Introduction

By Helen Buchan, July, 2009

 

The first posting of documents in this blog includes articles I began collecting in October 2007, following the protests in Burma about price rises in petrol, diesel, and gas. The collection ended in January 2008. There are also articles by me.

The purpose of the collection, and of what I wrote, was to try to put together, in a non-internet form, a package of facts and suggestions that might help spark ideas for a non-violent transition from a military dictatorship to some form of democracy, and towards a more equal sharing of the country’s wealth.

 

Who the hell do I think I am?

Well, nothing appears to have worked so far, to get rid of the generals, or to at least persuade them into doing useful work for the good of all the people. So I might as well try again, go global, and put in what in Australia are called my “two bobs’ worth” (twenty cents’ worth of unsolicited suggestions).

 

If Burma is NOT as isolated from the rest of the world as I thought, the articles I downloaded from the internet may have already been available to people inside Burma with access to a computer.

 

Whether everyone in the country knows what is happening in other parts of the country is another matter. (See the reference further on to Emma Larkin’s book, “Secret Histories.”) I will try to set up links to some articles, to avoid clogging up the blog. However, I will include here articles by Callahan and Silverstein on the history of Burma and its military.

 

Most of the stuff is in English, but some is in Burmese.

 

Setting the scene

 

The Burmese military is obsessed with “unity”.  Dissent and criticism are forbidden, and severely punished. Under such conditions, the truth is not likely to be told. Only the official version is allowed to be broadcast or published: boring, pompous, self-congratulatory, sycophantic, pseudo-historical.

 

Each generation of Burmese is becoming worse educated than the one before. This, in a country of clever and resourceful people is a disgrace.

 

Worse: Burma has an arbitrary system of “justice” controlled by corrupt and greedy cronies of the military, which recruits gangs of civilian thugs to bash and intimidate the population. These things suggest a country descending into some sort of madness. (See the web site “Rule of Lords”, and also the Asian Human Rights Commission (Hong Kong).

 

About sanctions:  Many pro-democracy groups both inside and outside Burma support sanctions against the regime.  I don’t, for the reason that they haven’t worked, and may even have made things worse for ordinary Burmese: damaging the export textile industry, for example, and destroying the jobs of many women. Articles supporting sanctions are therefore not included here.

 

BURMA REGIME TRANSITION STRATEGY, PART ONE

By Helen Buchan, January, 2008, revised July 2009

 

Preface

 

This strategy started life as “A strategy to bring down the military regime in Burma.”

 

However, if one has any knowledge of Burma, it doesn’t take much to realise that, if the regime were to be “brought down”, there would at present be nothing to replace it.  Burma lacks the essential institutions of democracy.  (See “Democracy Essentials”, and “Burma Regime Transition Strategy, Part 2”.)

 

For historical background, see the document “Callahan: Democracy in Burma.”

 

Introduction

 

Part one of this document outlines the main obstacles to bringing about the transition of the military regime into a democracy.

 

Part two suggests a different approach from those tried before. (What might be called “making the military regime uncomfortable.” See “Burma Regime Transition Strategy Part two,” for more positive suggestions.)

 

Part three discusses organizational structures and financing.

 

Part one:  The main obstacles to bringing about a transition to democracy

 

So far, all attempts to encourage, persuade or force the military regime in Burma to begin the transition to democracy have failed. The Military is afraid, or claims to be, that the Union of Burma will break up. It is therefore unable to cope with dissent. People who protest are severely punished. The system of Injustice makes people afraid to protest, though some are still brave enough to do so, and take the consequences. Burma is a “state within a state”. Burma doesn’t need the west – its “best friend” is China, hardly a mentor on democracy. Lastly, Burma lacks the essential elements on which to base democracy.

 

 

1.Fear, on the part of the military, of the break up of the Union of Burma

 

 

Immediately after Independence from Britain, Burma’s military was flat out trying to hold the new nation together.  The centre did “hold”, but only just.  Thus began the military’s idea of itself as the force that keeps the nation together, against all external and internal enemies (See Mary P.Callahan’s book: “Making Enemies: War and State Building in Burma.”)

 

Fear of break-up of the Union has two main sources: inability to cope with dissent, and fear of ethnic breakaway.

 

1a. Inability to cope with dissent:

 

Dissent in Burma is forbidden. This is not something new, but deeply engrained, part of the culture of Burma.  There are simply no acceptable ways of expressing disagreement with whoever is in power.  (See Callahan, “Democracy in Burma: an historical perspective”, and “State Building in the Shadow of the Raj”, also in this blog.)

 

If you’ve been to Burma, you will have seen billboards carrying the message that any criticism of the regime endangers the State. The billboards carry slogans such as “Oppose those relying on external elements, acting as stooges, holding negative views.” The public is exhorted to “Crush all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy,” and warns that “Anyone who tries to break up the tatmadaw [military] is our enemy.”

 

The absurdity of the message is apparent to western observers living under some form of democracy, but its effect should not be underestimated.  First, because the Union Solidarity and Development Association (USDA), the political wing of the State Peace and Development Council – the regime’s newish name for itself – promotes the message as part of its “Four-Points People’s Desire.”

 

The Network for Democracy and Development says that these “four points” – unlike the “meaningless propaganda” of the “Three Main National Causes” and “The Twelve Objectives” – directly threaten political parties and can be used to trigger violence.

 

“The four points” are to:

 

“Oppose those relying on external elements, acting as stooges or holding negative views;

 

“Oppose those trying to jeopardize the stability of the State and progress of the nation;

 

“Oppose foreign nations interfering in internal affairs of the State; and

 

“Crush all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy.”

 

As membership of the USDA is compulsory in almost every occupation in Burma, and university students, and even school children, are told they must join, if they want an education, the message of the “four points” is widely promoted. Some of it, as the saying goes, must “stick.” Certainly, it gives licence to the gangs of thugs within the USDA to beat up members of the National League for Democracy (Aung San Suu Kyi’s party) and others. (See the Network for Democracy and Development: “The White Shirts: How the USDA will become the new face of Burma’s dictatorship,” May 2006: http://www.burmalibrary.org/docs3/USDAFinal1.pdf

 

A second reason for not simply dismissing the billboard slogans as absurd is expressed by Callahan: “While most observers interpret these bizarre sloganeering campaigns as a sign of the junta’s isolation from the desires and concerns of the Burmese citizenry, this view misses important components of the campaign that are directed as much at the tatmadaw as they are at the rest of the population. “ (“Cracks in the Edifice?” in “Burma/Myanmar: Strong Regime, Weak State?” 2000.) Callahan suggests the slogans are part of a campaign to rewrite history, putting the tatmadaw at the centre of Burma’s development.

 

Compare this self-promoted centrality of the military with what I suggest is the typical English-speaking civilian attitude to their own military. It is not that the armed forces are not recognised for what is generally summed up as their “sacrifice” – though they are not necessarily well-looked after when they become civilians again. Nor is it that war cemeteries are not maintained with reverence, or the military not cheered during anniversary parades.

 

It is just that the armed forces are not the hub around which English-speaking democracies revolve. The military is under the ultimate control of civilian, elected politicians.

 

This suggests that more than simply ridiculing the billboards (and frontispieces to books published in Burma since 1989) is needed.

 

(More of this in “Burma Regime Transition strategy, Part two.”)

