclear where the compromise would stop. At a point, working within the system begins to legitimize the system. Nay Win Maung did communicate a desire

192

seven to push the regime out of power in our interviews. However, one can only guess at his endgame and what lengths he would have gone to to reach it. A figure like Nay Win Maung sits with the regime. This is a position that can transform from interlocutor to endorser, from visionary to opportunist, from de-isolating to legitimizing. It was precisely this unique seat at the regime’s table that made him unable to reveal his exit plan or endgame. Perhaps he did not have one. At what point would Nay Win Maung have broken with his pathway? Speaking with Nay Win Maung, it was evident that he did possess a Machiavellian ethos. He was a skillful negotiator. He was tireless as a teacher, statesman, and friend. Nay Win Maung, like so many others on the reconstructive pathway to change, embraced the struggle and gaming.

eight | From human rights rhetoric to 969

Around the 2012 opening, it was as if everyone was scrambling to make sense of socio-political shifts, intensifying pressures and deepening hostilities. Ethnic violence and religious tensions had been part of the Myanmar milieu for some time. But in mid-2012 violence and hate of a new kind came to the fore. They seemingly came out of nowhere, but xenophobia towards Muslims in Myanmar, and in particular the Rohingya, quickly became endemic, formalizing into 969 and ultimately Ma Ba Tha. Thusita Perera (2015) provides a useful summation of the network and suggests that its emergence is at least partly attributable to the opening and transition: Established two years ago, Ma Ba Tha sprang from the now defunct 969 movement, a loose collection of monks linked to a wave of violence against the country’s Muslim minority in 2012 and 2013. The 969 Movement, led by a firebrand Monk U Wirathu, left a trail of violence in its wake and commanded a visible increase in support from the country’s Buddhist majority thanks to Myanmar’s newly found freedom of expression and the lifting of media restrictions.

Such movements are in and of themselves disturbing. However, democracy and human rights networks can act as a check on such xenophobia, even if they cannot neutralize such sentiments

194

eight completely. Quite the opposite happened in Myanmar. Democracy and human rights networks within the country were largely silent or participants in the animosity. Those who fell silent may have seen no other option, as a section below considers. Indeed, the anti-Muslim rhetoric was so intense and threatening that people may have not seen space for counter-measures. But a notable portion of civil society within Myanmar, including those who may identify themselves as democracy advocates or human rights defenders, were silent, dismissive, or sought ways to support the xenophobia. People who were speaking human rights, democracy, equality and peace just years before were now spewing prejudice and hate. Save for rare domestic voices, outrage over the situation came largely from outside the country. Again, this may be because the 969 discourse was so totalizing. Walking through communities that were years before struggling against the junta and calling for a more just, fair Myanmar, I found 969 stickers everywhere. On numerous occasions, I spoke with the very individuals who years before had talked to me about their fight for change and their ambitions for a better life. Now they were talking about a new threat to Myanmar: “deceitful Muslims who are trying to take over Burma and need to be done away with,” as a young man in Yangon said during a follow-up conversation. Such fear and hate were not a feature in my conversations with people throughout military-ruled Myanmar. But they were in transitioning Myanmar. Perhaps the fear and hate were there, but hidden underneath talk of a more free, equal, just Myanmar. People spoke of the junta as the threat to Myanmar society and the pursuit of a new era of governance. It was common to hear jokes about different ethnic groups, but rarely did these comments have a tone

from human rights rhetoric to 969 195 of xenophobia that the general population would act on. In fact, it was more common for informants to refer to solidarity among different ethnic and religious groups against the junta. The most evidence of a lurking xenophobia during military-ruled Myanmar came from the junta itself. In a 2009 official statement, Ye Myint Aung, the SPDC consul-general in Hong Kong, wrote a letter about the “Rohingya Scandal” addressed to All Heads of Mission, Consular Corps, Hong Kong and Macau SAR, and copied to Ian Holliday, a Hong Kong-based academic, stating: In reality, Rohingya are neither “Myanmar People” nor Myanmar’s ethnic group. You will see in the photos that their complexion is “dark brown”. The complexion of Myanmar people is fair and soft, good looking as well. (My complexion is a typical genuine one of a Myanmar gentleman and you will accept how handsome your colleague Mr. Ye is.) It is quite different from what you have seen and read in the papers. (They are ugly as ogres.)

This statement is not worthy of analysis. Rather, what this letter makes clear is that officials were openly, proudly, publicly, and formally expressing xenophobic sentiments towards the Rohingya. Rohingyas and other Muslims in military-ruled Myanmar likely did see the junta as a threat. So too did the entire population. It is unclear whether Rohingyas and other Muslims saw Myanmar society itself as a threat. Members of Muslim communities communicated surprise at the extent of violence they had been facing since the early 2012 opening. Muslim informants in military-ruled Myanmar did speak about keeping to themselves, but this was common to many groups. This was part

196

eight of the uncertainty tyranny breeds. Regardless, when xenophobia against Muslims, and the Rohingya in particular, became a call to action in 2012, masses were ready to heed the call. This chapter examines the rise of 969 and the silence or contribution of the human rights community around it. How does one reckon with the predatory potential of those thought to be fighting for a more free, equal, and just society? 969

On the night of 28 May 2012, Ma Thida Htwe, a twenty-sevenyear-old Rakhine Buddhist, was raped and killed by a group of men while returning home in the western state of Arakan. Reports of the incident vary and some key facts of the case remain in dispute. Nonetheless, locals pointed to a group of Rohingya Muslim men as the culprits. Local authorities arrested three subjects and sent them to a neighboring township jail. Over the next days, groups of Rakhine Buddhist took to the streets calling for access to the suspects and accountability. Crowds spread in western Arakan and with them so did anti-Rohingya and anti-Muslim sentiment. Days later, on 3 June 2012, a local mob said to number around three hundred overtook a Yangon-bound bus which they thought to be transporting the suspects. Ten Muslims and one Buddhist, allegedly mistaken as a Muslim, were taken off the bus and beaten to death (ICG 2012). Attacks spread throughout Rakhine State. On 10 June 2012, after days of riots, primarily between Rakhine Buddhists and Rohingya Muslims, left eighty-eight dead and over ninety thousand displaced, President Thein Sein declared a state of emergency (Global Centre for Responsibility to Protect 2014). Despite the state of emergency, attacks and house burning in the area continued.

from human rights rhetoric to 969 197 Naypyidaw’s response was a mix of investigations, emergency operations, and statements about the alien status of the Rohingya. Speaking to the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, Thein Sein said that Rohingyas posed a threat to national security and stated that the international community should be responsible for resettling them elsewhere. He stated that it was “not at all possible to recognize the illegal border-crossing Rohingyas who are not our ethnicity” (ibid.). Naypyidaw’s statements took aim at the Rohingya as violence spread, but there was an underlying sentiment that no Muslims should look to the state for protection. Tension built and spread. Late 2012 through 2013 saw hostilities and violence all over the country. In March 2013, rioting in Meiktila south of Mandalay left ten dead. By this time, the faultlines began to formalize and 969 had become the rallying cry of those mobilizing against anything they perceived a threat to their beliefs and way of life. Characterizing 969 and similar movements is no easy task. 969 rose to prominence in early 2012 as a “Buy Buddhist” campaign. 969 articulates “a Buddhist national discourse that describes its culture, values, practices, identity, and even its very existence as threatened by foreign elements within and outside the country” (Walton and Hayward 2014: x). In particular, 969 rhetoric takes aim at Muslims, with a specific focus on Rohingyas for tainting or attempting to conquer Myanmar. Muslims and the Rohingya had become the scapegoats of the opening. Prasse-Freeman (2013: 3) employs Girard’s theory of scapegoating when explaining that “it is not difference that inspires communal violence, but rather sameness, or rather the dissolution of previously-reified boundaries”:

198

eight Buddhist monks all rallied around the Rakhine. Or more accurately, rallied against the Rohingya, identifying them as illegal immigrants with no ties to the country; that as Muslims they were a threat to Buddhism; that they were harbingers of terror; that they were simply aesthetically unpleasant: “they are not like us; we cannot accept them”, is a refrain I often hear from Burmese acquaintances. (Ibid.: 2)

Walton and Hayward argue that the complex motivations behind transitioning Myanmar’s ultra-nationalistic, radical Buddhist mobilizations “can be seen as an extension of past anti-colonial movements and rooted in traditional roles of the monastic community to defend the religion, respond to community needs, and guide political decision-makers” (2014: x–xi). The preservation of Myanmar history and identity was on the line in 969’s narrative. Yet what Myanmar history and identity were they referring to? As Prasse-Freeman and Walton and Hayward suggest, 969 used the vacuum created by the opening to write a particular history and dictate a certain identity. This was less preservation and more creation. A group of young men at a tea shop plastered in 969 stickers stated, one after another: The problem is that in 100 years there will be no more pure Burmese Buddhists in Myanmar … There are so many Muslims and Christians and Chinese, and they are taking everything from us … Muslims push their religion on people and they, with the Chinese, want to take over this country … Even Daw Suu is not pure. She loves Muslims. She is on their side. One of her sons became a Muslim so she wants to help them. Now, she is a big problem … We don’t interact with these people who are trying to ruin our traditions. We are not like the US, we have a pure culture. We will do whatever is needed to keep this country pure Burmese Buddhist.

from human rights rhetoric to 969 199 Muslims had become the new common enemy of this “pure” sub-society and Muslims were well aware of what was developing around them. An old man outside a mosque in Yangon felt that while Rohingyas faced the most intense threats, all Muslims in Myanmar were under attack. He went on to explain how debates about citizenship, passports, and voting were all masking desires to expel Muslims. This was not an exaggeration of the climate. It was and is an environment where genocidal attitudes feature in public. Many individuals named driving Muslims out of Myanmar as a priority of the transition. Muslims had no illusions about the scale and intensity of the threat. They faced it every day. Unsurprisingly, in interactions with members of Muslim communities they were observably guarded, displaying many signs of self-protection.

On the receiving end A taxi ride with a young man who identified himself as Rohingya provided a glimpse of what it was like to be on the receiving end of all of this. Throughout the thirty-minute ride from the outskirts to inner Yangon people slapped and spat on his car. Traffic refused to yield after seeing him. Weathering the stares and slurs at every turn, he shared his experiences of the past two years. Life had never been so worrisome for him and his community. With solid English skills and experience working abroad, he was qualified for a host of jobs. Yet no employers would give him an interview. His only viable option was to rent and drive a taxi. He had to drive illegally. Officials refused to give him a license or tags. This left him in a position where he was regularly subjected to extortion by police and citizens alike. He shared stories of customers taking rides across town and refusing to pay. The stretch from 2012 to 2014 had been one of “constant fear with threats everywhere.”

200

eight Worse than these threats, he explained, was the constant concern of not being able to provide for his family. As an unlicensed Rohingya driver he saw no option but to charge lower fares. If nothing went wrong, he could earn 5,000– 10,000 kyats (US$5–10) per day to cover gas, car costs, food, and rent. As the sole wage earner in a house with his parent, when something went wrong or if business was slow, he would have to go without food. One extorting official, non-paying customer, or mechanical issue meant he was in the red. When asked how often he lost more money than he made in a day, he responded: “what do you think?” With each incidence of mass religious violence, questions arose about who was behind the attacks. Witnesses to the conflicts reported seeing unfamiliar faces. Speculation continues as to whether these were false-flag events with state-backed attackers. While this is speculative, in places like Kalaw, local religious minorities spoke about their fears of mobs descending on the town. Yet it was not as if 969 was a state plant. The prevalence of 969 images and rhetoric suggested that this was to some extent a populist movement. This is not to say that everyone bought into 969, but one did not have to search hard to find 969 support. For the Muslim families in Kalaw, local support for 969 was not as pressing a concern as the possibility of mobs coming to town by bus. The 969 seemed more a signal to local Muslims that they should not expect protection or support from just any neighbor. A local Christian woman explained that religious minorities had measures in place: “There are a couple of Muslim families in Kalaw. They are scared and have good reason to be. They reached out to the Sikhs and Christians. We have all agreed to help them if attackers come.” By this point in the transition, phones were

from human rights rhetoric to 969 201 common and religious minorities in Kalaw were sure to have their phone ready should mob violence develop. That these groups pre-emptively put a response plan in place was an unfortunate indication of how proficient they became at self-protection and resiliency networking under military rule. For the Muslims of Myanmar, it is terrifying to imagine the situation devolving further. The taxi driver above felt that Muslims and Rohingyas in particular were on the receiving end not only of the frustrations of the transition, but also of the aggression and hate that had built over decades of systemic oppression. Numerous reports from international law clinics point to evidence of genocidal acts against the Rohingya (Davies 2015). Many Rohingyas fleeing the situation in Myanmar or from the camps of Bangladesh have met the same kind of insecurity and violence abroad that they were fleeing in Myanmar. The Rohingyas who flee their home quickly find themselves targets of predatory economies that are built to feed off their marginalization and de facto statelessness. Seemingly on a weekly basis, there have been stories of mass tragedies with Rohingyas as victims, including disappeared and capsized boats, starving and dehydrated bodies arriving ashore, mass graves in imprisonment camps run by extensive human trafficking rings, mass refoulement, mass detentions, widescale murders, rape, and beatings. The scale of the crisis goes beyond that which the media can capture.

