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Rohingya Crisis: Focus on 'Intolerant Religion' Disregards Complex Moral and Policy Challenges
by Elizabeth Shakman Hurd
Elizabeth Shakman Hurd (eshurd@northwestern.edu) is at the Northwestern University.
Identifying religious difference, and discrimination as the main culprit in the Rohingya crisis masks the economic and political interests that are profiting from their subordination and repression. It deflects attention away from state-sponsored violence, political and economic ambitions of the governing elite, and the anti-immigrant and xenophobic basis of the discrimination.
Rohingya Crisis: Focus on 'Intolerant Religion' Disregards Complex Moral and Policy Challenges
Identifying religious difference, and discrimination as the main culprit in the Rohingya crisis masks the economic and political interests that are profiting from their subordination and repression. It deflects attention away from state-sponsored violence, political and economic ambitions of the governing elite, and the anti-immigrant and xenophobic basis of the discrimination.
The United Nations (UN) recently described the humanitarian situation for the Rohingya in northern Rakhine, in Myanmar, as catastrophic (BBC 2017). The situation is worsening by the day, as humanitarian aid agencies and organisations are banned from the area by the Burmese government in an attempt to control events on the ground and stymie efforts to provide aid to the Rohingya. For decades the Rohingya have been denied citizenship by the Burmese state, classified as Bengali immigrants, and subject to virulent forms of discrimination. Today they are being subjected to what Zeid Ra’ad Al Hussein, the UN high commissioner for human rights, has described as “a textbook example of ethnic cleansing” (Sullivan 2017).
The situation is increasingly desperate. Macarena Aguilar Rodriguez, a UNICEF spokesperson quoted in the Guardian, said:
“For the time being we are unable to reach the 28,000 children who were receiving psychosocial care, as well as the almost 6,500 children under five who were being treated for severe acute malnutrition treatment in northern Rakhine. We are no longer able to provide the almost 2,000 caregivers with access to infant and young child feeding counselling, and our water and sanitation interventions, which have been reaching some 25,000 people only this year, are also no longer operative.” (Stoakes 2017)
The story of the Rohingya’s persecution is long and complex. A population of roughly 8,00,000 people living in northwestern Burma bordering Bangladesh, the Rohingya claim Burmese citizenship but have been subjected to persecution, discrimination, intrusive restriction on their rights to marry and have families and, most recently, violence and massacre, as their villages are being burned to the ground by the Burmese army. This is despite the fact that many have lived in Rakhine state for generations. As Kate Hodal (2012) explains, “A document on Burmese languages dating to 1799 refers to ‘Rooinga’ as ‘natives of Arakan [Rakhine],’ but it is widely believed that most Rohingya came over from Bangladesh around 1821, when Britain annexed Myanmar as a province of British India and brought over migrant Muslim labourers.”
Religious Difference as Culprit
Many cite religious difference as the culprit in the current crisis: specifically, the fact that most Rohingya are Muslim in a Buddhist-majority country. It is the case that many prominent Burmese monks have turned against them, blocking humanitarian assistance and calling for their social and political exclusion along the lines of what some compare to apartheid in South Africa or segregation in the southern United States (Head 2013). Leading the charge against the Rohingya is a Buddhist activist group composed of monks and laity called “969.” Its spokesperson, a Mandalay-based monk named U Wirathu, has long called for the Rohingya to be driven out of Burma. A representative of the Burmese Muslim Association has compared “969” to the Ku Klux Klan.
The idea of an intractable Buddhist-Muslim axis of difference as the source of tension and violence is appealing because it is easy to follow, and taps into a long history of portraying non-white peoples as less civilised and less developed. Much of the international media has bought into this story, describing the Rohingya as a Muslim minority suffering from religious persecution at the hands of an intolerant Buddhist majority. The US Commission on International Religious Freedom identified the Rohingya as persecuted Muslims. Myanmar is incompletely secularised, such accounts imply, with intolerant forms of religion stubbornly persisting in public life. Protections for religious minorities and a stringent regime of secularisation appear as plausible solutions. Between the lines, one might infer that the incompletely civilised Burmese people and their “backward” religion should be brought into line with international norms of religious freedom.
Economic and State Interests
This misses the real story. There are strong economic and state interests that are benefiting richly from the Rohingyas’ expulsion from their land. It is not only monks that oppose the Rohingya (Sassen 2017). Claiming to work on behalf of the “religious rights and freedoms” of the majority Buddhist population of Myanmar, 969 reportedly enjoys the support of the National League for Democracy (NLD), the governing party of Nobel Peace Laureate Aung San Suu Kyi. Another “969” affiliate, the Organisation for the Protection of Nation, Race and Religion—or, in the Burmese acronym, Ma Ba Tha– is oriented around pro-Buddhist and pro-Burman activism. Religion and nationalism cannot be disentangled here.
If policymakers depict the Rohingya’s plight as a problem of religious persecution and respond to the crisis armed with that understanding, they misconstrue the situation, overlook the real culprits, and may exacerbate the violence. To focus on intolerant religion as the problem, and religious freedom or coexistence as the solution, blinds us to a more complex and daunting set of moral and policy challenges. An informed response requires that the international community reckon with a much bigger picture, and contend with a less easy-to-demonise list of those responsible for the horrific violence—including the current Burmese government. Understanding the plight of the Rohingya requires a more encompassing analytical field that includes, but is not reduced to, religious difference.
Three factors are crucial to understanding the context in which the escalating crisis is unfolding: first, the legacy of Burma’s “divide and rule” colonial history, second, the social perils of rapid economic liberalisation including the rise of a rapacious transnational business elite, and third, the slow but steady cultivation of a violent and exclusionary Burmese nationalism that posits the Rohingya as scapegoat in the midst of tumultuous economic change and massive social disruption.
Rakhine state, where many Rohingya live, was independent from Rangoon and Mandalay until the Burman conquest in 1785, and a strong sense of territorial identity distinguishing the region from the rest of Burma persists. Muslim-Buddhist “divide and rule” policy in the area dates to the British colonial era (1824–1948) and was exacerbated throughout the 20th century into the present. During the Japanese occupation, which began with the Imperial Army’s invasion in 1942, the British armed Rohingya “Force V” militias while the Japanese armed a variety of Buddhist-led groups, with the two sides pitted against each other in a proxy struggle. In 1962, the Burmese military seized power and sought to impose ethnic purity by marginalising minorities and non-Buddhists, again increasing tensions (Zaw 2017). This legacy of hostility and marginalisation lingers in the present.
The dramatic impact of economic (neo)-liberalisation on centre-periphery relations is a second key factor. The rise of economic competition due to the relaxation of military rule and the heightened competition for jobs and scarce natural resources has translated into an increasingly precarious status for the Rohingya and other vulnerable populations in Myanmar. They are easily scapegoated as illegal immigrants and as potential threats to job or rent seekers. An intensification of state control of border areas related to Burma’s economic opening has exacerbated these tensions. With large-scale energy, trade, and infrastructure projects under development in ethnic minority borderlands, analysts foresee increased state securitisation and rising tensions between center and periphery (Smith 2011).
An example is a new multibillion-dollar China-Burma oil and gas pipeline that stretches over 1500 miles from the Indian Ocean through Burma to the southwestern Chinese city of Kunming, with security overseen by the Burmese government. The new pipeline, which brings gas from the Shwe fields off the coast of Arakan state, allows China to bypass the Malacca Strait, one of the world’s busiest shipping lanes.
With many other large-scale energy, trade, and infrastructure projects under development located in what are known as “ethnic minority borderlands,” as Martin Smith observes, “Myanmar could be moving toward economic restructuring where the geopolitical consequences will have an epoch-shaping impact on internal affairs” (Smith 2011). After decades of conflict, Smith foresees a heightened securitisation of Myanmar’s border areas as its neighbours seek trade and other economic opportunities that will require “constructive engagement” and “borderland stability.” He cites as precedents efforts in 2009 to tighten security on the Chinese, Bangladeshi, and Indian borders, “with the Indian authorities especially concerned that insurgent groups from northeast India were using borderline sanctuaries to continue their struggles.”
A third crucial factor in the violence is the rise of a virulent form of Burmese ethno-nationalism in which the Rohingya literally have no place in an idealised, “purified” Burmese state and society. This has involved a slow and steady process of dehumanisation of the Rohingya. It also has entailed significant linguistic violence: for example, while the name “Rooinga” had been recognised as early as 1799, and was recognised by the Burmese state on several previous occasions, today security forces compel Rohingya to refer to themselves as Bengalis. A 2013 government report refers to the Rohingya as “Bengalis,” emphasising their status as outsiders. The politics of rejection and refusal extends beyond government circles. Again, according to Smith, “while most borderland opposition groups recognise the rights of Muslim communities in the northern Rakhine state, some do not accept ‘Rohingya’ as a term of identity—a position also taken by the (regime’s) State Peace and Development Council (SLORC-SPDC), known formerly as the State Law and Order Restoration Council.”