 

 

1b. Fear of ethnic breakaway

 

The military regime has concluded peace treaties with most ethnic armies and militias but has not disarmed them.  Aggressive and brutal displacement of some ethnic groups continues.  (See “Unsafe State: state-sanctioned sexual violence against Chin women in Burma”, at www.chinwomen.org  

and “State of Terror”, by the Karen Women’s Organisation: www.karenwomen.org )

 

One reason for the failure of the 1988 uprising was that the ethnic states did not make “common cause” with the majority Burmans, not seeing the uprising as having anything to do with themselves. If the regime is to change, ethnic Burmans and non Burmans will have to see themselves as citizens of the one country.

 

2. Fear, on the part of the non-military population, of arrest and imprisonment, if they protest in any way

 

This fear is well-founded, and has become worse since the protests of September/October 2007. The regime now has many more people “on its books,” having rounded up and questioned anyone who was on the street at the time or who appeared in photographs.

 

Since the partial dismantling of Khin Nyunt’s Military Intelligence, the business of informing on other people has been taken on by some USDA members. The important question is: do people know who the informers are?

 

Not only are protesters punished, but also those seeking legal redress

 

In a perversion of the legal system, Section 505 of the Penal Code is increasingly being used against anyone who complains about anything, and usually lands the complainant in jail, not the perpetrator. (See: “State, not citizens, the cause of fear”)

 

 

3. The “State within a State” This is the system which the military and its friends, family members, and others who know which side their bread is buttered on, or feel their survival depends on it, work within and benefit from.  The military has its own schools, its own hospitals, its own businesses.  Those within this system are able to buy goods not available to the rest of the population, can afford to travel around the country by air, can always get a seat on trains and buses, and have a more comfortable life, compared to the rest of the population. Callahan (:”Cracks in the Edifice?”) details how the military has benefited from the dismantling of the socialist state of the Ne Win years, running businesses, acquiring land, “channel[ling ] privileges, contracts and resources toward private businesspeople in exchange for substantial rewards.” And so on.  What, in western democracies, would be called corruption, or, at best “conflict of interest.”

 

As noted earlier, membership of the USDA is compulsory for those working in certain (most?) occupations.  Others, such as students and school children, are told they must join. School children are offered various benefits, which should be available to them whether they join the USDA or not (except the offer of extra marks if they don’t make the grade in exams!). Villagers are told they will be exempted from forced labour if they join.  

 

In other words, civil society in Burma has been perverted and corrupted by the military regime and the regime’s brainchild, the USDA. The USDA aims to take over every area of civilian life.  It even provides a role for thugs, to carry out some of the regime’s dirty work of threatening people and beating them up.

 

Even so…

 

In any transition to democracy, it would not be a good idea, even if it were possible, to simply reduce the size of the military. There are economic as well as political reasons why the size of the military should be reduced: it takes up about 40% of the budget.

However, if almost, if not every, family in Burma has someone in the military, on whose support they depend, it will be necessary to find jobs for these military people when the time comes. 

 

Some suggested areas for retraining former soldiers are for work in

a civilian police force, in fire brigades, medical rescue (Burma has the highest rate of deaths from snake bite in the world), railway repair and construction, building construction, urban road repair, water supply and sewerage, and electricity generation. A cut in spending on military hardware will reduce the budget deficit, as will reining in corruption. The money being skimmed off can go into financing some of the retraining, and payment of salaries. The training schemes should not be restricted to men – whether ex-military or not; women should be given the opportunity to train for technical jobs.

 

4.  The military regime doesn’t need the west – for trade, or anything else, really.  It can get everything it wants, except respectability, from its best friend, China.  If not from China, then from India or Russia.   India may be “the world’s largest democracy”, but its recent history includes unpunished massacres (Gujarat 2002), and Russia is not squeamish about such things either. China, because of its apparently 60 per cent ownership of Burma’s economy, is best placed to put demands on Burma to treat the people better, but asking Burma to turn itself into a democracy?  Hardly. China and Russia can also veto any proposed action by the UN Security Council.

Thus, sanctions against Burma haven’t worked, and won’t work.  Diplomat-level scolding of the regime for bad behaviour doesn’t work either. 

 

I now believe the west does have a lot to offer Burma, if prejudice and stubbornness on both sides can be overcome.

 

(I emphasize the west because western countries are leaders in imposing sanctions on Burma, demanding action, and tut-tutting the regime for bad behaviour; and anyway, if I know anything, it’s what I know best. Everyone’s invited, really.)

 

The west has had some seven centuries of progress towards liberty – yes, it’s taken that long, and the results are not set in stone, but must be vigilantly maintained and nourished. Pessimists might even say we’re not there yet. (For the history, see A.C.Grayling’s book “Towards the Light – The story of the struggles for liberty and rights that made the modern west”, Bloomsbury, 2007)

 

Burma would be unwise to allow the sort of capitalism that produced the Global Financial Crisis, but there must be many western (and other) economists running around who could give useful advice on sustainable development and micro-finance schemes. There are squads of environmentalists to help Burma maintain its distinctive flora and fauna, and encourage an end to illegal logging of teak forests. There are alternative (non carbon) energy specialists to advise on sun, wind and water as sources of energy, including small-scale projects. Then there are agricultural scientists to help with plant breeding (I’m not suggesting GM – Burma seems to have a long way to go just in “ordinary” improvements. Just so long as Burma doesn’t go down the agribusiness road…)

 

As for the institutions of democracy itself: stacks of experience is available from practising legal experts, local government officials, bureaucrats and parliamentarians, as well as academics and historians.

Foreign experts in Burmese archaeology, language and literature could, with their governments’ financial backing, help Burmese experts set up institutions for the study of Burmese language, history and culture.

I do not recommend the sort of foreign aid that takes the form of overseas firms being paid by their own governments to do construction and building work in the country that is the supposed recipient of the aid. It would be far better to put the money towards training Burmese (e.g. ex-military – see above), including women, to do the technical work. This would be a slower process, but would leave a lasting legacy. (Besides, there is something spurious about “Aid” money that actually goes to foreign firms.)

 

It would also be better, I suggest, if construction methods were adapted to employ a large number of people, instead of the advanced western model of huge machines and a few people: just enough machinery and technology to guarantee conformity to building standards of strength and safety.

 

5. Burma lacks the essential institutions for democracy

 

(For an account on this, see the separate article “Democracy Essentials”, in this blog.)

 

Summing up

 

The military regime in Burma can’t, on the above analysis, be forced to give up or even share power, and they certainly won’t do so voluntarily.  However, I no longer believe it is futile to try to persuade them to enter into discussions with the democracy movement, provided that discussions involve more than Aung San Suu Kyi and the NLD. They should also involve ethnic representatives, and members of any embryonic political party – NOT the USDA, as they are a creature of the regime – and representatives from any western government willing to assist Burma with aid, information, or investment, in the transition to democracy – a democracy that includes the evolution of the military into a defence force, under civilian control.]

 

This leads one to the conclusion that something other than sanctions has to be tried.  It’s been suggested that some younger officers will be so appalled by scenes of brutality against the monks – the most respected people in Burma – and by scenes of looting and vandalism in the monasteries, that they may start to undermine the regime from within.  Perhaps.  Callahan, writing in 1999 (“Cracks in the Edifice”) had the opinion that, far from being more likely to identify with the people than older officers of the military, despised them more.

 

 Part two: How it can be done: a different approach

 

Operation White Ant and Operation Blurt

 

 

Operation White Ant.