From righteous to predatory When those calling for freedom and equality show a predatory side, there can be a sense of confusion and disarray. When democracy and human rights advocates in Myanmar were silent or supportive of the rise of xenophobia, the narrative that drove

202

eight global campaigns came into question. There was and is a sense of abandonment. It was not as if this was an inconvenient chapter in an otherwise perfect narrative of struggle. When those said to be fighting for human rights and democracy met the rise of xenophobia with silence or applause, the narrative itself came into question. Perhaps the struggle had not been as pure as once thought. Chapter 5 spoke about the absence of a clear moral high ground in the struggle for change. Females working in advocacy networks were quick to point out the double standards between democracy and equality rhetoric and the everyday functioning within organizations. Females working in CBOs and NGOs often spoke of the old boy’s club culture of Myanmar’s civil society. Signs of racism, sexism, and ageism were there all along. It was never a pure struggle. There were always contradictions; grey areas and elements of rhetorically righteous struggles that were not so righteous. But none of this should lead to an assertion that “we should have seen this coming.” Xenophobia within civil society of the kind that took hold around 969 was different. It was not as if those who were fighting to bring change to Myanmar had visions of a Myanmar purged of Rohingyas and Muslims. Perhaps some did. But that is not what drove the struggle. So how does one make sense of those fighting for a more peaceful and just Myanmar sitting in silence or applauding the targeting of Rohingyas and other Muslim communities? How is it that some of the same characters that fought day in and day out for a more safe and fair Myanmar became supporters of a xenophobic drive? There is no clear answer, but there is utility here in the reflecting on the scene. Firstly, silence is not necessarily approval. Apathy and approval were not universal. In fact, the democracy or human rights activist turned 969 or Ma Ba Tha supporter may be an anomaly.

from human rights rhetoric to 969 203 When speaking with individuals about the waves of religious violence it was and is common to hear of a sense of paralysis. At first, there was the possibility that the hate and outbreak of violence would pass: When sectarian violence first broke out in Burma’s northwestern Arakan state between Buddhist Rakhines and the historically marginalized Muslim Rohingya, the effective response from Burma’s government and Aung San Suu Kyi’s opposition party was silence. There was a sense at the time that during this delicate transition period nothing should rock the boat … But the issue did not go away. Not simply because clashes continued, but because the rest of the country became fixated on them. (Prasse-Freeman 2013: 2)

When the xenophobia spread and built, people had to adjust. Nonetheless, the silence has gone on. There is no telling how much of Myanmar’s civil society find themselves silently disapproving of the violence playing out before them. Quiet or hidden disapproval of atrocities is a familiar condition in Myanmar. In the same way that civilians would avoid speaking publicly about politics under military rule for fear that someone with military ties might be listening, waiting to expose them for their dissent, individuals now felt unable to publicly criticize the Ma Ba Tha. An insidious new type of surveillance and censorship had reared its head. 969 brought with it a climate of fear and with the regularity of violent outbursts a new reason for self-censorship. Aung San Suu Kyi came under fire for her stance, and lack thereof, on the human rights of Muslims in Myanmar. On the international stage, she came under fire for not standing up and speaking out for those groups that were under attack. Very different critiques could be found locally. The 969 supporters at the tea shop above saw Aung San

204

eight Suu Kyi as a traitor for not helping to purge Myanmar of Muslims. A vocational student in Yangon declared: “I want to know why she accepts Muslim people living in Myanmar. I do not like this.” A ticketing manager in Mandalay added vitriol to her stance: “You cannot talk about human rights in the case of the Rohingyas. If you pity them, they will step on your head and eat your whole country with their generations and religion.” To locally sympathize with the Muslims of Myanmar was to take on the structural, cultural, and direct violence that had become endemic. A colleague who works in a humanitarian organization said that even when going out with his friends he found himself wanting to speak up but being unable to do so. He experienced a progression in which, at the first sign of sympathy for Rohingyas or Muslims in Myanmar, the tide could turn. That sympathy can be met with a rebuttal accusing the person sympathizing with Muslims in Myanmar of forgiving the rape of Ma Thida Htwe and indifference about the fate of Myanmar’s youth. Before long, there is the possibility of a violent ending to a seemingly slight swipe back at the xenophia. Put another way, silence remains a means of self-protection. This is not to advocate for silence. This is to challenge whether silence suggests approval or inaction. Silence hid desires for change and action in military-ruled Myanmar. Silence does not necessarily indicate approval or cowardice. Quiet action can be potent. But it is unclear whether that lesson from military-ruled Myanmar translates to this situation. It seems unlikely that this xenophobia can be quietly corralled given that the targeting is already bordering on genocidal acts, as numerous legal reports argue. Making matters worse, it is not as if all of those who fought for a more fair and just Myanmar are quietly pushing back against

from human rights rhetoric to 969 205 the violence. Indeed, there are those who hold a righteous position in Myanmar’s civil society and support the targeting of Rohingyas and Muslims. Individuals all over Myanmar continue to struggle against oppression and at the same time actively support the purging of Muslims from Myanmar. This kind of contradiction is possible. When those experiencing oppression become oppressive, this does not necessarily nullify their struggle, but it certainly qualifies and tarnishes their struggle. Action worthy of applause can happen before and after action that should land people in jail. Separating the two may require significant precision. And bifurcation may not always be possible. The struggle for change in military-ruled Myanmar certainly displayed contradictions and inconsistencies. When looking at ethnopolitics, advocacy, sanctions, voice, and the distribution of resources, global efforts to facilitate change in military-ruled and transitioning Myanmar certainly brought justices and injustices. Apathy builds around the assumption that some people and groups are fighting the good fight and that is the end of the story. There is always the possibility of an ugly side to an otherwise earnest struggle. The struggle for change in military-ruled and transitioning Myanmar is a case in point. Assumptions, attitude, and actions need to be deconstructed as surgically as possible. As the transition to NLD-led Myanmar begins, action to reverse the structural and cultural violence left over from decades of military rule may not necessarily uproot anti-Rohingya and anti-Muslim sentiments. This front may need an entirely special plan of action. Who or what will drive change for the Rohingyas and Muslims of Myanmar? Diverse visions and voices within Rohingya and Muslim communities are a worthy starting point.

nine | Transitioning to an NLD-led Myanmar

By the end of March 2011, the transfer of power from a militaryled to a civilian-led government was complete, at least formally. Leaders of the junta began to take on civilian roles and civilian dress. Reforms began, suggesting that there was some substance in the identity transformation. In late October 2011, the government freed hundreds of political prisoners, a move they would repeat over subsequent years. They also enacted new laws on labour, allowing for unions. Association, expression, and information became increasingly free. The codification of rights and freedoms paired with elections in 2010, by-elections in April 2012 that saw Aung San Suu Kyi enter Naypyidaw, and apparent progress on ceasefire talks was read by many, but not all, as a genuine commitment to transition. Naypyidaw sought the lifting of sanctions and legitimization, and this is precisely what they got in the early months of 2012. The EU, the USA and others began a progressive lifting of sanctions and increased engagement, effectively messaging that the opening had begun. The road between the 2012 opening and the 2015 election that saw the NLD win a sweeping majority of parliamentary seats was not an easy one. As NLD representatives begin a new era of governance, the struggle for change will not slow or ease. It may even be too much to term this era “NLD-led Myanmar,” because control over parliament does not necessarily mean control over

an nld-led myanmar 207 governance under the 2008 Constitution. Fortunately, this is a reality not lost on all of those who helped bring about Myanmar’s inchoate transition.

A challenging road to the 2015 elections With the 2012 opening came new questions. Is this really a transition? If so, what kind? Who is benefitting? Who is losing? Assessments of reforms have been decidedly mixed. Perhaps this is because between the opening in 2012 and early 2015 the transition in Myanmar was a scene of change and lack thereof. Some changes suggested progress, others that Myanmar may be in a spiral. The dynamics and dilemmas for those seeking change were familiar: debates about being optimistic versus cautious, disagreements about what action was needed from whom, questions regarding whose priorities deserve priority, and concerns about Myanmar’s transition leaving much of the population behind. Diverging groups remained: those who wanted to confront the state for all its wrongs past and present, those who wanted to rebuild and revitalize the state, those who wanted nothing to do with the state, and the many positions between. Much of this seemed a continuation of the struggle to reach transition in Myanmar. In many ways, it was. The pursuits of change were still evident. For some, the struggle only intensified. Structural and cultural violence that became entrenched over decades of military rule remained. Much vulnerability was no less pronounced than it had been pre-transition. During the transition, just as before, varying realities had to be reckoned with. Diverse assessments of Myanmar’s transition were on offer before the 2015 elections. Human rights documentation and advocacy organizations, particularly those based on the Thai–Burma

208

nine border, raised the question of whether Myanmar was transitioning at all: While there have been some notable political and democratic reforms – albeit now widely condemned by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi as having stalled since early 2013 – there has been no progress whatsoever as regards gross human rights abuses committed by the Burma Army. Not only is impunity for military crimes institutionally enshrined by the flawed and undemocratic 2008 Constitution, the Myanmar National Human Rights Commission is prohibited from investigating military abuses. Without any deterrent, the abuses persist to this day. (Burma Partnership 2014)1

Similarly, the Human Rights Foundation of MonLand suggested that a transition was possible, but not necessarily under way: “Now, under President Thein Sein’s nominally civilian government the possibility has arisen for Burma to begin rebuilding and reconciling divided segments of the nation, and to provide justice to victims for decades of human rights abuse” (Human Rights Foundation of MonLand-Burma 2014: 9). These narratives stood in stark contrast to descriptions of Myanmar’s pace of reform as “dizzying for a nation previously isolated and under military rule for approximately 60 years”: “Under President Sein’s leadership, Myanmar has established dramatically liberalized politics, encouraged freedom of the press, ensured protection of basic human rights, and broadly opened the economy” (Harding et al. 2014).2 According to the Asia Development Bank, Myanmar is on track to become a medium-income country by 2030. Valuations of the transition regularly came out as investment projections. Positive reports could translate to investor confidence and positive earnings reports:

an nld-led myanmar 209 It is just remarkable what has happened there in the last five, six, seven years. The opening up has been just quite remarkable … There is such potential there now. Everyone wants to be there, everyone is willing to throw money in there to support their interest to get on the fast track. (Corben 2014, citing Hancock)

This is not to say that all investment networks took a positive stance on Myanmar’s transition. Forbes contributor Benjamin Shobert (2014) warned of the trap of overly bright portrayals of the state of change: While there is general consensus that the current reforms have set in motion a political liberalization process that would be nearly impossible to reverse, it must also be said that the popular narrative – much of it stemming from outsiders who have the country’s best intentions in mind – has gotten a bit ahead of the facts on the ground.

Optimistic outlooks increasingly came under fire as the reforms seemed to slow, if not regress, from late 2013 through 2014. Perhaps the most covered example of such optimism turned scepticism came from the USA. Meeting with President Thein Sein in May 2013, President Obama spoke with praise of Naypyidaw’s efforts: We very much appreciate your efforts in leadership in leading Myanmar in a new direction and we want you to know that the United States will make every effort to assist you in what I know is a long and sometimes difficult but ultimately correct path to follow. (Pennington and Pickler 2014)

The USA maintained a similar positive line until President Obama’s visit to Naypyidaw on 13 November 2014. In the lead-up to the meeting, Aung San Suu Kyi spoke critically of the USA’s

210

nine position on Myanmar’s transition, characterizing it as overly positive: We do think that there have been times when the US government has been too optimistic about the reform process started by the present government, but if they really studied the situation in this country they will know that this reform process started stalling early last year. (Kyaw Phyo Tha 2014)

Obama seemed to heed the call with a slightly firmer stance, stating in his speech: “There are times when we’ll offer constructive criticism about a lack of progress.” As is evidenced in the US position, changes on the ground, or lack thereof, changed assessments. Appraisals from analysts matter, but assessments from the ground, from the people living the transition, carry a different kind of weight. Informants in the field spoke of a transition wherein new freedoms appeared alongside new threats, and new opportunities coupled with new challenges. A middle-aged man at a tea shop in Yangon spoke about the decades-long struggle for change finally coming to fruition: “Now things are improving. We don’t have to look over our shoulder when talking politics. We don’t have to slouch and whisper; everything is open now.” Pair this sentiment with the release of political prisoners, the entry of Daw Suu and other NLD members into the parliament, and this statement could extend to an optimistic conclusion. Signs of material improvement were obvious: wi-fi and cell phones, infrastructure renovation and new construction, and an influx of traffic featuring cars rarely before seen on the roads of Myanmar. Yet some saw in the new highrises, supermarkets, new cars and malls a transition heading in a disturbing direction.

an nld-led myanmar 211 The concern was that the material benefits of the transition were not trickling down. Some saw the influx of nice new cars as a sign that prosperity was on the way. Others saw this as individuals and families with government connections coming out of hiding. A villager in rural Shan State said: “Now, the cronies are easy to spot. They’re in all the awesome cars.” An important finding during this period was the common description of life during the transition as harder than ever. A young woman in Yangon bluntly assessed: “For most, survival now is harder than ever.” The opening had led to mild inflation. A tea farmer in Shan State observed: “We have no high school. We have to pay for primary school. Most of us can’t afford it. We have no health clinics, no technology. The only things changing are the prices. Everything is getting more expensive, like rice and petrol. We have to cut down our trees to plant more tea. This is the only way to keep up.” Informants spoke of rises in rent costs leading to evictions and homelessness. Wages rose slowly if at all while costs of food, water, transport, and rent spiked. In addition, the transition had brought in new expenses. The government began to require payments for licenses, tags, and taxes that were previously ignored. Motorcycle taxis and brokers in places like Myawaddy, Pha-an, and Mawlamyine suddenly lost their jobs as people gained easy access to imported motorcycles. Particularly for underclasses, it was difficult if not impossible to keep pace. Many had no choice but to borrow money from managers and loan sharks – as they lacked accounts or collateral for formal loans – at insurmountable interest rates. The only people who could keep up with the costs of the transition were those who were already well off. The transition allowed them to thrive. Such hardships were most intense for Rohingyas and

212

nine other Muslims who were facing a wave of discrimination and violence on top of livelihood struggles. For these individuals and those facing eviction, or starvation, the transition did not spell progress. Portrayals of a transitioning Myanmar as a safer, healthier, or easier place directly contradicted their experiences. Similar to military-ruled Myanmar, transitioning Myanmar was a paradoxical milieu. Indeed, the interweaving of new opportunities and new threats had brought both hope and feelings of intensifying and entrenching or deepening vulnerability (Mullen et al. 2015: 65). Efforts to quantify or generalize sentiments on the ground ran into trouble. The International Republican Institute conducted a 3,000-person survey throughout Myanmar that found that 88 percent of people would “say that things in Burma are heading in the right direction,” and 85 percent of people would “describe the current economic situation in Burma” as good (73 percent) or very good (12 percent) (IRI 2014: 10, 12). Shortly after the report’s release, critiques described the survey as containing “numerous flaws and errors” and being “incorrect not only in terms of common sense but also in the methodology” (Eleven Myanmar 2014). Later, in October 2014, Myanmar Civil Society Forum gathered to discuss the transition and what was seen as: common discourses and actions … in the international community [that] have not addressed issues [regression on freedom of the press and expression, a stalled peace process – resulting in fighting in Kachin and northern Shan State – “draft laws only serve to pose restriction on gender equality and religious freedom and do not protect human rights or benefit the people,” and serious human rights violations that continue to occur] confronting the transition [some of which] have led to unnecessary

an nld-led myanmar 213 negative impacts due to the lack of serious consideration about the situation in Myanmar. (Myanmar Civil Society Organizations Forum 2014)