The words of former prisoner Fious Ahmad speak eloquently to this dehumanisation. As he stated to a correspondent from the Christian Science Monitor in an interview outside Nga Pon Shay’s mosque, “I don’t know why the police seized me. The police said to me, ‘Say you’re Bengali.’ I told them, ‘Yes, I’m Bengali.’ But the police beat me anyway” (Ferrie 2013).
A Toxic Cocktail
The Rohingya are being excluded from Burmese society not only with religious slurs but with a range of dehumanising terms. They are suspended in and suffering from a vast web of discriminatory forces. Discrimination against them is ethnic, racial, economic, political, linguistic, postcolonial, and statist. All of these dimensions of the crisis—and in particular the state’s role in their persecution by actively abetting and even initiating the violence—demand the international community’s attention.
Identifying religious difference and discrimination as the culprit masks the economic and political interests that are profiting from their subordination and repression. It deflects attention away from state-sponsored violence, political and economic ambitions of the governing elite, the anti-immigrant and xenophobic basis of the discrimination, and the economic insecurities and regional power dynamics that are accompanying Burma’s tentative opening to global trade and foreign investment.
But the problem runs deeper. Characterising the violence against the Rohingya as fundamentally religious in character not only absolves the governing elite from their complicity but also actively reinforces the dangerous, and now quite powerful, narrative that religious difference is the real driver of this crisis.
Let us look at this claim more closely. The emphasis on religious politics reinforces over and again the notion that what really matters in this crisis is religion: or, more specifically, the public significance and political salience of Buddhist-Muslim difference. Crucially, rather than defanging “969” and its allies, the identification of religious violence as the culprit serves to reinforce these constructed religious divides while deferring and subduing the potential of alternative, crosscutting movements that might challenge those who stand to profit from the Rohingya’s exclusion or extinction. This exclusionary nationalism relies on a toxic cocktail combining very specific constructions of majoritarian Buddhism, racial hierarchies, and Burmese national identity. The specificities of this formation are crucial. Entangled hierarchies of difference and discrimination invoking race, religion, economic class and interest, and national belonging are all bound up together. The result is that the Rohingya are being successfully depicted in Myanmar as non-Burmese, even as sub-human.
In the words of Elliot Prasse-Freeman, in a tragically prescient piece written in 2013 for Anthropology Today, “those who are killed are arguably not even killed as an identity group, but rather as so much detritus falling outside of a group, and hence outside of the political community entirely.”
To insist on the Rohingya’s status as a minority while ignoring other aspects of their violent ejection from Burmese state and society cements the Rohingya’s status as religious and political outsiders while feeding exclusionary forms of both politics and religion. Are the Rohingya being persecuted because they are Muslim, immigrants, threatening to the former junta, or to national, regional or international corporate interests? Or all of the above? In Myanmar as elsewhere, many factors lead to discrimination and violence: local histories, class disparities, environmental factors, immigration status, urban-rural tensions, family grievances, oppressive governance, outside interventions, colonial legacies, land disputes, tensions surrounding gender and sexuality, economic rivalries. Reducing violence to a problem of religious intolerance obscures the complex tapestry of human sociality, rendering the problems faced by vulnerable groups more rather than less intractable. Framing conflict or coexistence through the prism of religious difference often exacerbates the social tensionssuch frames are intended to manage or transcend (Schonthal 2016).
Faced with the tragedy in Myanmar, decision-makers should avoid locking into a narrative that protects religion in law and posits it as a coherent category of state policy and international intervention. As I argue in Beyond Religious Freedom, governing through religious rights marks religious difference as an exceptionally threatening form of social difference that must be kept in check by the authorities. It renders religious difference more politically salient, eclipsing other axes of being and belonging. It bestows political authenticity and agency on groups defined, often in law, as “religions,” conjuring fixed and stable categories of affiliation and granting them social and legal currency and authenticity.
This may appeal to powerbrokers like Modi, Netanyahu, or Trump, who can then gleefully identify the violence undertaken on behalf of the Rohingya as “Islamist terrorism,” consign it to the realm of “religion,” and depoliticise and demonise it. But rarely does it serve the interests of the people who must live under those designations. Such labels not only obscure the diverse causes of discrimination and violence but also diminish the prospects for crosscutting, nonsectarian forms of solidarity. That is what the Rohingya need most. As they lose their homes and face statelessness, at best, or annihilation, at worst, it is imperative that the international community cultivate multiple modes of solidarity, from local to global, in the service of the Rohingya not only as Muslims but as fellow human beings.
BBC News (2017): “Rohingyas Facing ‘Catastrophic’ Situation,” 14 September. http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-41260767.
Ferrie, Jared (2013) “Why Myanmar’s Rohingya Are Forced to Say They Are Bengali.” Christian Science Monitor, 2 June. https://www.csmonitor.com/World/Asia-Pacific/2013/0602/Why-Myanmar-s-Roh...
Head, Jonathan (2013) “Burma’s Unwanted People,” BBC News, 1 July, http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-23077537
Hodal, Kate (2012) “Trapped inside Burma’s Refugee Camps, the Rohingya People Call for Recognition,” The Guardian, 20 December, http://www.theguardian.com/world/2012/dec/20/burma-rohingya-muslim-refug...
http://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2017/sep/15/humanitarian-c...
Sassen, Saskia (2017) “Is Rohingya Persecution Caused by Business Interests Rather than Religion?” The Guardian, 4 January 4, http://www.theguardian.com/global-development-professionals-network/2017...
Stoakes, Emanuel (2017) “‘Humanitarian Catastrophe’ Unfolding as Myanmar Takes over Aid Efforts in Rakhine State,” The Guardian, 15 September,
Sullivan, Michael (2017): “Bangladesh Copes With Chaos: Rohingya Refugees Are ‘Coming And Coming,’” NPR.Org 18 September, http://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2017/09/18/551869474/bangladesh....
Smith, Martin (2011) “Ethnic Politics in Myanmar: A Year of Tension and Anticipation.” Southeast Asian Affairs 2010, Vol 1, pp 214–34.
Schonthal, Benjamin (2016) “Buddhism Politics and Limits Law Pyrrhic Constitutionalism Sri Lanka | Constitutional and Administrative Law.” Cambridge University Press. http://www.cambridge.org/gb/academic/subjects/law/constitutional-and-administrative-law/buddhism-politics-and-limits-law-pyrrhic-constitutionalism-sri-lanka
Zaw, Aung (2017) “Will Hatred Kill the Dream of a Peaceful, Democratic Myanmar?” The New York Times. http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/25/opinion/will-hatred-kill-the-dream-of-a-peaceful-democratic-myanmar.html?mcubz=0