 

Operation White Ant aims to undermine the regime from within – not just, or even mainly, from within the military itself – but by undermining every person, every organisation, every business, that benefits from the regime, including the children, and including all foreign companies who have turned a blind eye to the oppression.

 

Foreign companies can be shamed in their own countries, in Burma, and internationally. Not shamed into withdrawing from Burma, but shamed into operating there in a different way: paying decent wages (by local standards), not tolerating forced labour, and refusing to benefit from forced displacement or environmental damage.  If the damage or displacement have already taken place, restitution and rehabilitation should be the demand, with boycotts if the companies do not comply. If the operation of a foreign company has indirectly caused injury or death to people displaced because of the projects in which the company has been involved, the families of victims must be compensated by the foreign company.

 

I believe we in the rest of the world, including those in ASEAN countries, should be pressuring our governments to force companies to comply with the above demands, rather than pressuring governments to impose sanctions on the companies.

(There will be some repetition of the above, in the “Burma Transition Strategy Document part two.”)

 

It is essential to note that the methods of “Operation White Ant” be not violent, and not physically destructive. This is not the same as recommending that people not defend themselves if attacked.  But creative ways of thwarting attacks should be explored.  

 

Nor is it intended that those persons who are, as it were, “brought down” should be excluded from participation in any future State in Burma – except, perhaps, the worst of the military. Some people will be co-operating with the regime out of fear, or for the sake of their families’ survival, or because they don’t know any better. (One of the purposes of gathering together the documents on this blog is to help people to “know better” – that is, to know the harm they do and the harm that others have done, the crimes committed, the injustices perpetrated.)  Even if people are co-operating because they are not, shall we say, very nice, the campaign is not intended to destroy people – just to stop the evil things they do. 

 

The informed-upon will inform upon the regime and its beneficiaries.  The techniques of Operation White Ant will include naming, identifying, ridiculing, inconveniencing, harassing (not physically), taunting, irritating and disrupting. Humour should play a big part, as opposed to mere ridicule, which is spiteful, and more for the benefit of others than the persons targeted. Humour conveys to its target the message “See how absurd the situation is.  Join us in laughing at yourself.  This will be the beginning of your cure.”

 

The intention is to make anyone connected with or benefiting from the regime start to rethink their position, and conclude that they can no longer continue, either because their consciences are starting to worry them, or because things are just getting too difficult or too embarrassing. The people at the top may be beyond shame, but perhaps can be “got at” by their families, friends, subordinates, etc.

 

Applied to businesses, the techniques will have to be carefully thought out.  How much disruption? We don’t want to make things worse for “innocent bystanders,” for workers who need the job to live, and other people relying on the targeted business. The disruption needs to be along the lines of “We’re letting everyone know how you benefit from the misery of the people. You should feel deeply ashamed.” (That might work for businesses with head offices within Burma, as a mainly Buddhist country, but should not be relied on outside the country, where threatening the “bottom line” is likely to be more effective.)

 

How will it be done?

 

This is where it gets tricky, and possibly dangerous. 

 

First:  there must be some system of verification of information, to weed out those with a grudge against others, or wanting to bring personal or business rivals into disrepute. [I do not know how this verification can be done. It may have to come down to those taking action having self-discipline and integrity.]

 

Secondly, those carrying out the actions will not wait around to be identified, let alone seized.  Perhaps back-up “security” could be provided, with some people keeping an eye out for possible trouble, whilst others get on with the job. It may even be necessary to “arrest” the perpetrators in order to protect them (taking care that the crowd doesn’t turn on those doing the “arresting!”)

 

“Innocent bystanders” must be protected, by knowing as little as possible, preferably nothing, about those who have just carried out the action.  Not that “knowing nothing” will necessarily save them, unfortunately. The more paranoid a regime, the wider it is likely to cast its net.

Actions would best be carried out in an area where those carrying them out are not known … at the same time, there must be enough people around to make a quick escape possible. This suggests that these types of activity – public shaming – may only be possible in larger towns and cities.

 

Of course, there is always the possibility of disguise, which must be able to be quickly shed when the person runs around a corner. (But do not disguise yourself as a member of an identifiable group which can be then made to bear the blame. For example, don’t dress up as a monk, or a muslim… Maybe as an army officer would be ok? (I have seen too many movies.))

 

Ridiculing State propaganda:  The billboards referred to earlier need to be discredited. Those who already laugh at them are not the ones who need to be convinced. Perhaps leaflets debunking the billboards could be scattered wherever crowds are to be found (not protesting crowds, just people going about their everyday activities in the cities).  Similarly, false frontispieces could be surreptitiously slipped into the front of books, covering the compulsory frontispiece  of “Our Cause”, “The People’s Desire”, etc., etc.

 

The leaflets could mention the following

 

(1)  Burma has no external enemies.  No one wants to invade Burma. China doesn’t have to – it already owns about 60 per cent of Burma’s economy; America is overstretched and is not interested anyway; Thailand might start getting annoyed at all the refugees the regime is creating, but would probably just make the lives of refugees more restricted, and continue to turn a blind eye to the exploitation and murder of Burmese working illegally in Thailand.

 

(2) The proper role of the military in a civilized country is protecting the citizens from external attack (none is to be feared in Burma), and, when required, assisting with disaster relief.  The military should be separate from the lawmakers (parliament) and the judiciary, and answerable to the elected, civilian authority. 

 

(3) As for opposing those “holding negative views,” and “[Crushing] all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy…” This can be countered by saying that, in a democracy, citizens are free to disagree with their government (including by holding peaceful protests) and to change the government at regular intervals. In a democracy which has institutions to protect citizens from the power of the state, and in which citizens have reasonable hope of replacing governments they have come to loathe, are incompetent, or seem to have run out of ideas – such a democracy will not disintegrate as a result of protest or disagreement.

 

With the right institutions, Burma could be the same.

 

(None of this should be taken to imply that democracy is perfect. If you want a perfect human being, make a statue.)

 

As for the stuff about opposing “those relying on external elements”…In ordinary life, it is one’s duty to “interfere” if someone is being attacked, has been hit by a car, is in danger of drowning or being burnt to death, etc., etc. Burma’s people are in serious trouble, and if “interference” (I don’t mean Iraq-war style) can help them, then outsiders should interfere.

 

Naming, shaming, identifying, etc., individuals and businesses

 

This could be done by a combination of the spoken and the written word.  Both carry risks.  A person in the crowd could point to the targeted person, shout their name and their connection with the regime, and any particular deeds of which they are guilty, then melt into the crowd. They must, of course, NOT be known to the “victim”. (Unless seriously disguised: see above.)  

 

Pamphlets could be stuck to car windscreens, house gates, shop windows – (eg, naming those people known to shop there for goods not available to the general population).  Setting up a new capital in central Burma has physically removed how many people from the possibility of this sort of treatment? They can’t ALL have moved to the new capital, Middle of Nowhere.  (Or, to give it its full name, Holes in the Ground in the Middle of Nowhere.) (The “holes” are the bunkers. What sort of attack is the regime expecting, which would require bunkers for protection?)

 

Another way of ridiculing the regime is by means of fables. For example, “Folk tales for modern Burma”, printed as a proper little book, just like all the other books of fables, but with characters and events with an uncanny similarity to actual persons and events.  The characters could be human or animal.  (But go easy on the hard-working water buffalo, a noble animal! Do not call the generals “buffalos”.  It is an insult to buffalos.) Scorpions, crocodiles, cobras, malaria mosquitoes, come to mind.) The fables, as with all other printed material referred to in this document, would have to be printed and distributed clandestinely.