In addition to people feeling left behind, the silencing or sidelining of individuals that caused so much frustration in military-ruled Myanmar seemed to carry over into the transition. As the international community scrambled to assign meaning to what was occurring in 2012, policymaking networks began prescribing plans of action. The problem was the lack of consultation. Before enough time had gone by to even attempt substantive outreach, action plans began to circulate. Communities again found themselves spoken for; sidelined in a struggle that would affect them more than anyone else. Despite being rhetorical beneficiaries, they had no voice in the conversation. Many saw unfolding the transition they feared: one that would focus on elite actors, one that did not take into account grassroots concerns and ideas, one that would not grow organically, one that was preprogrammed. They were familiar enough with the international advocacy machine to predict what kind of transition machine was on its way to Myanmar. This was a machine that could sideline them, even if not intentionally or maliciously. In August 2012, UN Special Rapporteur Tomas Ojea Quintana proposed the establishment of a truth commission. This was surely done with the best interests of Myanmar’s people in mind. The problem, however, was twofold. First was the question of consultation. What type of consultation drove this prescription? Even if people did support the truth commission proposal, they were again being spoken for without having a voice in the

214

nine conversation. Second, this set an agenda that could foreclose on alternate visions of transition and justice. When asked about putting Than Shwe on trial, a family from rural Shan State responded: “He would just deny things and act like he was saving Burma; like Burma was under attack. The trial wouldn’t change much of anything. Even if he goes to jail, his grandkids will still be trying to buy English Premier teams and our kids will still be without schools and jobs.” This is not to suggest that people had no interest in seeing past perpetrators held to account, but rather to challenge a pre-existing understanding of people’s priorities, needs, desires, and ideas. Prescriptions without consultation sent the wrong message, particularly on the topic of owning the transition. An international NGO worker shared his experience as a community-based organizer turned large international NGO staff member. He spoke about how large donors and organizations entering Myanmar post-opening were struggling to embrace “the flexibility required to work in Burma.” In describing his frustrations, he referred to lip-service commitments to local ownership followed by the assertion of all kinds of procedures and conditions. The nature of the work, he noted, had become more about logframes and reporting than actual implementation in the field. Above all, he expressed concern about his contribution: “The stresses of working with international groups make grassroots organizing impossible.” Civil society had become a place where one could make a decent living. This was a good thing. But a separate affluent class of NGO and INGO workers could change relations. The requisite qualifications for new transitional positions, English and organizational experience, automatically excluded much of the population.

an nld-led myanmar 215 Everyday citizens spoke with a tone of resentment about seeing governmental, NGO and INGO workers pull up in new cars, with new clothes and gadgets. This is not to suggest that those working on governance, human rights, and development were being opportunistic. Few received appropriate remuneration for their hours, workload, and skills. This is simply a dynamic that had intensified in transition. And it is a dynamic that can make it appear as though the transition is benefitting human rights and development workers more than those for whom the work is rhetorically being done. One could talk about who should own or drive the transition, but who was actually behind the controls?

Contracting the transition through Naypyidaw First, don’t go through the UN or international NGOs because they all have to work with the government. The government controls their projects and takes money off the top. Second, spend time in local environments. Find trustworthy people and work directly with them. (An older man at a tea shop near Kalaw speaking about transitional projects and local credibility)

Callahan and Steinberg (2012: 2) foresaw: “If history proves 2011 to be a turning point in a longer-term process of democratization in Burma, the most plausible narrative of these changes is that they represent early steps in a political transition managed from ‘above.’” Coverage and analysis of the transition regularly put the transition in a top-down, state-centric frame. ‘A most unlikely liberator in Myanmar,’ a piece on then President Thein Sein (Fuller 2012), gives a top-down impression in the title alone. A plethora of examples narrate a transition happening through or radiating from Naypyidaw: “From Asean’s point of view, the group’s long-

216

nine standing policy of engagement with the erstwhile military regime paid off with the transition” (Ghosh 2014); “Obama and other international leaders should continue to reinforce Myanmar’s institutions and democratic processes. That means strengthening political parties, the civil service and the judiciary – as well as monitoring elections” (Bloomberg 2014); describing the 2015 elections and questioning whether there would be a “‘new order’ of leaders who will shape Myanmar’s future” (Robinson 2014). Taken collectively, the result is a discourse that forecloses to a sole trajectory for transition: through Naypyidaw. Taking this schema over to practice, this meant that, prior to the November 2015 election, Naypyidaw, a state that was not democratic and one with heavy junta influence, was the contractor of the transition. Naypyidaw as contractor was precisely the arrangement intergovernmental agencies have to use. As will be seen, it is what their mandate requires. The transitional task, from a statecraft perspective, was to transform the role of Naypyidaw. Formalizing and invigorating the state is a way of compelling institutions to do their job: effectively govern. What better place to start than rule of law? One of the first steps in normalizing the Myanmar state was to reassert its role as law enforcer. The enforcement of laws is a good thing unless those laws are predatory in letter or spirit. A state judge from Sagaing Division spoke to this notion in 2010: The democracy movement talks a lot about laws and how laws should be reformed or enforced. They don’t see that this would be the worst thing for the people, right now. The laws don’t work. They are rarely enforced. This is a good thing. In this kind of situation, you don’t want to be preaching about implementing laws and drafting new laws. The old laws are still there. Those

an nld-led myanmar 217 old laws are scary. The whole system is a mess. You don’t want it to work yet.

Informants in military-ruled and transitioning Myanmar commonly echoed the judge, positing that the absence of legal protection was preferable to the potential of codified oppression. Relevantly, when discussing the different ways of talking about the rule of law in transitioning Myanmar, Cheesman (2015) concludes: Myanmar’s institutions are not animated by the rule-of-law idea at all but by principles hostile to it. And because those institutions are opposed to the rule of law, in Myanmar today the rule of law is not sensible if represented anatomically. For the time being, at least, it only makes sense to talk about the rule of law as signifier of something more.

The idea that laws and law enforcement could become a new technology of oppression during the transition had plentiful grounding: “It is not only pre-transition laws but also new laws such as the notorious Article 18 of the Peaceful Assembly and Procession Law that are being used as a tool for repression” (Myanmar Civil Society Organizations Forum 2014). This was, of course, not the rule of law. It was the abuse of law. But it was happening against a backdrop of cues from the international community to promote law enforcement. Rule of law became the rubric behind which still-junta-led Naypyidaw and cronies could attempt to legitimize their predations. It was a rubric that did not translate into protection from dominant groups, but rather protection of dominant groups. For a farmer near Pindaya, the revival of law did not make sense: “We don’t need land titles. These families have owned the land for many generations. They have not needed titles before, so why would they need one now?” These villages

218

nine had no formal information to strategize around, but had concerns about momentum behind a legal framework within which their land could be seized in the name of the law. Even if they knew that they could make their case formally, remedial channels would likely only seal their fate. A villager just outside of Kalaw, not far from Pindaya, commented: “All we can do is put up fences and keep local records.” Promoting law enforcement was part of broader efforts to formalize governance during the transition. In terms of statecraft, the transitional project was about stimulating a new era of governance. Formalization makes sense as a means of combating corruption and promoting effective governing. Yet people had concerns about regularizing a still-oppressive socio-political system. The fear of formalization was more accurately a fear of the codification and legitimization of oppression; a fear of a solidifying status quo; the fear of a formal and lasting marginalization. A villager in southern Shan State said: “I still have to pay bribes and things are getting more expensive than ever. Before I had to pay bribes to the military, now I have to pay bribes to forest officials.” He and other villagers joked about rent-seeking state agents being literally the same person in a new uniform. A middle-aged woman in a nearby village expanded: “Things are just as corrupt as they were before, but now it is worse. Before, the military didn’t pretend to be fair. They just came in and demanded a bribe. Now, the same people walk in and demand payment for their help. Now, they talk about the law.” Informants fought for years to undermine the system and carve out more space. Now, with renovations and new international backing, the system was having a steamrolling effect. Formalization, as it was occurring in transitioning Myanmar, was seen by some as an appeal for people to accept the

an nld-led myanmar 219 system, and by extension the history behind it. A Karen man in Shan State observed: “The military took everything from us for decades. Now they act like they own it. Their land, their money, their houses, none of it belongs to them. They stole everything from us. More than anything, we need our things back. We could lose our things forever.” From this perspective, accepting the system or status quo meant accepting decades of pillaging. Indeed, telling Myanmar farmers that they have to respect land contracts and legal codes more broadly translates to a call to concede their land to the state or private corporations. Transitioning regimes may try to position transitions as a reset. But transitions are not resets; at least they are not supposed to be. Transitions are meant to be periods in which to reckon with injustices of the past and present. None of this is to suggest that early rule of law efforts in transitioning Myanmar were all bad. In many instances, they gave people much-needed protection and remedy. Rather, this is to note that with the military dictatorship still effectively in control, the rule of law could marginalize or protect as the state junta saw fit: new land policy that sets out to formalize informal systems – and hence protect farmers from land grabs – is also commodifying land in new ways, leaving more people landless; the legal aid bill which is tabled now is creating a government institution to deliver legal aid, but in so doing is being interpreted by lawyers as confining/restricting who can legally deliver that aid; regulations relating to the Right to Peaceful Assembly and Peaceful Procession grant “freedom of assembly” in such circumscribed ways as to give people the right to protest, and then the “right” to be arrested for doing so, creating a feeling of both potential vulnerability and maddening frustration. (Mullen et al. 2015: 67)

220

nine Endowed with the role of contractor, Naypyidaw could direct privileges and authority with great discretion. An illustration of what this meant from a development perspective came from Pindaya and Kalaw. Located in southern Shan State, these cities are three days’ trek apart. Colleagues recommended that I travel there to see the politics of the transition play out. Transitional politics here were said to be less direct and headline-grabbing than those playing out in Kachin State, where there were ongoing military offensives, and Letpadaung. Perhaps the most unpredictable but telling transitional scene played out around the Letpadaung copper mine protests, where protesting villagers turned their frustration on Aung San Suu Kyi. Coverage of Letpadaung showed villagers waving signs saying “No Daw Aung San Suu Kyi,” “No Commission Report” and “No More Investigation Committee.” After experiencing land confiscations, environmental damage with possible health ramifications, and violent crackdowns around November 2012, the protesting villagers were told by Aung San Suu Kyi “to take their protest in accordance with the law to the parliament in Nay Pyi Taw” (Ei Ei Toe Lwin 2013). With the mine being under partner ownership of the military-owned Union of Myanmar Economic Holdings Company (UMEHL) and Wanbao Mining, a Chinese company, and the laws likely to legitimize the suffering of the villagers, this was not a fate protesters would accept. In this scene one can see the interweaving of new freedoms and predations, as well as new opportunities and threats. The transitional politics at such sites of predatory extraction or military offensives were quite clear. The situation in southern Shan State was slightly different.

an nld-led myanmar 221 Separated by a short distance, experiences around Pindaya and Kalaw during the transition were a world apart. I must clarify that the evidence from this situation is anecdotal. This is not an analysis of projects and plans as they exist officially, on paper. This is an analysis of how individuals living in these areas saw the transition in motion. Even if only based on observations, impressions, or gossip, grassroots perceptions matter. Pindaya is the heart of the Danu Special Economic Zone. The Danu are a predominantly Buddhist, ethnically Baman group. Informants from this group described their relations with the government as “favorable,” particularly when compared to those of the ethnic minority groups of Shan State. Danu informants explained that their group stood to benefit significantly from the transition, both politically and economically. Economically, the tea farmers around Pindaya saw their sales margins increase owing to new trade arrangements, and the zone had seen a spike in tourism. These gains were on top of the many UN- and statesponsored development projects in the area. UN signs could be seen throughout the Danu Zone. Politically, the Danu were granted the status of “self-administration area” in 2010. In addition to their parliamentary votes, this allowed them to elect their own leaders, who have governmental authority. Self-administration status also allocated them a local budget, a baseline supplemented by local tax and tourism dollars, which they had autonomous control over. A woman at a local restaurant attributed these benefits to a “friendly approach to dealing with the government.” Excitement about these changes was palpable. A middle-aged man on the outskirts of town stated: “We want to stand on our own feet. That is most important. We have a special opportunity … That is why many people in this area avoid

222

nine politics. Our priority is a good market and fighting about politics can ruin that.” Seen in isolation, the changes in the Danu Zone were almost entirely positive. Such moves towards greater autonomy and local empowerment are textbook transitional objectives. Scoping out to see what was going on around the Danu Zone, the tone changed. Surrounding communities, comprised mostly of ethnic minorities, were not receiving the same treatment. By all indications, the official aid and reform in this area were flowing past far less developed communities into the Danu Zone. This is how non-Danu informants in this area saw it, and this is how it appeared. UN signs were plentiful throughout the Danu Zone but rarely surfaced in the surrounding communities. Informants explained that UNDP and UNHABITAT projects were even scarcer in more remote parts of Shan State, where the most underdeveloped communities were. Unsurprisingly, the optimism about the transition in the Danu Zone clashed with the pessimism in surrounding villages. The obvious inconsistencies between needs and allocation raised the question: why? Why were development projects near Pindaya focused on providing 24/7 electricity and wi-fi to local communities, while surrounding communities lived in abject poverty? One could speculate that allocation was based on accessibility, but such explanations would not satisfy nearby ethnic villages. Locally this was simply favoritism occurring along ethnic, religious, and political lines. A Karen man living in Kalaw captured a sentiment expressed in various forms: “We see who is benefitting. Naypyidaw’s friends get all the deals. The Baman groups get all the help. Everyone on the other side gets nothing, or worse. We are on our own.” When asked whether the Danu were receiving

an nld-led myanmar 223 special treatment, and whether this was just, a middle-aged Danu informant stated: “This is the same game it has always been. Life isn’t easy for us. We deserve an easier life.” Danus in this zone had a history of a relatively friendly and functional relationship with the junta. New benefits were channeled into the area because the development needs in the zone were real. But for the ethnic communities surrounding the Danu Zone, where marginalization was palpably more severe than that of the Danu, state, UN, and intergovernmental resources were literally passing right by the most deserving communities into the zone. Critiques in the area also focused on the contracting out of government development schemes. Speaking about the road construction in southern Shan State, a middle-aged driver explained that contracts were being “granted to large businesses in Yangon and Mandalay. These companies are paying locals shit to do hard, dangerous jobs.” He and others saw this sourcing as corrupt, as contracted companies had crony connections. The notion that cronies were making significant profits from local labour paired with the lack of transparency had given “development a bad name” to some in this area. Also giving development a bad name was the environmental degradation occurring. An informant near Nyaung Shwe commented that the development in this area and around the country was happening in the absence of basic public services or appropriate regulation. In such a climate, the cheapest means may be employed regardless of how exploitative, destructive, or difficult to clean up they may be. In such a climate, development can exacerbate tensions. Development can be aggression, spurring clashes between those pushing through the state’s development ambitions and those pushing back. The way in which that state has responded to

224

nine resistance around harmful development efforts, through crackdowns, arrests, threats, forced dislocation, and silencing, suggests that transitioning Myanmar is being founded upon an authoritarian model of development. Symptoms of such a model were on display in July 2015, when tensions over a stretch of the Asian Highway project led to a ceasefire breakdown, resulting in at least two civilian deaths and much collateral damage. The Karen Peace Support Network states in a 10 July 2015 statement: The situation along the Asian Highway follows the same pattern seen again and again in Burma’s ethnic areas, where large-scale development projects are pushed ahead in conflict zones. Temporary ceasefire agreements fail to bring meaningful peace, instead facilitating land grabs for destructive projects under centralized control and increased militarization. This in turn reignites conflict.