म्यांमार में रोहिंग्या मुसलमानों की प्रताड़ना पर अपना आक्रोश और विरोध जताने के लिए बांग्लादेश, पाकिस्तान और भारत सहित कई देशों में जंगी प्रदर्शन हुए। इस बार की हिंसा की शुरूआत अतिवादियों (अराकान रोहिंग्या सालवेशन आर्मी) द्वारा पुलिस और सेना की चैकियों पर हमले के साथ हुई। संयुक्त राष्ट्र संघ के अनुमानों के अनुसार, कम से कम 1,000 रोहिंग्या मुसलमान मारे जा चुके हैं और लगभग ढाई लाख ने अपनी जान बचाने के लिए बांग्लादेश में शरण ली है। संयुक्त राष्ट्र का कहना है कि हिंसा इतनी व्यापक और भयावह है कि उसे मानवता के विरूद्ध अपराध की संज्ञा दी जा सकती है। पोप फ्रांसिस ने कहा कि ‘‘रोहिंग्या समुदाय की धर्म के आधार पर प्रताड़ना दुःखी करने वाला समाचार है...इस नस्लीय समूह को उसके पूरे अधिकार मिलने चाहिए।’’
म्यांमार के राखीन प्रांत में मुसलमानों के दमन ने अत्यंत गंभीर स्थिति उत्पन्न कर दी है। ऐसा लग रहा है कि वहां नरसंहार और नस्लीय सफाई का दौर चल रहा है। भारत में भी कई शहरों में रोहिंग्या मुसलमानों के विरूद्ध हिंसा के विरोध में प्रदर्शन हुए। भारत के कई हिस्सों में हज़ारों रोहिंग्या मुसलमान रह रहे हैं और हिन्दू दक्षिणपंथी लगातार यह मांग कर रहे हैं कि उन्हें देश से खदेड़ दिया जाए।
म्यांमार में रोहिंग्या मुसलमान, मुख्यतः, राखीन प्रांत में रहते हैं। वहां की सरकार का कहना है कि वे अवैध अप्रवासी हैं। म्यांमार में रह रहे मुसलमान, उस समय भारत के विभिन्न भागों से जाकर वहां बसे थे जब वह देश भारत का हिस्सा था। राखीन प्रांत का शासक एक मुसलमान था जिसके कारण भी मुसलमानों ने वहां बसना बेहतर समझा। म्यांमार की सैनिक तानाशाह सरकार ने सन 1982 में रोहिंग्या मुसलमानों की नागरिकता समाप्त कर दी। तभी से नागरिक अधिकारों से वंचित ये लोग तरह-तरह के अत्याचारों और प्रताड़ना के शिकार हो रहे हैं। इसके पहले तक, रोहिंग्या मुसलमानों का एक प्रतिनिधि देश के मंत्रीमंडल का सदस्य हुआ करता था और जनप्रतिनिधियों में भी उनकी खासी संख्या थी।
दक्षिण एशिया के अधिकांश देशों में धार्मिक अल्पसंख्यकों को प्रताड़ित किया जाना आम है। चाहे वह पाकिस्तान हो, बांग्लादेश या फिर भारत - लगभग एक-से बहानों के आधार पर अल्पसंख्यकों को प्रताड़ित किया जाता रहा है। म्यांमार में सैनिक तानाशाही स्थापित होने के बाद से बड़ी संख्या में मुसलमान उस देश से अपनी जान बचाने के लिए भागते रहे हैं। उनमें से कई भारत आ गए हैं। इस शुद्ध मानवीय मुद्दे को सांप्रदायिक रंग दिया जा रहा है और रोहिंग्याओं को भारत की सुरक्षा के लिए खतरा बताया जा रहा है। भारत हमेशा से प्रताड़ित समुदायों को शरण देता आया है और हमारे कानून में भी इसके लिए प्रावधान है। श्रीलंका के तमिलों, तिब्बत के बौद्धों और पाकिस्तान के हिन्दुओं को भारत ने अपने यहां शरण दी है। हिन्दू दक्षिणपंथी, रोहिंग्याओं को शरण देने का केवल इस आधार पर विरोध कर रहे हैं कि वे मुसलमान हैं। भारत में बांग्लादेशी घुसपैठियों का मुद्दा भी जोरशोर से उठाया जाता रहा है। तथ्य यह है कि जिन लोगों को बांग्लादेशी घुसपैठिया बताया जाता है वे, वे लोग हैं जिन्हें अंग्रेजों ने तत्कालीन बंगाल से असम में बसने के लिए प्रोत्साहित किया था। सन 1971 के भारत-पाक युद्ध के बाद बड़ी संख्या में हिन्दुओं और मुसलमानों ने बांग्लादेश छोड़कर भारत के विभिन्न भागों में शरण ली। जहां उन्हें रोज़ी-रोटी कमाने की संभावना दिखी, वे वहीं बस गए।
सन 1992-93 की मुंबई हिंसा के बाद, मुंबई से बांग्लादेशियों को खदेड़ने के अभियान ने ज़ोर पकड़ा। शमा दलवई और इरफान इंजीनियर द्वारा मुंबई में किए गए एक अध्ययन से सामने आया कि अधिकतर प्रवासी (बांग्लाभाषी मुसलमान) कम आमदनी वाले रोज़गारों में संलग्न हैं। उन्हें अपना पेट पालने के लिए कड़ी मेहनत करनी पड़ती है। इस मुद्दे को राष्ट्रवाद और देश की सुरक्षा से जोड़ा जा रहा है और भाजपा इस मुद्दे का इस्तेमाल कर असम और अन्य उत्तरपूर्वी राज्यों में अपनी पैठ जमाने की कोशिश करती आ रही है।
म्यांमार के प्रजातांत्रीकरण की प्रक्रिया बहुत धीमी और कष्टपूर्ण रही है। सन 1962 की सैनिक क्रांति ने वहां के हालात और बिगाड़ दिए। सेना को सामंती तत्वों और कई बौद्ध संघों का समर्थन प्राप्त है। म्यांमार में सामंती शक्तियों का बोलबाला, वहां प्रजातंत्र के जड़ पकड़ने में एक बड़ी बाधा है। जिस तरह पाकिस्तान में सेना-मुल्ला गठबंधन का राज चल रहा है, उसी तरह म्यांमार में सेना-बौद्ध संघों का दबदबा है। पाकिस्तान में चाहे प्रधानमंत्री कोई भी हो, सेना हमेशा शक्तिशाली रहती है और सेना-मुल्ला गठबंधन के आगे चुने हुए प्रतिनिधि भी घुटने टेकने को मजबूर होते हैं। म्यांमार में जहां बड़े बौद्ध संगठनों, जिनमें ‘‘संघ महा नायक समिति’’ शामिल है, ने मानवतावादी दृष्टिकोण अपनाने की बात कही है वह अशिन विराथु जैसे कुछ बौद्ध भिक्षु, मुसलमानों के खिलाफ नफरत फैला रहे हैं। वे वहां के साक्षी महाराज हैं।
म्यांमार में सेना और बौद्ध संघों का गठबंधन इतना मज़बूत है कि प्रधानमंत्री सू की को सेना के उच्चाधिकारियों के आगे झुकना पड़ रहा है और उस अमानवीय सैनिक कार्यवाही का समर्थन करना पड़ रहा है जो एक तरह का नरसंहार है। सू की केवल सत्ता में बनी रहना चाहती हैं। वे मानवाधिकारों के संरक्षण के लिए कुछ भी त्याग करने को तैयार नहीं हैं। कई जगह यह मांग की गई है कि उनका नोबेल पुरस्कार उनसे वापस ले लिया जाए। आखिर किसी नोबेल पुरस्कार विजेता से यह कैसे उम्मीद की जा सकती है कि वह जनता के एक वर्ग के नरसंहार को चुपचाप देखता रहे?
भारत में रोहिंग्याओं को आतंकवाद से जोड़ा जा रहा है। जो लोग ऐसा कर रहे हैं वे अत्यंत क्षुद्र और नीच प्रवृत्ति के लोग हैं। भारत में कई मानवतावादी एजेंसियों ने रोहिंग्याओं के साथ न्याय करने की बात कही है। इस मुद्दे ने हिन्दू संप्रदायवादियों को एक नया हथियार दे दिया है। वे अब तक बांग्लादेशी घुसपैठियों के नाम पर अपनी राजनीति करते आए हैं। अब उन्हें एक नया मुद्दा मिल गया है। यहां तक कि यह मांग भी की जा रही है कि भारत सरकार ऐसा कानून बनाए जिसके अंतर्गत भारत, हिन्दू शरणार्थियों को तो शरण दे परंतु मुसलमानों को देश से बाहर निकाल दे। प्रधानमंत्री नरेन्द्र मोदी हाल में म्यांमार गए थे परंतु वहां भी उन्होंने मानवाधिकारों से जुड़े इस महत्वपूर्ण मुद्दे को उठाना ज़रूरी नहीं समझा। शायद उनकी राजनीतिक विचारधारा इसके आड़े आ रही थी। (अंग्रेजी से हिन्दी रूपांतरण अमरीश हरदेनिया)
For
most of Burmese history, Indians suffered bigotry for their ethnicity.
Yet, India is now abandoning the persecuted Rohingyas.
In
1855, as the British were annexing parts of Burma to add to the Indian
Empire, Henry Yule, an English civil servant, wrote of his travels in
the South East Asian country. In this fascinating account of Burma, Yule
also described the racial superiority the Burmese felt with respect to
their dark-skinned, eastern neighbours:
“By a curious self-delusion, the Burmans would seem to
claim that in theory at least they are white people. And what is still
more curious, the Bengalees appear indirectly to admit the claim; for
our servants in speaking of themselves and their countrymen, as
distinguished from the Burmans, constantly made use of the term ‘kala
admi’ – black man, as the representative of the Burmese Kola, a
foreigner.”
This is probably one of the first written references to the Burmese
racial slur “kala”. Later, as the Raj annexed all of Burma and made it a
part of British India, Indians streamed into the region, where the
local Burmese would often refer to them as “kala”.
Today there are very few Indians – defined as tracing their origin to
British India – in Burma. But the term “kala” survives. It is used to
racially target the Rohingya, a mostly Muslim minority living on the
western coast of Burma who have been described as the most persecuted
community in the world. But Rohingyas and Indians in Burma have more in
common than a shared racial slur. Like the Rohingya today, Indians in
Burma were also the target of racial discrimination and driven out in
large numbers in the country between 1930 and the 1960s, a process that
continues today with the forced expulsion of the Rohingya from Myanmar,
who are considered foreigners in the country.
Browns in Burma
In 1826, the First Anglo-Burmese War was won by the British, giving
the Raj control over much of what is now Northeast India as well as
parts of the modern Burma. With it, Indians started to stream into
Burma, a process that greatly accelerated with the complete annexation
of the country into the British Indian Empire in 1885.
Indians had a significant presence in Burma and dominated commerce in
what was then a province of British India. This included big merchants
from the Chettiar, Marwari and Gujarati communities. Then, there were
the Bengali babus. Like they spread West from Bengal under the aegis of
the British Empire, they also spread East (Myanmar borders the Bengal
delta). Among the more famous Burmese Bengalis, writer Sarat Chandra
Chattopadhyay, the author of Devdas, worked as a government
clerk in the South East Asian country. The third and largest group
consisted of labourers – Indians working as coolies, servants and
mistries. In George Orwell’s novel Burmese Days, for example,
memsahibs in Burma rarely knew Burmese, but did need to speak “kitchen
Urdu” in order to direct their mostly Indian domestic staff.