 

Perhaps the following is an unnecessary warning to what we are told are the “internet savvy” youth of Rangoon in particular: No documents should be stored on computers, and defaults should be set so that there is no trail left on the computer of documents consulted. Removable storage devices are essential.

 

And, of course, there are songs. Chest-beating, military-regime patriotic songs can be easily parodied. 

 

How to get the pamphlets into the hands of the public:  Perhaps an armload could be dropped, on a windy day, in the middle of the city, or thrown out of the window of a bus, or dropped from the balcony of a tall building. Bundles (not tied!) could be set down on the pavement after dark, and by morning, with any luck, the pamphlets will have spread themselves throughout the city.  This is one advantage of very poor and restricted street lighting. 

 

Does everyone realize how bad the regime is?

 

One of the people interviewed by Emma Larkin for her book “Secret Histories” says something to the effect that, if the people of Burma knew what was being done, they would rise up against the regime.  I found this statement rather surprising, but perhaps they DON’T know – or at least, not all of them know, or they don’t know everything. Given the restriction on information, and the re-writing of history as taught in schools, this is possible, even probable.  The next technique I describe is aimed at these people – not to harm them, but to inform them.  It’s a bit tasteless and over-the-top, and is demanding of materials. It is as follows:

 

A body, apparently that of a monk, is seen lying in a rice paddy, or on the outskirts of a small town. The startled villagers approach.  The “body” is revealed to be a dummy, dressed in monk’s robes.  Pinned to the body is a list of all the known instances of massacres of monks, the number of monks imprisoned, and so on. The message would be along the lines of “This represents the monks killed by the military …” Similarly, the apparent body of a child could be dumped where villagers will find it.  Pinned to its body could be an account of the number of children killed by being shot during demonstrations, or who have died from malnutrition or disease due to poverty engendered by the regime.

It should be sufficiently shocking to come across what appears to be a dead body. There is no need to represent actual injuries, such as resulting from torture, nor depict the “body” in a degrading or humiliating way.  This applies particularly to the next suggestion:

 

The apparent body of a woman in ethnic dress could represent the systematic rape of ethnic-minority women by the military. (See “Unsafe State: state-sanctioned sexual violence against Chin women in Burma”, at www.chinwomen.org  (see publications)

and “State of Terror”, by the Karen Women’s Organisation: www.karenwomen.org )

 

If the crimes of the military are well-known in the area immediately around where they are committed, but not in the rest of the country, it would be a good idea to have these dummies dumped somewhere other than in the area where the crimes were committed. The dummies don’t need to be made of solid material, such as western fashion display dummies.  After all, representing dead bodies as they do, they won’t be required to stand upright. Anyone with a sewing machine (or needle and thread and a lot of time to spare), plus a supply – surreptitiously obtained – of plain cotton material of suitable colour, could make a passable dummy fairly easily.

Stuffing could be straw or chaff or dried grass or reeds.

 

Part three: Possible organizational structure, and financing.

 

My knowledge of the various Burmese pro-democracy groups is very limited. I think it can be left to the Burmese as to how they set up networks, or even if they set them up at all.

 

People who know and trust one another should try to give the impression of not behaving any differently – never meeting as a group, for example, if they have not done so in the past… The utmost caution must be applied when forming a group.

 

I suggest that groups outside Burma appoint a board of trustees to set up a fund, to help pay for equipment or materials. This should be in a country where it is not against the law to set up a fund for such purposes The fund could also help support those who have lost – at the hands of the military – family members on whom they relied for survival.

 

Means of communication (gadgetry): (This section is written on the assumption that the flurry of e-mails, so commonplace in the west, will not be a readily-available method of communication within Burma, given the restrictions on, and surveillance of, internet activity.)

 

Satellite telephones are the safest way of communicating.  Calls are pretty much untraceable, and, if the phones are capable of encryption (can civilians obtain this kind?), cannot be eavesdropped upon.   

The telephones are very expensive, however – probably around $2,500 US – and calls are also expensive.   So satellite phones may be pure fantasy.

CB radios have a range of about 25 miles, are quite cheap, and their location is hard to pin down, especially if the two parties keep moving. Transmissions, however, are not secure.  (Code books needed!)

Mobile phones require a transmission network, and their approximate location can be easily pinned down.  Called number records can also be accessed by the authorities.

Short wave transmitters: Very small short wave radio transmitters are now available, but are very expensive, and need good antennae

 

Operation Blurt

 

Public demonstrations against the Burmese military regime are dangerous and, in the end, counter-productive. Operation Blurt overcomes the necessity for gathering a large number of people in one place, where they can be easily hemmed in, photographed, and bashed and arrested. It works on the principles of anonymity and speed, leaving anyone within earshot not sure if they really heard what they thought they heard, and looking round for someone who might have said it. That man over there? “No, couldn’t have been, voice was too high…”

 

What if, at certain times of day, say, just before dawn and just after dusk, people, no matter where they were, were to suddenly burst out with a slogan, a chant – a “blurt” – (very brief), and continue on their way?  What if, for example, for a period of two or three weeks, the “blurt” were to be “The military government will collapse”?

 

(In Burmese, of course. I have had translations of some of the blurts done, and will try to get them onto this blog.)

 

After this period of two or three weeks, the blurts could become more elaborate, but still very brief.  Some suggestions are:

 

“Rich country

Poor People.

Why?

Tatmadaw, tatmadaw, tatmadaw.”

 

(The Tatmatdaw are the military.)

 

“Bad government

Bad law.

Who?

Tatmadaw, tatmadaw, tatmadaw.”

 

(A Burmese speaker has raised linguistic difficulties about getting such brevity into a Burmese version, but I can’t believe it’s impossible.)

 

“Oppresses the people

Claims to protect them

Who?

Tatmadaw, tatmadaw,tatmadaw”

 

Some rather briefer blurts:

 

(Except for the first blurt, the numbering does not imply any sequence, merely to help me insert the Burmese script if I can get things to work…) It would be good if the campaign started off with everyone using the first blurt, just to put the wind up the regime. (Well, let’s be optimistic.)

 

1. “The military government will collapse.”

 

 

 

 

 

2. “The government of Burma is not good.”

 

 

 

 

 

3. “The military leaders are our common enemy.”

 

 

 

 

 

4.  “The SPDC is wicked.”

 

 

 

 

5. “The USDA is for SPDC stooges.” [Suggestion: make up more “blurts” which send up the “Causes, Aims, People’s Desire”]

 

 

 

6. “Don’t join the USDA.”

 

 

 

 

 

7. “The Tatmadaw steals private land.”

 

 

 

 

8. “The only thing the Tatmadaw knows is how to oppress the people.”

 

 

 

 

9. “The Tatmadaw rapes ethnic women.”

 

 

 

 

 

10. “The people’s suffering is the result of bad government.”

 

 

 

 

 

11. “The judges are corrupt.”

 

 

 

 

A little local colour, and the inspiration for the blurts:

 

As dusk approaches, the hills around Pyin-U-Lwin (also known as Maymyo), echo with strange, roaring sounds. The effect is uncanny, reminiscent of the unseen approach of warriors in the movie “Zulu.” The sounds become words, shouted in unison: the military trainees from the National Defence Academy are going through their indoctrination of themselves and everyone else: “Who do we serve? The People. Who do we protect, the People…”  (Yeah, right.)