The notion that intergovernmental (UN/INGOs) projects were being allocated and implemented through Naypyidaw was not rogue or a rumor. It is standard operating procedure for these institutions. The “Local Governance Mapping” outlined by UNDP Myanmar starts at the Ministry of Home Affairs. The 2013–2015 Country Programme Action Plan between the Government of the Republic of the Union of Myanmar (Naypitaw) and the United Nations Development Programme cites the 1987 agreement between the Socialist Republic of the Union of Myanmar and the United Nations as the document governing the “UNDP’s assistance to the country.” The agreement states in Article 1, Paragraph 1: “This Agreement embodies the basic conditions under which the UNDP and its Executing Agencies shall assist the Government in carrying out its development proj-

an nld-led myanmar 225 ects.” Paragraph 2 expands: “Assistance shall be provided … only in response to requests made by the Government … Such assistance shall be made available to the Government, or to such entity as the Government may designate.” Naypyidaw, under heavy junta influence, held the reins. Implementing official transitional activities through central governments “is established practice for aid agencies” (Jolliffe 2014). Yet Jolliffe continues: “As a result, the provision of social services in [contested] areas is fraught with political complications, and attached closely to the competing nation-building agendas that shape subnational armed conflicts” (ibid.: iii). It may be the standard way of operating. It may be convention – how intergovernmental work happens. There may be benefits to implementing some of the transition through Naypyidaw. Invigorating the state requires trust and support. But this does not negate the questions and concerns. This does not mean that everyone should get in line. Junta-driven Naypyidaw became the contractor of the transition and set it on its early path. For transition to happen, Naypyidaw would sanction it, manage it. Transition radiated from Naypyidaw. The transition effectively endowed Naypyidaw. Many informants were left trying to make sense of this. They saw the transition in Myanmar effectively endowing the culprit. The concern was particularly prominent in those communities that continued to face the wrath of structural and cultural violence in Myanmar.3 They were asking if transition had to happen this way. The transition was effectively revitalizing what was still largely the same regime, institutionally and personnel-wise, before the November 2015 elections. People were seeking more

226

nine independence, not dependence, during the early years of Myanmar’s transition. They had a different transition in mind, one that did not radiate from Naypyidaw; one that moved upstream. They saw around them opportunities for a different kind of transition. Hundreds of thousands of community projects had made much progress around the state, and they had much growing left to do. Informal markets and distribution channels were in place to deliver resources and opportunities. Endowing the extremities was a feasible option from the perspective of those who had created their own autonomous politics and power. In their view, building the transition around everyday politics and engaging community networks was possible and made sense. It seemed advisable to look outside of the state for the agency of the transition. In fact, this was the only way to reach the most marginalized groups, facilitate community ownership, and prevent the stilltyrannical status quo from solidifying. From grassroots perspectives, particularly prior to the November 2015 elections, a Naypyidaw-dependent transition was a grim arrangement. Why put a still-incompetent, still-oppressive entity in charge of the transition? Why invest so much influence and resources in Naypyidaw? It was not as if Naypyidaw was suffering from a resource deficit. The government had plenty of resources but chose to spend the bulk of them on military and grandiose state building projects. One need only look at the structures of Naypyidaw to see faulty priorities. Forbes’ profile (25 November 2014) characterized Myanmar as: a resource-rich country [that] still suffers from pervasive government controls, inefficient economic policies, corruption, and rural poverty. Corruption is prevalent and significant resources

an nld-led myanmar 227 are concentrated in a few hands. In November 2012, President THEIN SEIN signed a new Foreign Investment Law. Despite these reforms, the Burmese government has not yet embarked on broad-based macro-economic reforms or addressed key impediments to economic development such as Burma’s opaque revenue collection system.

Naypyidaw did suffer from a capacity deficit when it came to social and political programming. But that was Naypyidaw’s fault. State resources, of which there were plenty, could hire whatever capacity was needed. Around the time of the 2012 opening, it was possible to imagine a transition that led Naypyidaw, not one led by Naypyidaw. Such a transition need not be anti-political – Ferguson (1990) refers to anti-politics as the avoidance of the systemic or distributive roots of problems. In practice, this could have meant focusing on the endowment of CBOs and those organizations that supported them, the Federation of Trade Unions of Myanmar, the Agriculture and Farmers Federation of Myanmar, Labour Rights Defenders and Promoters Network, Myanmar Legal Aid Network, student groups, Women’s Organizations Network of Myanmar, the Indigenous Network for Education, and the countless other locally active formal and informal networks. Such a transition schema could further decentralize power, disperse agency, and localize politics. And there is always a need for the state to eventually do its job as protector and provider. Even in a schema that is locally driven, has a human rights orientation and is structurally sustainable, the familiar question of whose priorities to prioritize remains. This is a question that was as pressing as ever as the era of NLD-led Myanmar began.

228

nine No silver bullet in NLD-led Myanmar Looking forward, it is difficult to decipher where to start or to determine whose priorities deserve priority. Looking to the past, there is so far no indication of how Myanmar will deal with decades of atrocities. Simply formulating an agenda with such diverse local and international pleas requires layers of tough decisions, tough justifications. Accounting for NLD constituents is one thing. A more complex task is giving due consideration to groups that range from portions of the military to supporters of the Ma Ba Tha to parties representing autonomous ethnic and religious minority interests to the Rohingya, whom repeat reports argue to be the target of genocidal acts. (Mullen 2015)

On 8 November 2015, a decades-old struggle for NLD leadership came to fruition. A month later, Aung San Suu Kyi met with the man who held her under house arrest for years, former head of the military junta Than Shwe. The end of 2015 provides a conclusion of sorts for at least one chapter of the struggle for change in Myanmar. At the birth of NLD-led Myanmar, there is much reason for hope, but also cause for caution. The road ahead is not an easy one. Regulation and distribution channels are in ruins after decades of military rule. Thus far, the transition has cut many ways for people. While the election gave new cause for hope and a motive to reimagine and re-engage the state, it will be some time before people embrace the system long responsible for their suffering. Before people rethink the system that they learned to distrust and engage, the system will have to prove itself. To win the trust of the people, the NLD parliament will have to simultaneously root out the predatory power built into the state’s political economy and restore its social welfare function. There is no

an nld-led myanmar 229 silver bullet. Peace needs to be built straight away. Bills, policies, and the Constitution itself need immediate reforming. Infrastructure needs overhaul. Xenophobic attacks and what may equate to genocidal acts continue. Land dispossession continues and predatory extraction is under way. Workers remain subject to exploitation in a labor landscape that has left many struggling to survive. Water, waste, education, healthcare, and various other public services require both reform and new resources. All of this needs changing, and urgently. Complicating an already difficult mandate is the notion that while the NLD won a sweeping majority of parliamentary seats, they did not exactly win control of the state. Even with full executive powers the task is daunting. But the NLD will not enjoy full executive powers as they take over parliament. As NLD parliamentarians take their seats, all parties will be operating under the 2008 Constitution. It is a Constitution that bans Aung San Suu Kyi from the presidency and gives significant autonomous power to the military, including the ability to block constitutional amendments. The first NLD parliament will not have executive control over the military nor the bureaucracies that fall under military mandate. These include all the armed forces, the police, and the department of corrections. This translates to a lack of effective control over law enforcement, the military, border affairs, and the penal system. It also translates to a lack of control over the breadth of state resources. Said bureaucracies under the military mandate will maintain their budget. Even if the NLD wants to divest defense or security funds to public welfare services, it cannot. Further, because the military will retain control over its own mandate and funds, it retains discretion in interpreting the reach

230

nine of its mandate. All land in Myanmar ultimately falls under state ownership. Is the military part landlord? Who will have control over governance in ethnic areas, given that the military is in charge of border affairs? Than Shwe and other forces from the junta seem to be playing nice at the moment, relatively speaking, but this could change quickly at the first formal step towards prosecutorial transitional justice. All of this means that the NLD may not be able to direct benefits and accountability as it pleases. In fact, the NLD may have frustratingly little say in whose priorities get priority in NLD-led Myanmar. Systemic barriers can come down. NLD parliamentarians will have to distrtibute their efforts between creating change within the system and changing the system itself. How feasible structural change is depends on one’s vantage point. In a Channel News Asia interview, Aung San Suu Kyi took a defiant position: “in any democratic country, it’s the leader of the winning party that becomes the leader of the government. If this constitution doesn’t allow it, then we will have to make arrangements so that we can proceed along usual democratic lines.” Conversely, historian Thant Myint-U stated in a New York Times piece: “Ex-generals who knew the system well had trouble changing it … It’s going to be even more difficult for outsiders.” The interweaving of hope and concern, opportunities and obstacles, space and lack thereof reminds one of the struggle that led to the NLD’s sweeping victory in the 2015 November elections. Unfortunately, the complexities and contradictions that meet the NLD in Naypyidaw are all too familiar to the people of Myanmar. As in military-ruled Myanmar, self-protection, everyday resistance, and self-help will remain the first line of defense

an nld-led myanmar 231 for much of NLD-led Myanmar. There is cause for hope and excitement, and individuals will manage that relative to the threats and vulnerabilities they experience. Individuals will continue to navigate. Reconstructive politics will still be a pathway to create change. Local navigation made change possible in the most unlikely spaces of military-ruled Myanmar. Suwanvanichkij (semi-structured interview)4 provides a useful point of reflection and a reason for hope in what will remain turbulent terrain: Bottom line: local groups know how to navigate local channels to make sure assistance gets to their communities. In the case of Nargis, actually, local officials were the most helpful as they were also members of the community, and received the same aid as anyone else. Where this is not the case, the local groups knew how to avoid checkpoints or find more sympathetic officers (or state agencies) to seek help from.

Suwanvanichkij pointed to a humanitarian project showcasing how efficiently local interlocutors could mobilize. A year after Cyclone Nargis hit, the international community struggled to access information about the humanitarian situation in the Irrawaddy Delta. Humanitarian organizations scrambled to find ways to gain information about the well-being of those affected by Cyclone Nargis. Suwanvanichkij continued: In order to overcome the censorship and denial of access [to vital humanitarian assistance], private, community-based emergency assistance teams were mobilized to independently assess the humanitarian landscape, which proved to be dire. This initiative was not mobilized or deterred by State actors, but rather individuals who used knowledge of local conditions and channels to navigate the system to not only provide aid to some of the

232

nine most-marginalized communities but also to come away with vital information. (Suwanvanichkij et al. 2010)

There may be no silver bullet in NLD-led Myanmar, but there are potent political muscles at the grassroots to tap. In a transition with such diverse needs and interests, and such an array of challenges and new opportunities, the task of the day is to make sure that the transition in meaningful locally; that changes do not leave behind those who need the transition most. What better resource to have than all of the local experience, navigation skills, and structures of resiliency that took shape during the struggle for change? Many forces took many pathways to change Myanmar from military-ruled to NLD-led. There was no one story of change, but many. Pressures came from above, below, abroad and within the system. Faces of change were everywhere and scenes of action varied from extraordinary to seemingly normal everyday deeds. It was the multiplicity of forces that made the struggle so potent and so complex. The vast diversity of needs, interests, and actions in NLD-led Myanmar will be a challenge, but also a boon. Reckoning with the many challenges ahead requires a multiplicity of voices and efforts. It requires utilization of the many pathways to change that brought the transition to Myanmar. During the struggle for change in Myanmar, people built a foundation for a new kind of transition in NLD-led Myanmar; a transition that adapts and reinforces local agency and action.

Notes

one 1. Professor of political science and director, Ralph Bunche Institute for International Studies, City University of New York’s Graduate Center. When interviewing people throughout Haiti and South Africa, Weiss found that informants in the field supported sanctions, despite surrounding concerns that sanctions would hurt the people. 2. Anthropologist, author and documentarian. 3. Author and documentarian. 4. Maaike Matelski and Rose Metro offer useful content on this topic. 5. Former combatant from the student movement. At the time of the interviews, Aung Naing Oo was a migrant worker and development NGO director in Chiang Mai. 6. The Communist Party of Burma and numerous ethnic armed groups began their insurrection against the central government before Ne Win’s coup. Useful resources on the history of armed insurrection in Myanmar include Lintner (2014), Smith (1999) and Taylor (2009).

two 1. This research briefly overviews some elements, and completely overlooks other issues related to the Lady. For further reading on Aung San Suu Kyi, access: Aung San Suu Kyi (2010); Aung San Suu Kyi and Vaclav Havel (2010); Hopkins (2000); Victor (2002); Wintle (2007). 2. For detailed discussions of these events and the debate surrounding casualty figures see: Boudreau (2004); Ferrara (2003); Fink (2001); Tucker (2001); Wintle (2007).

