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In Myanmar's Makeover, Politics Is Just the Beginning
Burma? Myanmar? New Freedom to Debate Includes Name
(about 4 hours later)
YANGON, Myanmar — To the saleswomen at a clothing shop here, the arrival of democracy means more customers looking to buy tight skirts and sleeveless tops.
YANGON, Myanmar — To the saleswomen at a clothing shop here, the arrival of democracy means more customers looking to buy tight skirts and sleeveless tops, a sharp departure from the sarongs still ubiquitous in most of the country and a sign of what one clerk called a craving to “live freely.”
On a recent afternoon at Junction Square, a gleaming new shopping mall that looks like nothing else in this dilapidated and mold-covered city, women jostled at racks of Western clothing — the more revealing the better, and a sharp departure from traditional sarongs, still ubiquitous in most of the country.
For a group of lawyers working out of a garage in central Yangon, it means the freedom to battle Chinese investors’ plans to transform a British colonial court building into a hotel. And for one of the country’s best-known linguists, it means the right to rail against the name “Myanmar,” which the former military government officially bestowed on the country and forced its citizens to use.
“I feel the changes,” said Phyu Phyu Aye, a 20-year-old clothing vendor in a matching black skirt and top, an outfit that she said gave her a sense of freedom. “People like freedom and want to live freely.”
“I live in Burma, not Myanmar,” Maung Tha Noe, the linguist, thundered during a recent interview. “It’s my democratic right!”
The changes that have swept Myanmar over the past year are often described in political terms, starting with the release of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and hundreds of other political prisoners.
The changes that have swept Myanmar over the past year are often described in political terms, starting with the release of the pro-democracy advocate Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and hundreds of other political prisoners. But the military had such a pervasive influence over everyday life for decades that the generals’ relinquishing of power last year has also led to lifestyle changes well beyond the realm of politics. Most notably, it has allowed debates on once-taboo subjects, uncorking five decades worth of bottled-up opinions.
But the military had such a pervasive influence over everyday life that citizens are now discussing — or living — changes well beyond the realm of politics.
Writers and linguists have been freed to debate the use of words and terms banned under the junta. There are heated arguments about who should be considered a citizen and discussions over the preservation of buildings, which might have been touchy under a junta that cared enough about appearances that it built an extravagant new capital at a time of deprivation.
There are debates about what Yangon and other cities should look like, which buildings to preserve and which to tear down. There are discussions about the future of language and heated arguments about who should be considered a citizen.
Myanmar, in short, has begun to search for a national identity defined by its people, not the cloistered vision imposed by military governments.
Myanmar, in short, has begun to search for a national identity defined by its people, not the cloistered vision imposed by military governments that took power in 1962 and relinquished control only last year.
At the heart of the matter, in a country with 135 recognized ethnic groups, is a freer and freewheeling debate about the relationship between the Burmese majority and the nation’s minorities, a subject that never received a full hearing during military rule, largely because the military was at war with a number of ethnic minorities.
The demise of dictatorship has uncorked five decades of bottled-up opinions — lots of opinions.
At a recent conference in Yangon called “National Identity and Citizenship in 21st Century Myanmar,” the elephant in the room was the hegemony of the Burmese majority, a group that includes the military hierarchy and most senior politicians.
A group of lawyers working out of a car garage in central Yangon recently started a campaign to block a British colonial court building from being transformed into a hotel by its new Chinese owners.
Yin Yin Nwe, a panelist from the Shan minority, denounced a society where the majority received more benefits and better services. Another panelist, from the Chin minority, which includes many Christians, said the current government and Constitution still give preferential treatment to Buddhism.
“We never dreamed that our magnificent buildings would become hotels — or brothels or whatever they plan on building,” said U Than Thin, the leader of the group. “They belong to the people. That’s why it’s called national heritage.”
The overriding question at the conference was whether Myanmar would become a melting pot or a less integrationist society.
A half-hour drive away, in a high-rise apartment building, one of the country’s best-known translators and linguists railed against the word Myanmar, the official name that the former military government bestowed on the country and forced its citizens to use.
U Kyaw Yin Hlaing, a Burmese academic who has assisted President Thein Sein in peace talks with minority groups, said the president was “inspired by the American identity” and solidly favored a melting pot.
“I live in Burma, not Myanmar,” said Maung Tha Noe, the linguist. “It’s my democratic right.”
Judging by the divided opinions at the conference, the question of ethnic identity is likely to remain unanswered for years. But speakers said it was a measure of the changes in the country that such a meeting was held at all.
The chorus of discussions across the country could be called the search for a National Identity 2.0 — an effort to redefine questions suppressed or papered over during military rule.
Yet on some issues, like the basic question of what the country should be called, old authoritarian ways die hard.
At the heart of the matter, in a country with 135 recognized ethnic groups, is a more free and freewheeling debate about the relationship between the Burmese majority and minority groups.
In June, the country’s election commission warned Ms. Aung San Suu Kyi to stop referring to the country as Burma, noting that the Constitution says, “The state shall be known as the Republic of the Union of Myanmar.” (The military officially changed the country’s name in 1989, soon after quashing a popular revolt against its rule; some Western countries, including the United States, continue to call the country Burma, as does Ms. Aung San Suu Kyi, despite the government’s admonishment.)
At a recent conference in Yangon called “National Identity and Citizenship in 21st Century Myanmar,” the elephant in the room (in a country where wild elephants still roam) was the hegemony of the Burmese majority, sometimes called the Burman.
While many younger Burmese shrug at the question of the country’s name, Mr. Tha Noe and other linguists say they feel strongly about it because of the way the military went about changing it, and about how the generals sought to use language to shape their message.