 

How will the campaign be started?

 

I hope CNN, BBC World Service (both TV and short-wave radio), Radio Free Asia and any other broadcaster in the area, and the Norwegian Burmese TV program, can help publicise the idea. If the whole country got a schedule of dates, times, and blurts, that would be very good, but even getting the media to take something like this up BEFORE it becomes a story seems unlikely.

 

This is how it could work, if the overseas media would assist: 

 

As well as presenting the general news story, each week’s blurt (if it seems a good idea to have just one), or a selection, would be presented, from which people could choose. In other words, the broadcasters would have to stay with “the story” for several weeks, if not a couple of months, for widest possible penetration.

 

There would be no question of doing the usual media thing of personalising the story, and the whole thing would fail if it became a question of seeking contrary views, again in the usual media fashion.  They have to be persuaded to go with it, period.

 

This is not a debate. It’s a campaign.

 

How to persuade the broadcasters to do this?

 

Ah, that is the question.

 

 

Finally, and this is vital:

 

The blurts should NOT call for violent action against anyone, nor for destruction of any property, killing of animals, etc.

 

 

Burma Regime Transition Strategy, Part Two

By Helen Buchan, January, 2008, revised July 2009

 

Preface:  

This “Burma Regime Transition Strategy, part two” discusses how it may be possible to encourage and help the regime begin the transition to democracy.

 

But what if the regime has no intention of giving up power?

Consider the extraordinary lengths the SPDC has gone to create a political wing for itself – the Union Solidarity Development Association (USDA), with SPDC members as patrons. Observers believe the USDA is intended by the SPDC to become a political party to contest any elections resulting from the National Convention process. The USDA is working towards having everyone in Burma a member, and eliminating the NLD or any other opposition party that dares to raise its head. 

 

Thus, if elections were to be held, the USDA could not help but win, and the regime could claim the legitimacy which comes from winning elections. The fact that such an election could not possibly meet the criteria of being “free and fair” (see “Democracy Essentials”) would not bother the regime at all. 

 

Anyone who has seized power is unlikely to want to give it up unless they can see beyond their own individual or group interests to what might be called “the greater good”. The task would therefore be to persuade them to accept the “greater good” above their own, selfish interests.

 

The other way the generals might be persuaded to give up power would be to convince them that what they SAY they are afraid of, were they to loosen their grip – the break-up of the Union of Burma – will not happen.

 

Dealing with the second point first:

 

1. Creating a sense of security that the Union is not going to break up

 

This will depend on demonstrating to the regime that the Union of Burma will not fall apart if the military hands over the functions of government to civilians, drastically reduces its own numbers, and transforms itself into a defence force under the ultimate control of a civilian government.

 

Ethnic groups

 

I think the minority ethnic groups are part, perhaps the major part, of the key to giving the military regime a sense of security that the Union will not fall apart.

 

The history of conflict with ethnic groups – NOT one-sided, it must be said – has given the regime an excuse, and therefore a form of legitimacy, for the extreme militarisation of Burma: protecting the Union from breaking up. (See at the end of this document some quotes from Callahan’s “State Formation in the Shadow of the Raj.”

 

Under the heading “The Unworkable Nature of Federalism” in her article “Democracy in Burma: The Lessons of History”: Callahan says that “no state has even come close to the…ideal of exerting authority throughout the territory” bounded by the British-drawn borders.  This was written in 1998, and maybe the situation is different now – or maybe there are still areas in which a democratic government would be unable to “collect taxes or implement social or economic policy…”

This “Burma Regime Transition Strategy, part two”, rests on the assumption that breaking up into independent states is not a realistic option, and that processes of reconciliation, integration and cooperation can and must be worked out.

Of course, Burma could become a province of China, in which case it would be all over, Red Rover.

 

A new Union of Burma 

 

No, I haven’t read the new constitution. The following is written with the idea of starting from scratch.

 

There needs to be some sort of consultation process between non-regime Burmese, including the main ethnic groups, to develop a policy of remaining in the Union, and co-operating with and participating in a central government – assuming that a federal system is agreed upon.

The idea would be for non-regime groups, including the self-styled National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma, refugees, the NLD, monks, and other indigenous pro-democracy groups to put forward ideas for a structure for the future Union of Burma.  They don’t have to re-invent the wheel – there are many models to choose from, and political scientists and practical politicians as well as ordinary citizens of the various democracies to call upon to discuss the strengths and weaknesses of different systems. They also have their own history – provided it has not been completely re-written – to examine for ideas on what worked or did not work in the past; and, more importantly, why.

 

(See the document: Democracy Essentials, in the folder “Some Ideas for Change,” for a theoretical discussion, and all the Callahan articles.)

 

The details of administration don’t have to be worked out at this stage. There are already States drawn on the map of Burma -presumably those boundaries are not in dispute. The questions really are: who is to govern the states, if they are to become semi-autonomous within a federal system, and if they are, what is to be the relationship of the States to each other, and to the central government?  Even if a federal system is not agreed upon, there needs to be protection of the rights of ethnic groups, and provision made for the protection of the culture and language of the ethnic groups. A common policy of non-discrimination and equal rights needs to be agreed on. (See The Ethnic Nationalities Council website: http://www.encburma.org/

 

I suggest the process go something like this:

 

Initial discussions. It’s not going to be possible to canvass everyone for their ideas. (Even in democracies, consultation is usually very selective.) NGOs working in Burma and with refugees along Burma’s borders probably already have some information on what people – both Burman and the ethnic minorities want. Do they want semi-autonomous states within a federal system? What is the range of possibilities?

 

State boundaries to remain as at present.  Statehood only considered for the main ethnic groups: Shan, Chin, Karen, Karenni, Rahkine, Kachin, and Mon.  (Does this mean a state for the Bama? [ majority ethnic group] Smaller ethnic groups, within each state protected, but not given their own state. (Do the various “divisions” become states as well?)

 

Following discussions, as above, registration of adult inhabitants of each state onto an electoral roll.

Choice, by state referenda, of an appropriate form of government for the state.

Election of representatives, if a parliamentary system were to be chosen.

Whatever form of government the inhabitants of each state decide is best for them, the relationship between the states and the central government would have to be standardised, I suggest. 

 

A central government, or a federal government, would be responsible for functions considered universal within the whole country: for example, defence, foreign affairs and overseas trade, income tax, customs and excise, banking regulations, air transport regulations and safety, immigration, meteorology, scientific and medical research, business law, communications…probably the funding (if not control?) of higher education … It would probably be a good idea to have the federal government look into the question of road and rail transport, with a plan to link towns and cities with at least one decent highway and a rail line, as well as considering the provision of more regional airports.

 

There is the question as to whether anyone who is not intending ever to return to Burma to live, or who would not be entitled to citizenship, could take part in any vote on the proposals – or is this getting into too much detail?  (For example, the regime probably has stripped exiles and refugees of their citizenship?)

 

The UN could get involved in helping with the consultation process.

 

The role of the military in the new Union of Burma

 

If the main ethnic groups are able to come up with a policy that demonstrates to the military regime that the Union is not going to break up if there is a transition to democracy, the first demands by the ethnic groups should be the cessation of armed conflict, cessation of forced displacement and the forced takeover of land, cessation of recruitment of child soldiers and the use of forced labour.  In its turn, the military should demand the handover – probably to a peace-keeping UN force – of arms still held by present and former ethnic militia. (Yes, easier said than done.)