By 1931, Indians made up 7% of Burma’s population. They were also
extremely prosperous and controlled large parts of the economy. Indians
owned so much property that, for example, during the 1930s, they paid
55% of the municipal taxes in Rangoon – the capital of British Burma.
The local Burmese, on the other hand, paid only 11%.
This same migration also brought at least a part of the Rohingya
population into Burma from Bengal’s eastern-most district, Chittagong.
Currently, this fact is fiercely contested politically since it is being
used by Myanmar’s administration to paint the Rohingya as Bengali and
hence non-Burmese, given that their citizenship laws – absurdly – are
based not on birth but on race.
Anti-Indian sentiment
The racial animus that is driving the mass killings of Rohingyas
today rose first against Indians in general in 1930, as Telugu and
Burman dockworkers clashed in Rangoon, sparking widespread anti-Indian
violence. Much larger anti-Indian riots followed in 1938, a year after
Burma was separated from British India (but still remained under British
rule). Like with the Rohingya violence today, 1938 was simultaneously
religious as well as racial – it was sparked off by a book written by a
Muslim which was said to be critical of the Buddha, but almost
immediately exploded into racial violence directed at all Indians in
Burma.
In 1941, there was more violence as the Japanese attacked Burma
during World War II. As the Japanese advanced into the country, the
British began to withdraw. Without the protection of the British Indian
Army, Indians feared attacks from both the Japanese as well as the local
Burmese. This resulted in the first major exodus of Indians from Burma.
Many Indians, in fact, trekked all the way from Burma to India, with
thousands dying in the tropical forests on the way.
Institutionalised racism
In 1948, as Burma gained independence from the British, Indians had
to face even more xenophobia as the new state defined itself in racial
terms. The population of Burmese Indians had numbered more than a
million before World War II – a number that dropped to around 700,000 in
the mid 1950s. Between 1949 and 1961, out of 1,50,000 applications for
Burmese citizenship by persons of Indian origin, less than a fifth were
accepted.
In 1962, Burma saw a military takeover of its government. The
dictator Ne Win followed an aggressive racial policy which affected
every minority group. All property was nationalised, severely affecting
rich persons of Indian origin. White collar Indians were expelled from
the country. Between 1962 and 1964, more than 300,000 Indians were
forced out of Burma.
In 1982, Burma passed a new citizenship law that created a strict
racial definition of citizenship. This rendered the Rohingya and most
persons of Indian origin stateless. While the plight of the Rohingya has
– deservedly – caught the attention of the world due to the genocide
they face, these laws mean even people of Indian origin in Myanmar are
discriminated against heavily even though they have lived there for
generations. One estimate holds that 500,000 people of Indian origin
living in Myanmar are stateless.
Forced Burmanisation
Since then, faced with a Hobsons’ choice, persons of Indian origin
have Burmanised – several government policies are aimed at making
non-indigenous communities adopt Burmese norms, including language,
religion and culture – rapidly in order to reduce the hostility that
they faced. The Burmese language has replaced the various languages
people of Indian origin spoke and even names have been Burmanised. Yet,
this hasn’t entirely solved matters. Hindus and Muslims of Indian origin
are not allowed any public celebration of religion and face racism.
In the 1960s, the Indian government was criticised for not helping
its diaspora in Burma as they faced bigotry and were being expelled. In
sharp contrast, China came to the aid of its Burmese diaspora (who were
also targeted racially).
Little has changed today. The Rohingya are the victim of the same
structural racism in Burma that persons of Indian origin faced. In the
latest surge of violence between the state and Rohingya people who took
up arms last year, more than 3,00,000 Rohingyas have fled the Rakhine
state in Myanmar where they stay, most of them seeking refuge in
Bangladesh.
However, the Indian government, rather than take up the cause of the
disposed, is talking of pushing the few Rohingya migrants that have
taken shelter in in India back to Myanmar – where they would face
genocide. This article was first published on Scroll.in
Les Films du LosangeAshin Wirathu and his followers in Barbet Schroeder’s The Venerable W., 2017
Ma Soe Yein is the largest Buddhist monastery in Mandalay,
Myanmar. A dreary sprawl of dormitories and classrooms, it is located in
the western half of the city, and accommodates some 2,500 monks. The
atmosphere inside is one of quiet industry. Young men, clad in orange
and maroon robes, sit on the floors and study the Dharma or
memorize ritual texts. There is little noise except for the endless
scraping of straw brooms on wooden floors, or the dissonant hum of
people in collective prayer. Outside, the scene is livelier. Monks
hurriedly douse themselves with cold water, and chat politics over a
table of newspapers. They do so in the shadow of a large wall covered
with gruesome images depicting the alleged bloodlust of Islam.
Photographs, displayed without any explanation or evidence of their
origins, show beaten faces, hacked bodies, and severed limbs—brutalities
apparently committed by Muslims against Myanmar Buddhists.
The contrast between the monastery’s inner calm and this
exterior display of violence is a fitting inversion of Ma Soe Yein’s
most infamous resident, Ashin Wirathu, the subject of Barbet Schroeder’s
new documentary, The Venerable W. On the outside, Wirathu is
composed and polite, with large brown eyes and a sweet, impish grin. His
voice is smooth and its cadence measured. Yet beneath this civil
disguise seethes an interminable hatred toward the 4 percent of
Myanmar’s population that is Muslim (the wall of carnage stands outside
his residence). Wirathu is responsible for inciting some of the worst
acts of ethnic violence in the country’s recent history, and was
described by Time as “The Face of Buddhist Terror.” Les Films du LosangeA wall covered with images depicting the alleged bloodlust of Islam at the Ma Soe Yein Buddhist monastery, from The Venerable W., 2017
Schroeder, an Iranian-born Swiss filmmaker, has spent
decades documenting the morally despicable. His “Trilogy of Evil” began
in 1974 with General Idi Amin Dada: A Self Portrait, a character study of the Ugandan dictator. The second installment, Terror’s Advocate
(2007), was on the French-Algerian defense lawyer Jacques Vergès, whose
clients have included Klaus Barbie, Carlos the Jackal, the Khmer Rouge
leader Khieu Samphan, and the Holocaust denier Roger Garaudy. Wirathu is
Schroeder’s final subject, and, for him, the most terrifying. “I am
afraid to call him Wirathu because even his name scares me,” he said in a
recent interview with Agence France-Presse. “I just call him W.”
The film charts Wirathu’s rise from provincial irrelevance
in Kyaukse to nationwide rabble-rouser. It centers on the crucial
moments of his budding ethno-nationalism, such as in 1997, when he says
his eyes were “finally opened” to the “Muslims’ intentions” after
reading a pamphlet entitled In Fear of Our Race Disappearing, which appeared in print by an unknown author; or 2003, when he delivered a chilling sermon—caught on camera—against Muslim “kalars” (kalar is
the equivalent of “nigger”). “I can’t stand what they do to us,” he
says to rapturous applause. “As soon as I give the signal, get ready to
follow me…I need to plan the operation well, like the CIA or Mossad, for
it to be effective…I will make sure they will have no place to live.”
One month later, in Kyaukse, eleven Muslims were killed, and two mosques
and twenty-six houses were burned to the ground. Wirathu was arrested
by the military junta for inciting violence, and spent nine years in
Mandalay’s Obo prison. Les Films du LosangeThe remains of a mosque in Meiktila, central Burma, after the March 2013 anti-Islamic riots, from The Venerable W., 2017
Like Marcel Ophüls, a filmmaker who explored the quotidian
aspects of intolerance and oppression, Schroeder’s interviewing style is
never hostile or moralistic. As he writes in the notes to the film, the
point is to let the subjects speak, “without judging them, and in the
process evil can emerge under many different forms, and the horror or
the truth comes out progressively, all by itself.” In one instance,
Wirathu bares the depths of his self-regard when he claims to have been
the inspiration for the Saffron Revolution of 2007—a delusion scorned in
the film by one of its leaders, U. Kaylar Sa, who describes the
desperate social conditions that forced the monks onto the streets of
Rangoon.
Wirathu was freed as part of a general amnesty for political
prisoners in 2012, and he quickly went on to revitalize the 969
Movement—a grassroots organization founded earlier that year by Wirathu
and Ashin Sada Ma, a monk from Moulmein, and committed to preventing
what it sees as Islam’s infiltration of, and dominance over, Buddhist
Myanmar. Since 2014, Wirathu has operated under the auspices of the Ma
Ba Tha, or Organization for the Protection of Race and Religion. Like
969, many members of the Ma Ba Tha spread propaganda about how Muslims
steal Buddhist women and outbreed Buddhist men. “The features of the
African catfish,” Wirathu tells Schroeder near the beginning of the
film, “are that they grow very fast, they breed very fast, and they’re
violent…The Muslims are exactly like these fish.” W. is tougher viewing than its predecessors.