234

notes 3. UNHCR estimates from a 2011 study put the number of internally displaced persons at 62,015, and the number of refugees at over 415,570, not to mention 797,388 stateless person. However, the number of IDPs in Myanmar may actually be in the millions, and the estimate of just over 415,000 refugees does not account for the millions of documented and undocumented workers in Thailand, and elsewhere, many of whom fit the definitional criteria set by the United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. 4. The historical and political dynamics of the armed resistance movement in Myanmar are complex and deserve an entire book; for further reading in this area, access Smith (1999, 2007); South (2008a); Tucker (2001). 5. As of 2008 the main non-ceasefire groups included the Karen National Union, the Karenni National Progressive Party, the Shan State ArmySouth, the Hongsawatoi Restoration Party, the Lahu Democratic Front, the Kachin National Organization, the Mergui-Tavoy United Front, the Wa National Organization, the All Burma Students Democratic Front, the Rohingya Solidarity Organization, the Arakan Rohingya National Organization, the Arakan Liberation Party, the National United Party of Arakan, the Chin National Front and the National Socialist Council of Nagaland (South 2008a). 6. The Communist Party of Burma and numerous ethnic armed groups began their insurrection against the central government before Ne Win’s coup. Useful resources on the history of armed insurrection in Myanmar include Lintner (2014), Smith (1999) and Taylor (2009). 7. Eubank (2008) of Free Burma Rangers explains: “Burma’s rulers have divided the country into three zones: white – those areas under their total control; brown – contested areas; and black – areas over which they have no control. Black areas are designated “free-fire” zones where the Burma army can kill anyone it comes across.” 8. Buddhist spirits that materialize in humans, objects and spaces.

three 1. The study used seven criteria: non-profit, voluntary, relatively independent (from state, political parties and larger NGOs), self-governing, possessing a social mandate, not self-serving, and having a development or welfare aim.

notes 235 four 1. MPH, MD. Research associate, Center for Public Health & Human Rights, Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health. 2. Independent writer and consultant. 3. Yangon-based NGO practitioner specializing in trauma and rehabilitation. 4. MPH, MD. Research associate, Center for Public Health & Human Rights, Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health.

five 1. To a large extent, there has been a shift in this linguistic dynamic since the 2012 opening. While some people still prefer to use Burma instead of Myanmar, it does not necessarily have the same delegitimizing connotations that it had when Myanmar was under military rule. This book uses Myanmar, but keeps Burma when informants or literature employ it. The use of Myanmar instead of Burma in this book is not meant to be a political stance. Rather, it is meant to be more reader friendly than Burma/Myanmar, and reflective of discursive trends wherein Myanmar is currently more familiar in international politics than Burma. 2. MPH, MD. Research associate, Center for Public Health & Human Rights, Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health. 3. Ashoka fellow, 2008, founder of the Foundation for Education and Development (FED). 4. Professor of political science and Southeast Asia at the Hiroshima Peace Institute. 5. Co-founder of Vahu Development Institute. 6. Ashoka fellow, 2008, founder of the Foundation for Education and Development (FED). 7. Founder and first general secretary of Third Force organization Myanmar Egress. 8. An analyst specializing in Myanmar who worked with Myanmar Egress from 2009 to 2012. 9. Co-founder of Vahu Development Institute. 10. Senior lecturer in politics, University of New South Wales/Canberra at the Australian Defence Force Academy. 11. An analyst specializing in Myanmar who worked with Myanmar Egress from 2009 to 2012.

236

notes six 1. Independent writer and consultant. 2. Ashoka fellow, 2008, founder of the Foundation for Education and Development (FED). 3. Sir Edward Peacock professor of international relations and director, Centre for International and Defence Policy, Queen’s University. 4. Co-founder of Vahu Development Institute. 5. London-based expert in law and policy in the former Soviet Union. 6. Sir Edward Peacock professor of international relations and director, Centre for International and Defence Policy, Queen’s University.

seven 1. US House of Representatives Committee on Foreign Affairs hearing: ‘Religious freedom, democracy, human rights in Asia: status of implementation of the Tibetan Policy Act, Block Burmese JADE Act, and North Korea Human Rights Act,’ 2 June 2011, 10:00 a.m., Rayburn House Office Building, Room 2172. 2. An analyst specializing in Myanmar who worked with Myanmar Egress from 2009 to 2012. 3. English transcript of remarks from the High-Level Political Meeting in Naypyidaw, 21 October 2014. 4. Stop 969, Burma’s fastest-growing neo-Nazi “Buddhist” nationalist movement. Posted Sunday, 24 March 2013 at www.maungzarni. net/2013/03/stop-969-burmas-fastest-growing-neo.html#sthash. EcKics0Q.dpuf.

nine 1. These claims were recently reinforced by a 7 November 2014 Harvard Law School International Human Rights Law Clinic memorandum arguing that numerous Burma Army commanders are guilty of crimes against humanity and war crimes as defined under international criminal law. These crimes were said to occur in Kachin State during a 2005–08 military offensive. 2. Harding et al. (2014) clarify that the transition is incomplete and speak about all the work left to be done. The chosen quote captures the tone with which progress is praised, which commonly precedes discussions about all the work left to be done.

notes 237 3. Mullen (2013a: 1) argues: “Structural and cultural violence manifests as systemic vulnerability and dehumanization, and it is this type of builtin violence that continues to plague countries where transitional justice has been pursued, for example the criminalization and repression of communities in South Africa, or the forced evictions that occur daily throughout Cambodia.” 4. MPH, MD. Research associate, Center for Public Health & Human Rights, Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health.

References

Al Jazeera (2011) “Spotlight: The Arab Awakening,” Al Jazeera, 22 February, www.aljazeera.com/indepth/spotlight/2011/02/2011222121213770475. html. Aung, P. (2012) “Nay Win Maung dies of heart attack,” Democratic Voice of Burma, 2 May, www.dvb.no/news/nay-win-maung-dies-of-heart-attack/ 19436. Aung Naing Oo (2014) “A new chapter in Myanmar politics,” Mizzima Business Weekly, 45, 13 November. Aung San Suu Kyi (2010) Letters from Burma, London: Penguin. Aung San Suu Kyi and V. Havel (2010) Freedom from Fear: And Other Writings, London: Penguin. Aung Zaw (2011) “Speaking truth to Burma,” The Irrawaddy, www. irrawaddy.org/opinion_story.php?art_id=20608. Aung-Thwin, M. and M. Aung-Thwin (2012) A History of Myanmar Since Ancient Times: Traditions and Transformations, London: Reaktion Books. Barta, P. (2012) “Activitst worked with miliitary regime,” Wall Street Journal. Remembrances: Nay Win Maung, 6 January. Beech, H. (2010) “Can the young bring change to Burma?”, Time, 31 October. Bishara, M. (2011) “A rude Arab awakening.” Al Jazeera: Opinion, 1 August, english.aljazeera.net/indepth/opinion/2011/08/201181131751785145. html. Bloomberg (2014) “Myanmar gets complicated,” Bloomberg View: Asia, 12 November, www.bloombergview.com/articles/2014-11-12/myanmargets-complicated. Bob, C. (2005) The Marketing of Rebellion: Insurgents, Media, and International Activism, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Boudreau, V. (2001) Grass Roots and Cadre in the Protest Movement, Manila: Ateneo de Manila University Press.

references 239 — (2004) Resisting Dictatorship: Repression and Protests in Southeast Asia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bueno de Mesquita, B. and A. Smith (2011a) “How tyrants endure,” New York Times. — (2011b) The Dictator’s Handbook: Why Bad Behaviour Is Almost Always Good Politics, Public Affairs. Burma Partnership (2014) Impunity for Military Abuses Has to End, Burma Partnership, 11 November. Buzzi, C. (2011) “Norwegian naivete in Burma,” The Irrawaddy, 17 October, www2.irrawaddy.org/article.php?art_id=22269&page=2. Callahan, M. (2000) “Military–society relations in Burma since 1988,” in M. B. Pederson, E. Rudland and R. J. May (eds), Burma Myanmar – Strong Regime, Weak State?, Adelaide: Crawford House. — (2003) Making Enemies: War and State Building in Burma, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Callahan, M. and D. Steinberg (2012) Drivers of Political Change in PostJunta, Constitutional Burma, USAID, 6 February. Castells, M. (2004) The Power of Identity, 2nd edn: The Information Age: Economy, Society and Culture, vol. II, Malden, MA: Wiley Blackwell. Cheesman, N. (2010) “The incongruous return of habeas corpus to Myanmar,” in M. Skidmore and T. Wilson (eds), Ruling Myanmar: From Cyclone Nargis to National Elections, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies Publishing. — (2015) “Two ways of talking about the rule of law in Myanmar,” East Asia Forum, 13 October, www.eastasiaforum.org/2015/10/13/ two-ways-of-talking-about-the-rule-of-law-in-myanmar/. Chowdhury, M. (2008) “The role of the internet in Burma’s Saffron Revolution,” Internet and Democracy Case Study Series, Berkman Center Research Publication no. 2008-08. Contreras, A. (2005) “The transformation of politics and the politics of transformation,” in Commonplaces and Comparisons: Remaining Ecopolitical Spaces in Southeast Asia, Thailand: Regional Center for Social Science and Sustainable Development, Chiang Mai University. Corben, R. (2014) “Analysts fear Burma’s reforms stalling,” Voice of America, www.voanews.com/content/analysts-fear-burmas-reforms-stalling/ 1857531.html. Dabashi, H. (2012) “War by other means: military strikes and sanctions are not the best way to support regime change in Iran,” Al Jazeera: Opinion, 27 June. Davies, M. (2015) “What next for the Rohingya in Myanmar? Suu Kyi’s balancing act after the election,” E-International Relations,

240

references www.e-ir.info/2015/12/06/what-next-for-the-rohingya-in-myanmar-suukyis-balancing-act-after-the-election/. Demick, B. (2009) Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea, New York: Random House. DVB (Democratic Voice of Burma) (2011) “Politicians decry military budget,” Democratic Voice of Burma Online, 27 September, www.dvb. no/news/politicians-decry-military-budget/14619. Economist (2011) “The Arab awakening reaches Syria,” The Economist Online, 21 May, www.economist.com/blogs/newsbook/ 2011/03/protests_middle_east. Ei Ei Toe Lwin (2013) “Fury over Letpadaung copper mine report,” Myanmar Times, 18 March, www.mmtimes.com/index.php/nationalnews/5175-fury-at-copper-mine-report.html. Eleven Myanmar (2014) “Experts criticise U.S.-backed IRI survey,” Eleven News Media, 11 April, www.elevenmyanmar.com/index. php?option=com_content&view=article&id=5743:experts-criticise-us-backed-iri-survey&catid=32:politics&Itemid=354. Entman, R. M. (2006) “Framing public life: perspectives on media and our understanding of the social world,” Political Communication, 23: 121–2. Eubank, D. (2008) “Under attack: a way of life,” Forced Migration Review, www.fmreview.org/FMRpdfs/FMR30/10-11.pdf. Ferguson, J. (1990) The Anti-Politics Machine: “Development,” Depoliticization and Bureaucratic Power in Lesotho. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ferrara, F. (2003) “Why regimes create disorder: Hobbe’s dilemma during a Rangoon summer,” Journal of Conflict Resolution, 47(3): 302–25. Fink, C. (2001) Living Silence: Burma under Military Rule, New York: Zed Books. — (2009a) “The moment of the monks: Burma, 2007,” in A. Roberts and T. Garton Ash (eds), Civil Resistance and Power Politics, Oxford: Oxford University Press. — (2009b) Living Silence in Burma – Surviving under Military Rule, 2nd edn, Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books. Fong, J. (2008) Revolution as Development: the Karen Self-Determination Struggle against Ethnocracy (–), Florida: Universal Publishers. Foucault, M. (1972) “Power, right, truth,” Reprinted in R. Goodin and P. Pettit (eds), Contemporary Political Philosophy: An Anthology, Oxford: Blackwell. — (1980) Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings – , ed. C. Gordon, New York: Pantheon.

references 241 Frank, R. (2006) “The political economy of sanctions against North Korea,” Asian Perspective, 30(3): 5–36. Fuller, T. (2012) “A most unlikely liberator in Myanmar,” New York Times, 14 March, www.nytimes.com/2012/03/15/world/asia/a-most-unlikelyliberator-in-myanmar.html?pagewanted=all&_r=1&. Ghosh, N. (2014) “Little choice but to support reformists in Myanmar,” The Strait Times: Asia Report, 10 November, www.stasiareport.com/ the-big-story/asia-report/blogs/story/little-choice-support-reformistsmyanmar-20141110. Giumelli, F. (2007) “International governance and security: the contribution of sanctions,” ECPR General Conference paper, Pisa, 6–8 September. Global Centre for Responsibility to Protect (2014) Timeline of International Response to the Situation of the Rohingya and AntiMuslim Violence in Burma, www.globalr2p.org/media/files/timelineof-international-response-to-burma-9.pdf. Gorsevski, E. (2004) Peaceful Persuasion: The Geopolitics of Nonviolent Rhetoric, New York: State University of New York. Guha, R. (1997) Dominance without Hegemony: History and Power in Colonial India, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Guinness, O. (2005) Unspeakable: Facing Up to Evil in an Age of Genocide and Terror, San Francisco, CA: HarperCollins. Hafner-Burton, E. (2008) “Sticks and stones: naming and shaming the human rights enforcement problem,” International Organization, 62: 689–716. Hall, S. (2001) “Reading Seven, Foucault: Power, knowledge and discourse,” in M. Wetherell, S. Yates and S. Taylor (eds), Discourse Theory and Practice: A Reader, London: Open University/Sage. Hannum, H. (2006) “Peace versus justice: creating rights as well as order out of chaos,” International Peacekeeping, 13(4): 582–95. Harding, B., A. Gunasekaran and C. Jordan (2014) “Supporting continued reform in Myanmar,” Center for American Progress, www. americanprogress.org/issues/security/report/2014/11/13/101379/ supporting-continued-reform-in-myanmar/. Havel, V. (1985) Power of the Powerless, ed. J. Keane, New York: Palach Press. Haynes, D. and G. Prakash (1991) “Introduction: The entanglement of power and resistance,” in Contesting Power: Resistance and Everyday Social Relations in South Asia, Bombay: Oxford University Press. Heidel, B. (2006) The Growth of Civil Society in Myanmar, India: Books for Change.