Any restrictions on the operation of international humanitarian NGOs such as the Red Cross and Medecins sans Frontieres must be lifted.

 

There would need to be a phased reduction in overall numbers of the military, and their replacement by civilian police, where necessary, or temporarily by UN peace-keepers.

 

Those removed from the military to be offered transfers to other employment or training to be funded by the government. (See Burma Regime Transition Strategy Part One.) Jobs to which ex-military could be transferred or trained include the civilian police force, fire brigades, railway repairs and construction, building construction, rural health clinics, building construction, urban road repair, minor urban road construction, regional airport construction. Sewerage works, electricity transmission construction and maintenance, a Burmese Flying Doctor Service (surely needed, in the country with the highest number of deaths from snake bite in the world?), and so on.

 

There is a huge problem of corruption in the military to be dealt with.  How much is this a barrier to the regime agreeing to a transition to democracy?

 

Acceptance that dissent does not mean disintegration

 

I have written in part one of this strategy about the intolerance of dissent, which has been part of Burma’s history, including its colonial history. (For a comment on this aspect of Burma’s colonial history, see Callahan: “State Formation in the Shadow of the Raj.”) Democracies are built on the acceptance of or at least tolerance of a certain amount of dissent. Stable democracies (ones that last a long time without breaking down into civil war or tyranny) have institutions which allow dissent to be expressed.

 

If dissenters can, peacefully, without coercion, persuade enough people to their point of view, they (the dissenters) can take their turn at running the country, by being voted into government. Things may get a bit worse (depending on one’s point of view), or they may get better, after a change of government, but they rarely (never?) get so bad that the whole system falls apart, provided there are “check and balances” built in, to prevent any section of society, but especially the government, going too far. (By “going too far”, I mean, gathering to themselves too much power. I don’t mean, preventing them from making a mess of how they run the country.)  

 

2. Acceptance of “the greater good”

 

It will be difficult to persuade the military regime to stand down for the “greater good.” They won’t want to give up their luxuries, their comforts, many of which are taken for granted by the general population in some of the “developed” countries.

 

It is doubtful the generals can be persuaded on moral grounds, but it may be possible to convince them that a different way of running the country’s government and its economy will lead to greater efficiency and prosperity – enough to share with others in the population. Besides, there is the purely practical argument that people who are sufficiently well fed and well housed make much more efficient workers…

 

At the moment, certain sections of Burmese society – the military, and their families and those who co-operate with the military – are privileged above others. Like the animals in George Orwell’s “Animal Farm”, some Burmese are more equal than others. The irony is that the regime is evidently aiming to create a one-party state, by persuading or coercing everyone to join the USDA, the political wing of the SPDC. 

 

Presumably the thinking behind this is that if nearly everyone belongs – however unwillingly – to the same political party, they will hope to receive some of the benefits those at the top receive, and will not create any opposition.  In other words, there will be no dissent. If by any chance there were to be dissent, it would, under the present system, be forbidden to express it.

 

In this way, it might be possible to pretend that dissent doesn’t exist.  However, any outbreak of what looks like dissent must be “crushed” (always a favourite word of those with totalitarian tendencies), and the protesters treated as criminals.

 

Burma’s own post-colonial history demonstrates that what may start off as a State with ideals of benefits for all (“All animals are equal”), will, if there is no tolerance for dissent, start to fall apart if it is weak, or become more and more tyrannical if it is strong.  Burma has long been in the tyrannical phase. (“Some animals are more equal than others.”) With no correctives on the behaviour of such a regime; it ends up inflicting more suffering on its people than any course of action that the people might have chosen for themselves, if they had been free to do so. 

 

In a democratic system there are checks on extremes of behaviour, especially of government. (But note: the “checks and balances” must be assiduously maintained, now more than ever, during these “war on terror” times, post 9/11/2001.)

 

A distasteful, to put it mildly, development in Burma is the encouragement of thugs to beat people up.

 

In a democracy, people may grumble (and do), but they suffer less than under a dictatorship. (If some in Russia say they miss the old era, it is because they had jobs and certainty. See remarks on “feeding frenzy” below.) Economically, a democracy is likely to prosper more than a dictatorship, because there will be less rigidity and control on what, how, and where goods are produced and traded, and who can carry out these activities; what, where and how crops are sown; what can be written about, what books can be read… As a result, there are incentives for innovation and coming up with better ways of doing things. Such societies are more productive and therefore wealthier.

 

Provided there are systems to ensure fairness, a sharing of wealth, and a universal health and education system, the people are likely to be much happier under a democracy than under a dictatorship.

 

Burma’s transition to democracy need not, and should not, mean a loss of Burmese culture or the acceptance of everything western.  But with the more diversified economy that would be possible if western sanctions were to be lifted, it should be possible to ease off on the exploitation of Burma’s natural resources.

 

Burma has some extraordinarily skilled weavers and other craftspeople, who would benefit from a wider market.

 

I have tried to show, by the above arguments, that Burma under a democracy would be better off economically, and the people happier.

 

If the generals were persuaded to agree to a transition to democracy, much would need to be done.  (An understatement, if ever there were one.) The generals will almost certainly need advice, lots of it – and not from economic ideologues, unless they want to unleash a “feeding frenzy” on the country.

 

(It was the International Monetary Fund (IMF) that recommended the withdrawal of subsidies on food, petrol, diesel and gas, in order to reduce Burma’s deficit. But apparently the IMF recommended a gradual withdrawal of subsidies.

 

 

 

Some quotes from the Abstract of Mary P. Callahan’s article, “State Formation in the Shadow of the Raj: Violence, Warfare and Politics in Colonial Burma.”

 

“Early forays into the establishment of law and order increasingly became based on conceptions of the population as enemies to be pacified, rather than subjects to be incorporated into or even ignored by the newly defined political entity…

 

“Bureaucratic and security mechanisms politicized violence along territorial and racial lines, creating “two Burmas” in the administrative and security arms of the state…

 

“As in other societies, war and crisis in colonial Burma created institutions with staying power, and in this case

created relations between state and society that have been and continue to be what Charles Tilly [1990] calls, “coercion-intensive.” Hardly the product of any colonial plot or intention, the coercion-intensive institutions that have dominated governance throughout

the twentieth century …”

 

Democracy Essentials

By Helen Buchan

January 2008 (To be revised)

 

In English there is an expression, “Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs.”  A South East Asian equivalent is evidently “Don’t teach your grandmother to peel onions.” These curious expressions are ways of saying, “The advice you are trying to give is not needed; the person (or country – in this case, Burma – knows it all already.”

 

Really?

 

I believe there are general principles for what constitutes a democracy, but that there is more than one way of being a democratic country. Political and social scientists, practical politicians, and ordinary citizens have a lot to offer Burma about how their own democracies work – the advantages and the disadvantages.

 

First, a definition: Simply, democracy is a form of government in which the sovereign (highest) power resides in the people, or their chosen representatives.

 

But there is more to democracy than the ballot box, as Awzar Thi points out in his article “Milking the Cow Dry.”

 

“There is no advantage to be had in trite contrasts between “authoritarian” and “democratic” countries. Many Asian governments with democratic characteristics have strongly authoritarian tendencies. Shifts from naked authoritarianism to formal democracy have not been matched by substantially improved protection of human rights. Excessive attention to the ballot box has been followed by insufficient observance of the need for functioning institutions.”