Archival material and scenes Schroeder filmed undercover are spliced
with footage from YouTube and Facebook captured on camera phones and
personal video recorders. Most of this documents atrocities committed in
Rakhine state in 2012—when clashes between ethnic Arakanese and
Rohingya Muslims forced 125,000 of the latter into displacement
camps—and anti-Muslim riots in central and eastern Myanmar in 2013.
There are graphic images of burning homes, men beaten to death with
wooden clubs, and people left to burn alive. All the while state police
stand back and let it happen—Amartya Sen has called the violence
committed against the Rohingya a “slow genocide.”
Using video uploaded to YouTube and Facebook helps convey
one of Schroeder’s most important points about Wirathu. What was
frightening about Idi Amin was his combination of absolute power and
volatility, a man whose dormant rage erupted without warning. With
Jacques Vergès, it was his gifts of seduction and dexterity of logic
that made him something like Woland from Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita—a
Devil with impeccable tailoring. What’s disturbing about Wirathu is
how, as one anti-Wirathu monk puts it, he wants people to “experience
his words before accepting them.” The aim of his public sermonizing is
to transform the impressionable into unthinking agents of his
intolerance, which accounts not only for his call-and-response style of
preaching, and the fact that, as the film shows, he regularly instructs
children, but also for his extensive use of Twitter and Facebook, and
the Islamophobic DVDs he produces and distributes throughout the
country. Like his favorite politician, Donald Trump—the only
presidential candidate, he says in the film, who will prevent Islam’s
global domination—Wirathu both channels and reflects the ways in which
social media has transformed hate into a thoughtless pastime. His evil,
an attempt to deepen and normalize the mores of racial enmity, might be
encapsulated by a line from Byron, which serves as an epigraph to the
film: “Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure;/ men love in haste,
but they detest at leisure.” Les Films du LosangeA meeting of the Buddhist extremist Ma Ba Tha movement, from The Venerable W., 2017
This is an important documentary that not only illuminates
the rank underbelly of Theravada Buddhism in Myanmar, but also captures
one of the first major tests faced by the new political order,
especially regarding freedom of speech and assembly. Wirathu is a thorn
in the side of a Suu Kyi government that is trying to end a near
seventy-year civil war and rebuild the country after decades of economic
catastrophe. A question many of those in government must surely
(hopefully?) be asking is, “Who will rid us of this turbulent priest?”
In the short term, it is unlikely to be the monks themselves. Although
Myanmar’s official Buddhist authority—the Ma Ha Na—has banned the Ma Ba
Tha from using its full Burmese name, it has not addressed the group’s
discriminatory aims and activities. This is partly to do with the
widespread support enjoyed by the Ma Ba Tha, which builds Sunday
schools, provides legal aid, and raises money for charities.
The state of race relations in Myanmar is far more complex
than Schroeder’s film allows. It is not uncommon to hear members of the
Bamar majority say they “hate Islam” but, when pressed, admit they have
no issue with Muslims living in their towns. One of the film’s other
blind spots is the military. Aside from a brief glance at the mass
population shifts between Rakhine and Bangladesh in the late 1970s,
there is very little on how the army had been inciting ethnic violence
in places like Rakhine long before Wirathu appeared, nor is there any
mention of a popular theory that Wirathu is paid, or at least
encouraged, by senior generals, some of whom are often photographed at
his monastery. In this lack of a deeper historical setting, and the
argument that the film could have gone further to expose the involvement
of the military in ethnic violence, Schroeder’s film resembles Joshua
Oppenheimer’s harrowing documentary The Act of Killing (2012), which
examines former members of the Indonesian death-squads responsible for
the mass killing of communists between 1965-1966.
A greater problem with The Venerable W., and the
“Trilogy of Evil” as a whole, is how Schroeder assumes evil to be a
given in the world. He is the filmmaker’s Kołakowski, someone who
believes evil isn’t rooted in social circumstance, but is a permanent
feature of the human condition. Only the concept of “evil” can capture
the immoral extremities reached by figures like Amin, Vergès, and
Wirathu. But there is little sense in W., or in the other two
films, of evil’s potential origins, or how Wirathu’s ideas may have
formed and why they are admired in places like Maungdaw in Rakhine,
where there has been historical tension between Muslims and Buddhists,
but less so in Yangon or Mandalay, where there has not. Imploring us to
think of evil without considering what it means does little to
illuminate the darker side of human behavior. As the American clergyman
William Sloane Coffin put it: “Nothing is easier than to denounce the
evildoer, and nothing is more difficult than to understand him.” Barbet Schroeder’s The Venerable W. is playing at Telluride Film Festival (September 1 through 4), October 13 and 14 at the New York Film Festival, and October 13 and 15 at the Mill Valley Film Festival.
If Myanmar is known throughout the world today, it is not for the fabled
“Burma” rice and teak, or its ornate Buddhist pagodas, but for the
persecution of its Muslim minority, chiefly the Rohingyas, who were
formerly known as Arakanese or Rakhine Muslims
If Afghans Are Good Refugees in India, Why Not Rohingya Muslims?
Chandan Nandy
The Union Home Ministry’s effort to identify, arrest and
finally deport 40,000 Rohingya Muslims who fled appallingly violent
conditions in Myanmar to seek refuge in some Indian states, including
Jammu region, Assam, Andhra Pradesh, UP, Kerala, West Bengal and Delhi,
is reminiscent of government initiatives in the early and mid-1990s to
“detect, delete, deport” Bangladeshi Muslim illegal immigrants.
In
the past, deportations and physical “push backs” were carried out by
the Border Security Force with little or no success before a few
detention camps were set up in Assam to warehouse Bangladeshi
immigrants, mostly Muslims. Bangladeshi Hindu immigrants, who claimed to
be persecuted, could settle in Assam, West Bengal and elsewhere across
the country. They remained largely untouched. Also Read:Govt Exploring Ways to Deport 10,000 Rohingya Muslims from J&K
Rohingya Muslim refugees shout slogans during a protest against
the crackdown on ethnic Rohingyas in Myanmar, in New Delhi, 19 December
2016. (Photo: Reuters)
Differential Grant of Refugee Status
Clearly, the Centre’s vision in dealing with Rohingya Muslim
‘refugees’, who have suffered extreme levels of violence and other
privations in Myanmar, is not sufficiently based on classifying who
should or should not be granted refugee/asylum status.After
all, India has granted the same status to Afghans who fled the civil
war in Afghanistan through the 1980s and 1990s, ethnic Kachins from
Myanmar, Buddhist Chakmas and Sri Lankan Tamils.
What is worrisome is a 4 April report in The Times of India
which used “statist” language to describe the Rohingyas as “illegal”
migrants and that they followed “infiltration” routes to enter India.
Forced migrants anywhere across the globe take to flight from their
countries of origin when faced with dire situations of life and death.
They
often cross borders after travelling great distances, not to seek a
“better life” but to escape degradation or certain death. Surely, the
governments of countries to which the forced migrants escape to have a
duty towards protecting lives regardless of religious persuasions. The
migrants are trying to piece together their lives in appalling
conditions – a denial of human rights in itself. Also Read:Hoardings in Jammu Ask Rohingyas, Bangladeshi Muslims to Leave
The 1971 Refugee Inflow
As far back as 1971, when India was burdened by about 10
million “refugees” fleeing the fire and steel of a marauding Pakistan
army, the Indira Gandhi regime of the time took a political decision to
shelter the hapless humans – Muslims and Hindus – before the 1972
Mujib-Indira Pact was operationalised to “send” them back to an
independent Bangladesh.
Even then, while the fleeing East Bengalis
were granted the nominal status of refugees, India was not a signatory
to the 1951 Refugee Convention or its 1967 Protocol. It still isn’t.
Besides, India is among very few countries in the world which neither
has a national refugee protection framework nor an immigration policy.
But it has, from time to time, allowed nationalities such as Afghans,
ethnic Kachins, Sri Lankan Tamils and Buddhist Chakmas asylum purely on a
selective basis. Also Read: No Stake in Resources for B’deshi Illegal Migrants: Hazarika Panel
Border Failure
Neither the Indira-Mujib treaty nor subsequent efforts by
successive Indian governments to fence the 4,096-km-long
India-Bangladesh border failed to stem the inflow of immigrants. While
on paper and on the ground India’s border with neighbouring countries
are highly militarised and restrictive, the absence of an
immigration/refugee policy causes its security forces and the political
parties in different border states to look the other way when dealing
with the phenomenon of illegal or unauthorised migration, especially of
Hindus and Muslims from Bangladesh.
There is, of course, a
political dimension to the selective entry of immigrants – depending on
their religious affiliations, they serve an electoral interest for
vote-maximising parties. Also Read:Amendments to Citizenship Act in Assam is BJP’s Political Ploy
Acting Selectively
One reason why India has not signed the 1951 Refugee
Convention is that it does not make it an obligation on the part of the
receiving State to protect and safeguard the lives of refugees, leaving
it enough room to act selectively. The United Nations High Commission
for Refugees (UNHCR) has, from time to time and from group to group,
intervened with the government of the day to “modify” and “increase” its
registration activities and conduct “refugee status determination for
asylum seekers”. Besides, it also works to identify and map stateless
groups whose precise numbers are not known.