Yin Yin Nwe, a panelist from the Shan minority group, denounced a society where the Burman majority received more benefits and entitlements and better infrastructure and services. Andrew Ngun Cung Lian, a panelist from the Chin minority, which includes many Christians, said past governments had failed to understand the differences among its people. The current government and the current Constitution gave preferential treatment to one religion — Buddhism — he said.
They banned references to the “military coup” of 1962, calling it a “takeover” by the Tatmadaw, the formal term for the armed forces that translates as “great defense force.”
The overriding question at the conference was whether Myanmar would become a melting pot like the United States or a “salad bowl” of ethnicities, to use a term once applied to neighboring India.
It remains unclear why the military banned the name Burma, which was used by British colonizers, but also by the Burmese independence movement that fought them.
U Kyaw Yin Hlaing, a Burmese academic educated at Cornell University in New York State who has assisted President Thein Sein in peace talks with minority groups, said the president was solidly in the melting pot camp.
With the country now on a path toward a more democratic society, Mr. Tha Noe said he hoped that language would evolve in a more “natural process” rather than by the dictates of a self-serving military.
“He is inspired by the American identity,” Mr. Kyaw Yin Hlaing said.
For others, that same battle applies to architecture.
Judging by the divided opinions at the conference, the question of ethnic identity is likely to remain unanswered for years. Especially contentious is the issue of the Muslim Rohingya, who do not have citizenship and are now segregated from the Buddhist community after deadly sectarian violence in June.
After the move to the newly built capital, Naypyidaw — with its grandiose government offices and a massive military museum — government offices in Yangon were abandoned and left to rot in the tropical heat. Then, as one of its last major acts, the junta auctioned off some of Yangon’s oldest buildings through a secret bidding process.
Yet speakers at the conference said it was a measure of the changes in the country that such a meeting was being held at all.
But details of those auctions are now being called into question, and civic groups, like the lawyers fighting the conversion of the court building, are becoming more vocal about preserving what they call national treasures.
Mr. Thein Sein’s administration has allowed debates to flourish; in some cases action has already been taken toward redefining identity. The Parliament recently lifted a ban on ethnic minorities teaching their own languages in government schools.
“They belong to the people,” said U Than Thin, the group’s leader. “That’s why it’s called national heritage.”
Yet on some issues like the basic question of what the country should be called, old authoritarian ways die hard.
While preservation is partly a matter of aesthetics, it also seems inseparable from questions of identity. Within a few blocks of each other in downtown Yangon there is a Buddhist pagoda, a Hindu temple, a mosque, a church and, in a country with few Jews, even a synagogue.
In June, the country’s election commission warned Ms. Aung San Suu Kyi to stop referring to the country as Burma.
Mr. Kyaw Yin Hlaing, who studied under Benedict Anderson, a scholar known for his work on how “imagined communities” become nations, said pinning down a national identity in a country with so many ethnic groups, languages and traditions might prove impossible.
The commission noted that the country’s Constitution says, “The state shall be known as the Republic of the Union of Myanmar.” Thus “no one has the right” to call the country Burma, the commission said. (The military officially changed the country’s name in 1989, soon after quashing a popular revolt against its rule.)
“Sometimes we will have to leave it undefined,” he said, offering a more cosmic definition of identity. The new Myanmar, he said, might be a place where citizens “close their eyes and feel that they belong there.”
While many people, especially younger Burmese, shrug at the question of the country’s name, Mr. Tha Noe and other linguists say they feel strongly about it because of the way the military went about changing it.
Military governments and their censors sought to shape the Burmese language to their advantage. They banned references to the “military coup” of 1962.
For them it was a “takeover” by the Tatmadaw, the formal term for the armed forces that translates as “great defense force.”
It is unclear why the military banned the name Burma. It was the name used by the British colonizers to describe the country but was also used by the Burmese independence movement fighting against the British.
With the country now on a path toward a more open, democratic society, Mr. Tha Noe said he hoped that language would evolve in a more “natural process” rather than by the dictates of a self-serving military.
So, too, with architecture.
A decade ago, the military secretly began building a new capital, Naypyidaw, putting its indelible imprint on a city it built from scratch. Today, the grandiose government offices, huge military museum and wide but empty avenues give the city the feel of a totalitarian Disneyland.
After the move, government offices in Yangon were abandoned and left to rot in the tropical heat. As one of the last major acts of the military government, the junta auctioned off some of the oldest buildings in Yangon through a secret bidding process.
But details of those auctions are now being called into question. And civic groups, like the lawyers who meet in the parking garage, are becoming more vocal about preserving what they call national treasures. To outsiders, Yangon is often seen as one of the last cities in Asia not transformed by the globalized urban architecture of glass, concrete and steel.
Mr. Than Tin, 91, remembers visiting what was the small-claims court in the 1930s, when he was in his teens, and being so impressed with the teak paneling and tidiness and efficiency of the place.
“The buildings symbolize the rule of law,” Mr. Than Tin said. “Just by looking at them, you have a feeling of justice.”
While the preservation of colonial buildings in Yangon is largely a matter of aesthetics, it also seems inseparable from questions of identity.
Within a few blocks there is a Buddhist pagoda, a Hindu temple, a mosque, a church and, in a country with very few Jews, even a synagogue. Yangon, or Rangoon as it was once called, is more salad bowl than melting pot.
Mr. Kyaw Yin Hlaing, who studied at Cornell University under Benedict Anderson, a scholar known for his work on how “imagined communities” become nations, said pinning down a national identity might prove impossible. The country has so many ethnic groups and languages, so many different types of food and traditions.
“Sometimes we will have to leave it undefined,” he said of the country’s national identity. “It’s going to be a mosaic of many different things.”
He offered a more cosmic definition of the country’s identity. The new, postmilitary nation of Myanmar, he said, might be a place where citizens “close their eyes and feel that they belong there.”