 

The essential institutions of democracy

 

The word “Institutions” is used here very broadly to mean not only, or even mainly, organisations, but systems and rules of behaviour, things understood and accepted – if not by all, by almost all, in a particular society.

 

Some specifics of democracy

 

Trust: the ethical basis of democracy

 

Trust is being able to rely on people to not deceive us, and to carry out their obligations and duties; both those they have specifically undertaken, and those they have as a moral duty to others, such as to not betray or harm them.

 

We place trust in other people because we must. No society can operate without at least some degree of trust. In Burma under the military regime, trust in others, especially for those who are not members of the regime,  is probably limited to members of one’s own family – even then, sadly, it can prove to be misplaced – and to those one has known for many years and never known to deceive, cheat or betray.

In the BBC Reith Lectures, 2002: “A Question of Trust,” Onora O’Neill argues that trust is basic to human rights and democracy.

 

“Fear and intimidation undermine our ability to place trust…”

 

O’Neill’s analysis of human rights is not the rather “pie-in-the-sky” approach of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. I think it is worthwhile to explain this a little – though reference to O’Neill’s book is recommended.

 

O’Neill says “Rights are not taken seriously unless the duties that underpin them are also taken seriously; those duties are not taken seriously unless there are effective and committed people and institutions that can do what they require… How can rights to freedom of assembly be secure in the face of intimidation?…” O’Neill cites examples from warlord-infested Afghanistan, whereas in Burma it is the state itself, and those it has suborned or intimidated, who do not carry out their duties of protection, truth, and fairness.

 

“Without competent and committed persons and institutions, duties are not met; where they are not met, rights are not respected; where rights are not respected, democracy is unachievable.

 

Democracy can show us what is politically legitimate; it can’t show us what is ethically justified. On the contrary, democracy presupposes rights, and rights presuppose duties. There can be no full democracy where rights and duties are violated…” (p. 31) 

 

If this sounds as though the regime in Burma has to be completely overthrown before any light can begin to shine, O’Neill – who at this point is referring to Czechoslovakia under Soviet rule – puts the case differently: from small refusals to collaborate by refusing to display propaganda, by refusing to lie and by telling more of the truth…“from [such] small refusals larger and bolder actions followed.”

 

”Trust is destroyed by deception: destroying deception builds trust, and thereby a basis for rights and democracy.”

 

Some specifics of democracy

 

(Note that neither police nor military forces are essential elements of democracy.  They are essentials for a State – well, police are – but are not a part of what makes a democracy a democracy. Note also that although Athens in ancient Greece gave us the word democracy, the system would not qualify as a full democracy today.)

 

1. An agreed system of decision-making

2, Equal rights in voting and in connection with the law

3, Free and fair elections, held at regular intervals

4. A professional bureaucracy

5. Separation of powers: an Independent Judiciary

6. Independent media

7. Separation of church, or mosque, or temple, from the State.

8. Independence of thought

9. An educated public

 

1. An agreed system for decision making

 

In small groups, decisions can be made “democratically” either by consensus – majority agreement of people in the group – or by unanimous agreement. In something as large as a country, it is impossibly unwieldy to make decisions this way, with the fairly rare exception of a referendum, in which citizens are asked to vote on one or two specific questions.  (And even in a referendum, only those with the right to vote can, well, vote… So children, for example, have no say.)

 

A system of government is called a democracy where the people who make decisions about what the laws of the country will be, and other matters to do with how the country is to be run, have been elected to do so, or chosen to do so by those who have themselves been elected and given the task of choosing. Thus, a relatively small number of people make certain decisions for the rest of the population.

 

In a democracy, the government rules with the freely-given consent of the governed, as determined by regular elections which are free and fair. (See item 3, below.)

 

2, Equal rights in voting and in connection with the law

 

All people in a democracy have these equal rights, whether it be the right to vote when a person becomes an adult, and enrols to vote, or equal rights before the law; meaning that wealth or social position do not – or rather, should not -protect a person from prosecution for crime. Minorities are protected against persecution at the hands of the majority. But – as discussed under the heading of “Trust,” above – “rights,” even if proclaimed, do not exist unless there are persons and institutions which protect those rights.

 

3. Free and fair elections, held at regular intervals

 

There are many conditions that must be fulfilled for elections to be free and fair:

 

 

• An agreed system as to who is a citizen and entitled to vote, and to receive whatever benefits citizens receive. Commonly, citizenship of a country is conferred by being born in the particular country, though the right to vote does not come into effect until the person becomes an adult. (See 2, above.) Sometimes citizenship is conferred by marriage. Foreigners may apply for citizenship under certain circumstances. These are matters for a country’s Constitution or some other law.

 

• A system of registering those who are entitled to vote. Generally, this means citizens who have reached adulthood, however defined.  (For example, 18 years or 21 years.)

 

• No discrimination against women being able to vote or to stand for election.

 

• Sufficient polling stations so that everyone who is entitled to vote is fairly easily able to reach a polling station on election day.

 

• No coercion – with one exception, discussed below. If the system of government is corrupt, some people may be prevented from registering to vote, even though by law they are entitled to do so, or they may be prevented from voting, though registered, by not being allowed into the polling station, or by being falsely declared to not be on the electoral roll. Or they may be coerced to voting for one particular person or party. (See “Secrecy”, below.)

 

Citizens must be free to set up political parties, whose members are free to put themselves up for election. It must also be possible for people to stand for election as individuals, who are not members of any particular party.

 

The one exception to the “no coercion” rule that I recommend is that voting in elections be compulsory. It may well be that it is only in long-established democracies that not everyone takes the right to vote as a duty to vote.  Perhaps if they were prevented from voting they would realise what a precious thing the vote is. However, it is unlikely that the Burmese would take the right to vote lightly.

 

• Secrecy as to who a person has voted for. Elections are not free and fair if a person is subject to threats when they turn up to vote, to try to force them to vote for a particular candidate. This is a danger when who one has voted for is not secret.  (It is a curious aspect of parliamentary democracy that how a parliamentarian has voted in parliament is NOT secret. This is part of the process of being ‘accountable’ to the people who have voted for the member of parliament: it makes public whether the person is acting in accordance with the undertakings they made before being elected, and/or it reveals something about the MP that may or may not influence how electors vote in the next election.)

 

In a democracy, no-one has the right to demand who a person has voted for, nor should it be possible to identify whose ballot paper is whose. Ballot papers must not have any marks on them which allow them to be identified as a vote by a particular person. 

 

• Simple, unambiguous rules, agreed to by all political parties and Independents, as to what constitutes a valid vote – that is, one that can be counted.  In the US Presidential election of 2000, faulty voting equipment produced some ambiguous ballot papers. It is ironic that “high tech” systems of registering a vote are not suitable. Simple pencil and paper are best.

 

• Protection of ballot papers against theft or interference. A non-corrupt police force or other form of security service to prevent interference with or theft of ballot boxes is essential. In some countries, ballot boxes are “lost,” or stolen, or they mysteriously materialise, filled with votes for – usually – the governing party.

 

(I have been told that in Burma one of two things is likely to happen: those not intending to vote for government proposals are told to go home; or, when the voting is over, ballot papers in the “no” (black) box are simply removed and put in the :yes” (white) box.  In other words, marks are not made on ballot papers to indicate a :for” or “against” vote, and are therefore easily manipulated to favour the government.)

 

It should be clear from the foregoing that free and fair elections require, in addition to a police force that is not corrupt, an Electoral Commission of the highest integrity, independent of interference, pressure or threats from the government or anyone else.