Originally living in
Myanmar’s Rakhine state, the Rohingya Muslims, one of the worst
persecuted minorities in the world, were forced to leave after the then
Burmese military junta subjected them to mass expulsions in 1977 and
1992. They were “threatened by the State’s antagonistic policies towards
their religion, their language and their culture.” This created a
chronic refugee crisis in Bangladesh which subsequently tried to push
back the Rohingya refugees from its soil.
A man from the Burmese Rohingya community ties a tarpaulin to a
tree to erect a makeshift shelter for his family at a camp in New Delhi,
14 May 2012. (Photo: Reuters)
Official Statelessness
The Rohingyas who returned to Myanmar were given limited
rights to movement and employment, but thousands were faced with mass
conscription to forced labour, arbitrary detention and other forms of
maltreatment.
This was followed by their official statelessness
(because the government then described them as having “nonindigenous
ancestry”) in which the Myanmar State codified their legal exclusion.
Clearly,
the Rohingyas qualified to be defined as refugees who have
“well-founded fear of persecution due to his/her race, religion,
nationality, member of a particular social group or political opinion
and are unable or unwilling to return” to their home countries. The
UNHCR emphasises that refugees “must not be expelled or returned to
situations where their life and freedom are at risk.”
Not a Security Threat
And yet the Modi government has embarked on a controversial
course to deport the hapless Rohingyas and push them across the border
to likely depredation and violence.
It will be unwise for India to view the Rohingya
Muslims on its territory as a security threat or even as a threat to its
major societal values. Likewise, an explanation that the Rohingyas are
an economic burden does not hold water because their numbers are
minuscule.
An attempt to classify types of threats from immigrant or
refugee groups runs into potentially dangerous distinctions between
“real” and “perceived” threats or into “absurdly paranoid notions” of
threats and anxieties.
It is therefore an imperative on the part
of the Modi government to take a stand that while not dismissing fears,
does not regard all anxieties over immigration and refugees as a
justification for exclusion.
The Indian government cannot have two
different yardsticks to measure – and find solutions to – the vexed
issue of immigrants/refugees living on its territory. It will do good
for the administration to realise that while conflicts create refugees,
refugees can also potentially create conflicts.
A monk protests outside the U.S. embassy in
Yangon on April 28 against the official U.S. use of the term "Rohingya"
to refer to Myanmar's minority Muslims. (Photo by Simon Roughneen)
YANGON -- Before Aung San Suu Kyi's National League for
Democracy routed all comers in Myanmar's elections last November, many
speculated that even if her party was always going to win a free and
fair vote, the extent of the victory could be curtailed by attempts by
Buddhist hardliners to undermine the NLD by stirring up anti-Muslim
sentiment among the majority Buddhist electorate.
Rabble rousers
such as Wirathu -- a Mandalay-based monk known for his derogatory and
xenophobic rhetoric about Myanmar's estimated 5 million Muslims --
opposed the prospect of a NLD-led government, saying that such an
administration would not only favor Muslims but would bring "chaos" to
Myanmar.
The
previous government of President Thein Sein did little to rein in
Wirathu and other nationalist groups such as Ma Ba Tha, prompting
suspicions that anti-Muslim, anti-Rohingya tensions were being stoked to
dent the NLD's credentials as a defender of Buddhist-majority Myanmar
and undercut its electoral prospects.
In the end, the NLD did not
include any Muslims among the more than 1,000 candidates it fielded in
the elections. Suu Kyi, long recognized around the world as a staunch
defender of democracy and human rights, refused to comment on the plight
of Myanmar's roughly one million Rohingya, a Muslim group living mostly
in the country's western Rakhine state, who have been denied civil
rights under a 1982 citizenship law. Rohingya lawmakers from the
military-backed ruling party in the last parliament were barred from
seeking re-election and the Rohingya were prevented from voting.
The
Union Solidarity and Development Party, led by Thein Sein, was thrashed
in the election, winning only 5% of the seats in Myanmar's upper house
and 7% in the lower house in November, although it won nearly 30% of the
popular vote. The NLD won 80% of the contested seats, although it holds
only around 60% of all parliament seats since a quarter of total
seats are reserved for the military. No change?
The
Myanmar government does not recognize the existence of a Rohingya ethnic
group, dismissing them as "Bengali" and therefore immigrants from
Bangladesh, which borders Rakhine state. Around 140,000 Rohingya were
driven from their homes in mob violence in late 2012, while tens of
thousands more have braved storms and human traffickers to find refuge
in neighboring Malaysia.
Before the election, Rohingya harbored
hopes that a NLD election win would see an easing of their plight, with
several interviewed by Nikkei Asian Review ahead of the election saying
that they hoped the NLD's apparent reluctance to speak up for them was
merely tactical to avoid forcing Wirathu and others to urge the public
to vote against the NLD.
But prospects for an improvement in the
Rohingya's situation appear bleak after the Myanmar foreign ministry,
which is headed by Suu Kyi, recently asked the U.S. to refrain from
using the term "Rohingya." The request was made by Suu Kyi according to a
ministry official.
Less
than a week before the request was made, around 300 protestors calling
themselves the "Myanmar National Network" demonstrated outside the U.S
embassy in Yangon because they objected to the use of the word
"Rohingya" in an official statement offering condolences on the drowning
of what was thought to be around 40 Rohingya in the sinking of a
refugee boat off the Rakhine coast.
The dead have since been reported as being Kaman, a mostly Muslim
minority that the government recognizes, but which also faced violence
during the 2012 pogroms.
The protestors said that the term
"Rohingya" is an "offence not only to local native ethnic Rakhines but
to all ethnic groups in Myanmar," and asked that the U.S. to "seriously
respect diplomacy ethics" by not using the term.
U.S. ambassador
to Myanmar Scott Marciel responded that it is common practice for
"communities anywhere [to] have the ability to decide what they should
be called. And normally when that happens, we would call them what they
want to be called. It's not a political decision; it's just a normal
practice."
The protesters also warned that they would oppose any
effort by the NLD to change "race and religion protection" laws approved
just before the election by the previous administration, which included
restrictions on religious conversion and interfaith marriage.
The
Arakan National Party, which represents Rakhine Buddhists who live near
Rohingya enclaves, also said it would also protest against repeal of
the laws. The ANP was already angered by the NLD's decision to allocate
to itself the chief minister positions in Myanmar's 14 regions and
states, some of which are home to powerful ethnic minorities.
Aung
Win, a Rohingya community leader in the Rakhine capital of Sittwe, said
that he was not surprised at the foreign ministry's petition to the
U.S. "The foreign minister and Nobel peace prize winner Aung San Suu Kyi
understands very well about the Rohingya and what is happening in
Rakhine state, but she is silent and not saying anything."
Rather
than dealing with the Rohingya issue, some observers believe that Suu
Kyi is now focused on changing the country's constitution to allow her
to become president. The new government has also said it wants to
prioritize peacemaking with Myanmar's many ethnic militias as well as
promote economic growth.
"I think the new government is more
concerned right now about maintaining domestic political stability. The
NLD probably doesn't want to have to deal with the voices of the
Myanmar's extreme nationalists as it feels that it already has a lot on
its plate," said Miguel Chanco, Southeast Asia analyst for the Economist
Intelligence Unit.
In Burma’s historic elections, a Muslim minority is banned from voting but still the focus of the campaign
Opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi skips Rohingya internment camps on campaign trip to sectarian hotbed of Rakhine, but country’s racial and religious fault-lines still dominate her visit
Aung San Suu Kyi speaks during a campaign rally at Thandwe city in Rakhine state Photo: Ye Aung Thu/AFP
Philip Sherwell
By Philip Sherwell, Sittwe
6:00AM BST 19 Oct 2015
In the wretched and sprawling internment camps for Rohingya Muslims strung along the cyclone-battered Bay of Bengal, Burma’s unpredictable experiment in democracy next month is already a non-event.
There are no rallies, no posters, not even any candidates, for landmark elections as the minority Muslim community here has been wiped from the voting lists by official decree under controversial citizenship rules.
The Rohingya may not be able to cast a ballot on November 8, but they are still at the centre of an election campaign increasingly tainted by anti-Muslim sentiment fuelled by Buddhist nationalist politicians and radical monks.
Aung San Suu Kyi, the opposition leader who has been drawing huge crowds at rallies across the country, also kept her distance from the camps in her first campaign foray into Rakhine state - the scene of sectarian bloodletting between Buddhists and Muslims.
The Nobel laureate has been criticised on the international stage for her failure to speak out about the desperate plight of the Rohingya, largely confined to internment camps since the 2012 violence.
But inside Burma, also known as Myanmar, she has been attacked by Buddhist hardliners for being too sympathetic to the Muslim minority. And in Rakhine, she made her clearest call yet for an end to religious hatred and discrimination.
People cheer as they listen to Aung San Suu Kyi in ThandwePeople cheer as they listen to Aung San Suu Kyi in Thandwe Photo: Lynn Bo Bo/EPA
“It is very important that all people regardless of religion living in our country must be safe,” Ms Suu Kyi declared.