242

references Henry, N. (2011) “People power: the everyday politics of democratic resistance in Burma and the Philippines,” PhD thesis submitted to Victoria University of Wellington, researcharchive.vuw.ac.nz/bitstream/ handle/10063/1750/thesis.pdf?sequence=1. Hopkins, J. (2000) The Art of Peace: Nobel Peace Laureates Discuss Human Rights, Conflict and Reconciliation, New York: Snow Lion. Hufbauer, G., J. Schott, K. E. Elliott and B. Oegg (2007) Economic Sanctions Reconsidered, 3rd edn, Washington, DC: Peter G. Peterson Institute for International Economics. Human Rights Foundation of MonLand-Burma (2014) In Pursuit of Justice: Reflections on the Past and Hopes for the Future of Burma, Human Rights Foundation of MonLand-Burma (HURFOM), July. Human Rights Watch (2007) Crackdown: Repression of the  Popular Protests in Burma, December. ICG (International Crisis Group) (2012) Myanmar Conflict Alert: Preventing communal bloodshed and building better relations, Situation Brief, 12 June, www.refworld.org/docid/4fd85cdd2.html. IRI (International Republican Institute) (2014) Survey of Burma Public Opinion: December ,  to February , , www. iri.org/sites/default/files/flip_docs/2014%20April%203% 20Survey%20of%20Burma%20Public%20Opinion,%20December%20 24,%202013-February%201,%202014.pdf. IRIN (2010) Myanmar: Concerns Grow over Opium and Amphetamine Production, 13 December, www.irinnews.org/Report/91358/MYANMARConcerns-grow-over-opium-and-amphetamine-production. Itriago, M. (2004) “Comment: Defining civil society,” International Journal of Not-for-Profit Law, 6(3), June. Jolliffe, K. (2014) Ethnic Conflict and Social Services in Myanmar’s Contested Regions, June, The Asian Foundation. Jordt, I. (2007) Burma’s Mass Lay Meditation Movement: Buddhism and the Cultural Construction of Power, Ohio University Press. KHRG (Karen Human Rights Group) (2008) Village Agency: Rural Rights and Resistance in a Militarized Karen State, www.khrg.org/khrg2008/ khrg0803.html. — (2009) Ongoing Accounts of Village-Level Resistance: Field Report, 31 July, www.khrg.org/khrg2009/khrg09f13.pdf. — (2010) Self-protection under Strain: Targeting of civilians and local responses in northern Karen State, August, www.khrg.org. — (2011) Civilian and Military Order Documents: March  to July , 5 October, www.khrg.org/khrg2011/khrg1103.html.

references 243 Kerkvliet, B. (2005) The Power of Everyday Politics: How Vietnamese Peasants Transformed National Policy, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Kerkvliet, B. and D. Porter (1996) Vietnam’s Rural Transformation, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Khin Maung Kyi, R. Findlay, R. M. Sundrum, Mya Maung, Myo Nyunt, Zaw Oo et al. (2000) A Vision and a Strategy: Economic Development of Burma, Sweden: Olof Palme International Center. Kiernan, B. (2008) Genocide and Resistance in Southeast Asia: Documentation, Denial and Justice in Cambodia and East Timor, New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers. Kramer, T. (2011) “Civil society gaining ground: opportunities for change and development in Burma,” Transnational Institute Burma Center Netherlands, www.tni.org/sites/www.tni.org/files/download/tni-2011civilsocietygainingground-web2.pdf. Kristof, N. (2003) “Our man in Havana,” New York Times, 8 November, www.nytimes.com/2003/11/08/opinion/our-man-in-havana.html. KWO (Karen Women’s Organization) (2010) Walking amongst Sharp Knives: The Unsung Courage of Karen Women Village Chiefs in Conflict Areas of Eastern Burma, February, www.karenwomen.org/Reports/Wa lkingAmongstSharpKnives.pdf. Kyaw Phyo Tha (2014) “US ‘too optimistic’ about Burma reform: Suu Kyi,” The Irrawaddy, 5 November, www.irrawaddy.org/burma/us-optimisticburma-reform-suu-kyi.html. Kyaw Yin Hlaing (2008) “Challenging the authoritarian state: Buddhist monks and peaceful protests in Burma,” Fletcher Forum of World Affairs, 32(1), Winter, www.webcitation.org/5gpOoMHAX. Kyaw Yin Hlaing and R. Taylor (2005) Myanmar: Beyond Politics to Social Imperatives, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Lall, M. (2010) “Burma’s evolving opposition,” BBC News Asia, 13 November, www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-11750330. — (2012) “More milestones in Burma,” BBC News Asia, 24 January, www. bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-16695353. Lavin, Frank (1996) “Asphyxiation or oxygen? The sanctions dilemma,” Foreign Policy, 104: 146. Levy, P. (1999) “Sanctions on South Africa: what did they do?”, Economic Growth Center Discussion Paper, Yale University, February. Lewis, L. (2007) “Video shows Japanese journalist ‘being shot deliberately,’” The Times Online, 28 September, www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/ world/asia/article2550369.ece. Lintner, B. (2014) Outrage: Burma’s Fight for Democracy, Bangkok: Asia Pacific Media Services.

244

references Londregan, J. B. and K. T. Poole (1996) “Does high income promote democracy,” World Politics, 49(1): 1–30. Malseed, K. (2008a) “Where there is no movement: local resistance and the potential for solidarity,” Journal of Agrarian Change, 8(2/3): 499–514. — (2008b) “Networks of noncompliance: grassroots resistance and sovereignty in militarized Burma,” Paper for Yale Agrarian Studies Colloquium, 25 April, www.yale.edu/agrarianstudies/colloqpapers/ 24malseed.pdf. — (2009) “Networks of noncompliance: grassroots resistance and sovereignty in militarized Burma,” Journal of Peasant Studies, 36(2): 365–91. Marinov, N. (2005) “Do economic sanctions destabilize country leaders?”, American Journal of Political Science, 49(3), July. Matelski, M. (2014) “On sensitivity and secrecy: how foreign research and their local contacts in Myanmar deal with risk under authoritarian rule,” Journal of Burma Studies, 18(1): 59–82. Mbembe, A. (2001) On the Postcolony, Berkeley: University of California Press. McAdam, D. (2009) “The US civil rights movement, 1945–1970,” in A. Roberts and T. Garton Ash (eds), Civil Resistance and Power Politics, Oxford: Oxford University Press. McAdam, D., S. Tarrow and C. Tilly (2007) “Comparative perspectives on contentious politics,” Online revision for Comparative Politics: Rationality, Culture, and Structure: Advancing Theory in Comparative Politics, ed. M. Lichbach and A. Zuckerman, Cambridge: Cambrige University Press, www.socialsciences.cornell.edu/0609/McAdamTarrow Tilly07.pdf. McCombs, M. (2004) Setting the Agenda: The Mass Media and Public Opinion, Cambridge: Polity. McGregor, A. (2011) “Human rights coalitions in Myanmar,” in T. Davis and B. Gallgan (eds), Human Rights in Asia, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. Metro, R. (2011) The Divided Discipline of Burma Studies, Southeast Asia Program, Fall bulletin, Cornell University, seap.einaudi.cornell.edu/ system/files/The_Divided_Discipline_of_Burma_Studies.pdf. Min Zin (2010) “Opposition movements in Burma: the questions of relevancy,” Extracted from Finding Dollars, Sense and Legitimacy in Burma, Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center for Scholars, www. burmalibrary.org/docs09/MinZin-WWICS-Burma2010.pdf. Mirror UK (2009) “Welcome to North Korea – a backward and brainwashed nation,” 28 May, www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/welcome-to-northkorea---a-backward-396563.

references 245 Mizzima (2010) “Dr. Nay Win Maung and civil society,” Mizzima Archive, 29 March, archive-2.mizzima.com/edop/commentary/3738-dr-nay-winmaung-and-civil-society.html. Mohanty, M. (1995) “On the concept of ‘empowerment,’” Economic and Political Weekly, 30(24): 1434 – 6. Mullen, M. (2013a) “Reassessing the focus of transitional justice: the need to move structural and cultural violence to the centre,” Cambridge Review of International Affairs, 11 March. — (2013b) “Brokering for human rights in Burma/Myanmar,” in Amplifying the Voices, Human Rights and Peace in Southeast Asia Series 3, ed. A. Sharom, Bangkok: Southeast Asia Human Rights Studies Network. — (2015) “Managing expectations in NLD-led Myanmar,” E-International Relations, 18 December. Mullen, M., Ya Tu and E. Prasse-Freeman (2015) “Vulnerability shifts in a transitioning Myanmar,” 3rd Annual International Conference on “New voices in global health and well-being 2015: Reducing inequities,” Amari Don Muang Airport Hotel, Thailand, 6 March. Mutua, M. (2001) “Savages, victims, and saviors: the metaphor of human rights,” Harvard International Law Journal, 42(1): 201–45. Myanmar Civil Society Organizations Forum (2014) Press Statement: Civil Societies’ Review on Myanmar’s Transition Process: Prospects for  and Beyond, Conference held at Myanmar Christian Fellowship of the Blind Center, Kawechan, Mayangone Township, Yangon, 14–16 October. Myint Zaw (2005) “A study of privately owned print media outlets in Myanmar: special reference to their contents, role and functions in Myanmar society,” Thesis for the degree of Master of Arts, Program in International Development Studies, Chulalongkorn University. Nan Tin Htwe (2012) “Tributes flow for a man who put his country first,” Myanmar Times, 31(609), 9–15 January, mmtimes.com/2012/news/609/ news60920.html. Obama, B. (2010) President of the USA’s Address to the UNGA, 23 September. O’Brien, K. (1996) “Rightful resistance,” World Politics, 49(1): 31–55. Oommen, T. K. (1990) Protest and Change: Studies of Social Movements, New Delhi: Sage. Orwell, G. (1983 [1949]), Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Pape, R. (1997) “Why economic sanctions do not work,” International Security, 22(2): 90–136. — (1998) “Why economic sanctions still do not work,” International Security, 23(1): 66–77.

246

references Paung Ku (2011)–Annual Report: Strengthening Civil Society in Myanmar. Pedersen, M. (2005) “The challenges of transition in Myanmar,” in Kyaw Yin Hlaing, R. Taylor and Tin Maung Maugn Than (eds), Myanmar: Beyond Politics to Societal Imperatives, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Peksen, D. (2009) “Better or worse? The effect of economic sanctions on human rights,” Journal of Peace Research, 46(1): 59–77. Pennington, M. and N. Pickler (2014) “Obama vows US support as Myanmar leader visits,” Associated Press: “The big story,” bigstory. ap.org/article/myanmar-leader-making-landmark-white-house-visit. Perera, T. (2015) “Ma Ba Tha and the vote,” Guest contribution, New Mandala, 4 November, asiapacific.anu.edu.au/newmandala/2015/11/04/ ma-ba-tha-and-the-vote/. Polsby, N. (1963) Community Power and Political Theory, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Popham, P. (2012) “Keep up the pressure on Myanmar’s generals,” Opinion page, New York Times, 5 March, www.nytimes.com/2012/03/06/ opinion/keep-up-the-pressure-on-myanmars-generals.html?_r=2. Prasse-Freeman, E. (2010) “Retaking power in Burma,” Democratic Voice of Burma, 27 July, www.dvb.no/analysis/retaking-power-inburma-pt-2/10941. — (2011) “Progress is stifled by a stale debate,” Democratic Voice of Burma, 11 March, www.dvb.no/analysis/progress-is-stifled-by-a-staledebate/14700. — (2012a) “Animating Burma’s reform from within,” Democratic Voice of Burma, 24 January, www.dvb.no/analysis/animatingburmas-reform-from-within/19879. — (2012b) “Politics returns to Burma,” Democratic Voice of Burma, 23 January, www.dvb.no/analysis/politics-returns-to-burma/19850. — (2012c) “Power, civil society and an inchoate politics of the daily in Burma,” Journal of Asian Studies, 71(2), May. — (2012d) “Build Burma from the ground up,” Foreign Policy, 22 June. — (2012e) “To oppose or reform? The role of Myanmar’s former prisoners,” Al Jazeera, www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/2012/06/201263010503 8211381.html. — (2013) “Scapegoating in Burma: guest editorial,” Anthropology Today, 29(4): 2–3. — (2014) “Fostering an objectionable Burma discourse,” Journal of Burma Studies, 18(1): 97–122.

references 247 Rao, R. (2010) Third World Protest: Between Home and the World, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Richardson, L. (2000) “Writing: a method of inquiry,” in N. Denzin and Y. Lincoln (eds), Handbook of Qualitative Research, 2nd edn, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Robinson, Geoffrey (2010)“If You Leave Us Here, We Will Die”: How Genocide Was Stopped in East Timor, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Robinson, Gwen (2014) Myanmar’s Transition: Economics or Politics? Which Came First and Why It Matters, London: Legatum Institute. Roderick, R. (1993) “Rick Roderick on Foucault: The disappearance of the human,” Lecture 8 of Duke University lecture series “The self under siege: philosophy in the twentieth century,” www.youtube. com/watch?v=hP79SfCfRzo. Rogers, B. (2010) Than Shwe: Unmasking Burma’s Tyrant, Thailand: Silkworm Books. Saw U, A. (2007) “Reflections on confidence-building and cooperation among ethnic groups in Myanmar: a Karen case study,” in N. Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing (eds), Myanmar: State, Society and Ethnicity, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Scott, J. (1985) Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. — (1989) “Everyday forms of resistance,” Copenhagen Papers, 4, rauli.cbs. dk/index.php/cjas/article/download/1765/1785. — (1990) Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. — (1992) “Domination acting and fantasy,” in C. Nordstrom and J. Martin (eds), The Paths to Domination, Resistance, and Terror, Berkeley: University of California Press. — (1998) Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. — (2010) The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. — (2011) “Francis Wade interview with James Scott: making a pact with the army,” Democratic Voice of Burma, 6 October, www.dvb. no/Interview/james-c-scott-making-a-pact-with-the-military/17989. Scott, J. and B. Tria Kerkvliet (1986) “Some issues in ‘everyday forms of peasant resistance’ in South-East Asia,” Journal of Peasant Studies, 13(2), January. Selth, A. (2002) Burma’s Armed Forces: Power without Glory, Norwak, CT: EastBridge.