She also gave short shrift to a Buddhist constituent who asked her about rumours that the NLD would oversee a “takeover” of the country by Muslims, who form about five per cent of the population.
It is a fear expressed repeatedly by Buddhist nationalists across the country. But Ms Suu Kyi was forthright in her response, saying the question itself risked “inciting racial or religious conflict.”
While anti-Muslim feelings are growing across Burma, the Rohingya of Rakhine state are particularly reviled. Corralled in camps behind military checkpoints after the communal bloodshed three years ago, many have risked their lives fleeing on rickety trafficker boats as South East Asia’s “boat people.”
“We can’t go anywhere,” one community elder told The Telegraph. “At least the blacks in South Africa could leave the bantustan homelands created by the Afrikaaners to go to work, we can’t even do that. We’re trapped.”
Rohingya migrants pass food supplies dropped by a Thai army helicopter to others aboard a boat drifting in Thai waters off the southern island of Koh Lipe in the Andaman sea on on May 14, 2015. A boat crammed with scores of Rohingya migrants was found drifting in Thai waters on May 14, with passengers saying several people had died over the last few days.Rohingya migrants in Thai waters off the southern island of Koh Lipe Photo: Christophe Archambault/AFP
Rohingya leaders insist that they have roots in Burma dating back centuries, but the country’s government has long viewed them as illegal Muslim interlopers from neighbouring Bangladesh. The Burmese do not even accept the name Rohingya, instead calling them “Bengalis”.
Their plight as a stateless unwanted people was already pitiful. But in the former British colony’s venture towards a new, democratic era after five decades of military dictatorship, they are losers before any votes are even cast.
Buddhism has a reputation as a religion of peace and tolerance, but a new breed of firebrand Burmese monk has exerted its political clout by stoking the anti-Islamic feeling during the campaign.
Leading the onslaught has been Ashin Wirathu, a militant Burmese monk once dubbed “The Buddhist Bin Laden”. “Muslims are only well behaved when they are weak,” he once declared. “When they are strong they are like a wolf or a jackal, in large packs they hunt down other animals.”
Myanmar's firebrand Buddhist monk Wirathu in YangonBurma's firebrand Buddhist monk Wirathu in Yangon Photo: Soe Zeya Tun/Reuters
It is precisely this kind of sectarian feeling that Burma’s military-backed ruling party has now sought to harness in its bid to fend off the challenge of Ms Suu Kyi’s NLD and cling to power.
As part of that effort, Thein Sein, the general-turned-president, this year supervised the whole-scale disenfranchisement of Rohingyas – a people allowed to vote in previous elections under the military – after the confiscation of their identity cards.
It might have been expected that Ms Suu Kyi, who spent 15 years under house arrest for her advocacy of free speech, would have publicly defended the oppressed minority.
But she is now a politician seeking victory in an electorate where there are few votes in speaking out for the Rohingya. So she has taken a political calculation to say little about their fate, for now at least.
Indeed, in Burma her party is still assailed for being “weak on Islam” after it opposed four new “race and religion” laws that were championed by Buddhist clerics and are widely seen as discriminating against Muslims and women.
The intimidating stance of the radical Buddhist Organisation for Protection of Nationality and Religion (Ma Ba Tha) has already exercised its toll on the choice of candidates by the NLD.
Win Htein, a senior MP, has acknowledged "political reasons" forced Ms Suu Kyi’s party not to name a single Muslim candidate for election.
"We have qualified Muslim candidates but we can't select them for political reasons," he said. “If we choose Muslim candidates, Ma Ba Tha points their fingers at us so we have to avoid it.”
Buddhist monks who support Ma Ba Tha sit as they attend a celebration of the recent establishment of four controversial bills decried by rights groups as aimed at discriminating against the country's Muslim minority, at a rally in a stadium at Yangon Buddhist monks attend a victory rally celebrating the passage of controversial 'race and religion' laws in Rangoon Photo: Soe Zeya Tun/Reuters
And even Muslim candidates who tried to run for other parties were disqualified by the state because they could not prove their parents were eligible to be Burmese citizens at the time of their birth.
“It’s racism and religious discrimination, straight and simple,” said Kyaw Min, leader of the Democracy and Human Rights Party, a mainly Rohingya political grouping, who was among dozens of disqualified Muslim election candidates.
“I am 70 and my parents were born here when Britain ruled Burma,” he said. “I have submitted all the records that I have but still they won’t accept it. I stood as a candidate and won in 1990, but now they say I’m not Burmese.”
But Rohingya leaders said that they understood the political pressures that have shaped Ms Suu Kyi’s decision not to talk about their suffering or name Muslim candidates, even while she is assailed internationally for her stance.
“I would not say that I am disappointed with her because she has to operate in this country with the mood here now,” said Kyaw Min. “I am sure that things will be better for us if the NLD wins the elections.”
Sectarian violence in Myanmar
The silence of the muezzin
Oct 29th 2013, 6:57 by I.S. | THANDWE
A SUNNI mosque looks as if it has seen better days. Many of the tiles on its roof are missing and one of the minarets looks as if it is about to collapse. But inside, the cool white floor tiles are spotlessly clean, and the carpeted prayer-rooms look well-kept. A bearded old imam, whose sharp features hint at his Arabic ancestry, prepares for noon prayers. No muezzin calls from the minarets but the faithful in the town of Thandwe know anyway when to trickle in, some wearing prayer caps, others with their heads uncovered and long white shirts pulled over their blue-checked longyis.
The mosque, like most of the six others here, is near the town’s sprawling central bazaar. Thandwe is in Rakhine state, in western Myanmar, which was once an independent kingdom called Arakan. Muslims, Indians and members of the state's ethnic-Rakhine majority sit side-by-side in Thandwe’s marketplace, trading fish and fresh vegetables, clothing, hardware and gold.
It all looks peaceful. But the Buddhist pagoda opposite the market has been turned into a dormitory for riot police and soldiers. And by nightfall the roads into town are sealed off, only to open again at dawn.
In early October, Thandwe and some nearby Muslim villages were the scene of arson and murder. In total seven people died, five of them Muslims. An eyewitness says the attacks on Muslim homes in Thandwe were led by Rakhine women and backed up by men armed with homemade weapons. The police disarmed Muslims who had been trying to help defend their neighbours’ properties.
Almost all the Muslims in Thandwe are Kaman people, members of a recognised ethnic group. Unlike the Rohingyas in the north of the state, whom most Rakhines and Burmans regard as illegal immigrants from Bangladesh—and hence stateless—the Kaman are widely acknowledged as citizens of Myanmar.
The Rakhine people are Buddhists, as are most of their countrymen across Myanmar. But in Thandwe, as elsewhere in Rahkine state, they nurture a deep resentment against the ethnic-Burman group, who form the majority nationwide, and blame them for their own impoverishment. Despite its abundance of natural resources, Rakhine state is the second-poorest in Myanmar, with 43.5% of its people living below the poverty line.
Many Rakhine feel crushed between “Burmanisation” and “Islamisation”. Their state, with some 2m people, shares a border with Muslim-majority Bangladesh, with a densely packed population of 150m. Some of the Rakhines’ frustration has been vented on the Muslim Kaman, whom they think to be more prosperous and plugged into better trade networks.
Such feelings are exploited by organisations such as “969”, a Buddhist ginger-group with a numerological name. Its leader, Wirathu, now a sort of celebrity-monk, has been inciting Buddhists against Muslims, regardless of their ethnic group. He visited Thandwe some months ago and his movement's 969 signs are now displayed prominently on many shops and houses (and on the roadside hoarding in the picture below, against a backdrop of traditional Buddhist colours).
The latest round of communal violence flared just as Myanmar's president, Thein Sein visited the area. His government has come under increasing pressure to to curb the activities of the 969 movement and ensure the safety of the Muslim population. In a recent report to United Nations General Assembly, Tomás Ojea Quintana, the UN’s special rapporteur on human rights in Myanmar, said that Rakhine remained in a “situation of profound crisis”.
He reported that the situation there had fed anti-Muslim feelings in the rest of Myanmar, where this year Buddhist mobs have clashed with Muslims in a number of places. He called it “one of the most serious threats to the reform process” that started in 2011. (A representative of Myanmar’s government accused him of “blaming a doughnut for its hole”.)
Communal violence in Rakhine last year left at least 190 people dead and at least 140,000 homeless. But the Buddhist perpetrators, among them members of the security forces, have, until now, gone unpunished. (On October 21st two Muslims in Thandwe were sentenced to 15 years in jail for the rape of a Buddhist woman—an incident that was blamed for sparking an earlier, less extensive, onslaught on Muslim homes in June.)
Following the violence in October, more than 40 people were arrested, three-quarters of them Buddhists, including leaders of the Rakhine Nationalities Development Party (RNDP), which is the main ethnic-Rakhine party. RNDP leaders say this is the first time its leaders have faced trial, and call it politically motivated.