248

references — (2010) “Modern Burma studies: a survey of the field,” Modern Asian Studies, 44(2): 401–40. Shobert, B. (2014) “Myanmar enters a critical transition,” Forbes, 6 May, www.forbes.com/sites/benjaminshobert/2014/05/06/myanmar-enters-acritical-transition/. Singh, R. (2001) Social Movements, Old and New: A Post-modern Critique, New Delhi: Sage. Sivaramakrishnan, K. (2005) “Social power, contested belonging, and the local government of commons,” in Commonplaces and Comparisons: Remaking Eco-political Spaces in Southeast Asia, Thailand: Regional Center for Social Science and Sustainable Development, Chiang Mai University. Skidmore, M. (2004) Karaoke Fascism: Burma and the Politics of Fear, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. — (2011).“Threats to academic freedom,” New Mandala: New Perspectives on Mainland Southeast Asia, 28 August, asiapacific.anu.edu.au/new mandala/2011/08/28/threats-to-academic-freedom/. Smith, M. (1999) Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity, 2nd edn, London: Zed Books. — (2007) State of Strife: The Dynamics of Ethnic Conflict in Burma, Washington, DC: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, East-West Center. Sopranzetti, C. (2014) “Owners of the map: mobility and mobilization among motorcycle taxi drivers in Bangkok,” City & Society, 26(1): 120–43. South, A. (2008a) Ethnic Politics in Burma: States of Conflict, New York: Taylor and Francis. — (2008b) “Civil society in Burma: the development of democracy amidst conflict,” Policy Studies Paper no. 51, Washington, DC: East-West Center. South, A., M. Perhult and N. Carstensen (2010) “Conflict and survival: self-protection in south-east Burma,” Asia Programme Paper ASP PP 2010/04, September, London: Chatham House. Spivak, G. C. (1988) “Can the subaltern speak,”in C. Nelson and L. Grossberg (eds), Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture, London: Macmillan. Steinberg, D. (1999) “A void in Myanmar: civil society in Burma,” in Strengthening Civil Society in Burma, Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books. — (2006) “Burma-Myanmar: the US–Burmese relationship and its vicissitudes,” in N. Birdshall, M. Vaishnav and R. Ayers, Short of the Goal, Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press, pp. 209–44. — (2009) Burma/Myanmar: What Everyone Needs to Know, New York: Oxford University Press.

references 249 — (2011) “Bullies across borders?”, The Irrawaddy, 1 September, www. irrawaddy.org/article.php?art_id=21999. — (2012) “Myanmar: on claiming success,” The Irrawaddy, 18 January, www.irrawaddy.org/article.php?art_id=22875. Suwanvanichkij, V., and N. Murakami, C. Lee, J. Leigh, A. Wirtz, B. Daniels, Mahn Mahn, C. Maung and C. Beyrer (2010) “Communitybased assessment of human rights in a complex humanitarian emergency: the emergency assistance teams – Burma and Cyclone Nargis,” Conflict and Health, 4(8). Swartz, M., V. Turner and A. Tuden (1966) Political Anthropology, New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers. Tagliacozzo, E. and Wen-Chin Chang (2014) Burmese Lives: Ordinary Life Stories under the Burmese Regime, New York: Oxford University Press. Tallentire, M. (2007) “The Burma road to ruin,” Guardian, 28 February, www.guardian.co.uk/world/2007/sep/28/burma.uk. Tamm, I. (2004) “Dangerous appetites: human rights activism and conflict commodities,” Human Rights Quarterly, 26: 687–704. Tarrow, S. (2011) Power in Movement: Social Movements and Contentious Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Taylor, R. (2009) The State in Myanmar, Singapore: National University of Singapore Press. Thant Myint-U (2006) The River of Lost Footsteps: Histories of Burma, New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Thawnghmung, A. M. (2003a) “Rural perceptions of state legitimacy in Burma,” Journal of Peasant Studies, 30(2). — (2003b) “The socio-economic impacts of rice policies implementation in rural Burma,” Journal of Social Issues in Southeast Asia, October, pp. 299–321. — (2004) Behind the Teak Curtain: Authoritarianism, Agricultural Policies, and Political Legitimacy in Rural Burma, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. — (2011a) Beyond Armed Resistance: Ethnonational Politics in Burma (Myanmar), Policy Studies 62, Honolulu: East-West Center. — (2011b) “The politics of everyday life in twenty-first century Myanmar,” Journal of Asian Studies, 70(3): 641–56. Tilly, C. (1982) “European violence and collective action since 1700,” Working Paper no. 277, Center for Research on Social Organization, deepblue.lib.umich.edu/bitstream/2027.42/51047/1/277.pdf. — (1985) “War making and state making as organized crime,” in P. Evans, D. Rueschemeyer and T. Skocpol (eds), Bringing the State Back In, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

250

references — (1991) “Domination, resistance, compliance … discourse,” Review Essays: Sociological Forum, 6(3). — (1993) European Revolutions: –, Oxford: Wiley Blackwell. — (1995) Popular Contention in Great Britain, –, Cambridge, MA: President and Fellows of Harvard College. — (2002) Stories, Identities and Political Change, Maryland: Rowman and Littlefield. — (2004) “Regimes and contention,” in F. Engelstad and O. Osterud (eds), Power and Democracy: Critical Interventions, Burlington, VT: Ashgate. — (2005) Identities, Boundaries and Social Ties, Boulder, CO: Paradigm. — (2006) Regimes and Repertoires, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. — (2008) Contentious Performances, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tilly, C. and S. Tarrow (2007) Contentious Politics, Boulder, CO: Paradigm. Tilly, C., L. Tilly and R. Tilly (1975) The Rebellious Century: –, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Tucker, S. (2001) Burma: The Curse of Independence, London: Pluto Press. UNGA (2011) UN Special Rapporteur for human rights in Burma: March  report to the UNGA (Source: A-HRC-16-59). US Cables EO 12958 (2008) Continuing the Pursuit of Democracy in Burma, 14 July, authored by US Charges d’Affaires to Burma Shari Villarosa, published in Guardian, 9 December 2010. — (2010) Chinese Losing Patience with Burma, 18 January 2008, authored by US Charges d’Affaires to Burma Shari Villarosa, published in Guardian, 9 December 2010. Van den Brink, B. and D. Owen (2007) Recognition and Power: Axel Honneth and the Tradition of Critical Social Theory, New York: Cambridge University Press. Victor, B. (2002) The Lady: Aung San Suu Kyi, Nobel Laureate and Burma’s Prisoner, London: Faber and Faber. Wai Moe (2010) “Pro-election think-tank feels the pressure,” The Irrawaddy, 21 July. Wallace, B., S. K. Kramer and J. Richman (2013) “As Myanmar opens up, a look back on a 1988 uprising,” Radio Diaries, ed. D. George and B. Shapiro, NPR. Walton, M. and S. Hayward (2014) “Contesting Buddhist narratives: democratization, nationalism, and communal violence in Myanmar,” Policy Studies 71, Hawaii: East West Center.

references 251 Weiss, S. (2011) “Counterpoint on Myanmar’s transition,” Asia Times Online, www.atimes.com/atimes/Southeast_Asia/MC18Ae01.html. White, C. (1986) “Everyday resistance, socialist revolution and rural development: the Vietnamese case,” Journal of Peasant Studies, 13(2): 49–63. White House (2010) “Remarks by President Barack Obama in State of the Union Address,” Office of the Press Secretary, 27 January. Wintle, J. (2007) Perfect Hostage: A Life of Aung San Suu Kyi, Burma’s Prisoner of Conscience, New York: Skyhorse. Zarni, M. (2010) “How wrong can you be?”, The Irrawaddy, 26 November, www.irrawaddy.org. — (2011) “The bottom-up pursuit of justice: the case of two Burmas,” in Global Civil Society : Globality and the Absence of Justice, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. — (2012) “Orientalisation and manufacturing of ‘civil society’ in contemporary Burma,” in Z. Ibrahim (ed.), Social Science and Knowledge in a Globalising World, Selangor: Malaysian Social Science Association.

Index

8/8/88 movement, 26, 27, 28, 29–32, 34, 37; crackdown on, 32 88 Generation Students Group, 32 969 movement, 24, 193–205; emergence of, 196–99 Abe, Shinzo, 158 activism, promotion of, viewed as exploitative, 144 activists, funding of, 115 agency, undermining of, 125, 126 agriculture, covert, 94 Agriculture and Farmers Federation of Myanmar, 227 All Burma Monks Alliance, 33 All Burmese Students’ Democratic Front (ABSDF), 38, 69 American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), 159 Amnesty International, 174 amphetamines, production of, 90 anger, 123; suppression of, 86, 88 Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL), 28, 35; split in, 36

anti-Muslim sentiment, 3, 24, 106, 145, 191, 193–205; calls for purges of Muslims, 205 anti-politics, 227 Arab Spring, 45–6 armed resistance, 34–40, 139, 143; international support for, 40 army schools, 69 Asia Development Bank, 208 Asian Highway project, 224 Athens, in antiquity, relations with Megara, 158 Aung Din, 181 Aung Khaing, 121 Aung Naing Oo, 19, 132, 137, 168, 189 Aung San, General, 34, 38; assassination of, 28, 30; legacy of, 31, 35 Aung San Suu Kyi (Daw Suu), 2, 7, 26, 27, 30–1, 43, 98, 113, 114, 136, 162, 181, 186, 187, 189, 198, 206, 209; banned from presidency, 229; criticism of, 220; interview with, 230; meets Than Shwe, 228; position on Muslims, 203–4; released from house arrest, 3, 18, 46, 158

index 253 Aung-Thwin, M., with M. AungThwin, A History of Myanmar, 28 Aung Zaw, 113 avoidance, 62–3 Baird, John, 173 Bama struggles, 112 Belarus, sanctions against, 175 Bhamo (Kachin State), military base in, 72 black market, of goods from Thailand, 59 blogging, as form of resistance, 82–3 Bob, C., 43 book clubs, 60 border peoples, livings of, 147 bribery, 63–4, 75, 81, 107, 128, 143, 144, 169, 177, 218; of local officials, 80 British colonial rule, 20, 27, 28, 35 “Brussels Four”, 116 Buddhism, 24, 88, 193, 196, 221; maintaining purity of, 198 Burma Partnership, 208 Burma Socialist Programme Party (BSPP), 9, 28, 29, 51 Burma studies, politicization of, 115–16 Burmese language, broadcasts in, 40 bus and taxi drivers, 78 “Buy Buddhist” campaign, 197 Byrne, Ciara, 16 Callahan, M., 215 Canada, sanctions imposed by, 157, 173 capacity building, 61; masked, 59–62

cars, growing ownership of, 210–11 ceasefires, negotiations regarding, 38–9 cell phones, development of, 210 censorship, 187, 231 change, definition of, 11–12 Cheesman, N., 217 chiefs, women selected as, 71 child soldiers, 38 Chin National Front, 37 Chin State, 15 China, micro-protests in, 42 Christianity, 200 civil society, 214; assumed death of, 51; rediscovery of, 51–2 collective action, 41 Communist Party of Burma, 38 community self-empowerment projects, 9 compliance, 75, 95, 98; calculated, 56–7; false, 56, 76, 77; on community reporting, 57; on rent payment, 57 compromise, 132–8 confrontation, 98 consequentialism, 183 constitution of 2008, 3, 229 contentious politics, 7–8, 10, 27, 31, 40–2, 99–100, 102, 120; as an academic discipline, 40; definition of, 103; global framing of, 43–7 contextualization of data, 13 control, culture of, 45 coping, successful, 83–90 Corben, R., 209 corruption, 2, 107, 130, 143, 151, 176, 223, 226; combating of, 218

254

index Country Programme Action Plan, 224 coup of 1962, 20 creation, 7, 8–9, 23, 54, 63 credits, claimed by foreigners, 148 Cuba, sanctions against, 163 Customs and Trade Act (1990) (USA), 157 Cyclone Nargis, 9, 50, 158, 183, 231 Dabashi, H., 166 Danu ethnic group, 221, 222–3 Danu Special Economic Zone, 221–2 debt, 211 delegitimizing the regime, 131, 142 Delian League, 158 Demick, Barbara, Ordinary Lives in North Korea, 87–8 democracy, 183, 194, 202, 216 Democratic Alliance of Burma, 38 Democratic Karen Buddhist Army (DKBA), 64 Democratic Party of Burma, 49 deontological compass, 143 development: authoritarian model of, 224; criticism of, 223; seen as aggression, 222–4 “Disciplined Democracy”, 29 divestment, as form of subversion, 77–8 dogs, released from chains, 77 drugs: accessibility of, 90; use of, 81 East Timor, resistance in, 40 education, 59; as indoctrination tool, 78–9; higher, 69;

incompetence of system, 130; primary, payment for, 211; private, 78; reform of, 152 see also army schools elections, 31; boycotting of, 49; in 2012 (by-election), 3; in 2010, 3, 49–50, 206; in 2015, 4, 20, 25, 190, 206, 207–15, 216, 230; participation in, 53, 185, 187 Electronic Transaction Law (2004), 2 Eleven News Group, 191 Emergency Provisions Act (1950), 2 emotions, management of, 85 engagement, benefits of, 119 English lessons, used to disseminate illegal ideas, 61 environmental degradation, 223 ethnic nationalities, resentment felt towards, 35 ethnicity, 39 ethnonationalism, 35–6 everyday resistance, 91; consequences of, 100 exile, viewed as sacrifice, 141 extractive industries, 190, 229 Family Research Council, 159 farmers, empowerment of, 188 farming, as resistance, 84 fear: absence of, 79; culture of, 45; refusal of, 83 Federation of Trade Unions of Myanmar, 227 Finch, Matt, 124 Fink, C., 143; Living Silence ..., 44–5

index 255 Five-Way High-Level Meeting, 189 flexibility, in design of research, 16–17 food: contamination of, 129; sharing of, 94 forced labour, 57, 95 foreign direct investment, 12 Foreign Investment Law (2012), 227 formalization, fear of, 218 Foucault, Michel, 14, 90–3, 96, 97 Four Cuts policy, 2, 36–8; modification of, 37 Free Burma campaigns, 1, 23, 112, 114–15, 133, 161, 164; peacock image, 43 Free Burma Coalition, 171 freedom of expression, 18, 127 Ganesan, Narayanan, 126 gender-biased laws, 41 generals, to be brought to account, 120, 144, 152, 214 goat and chicken, used as bribery, 64 graffiti, painting of, 80 Guha, Ranajit, 96 Haiti, sanctions against, 163 happiness, not indication of apathy, 86 Havel, V., 98–9 Haynes, D., 103 Hayward, S., 198 health, 211; concerns regarding, 127–8 health services, 108–9

Henry, N., 96 Heritage Foundation, 159 heroin, 38 hidden transcripts, 82, 100 hiding of food stores, 94 Holliday, Ian, 195 Honneth, A., 139 Htoo Chit, 122–3, 133, 164 human rights, 43, 44, 61, 145, 126–7, 147, 183, 193–205, 207–8, 212, 215; adversarial approach to, 135; using the language of, 134–5; violations of, 37 Human Rights Watch, 150 I Support the Monks signs, 33 imprisonment, 140 impunity, for military crimes, 208 India, 11, 32 Indigenous Network for Education, 227 indomitability, 83–4, 88 infighting, 20, 112–19; consequences of, 118–19 inflation, 3 insubordination, 80–1 interest, rates of, 211 internal displacement, 37 International Republican Institute, 212 Internet, as source of Burma information, 34 interviews, structuring of, 16 intoxication, as means of selfprotection, 88–90 Iran, sanctions against, 159, 163 Iraq, sanctions against, 163

256

index Islamic fundamentalism, 170 isolation of countries, 163 Japan, occupation of Burma, 20, 28 Japanese journalist, killing of, 33 Jolliffe, K., 225 Jordt, I., 89 jungle markets, 94 Kachin ethnic group, 36 Kachin Independence Army, 38 Kachin Independence Organization, 37 Kachin State, 39, 81 Kalaw, 222; economy of, 221 Karen ethnic group, 36, 59, 161, 174 Karen Human Rights Group (KHRG), 106, 124; Village Agency …, 94 Karen National Progressive Party, 38 Karen National Union, 37, 187 Karen Peace Support Network, 224 Karen State, village resistance in, 94 Karen Women’s Organization (KWO), Walking Among Sharp Knives, 71, 136 Karenni National Progressive Party, 37 Kerkvliet, B., 100 Khun Sa, 38 Kim Nossal, 165, 166, 179 Korea, North see North Korea Kryvoi, Yaraslayu, 170, 173, 175 Kyaw Phyo Tha, 210

Labour Rights Defenders and Promoters Network, 227 Lahu National organization, 37 Lall, M., 148 land: dispossession of, 220, 229; ownership of (securing of, 128; by state, 230) land policy, 219 land reform, 152 land titles, 217–18 languages: barriers of, 110; English, 110, 214; linguistic preferences, 112; local, promotion of, 79; of ethnic groups, teaching in, 78 law, enforcement of, 218 see also rule of law League of Nations, sanctions imposed by, 166 Letpadaung copper mine, 220 LGBT rights, 153 liberalization, political, 209 Liu Xiaobo, 138 livestock, hiding of, 81–2 local navigation, valuing of, 104–10 Lu Maw, 174 Ma Ba Tha movement, 24, 193, 203, 228 Ma Thida Htwe, rape and killing of, 196, 204 MacQuarrie, Kim, 16 Mae Sot, exile community (Thailand), 27 malaria, 118 Malseed, K., 75, 94–5, 96, 125, 140, 179 marginal discourse, concept of, 14

index 257 martial law, imposition of, 31 masking of feelings, 85–6 Mass Lay Meditation Movement, 88–9 maternal health, 108 Maung Zarni, 171, 188, 191 meals, deliberate spoiling of, 79 media, new, as means of resistance, 82–3 Metro, R., 53, 112, 134 Metta organization, 50 micro-dynamics of everyday politics, 95–6 migrant workers, 1, 3, 11; as force of change, 175 see also remittances of migrant workers migration, 130 military: as landlord, 230; autonomous power of, 229; Bhamo base, 72; chains of command in, 68, 80 (broken, 71, 96); how to deal with, 68; resistance to, 54; seen as desirable career, 69; theft by, 219 see also generals, to be brought to account and soldiers military regime, 30–1; dissolution of, 2; viewed as unitary actor, 67–8 military spending budgets, 39 Min Zin, 40 mining, illegal, 81 misreporting and stocking of resources, 81–2 Moh Heng, 38 MOM project, 108 Mon ethnic group, 36 money, unreported, storage of, 81

Mong Tai Army, 37–8 monks, 136; demonstration by, 32–3 moral compasses, 142–6 moral grey areas, 145–6 mosquitoes, 128 motorcycles, importation of, 211 Mullen, M., 219, 228 multiple particular governmentalities, 6 Muslims, discrimination against, 212 see also anti-Muslim sentiment Mustache Brothers, 174 mutual hurt, 59 Myanmar: independence of, 30; viewed as global struggle, 11 Myanmar / Burma, use of terms, 112, 134 Myanmar Civil Society Organizations Forum, 212, 213, 217 Myanmar Egress movement, 50, 113, 183, 185 Myanmar Legal Aid Network, 227 Myanmar National Human Rights Commission, 208 Myanmar Opium Farmers’ Forum, 107 Nagai, Kenji, 158 naming and shaming campaigns, 167 Nan Tin Hwe, 187 narcoeconomy, 38 National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), 159

258

index National Democratic Force (NDF), 49 National League for Democracy (NLD), 25, 48, 69, 188; 1990 election victory of, 28, 31, 57; 2015 electoral victory of, 3, 25, 31, 230; criticism of, 145; leadership in Myanmar, 228–32 National Unity Front of Arakan, 37–8 nationalization, 29 Nay Win Maung, 23–4, 73, 136; death of, 186; funeral of, 24, 181–92; interviews with, 182–7; legacy of, 189–92 Naypyidaw, 5, 17, 18, 67, 108, 122, 168, 176, 184, 189, 190, 197, 206; as contractor of transition, 215–27; delegitimizing of, 131; propaganda platforms of, 175; seeks sovereign status, 91; subversion of, 83; visit of Barack Obama, 209 Ne Win, 20, 29–30; coup launched by, 28, 36 negotiation, 57–8, 136 New Mon State Party, 37, 187 non-governmental organizations (NGOs), 50–1, 188, 206–32; affluent class of, 214; problems with flexibility, 214 Non-State Armed Groups (NSAGs), 37–8; international support for, 39–40 normalcy, working for, 85 North Korea, 146; everyday life in, 87–8; everyday resistance in,

104; sanctions against, 159, 163, 178 Obama, Barack, 43, 209–10; State of the Union Address, 159 officials, relations with citizens, 15–16, 72–3 Ojea Quintana, Tomas, 213 Oliver, John, 153–4 Onziema, Pepe Julian, 153–4, 169 opening, of 2012, 73 opium: as means of income generation, 107; demonization of Wa producers of, 161; production of, 90 Orwell, George, , 166–7 Pa-O National Organization, 38 Palaung State Liberation Party, 38 Palestine, isolation of, 163 Panglong Agreement (1947), 28, 35–6 pathways to change, 5–12; taxonomies of, 7 Paung Ku, Strengthening Civil Society in Burma, 149–50 peace villages, 37 Peaceful Assembly and Procession Law, 217 Pedersen, Morten, 144 Peksen, D., 165, 167 Perera, Thusita, 193 performances, terminology of, 42 Pindaya: development projects in, 222; economy of, 221 political behaviour, 99

index 259 political prisoners, release of, 150, 206, 210 Popham, P., 148 poverty, 30 power: at extremities, 91, 93, 95, 172; measurement of, 92; negotiation of, 97; webs of, 96 pragmatism, 48 Prakash, G., 103 Prasse-Freeman, E., 6–7, 55, 65, 121, 125, 131, 150, 155, 197, 198, 203 predation, 157, 201–7 print media, privately owned, 82 privatization, 190–1 privilege, 183–4 pro-democracy coalition of the West, 170 pro-military scholarship, 116 prosecution of former generals, 18 Pussy Riot trials, 45 Putin, Vladimir, re-election of, 45 quiet forces of change, 50 Rakhine Nationalities Development Party, 49 Rakhine State, 15 see also Western Rakhine State Raynaud, Mael 137–8, 147, 187 reading clubs, 60 recognition, 97, 139, 147–52, 179–80 reconstructive politics, 8–9, 10, 23, 54–64, 231; construction of, 65–6; fluidity of, 65 relationship building, 58–9

religion, 85; as means of selfprotection, 88–90 religious violence, 24 relocation, forced, 57 remittances of migrant workers, 1, 2, 3, 176; as catalyst of change, 175–8 resistance: Brechtian and Schweikian, 101; dynamics of, 19; everyday, 75–110 (exclusion of, 97–104, 107; hidden nature of, 22; in North Korea, 104; viewed as real, 75) revolutionary strategy, importance of, 131 Right to Peaceful Assembly and Peaceful Procession, 219 risks inherent in research, 18 Rogers, B., Than Shwe: Unmasking Burma’s Tyrant, 44 Rohingya ethnic group, 211; genocidal acts against, 201, 228; sentiment against, 193, 195, 196, 199–201; targeting of, 3, 145, 197–8 rule of law, 216–17, 219 sabotage, 79–80 sacrifice, 138–42; depth of, 140–1; exile as, 141 safety, strategies of, 45 Saffron Revolution (2007), 7, 26, 27, 29, 32–4, 44, 158 sanctions, 17, 23, 144, 148, 150; as both cure and disease, 153–80; as cure, 156–62; as disease, 162–70; as entry point for investigation,

260

index sanctions (cont.): 13–14; as part of dependency paradigm, 172; as statecraft, 171; as war, 166; critiques of, 155; effects of, 154–5 (like neutron bomb, 165); frustrations regarding, 15; imposition of (by Canada, 157; by European Union, 33, 157; by Japan, 157–8; by League of Nations, 159; by USA, 33, 116 (worldwide, 158–9)); lifting of, 3, 186 (by EU, 206; by USA, 206); low success rate of, 159, 162; productivity of, questioned, 14; targets affected by, 165; used by Naypyidaw, 168 see also Belarus, Iran, North Korea, South Africa, Sudan, and Uganda Savio, Mario, 138 Saw Maung, 31 Scott, J., 70, 82, 93, 97, 100, 101, 105, 133; Seeing Like a State, 178; Weapons of the Weak, 76–7 self-protection, use of term, 88 shadow markets, 77–8, 81; medicines sold in, 127 Shan ethnic group, 35, 36, 129 Shan Nationalities Democratic Party, 49 Shan State, 39, 81, 220–2 Shan State Army, 38 Shan State Army–South, 187 Shan State Progress Party, 38 Shobert, Benjamin, 209 shooting of protestors, 30 sickness, fear of, 127 silence, 141, 213; does not mean

approval, 202–3; meaning of, 204; seen as approval, 133; utility of, 86 Singh, R., 100 Skidmore, M., Karaoke Fascism ..., 44–5 “sliding”, technique of interviewing, 17 smuggling, 80–1 social services, 225 socialism, 29 soldiers, 30, 62; abandon posts, 80; cooperation with people, 56–7; dealing with, 71; relations with citizens, 59; relations with police, 67; suffer during fighting, 69; susceptible to brutality or mutiny, 69 see also child soldiers solidarity, 111 South, Ashley, 84, 116 South Africa, sanctions against, 160 sovereign power, 96, 172; use of term, 91–2 speaking for others, 123–6, 213 speaking to power, 7 Special Economic Measures (Burma) Regulations (Canada), 34, 157 Spivak, G. C., 124 sports, playing of, 84–5 state: as racketeer, 129; compartmentalization of, 67; criticism of, 82; dysfunctionality of, 22; sidestepping of, 62–3 state of emergency, declaration of, 196 State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC), 28, 31, 157

index 261 State Peace and Development Council (SPDC), 26, 28, 136; dissolution of, 3; “People’s Desires”, 163, 167; weakness of, 95 State Protection Act (1975), 2 state-citizen dynamices, 58–9 Steinberg, D., 116, 215 subsidies, on fuel, removal of, 32 subversion, 7, 10; as everyday resistance, 8 success, lack of consensus regarding, 120 Sudan: insurgency in, 42; sanctions against, 169–70 surveillance, systems of, 44–5 suspicion, culture of, 45 Suwanvanichkij, Voravit, 84, 108–9, 118, 231–2 synergies in struggles, 22 Tarrow, S., 41 Tatmadaw, 2, 11, 34, 37, 39; weakness of, 95 taxation, evasion of, 80 taxi drivers: lose jobs, 211; mobilization of opportunities by, 78; Rohingya, treatment of, 199–201 taxis, choice of, 78 Taylor, R., 113 teak, extraction of, 81 telephone services, choice of, 78 temple, as site of coping, 88–9 Thailand, 11, 32, 94, 115; imports from, 59; sick family members sent to, 127

Than Shwe, 2, 3, 26, 44, 67, 214, 230; meets Aung San Suu Kyi, 228 Than Tun Aung, 191 Thant Myint-U, 230 Thawnghmung, A. M., 36, 46, 50, 67, 69, 133 Thein Sein, U, 189–90, 189, 196, 208, 215, 227 Theravada monasticism, 33 Third Force, 1, 9, 11, 21, 23, 48–74, 112, 114, 167, 181, 184, 185, 186; definition of, 131; dissolution of, 73–4, 189; membership of, 49; non-alignment of, 53; profiling of, 49–54; seeding of young people in, 73–4; seen as extension of junta, 52 threatening or killing of local officials, 79 Tilly, Charles, 41–2, 97, 98, 129; Contentious Performances, 102; European Revolutions, 102; Popular Contestation in Great Britain ..., 102; with S. Tarrow, Contentious Politics, 102 Tom Lantos Burmese Jade Act (USA), 33 tourism, in Myanmar, 173–4 trade unions, allowed, 206 trafficking, 130 transition, 206–32 transitional justice, 152 Treaty of the European Union on Burma, 157 trekking, guide to, 15 trigger words, avoidance of, 61 truth, regimes of, 98

262

index truth commission, proposed establishment of, 213 Uganda, sanctions against, 169 Union of Myanmar Economic Holdings Company (UMEHL), 220 Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP), 29 United Nations (UN), 215; presence in Danu Zone, 221, 222 UN Development Programme (UNDP), 222, 224–5; Local Governance Mapping, 224 UNHABITAT, 222 United States of America (USA): ambassador removed, 157; Burma lobby in, 164; foreign policy of, 109–10 Unlawful Association Act (1908), 2 US Campaign for Burma, 171, 181 Uyghurs, 43 Vietnam: everyday resistance in, 99; societal changes in, 10 villages, destruction of, 37 Villarosa, Shari, 109 voice, 97–8, 97, 123–6; attention given to, 98; denial of, 213–14; given to state officials, 15; lack of, 14–15, 25; of subaltern subjects, 124; of the people, 123 Voice, The, 181, 191 voices: at grassroots, exclusion of, 152; choice of, 14–15; recognition for, 179–80 vulnerability, 4, 207

vulnerable populations, capitalizing on, 107 vulnerable subjects, engagement of, 19 Wa ethnic group, treatment of, 161 Wa National Organization, 38 wages, 211 walking, necessity of, 106 Walton, M., 198 Wanbao Mining company, 220 war of attrition against authorities, 63 weapons of the weak, 76–83, 100 Weiss, S., 124 Western Rakhine State, clashes in, 24 Wilson, Woodrow, 159, 166 Wirathu, U, 24, 193 Women’s Organizations Network of Myanmar, 227 women: older (as negotiators, 70–1; soldiers’ dialogue with, 6); rights of, 41 working slowly and sloppily, 77 World Trade Organization (WTO), 162 xenophobia, 193–205, 229; as local knowledge, 106 Yan Min Aung, 88 Yangon, protests in, 33 Ye Myint Aung, 195, 197–8 Zimbabwe, sanctions against, 163 Zwe Man Hein Campaign, 39