Thandwe, which was once called Sandoway, is just a few miles from Ngapali, an upmarket seaside resort. A long stretch of sandy beaches dotted with 5-star hotels plays host to the growing numbers of foreign tourists who choose it as a holiday’s last stop, to recuperate from all that sightseeing. The few Muslim families who had lived in the area were forced out by their Buddhist neighbours a year ago. Some others, like an artist who runs a gallery there, are too scared to open their shops.
More than anywhere else in Myanmar, in Rakhine the renewed communal violence is a political minefield for the National League for Democracy (NLD), the party of Aung San Suu Kyi, Myanmar’s opposition leader. During her latest visit to Europe in October she rejected the description “ethnic cleansing” for the violence, and argued “that both Buddhists and Muslims are suffering". The blame, she said, should be chalked up to a “climate of fear”. This sparked an outcry abroad, for sounding like a deflection. But inside Myanmar her remarks went down easily. Even a young Muslim in Thandwe thought she was wise not to “fall into a political trap”. In Miss Suu Kyi’s heart, be believes, she “thinks differently”.
Even as she risks international criticism, however, it is highly unlikely that Miss Suu Kyi’s public stance will win the Rakhine vote for the NLD in the elections due in 2015.
At an NLD youth meeting in Yangon, Myanmar’s biggest city, the representative from Thandwe, a 22-year-old student, proudly flaunts the new tattoo on his arm: “Arakan”, it reads in large gothic letters. He chose it, he explains, because he “loves Arakan”.
For many of the Rakhine, loyalty to their state transcends that to their party and even to Myanmar itself. The outside world is exercised about the plight of Rakhine's Muslim minorities. For the NLD, however, as for the government, the anger of the ethnic-Rakhine majority is just as worrying. Too many of them seem to hanker still for the days of Arakan's glory and independence.
Burmese Buddhists riot after rumours of sexual assault by Muslim man
Dozens of homes and shops set on fire as hundreds rampage through village in latest outbreak of sectarian violence
Hundreds of Buddhists carrying sticks and swords went on a rampage in a village in north-western Burma, setting fire to dozens of homes and shops after rumours that a young woman had been sexually assaulted by a Muslim man.
There were no reports of injuries in the latest round of sectarian violence to sweep the country.
The hours-long riot in Htan Gone, located 16 kilometres (10 miles) south of the town of Kantbalu in the Sagaing region of Burma, began late on Saturday after a crowd surrounded a police station, demanding that the assault suspect be handed over, a police officer told the Associated Press. The officer requested anonymity because he did not have the authority to speak to reporters.
State television reported that about 42 houses and 15 shops – most belonging to Muslims – were burned and destroyed before security forces shot in the air to disperse the mob early on Sunday.
The predominantly Buddhist nation of 60 million has been grappling with sectarian violence since the military rulers handed over power to a nominally civilian government in 2011.
The unrest, which has killed more than 250 people and left 140,000 others displaced, began last year in the western state of Rakhine, where Buddhists accuse the Rohingya Muslim community of illegally entering the country and encroaching on their land.
The violence, on a smaller scale but still deadly, spread to other parts of the country this year, fuelling deep-seated prejudices against the Muslim minority and threatening Burma's transition to democracy.
Almost all of the victims have been Muslims, often attacked as security forces stood by.
Aung San, a 48-year-old Muslim man whose house was burned in the violence in Htan Gone, said: "People descended on our village with swords and spears, and sang the national anthem and began destroying shops and burned houses.
"Police shouted at the mob to disperse, but did not take any serious action."
Aung San, who lives with his parents, who are in their 70s, said his family had to flee.
"We hid my parents and two sisters in a cemetery before the mob burned our house, and we fled later," he said. He and his family were taking refuge at a Muslim school on Sunday.
Myint Naing, an opposition politician who represents constituents in Kantbalu, was outraged by the latest violence.
He said Muslims and Buddhists have lived side by side in the area for many years.
"There is a mosque in almost every village in our township and we live a peaceful co-existence," he said as he headed to the scene, adding that at least one mosque had been burned down in the violence.
"I cannot understand why the authorities were unable to control the crowd when it originally started," he said.
AP Hundreds of Buddhists on motorcycles armed with sticks patrol in the streets of in Lashio, northern Shan State of Myanmar on Wednesday.
It was a terrifying sight- hundreds of angry, armed men on motorcycles advancing up a dusty street with no one to stop them.
Shouting at the top of their lungs, clutching machetes and iron pipes and long bamboo poles, they thrust their fists repeatedly into the air.
The object of their rage-Myanmar’s embattled minority Muslim community.
Residents gaping at the spectacle backed away as the Buddhist mob passed. Worried business owners turned away customers and retreated indoors. And three armed soldiers standing in green fatigues on a corner watched quietly, doing nothing despite an emergency government ordinance banning groups of more than five from gathering.
Within a few hours on Wednesday, at least one person was dead and four injured as this north-eastern town of Myanmar became the latest to fall prey to the country’s swelling tide of anti-Muslim unrest.
After a night of heavy rain, downtown Lashio was quiet Thursday morning. Soldiers blocked roads where Muslim shops were burnt. At one corner where the charred remains of a building still smoldered, Muslim residents sorted through rubble for anything salvageable. One woman who had fled a mob a day earlier was still in a state of shock.
“These things should not happen,” said the woman, Aye Tin, a Muslim resident. “Most Muslims are staying off the streets. They’re afraid they’ll be attacked or killed if they go outside.”
The violence that started on Tuesday in the north-eastern city of Lashio is casting fresh doubt over whether President Thein Sein’s government can or will act to contain the racial and religious intolerance plaguing a deeply fractured nation still struggling to emerge from half a century of military rule. Muslims have been the main victims of the violence since it began in western Rakhine state last year, but so far most criminal trials have involved prosecutions of Muslims, not members of the Buddhist majority.
The rioting in Lashio started Tuesday after reports that a Muslim man had splashed gasoline on a Buddhist woman and set her on fire. The man was arrested. The woman was hospitalised with burns on her chest, back and hands.
Mobs took revenge by burning down several Muslim shops and one of the city’s main mosques, along with an Islamic orphanage that was so badly charred that only two walls remained, said Min Thein, a resident contacted by telephone.
On Wednesday fires still smoldered at the ruined mosque, where a dozen charred motorcycles lay on the sidewalks underneath its white minarets. Army troops stood guard. The wind carried the acrid smell of several burned vehicles across town, and most Muslims hid in their homes.
When one group of thugs arrived at a Muslim-owned movie theatre housed in a sprawling villa, they hurled rocks over the gate, smashing windows. They then broke inside and ransacked the cinema.
Ma Wal, a 48-year-old Buddhist shopkeeper across the street, said she saw the crowd arrive. They had knives and stones, and came in two separate waves.
“I couldn’t look,” she said, recounting how she had shut the wooden doors of her shop. “We were terrified.”
A couple hours later, the mobs were gone and two army trucks and a small contingent of soldiers guarded the villa. “I don’t know what to think about it,” she said. “More casualties are ... not good for anybody.”
The government, which came to power in 2011 promising a new era of democratic rule, appealed for calm.
“Damaging religious buildings and creating religious riots is inappropriate for the democratic society we are trying to create,” presidential spokesman Ye Htut said on his Facebook page. “Any criminal act will be dealt with according to the law,” he said.
National police said nine people were arrested for involvement in the two days of violence, but didn’t say if they were Buddhists or Muslims.
After nightfall, authorities could be heard issuing instructions on loudspeakers across the city, reminding residents a dusk—to—dawn curfew was in effect. The voice bellowing into the night also said- “You are prohibited from carrying sticks or swords or any kind of weapon.”
A local freelance journalist, Khun Zaw Oo, said he was hit on the head with an iron pipe as he photographed mobs ransacking shops. He said he managed to flee but a companion also holding a camera was attacked and badly injured.
Myanmar’s sectarian violence first flared in western Rakhine state last year, when hundreds of people died in clashes between Buddhists and Muslims that drove about 140,000 others, mostly Muslims, from their homes. Most are still living in refugee camps.
This month, authorities in two areas of Rakhine announced a regulation limiting Muslim families to two children. The policy drew sharp criticism from Muslim leaders, rights groups and opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi. U.S. State Department spokesman Patrick Ventrell on Tuesday said the U.S. opposes coercive birth limitation policies, and called on Myanmar “to eliminate all such policies without delay.”
The clashes had seemed confined to the Rakhine region, but in late March, similar Buddhist-led violence swept the town of Meikthila in central Myanmar, killing at least 43 people. Earlier this month, a court sentenced seven Muslims from Meikthila to prison terms for their role in the violence.
Several other towns in central Myanmar experienced less deadly violence, mostly involving the torching of Muslim businesses and mosques.
Muslims account for about 4 percent of Myanmar’s roughly 60 million people. Anti-Muslim sentiment is closely tied to nationalism and the dominant Buddhist religion, so leaders have been reluctant to speak up for the unpopular minority.
Thein Sein’s administration has been heavily criticised for not doing enough to protect Muslims. He vowed last week during a trip to the U.S. that all perpetrators of the sectarian violence would be brought to justice.