 

• Elections at regular intervals. It’s not a democracy if, once elected – however democratically – a government stays in power simply by refusing to hold any more elections. It is a matter of debate what the ideal “term” of government should be.  In Australian Federal (whole of nation) elections, the term is not fixed (held on a regular date), but is for a maximum of three years.  In the Australian State of New South Wales, the term is fixed, and is for four years.  The “term” for British general elections is five years, US Presidential elections, four years, and so on.

 

Too short a term means politicians spend too much time trying to make themselves popular so they will be re-elected next time, and not enough time on getting on with the job. Too long a term means that if the electorate has “got it wrong” and elected an incompetent, corrupt or downright disagreeable government, it can seem a very long time before the chance of getting rid of it comes around. Besides, the longer a government with authoritarian or corrupt tendencies remains in power, the more it is likely to try to pass laws that will make it difficult for it to be voted out at the next election. One of Australia’s states was burdened with such a government some years ago.  In such a situation, the remaining institutions of democracy have to work flat out to protect the citizenry.

 

A common fault of elected governments, whether the term is long or short, is that they have a tendency to avoid tackling vital and often difficult issues that will take more than one term to start to show results.  Wanting, above all else, to be re-elected, governments have a tendency to stick to shorter time-frame issues, hoping the electorate will reward them with re-election. This is where “leadership” is needed in government.

 

Who is there, to make sure regular elections are held? It can be put into legislation, or be a matter of convention, but if a government has become so corrupt that it has to be forced to hold an election, it may not be possible to do so.  This paradox is easily explained: It is respect for the conventions of democracy that makes a government obey the conventions. In rare cases where, in a country with a person in a higher position than the elected government, the government is dismissed by that person, it is a tribute to the respect which all parties hold for the institutions of democracy if such an act does not lead to the outbreak of civil war.

 

It all comes down to trust, as stated at the beginning. A coup is an illegal way of getting rid of a government, and indicates a total breakdown in the conventions of democracy. Of course, if there was no democracy in the first place, a coup might be thought of as a “necessary evil” to get rid of a bad government. But taking part in a coup is not a good foundation on which to build democracy. Violence corrupts even good intentions.

 

Continuing the list of democracy essentials…

 

4. A professional bureaucracy. Few words in English are uttered with more scorn than “bureaucracy” or “bureaucrat.”  But the words are simply derived from the French word for “office.”  The bureaucracy – or “Public Service” or “Civil Service” consists of all the people who do the work of administration that is required as a consequence of having a government at all.  Governments come and go – well, they do in a democracy – but the bureaucracy goes on, as an institution. A professional bureaucracy is one where officials are recruited according to their education and/or experience and capacity. The “Heads of Departments” are people who have either “risen through the ranks,” or been recruited because of their specialist expertise.

Governments appoint Ministers to be “in charge” of various departments of the Civil Service.  It is the job of the Minister to see that the department carries out its work in accordance with the policies of the current government.  This does NOT, or SHOULD NOT mean that Department officials blindly accept the directives of government Ministers without discussion, as circumstances require. If bureaucrats are afraid to offer advice, or to provide information not in line with a government’s ideologically-driven agenda, it is not healthy for a democracy. Democracy is, paradoxically, the frailest, yet strongest of political institutions. It is hard work.

(An ideologically-driven agenda is one where the government – or anyone else – develops a theory (or catches it, like a disease) about the nature of reality or about how things should be run (the economy, for instance), and is not swayed by any argument or evidence to the contrary. Where once the word “bureaucracy” would have implied endless pieces of paper tied up in “red tape” – that is, excessive rules and regulations for how something must be done, it now – to my mind – has the connotation of a closed-off group, convinced that it, and only it, has the knowledge required for whatever is in question.  This is a consequence of the “managerial” revolution in the west, leading to the reign of “experts.”  Everyone else – that is, the public – is shut out, and buried under shovel loads of waffle. This is not good for democracy: it leads to cynicism.)

Public servants must be paid enough so as not to be tempted to demand bribes for doing, without fear or favour, the work they are supposed to do.

 

5. Separation of powers: an Independent Judiciary

 

“Separation of Powers” means that neither the institution which proposes the laws (most of them,) nor the institution which passes the laws (makes the proposals into laws) should be the institution which applies and interprets the laws. The names for these institutions are the Executive (government), the Legislature (parliament), and the Judiciary (the system of solicitors, barristers, and law courts.)

 

Why should laws need interpreting in the first place? Anyway, who better to interpret them than those who made them? Can’t laws be written in such a way that there is absolutely no ambiguity?  The short answer is, “no,” or “rarely.”  Language is not pure mathematics. Words embody all sorts of meanings, derived from history and culture.  Even in an activity involving quantities and measurements, such as engineering, and building construction, quantities and measurements require qualification: how much deviation either way is to be permitted? Two millimetres?  More, less? These deviations are called “tolerances.”  At least the permitted deviations can be described in words. But what about the tools for measuring the deviations?  How precisely accurate do they have to be, or can they be?

 

Little wonder that something described solely in words can be subject to disputation. If the institution which made the laws was also the one to interpret them, it is conceivable, even probable, that laws would be interpreted in such a way that certain defendants – those who do not support the government – would be found guilty, and that others – those who do support the government – would be found not guilty. (This will sound familiar to anyone with knowledge of the Burmese legal system.) In fact, those who do support the government may not even be charged with breaking the law in the first place. The same goes for the application of laws. The Judiciary must be independent from the Executive (the government)

 

Probably the most important law of all concerns proof. What constitutes proof that a particular person has committed the crime with which they have been charged? There is more than one system of law, as between, say, the United  Kingdom and France.

 

An independent judiciary or legal system is one in which lawyers and judges apply the law without interference from a government telling them how they should do so.  Usually there is also a system of “appeal” to a higher court, if either the defence in a case, or the prosecution, does not accept the decision of the lower court – that is, does not accept that justice has been done – providing there are legal grounds which permit such an appeal. But note: having a system of higher courts does not itself ensure that justice will be done – not if “justice” has any meaning of “fairness” attached to it.  For example, Muslim judges may decide against a Christian defendant, simply because the person is not – or does not want to be – Muslim. (Such a case occurred recently in Indonesia.)

 

(See two articles on the Rule of Law, in the folder, “Legal system and issues”)

 

6. An Independent Media

 

If the only news outlets allowed in a country are those run by the government or which unfailingly support the government, the truth about government mistakes or misdeeds will not be able to be made widely known.  If nothing bad about a government is ever published, the government can claim that people have no reason to protest about anything. (It also helps if such a government has passed laws which prohibit protest.)

 

Not only will nothing unfavourable about the country’s government be allowed to be published; it is also probable that nothing good will be will be published or broadcast about foreign countries. If news about foreign countries is allowed to be published or broadcast at all, it is likely to be about something trivial, bizarre, grotesque, or a natural disaster.

 

7. Separation of pagoda, church, mosque, or temple, from the State

 

This means that the government, which is elected by the citizens of a country, is not under the direction or control of any particular religious institution.  It does not mean that members of the government are not allowed to be “religious”.  The religious “establishment” is not elected or chosen by the people, and so can’t be voted either in or out by them.

 

A second point is that the “separation of church and state” means that religious minorities are less likely to be persecuted by religious majorities.  There are enough examples of countries where there is not a separation of church and state, or where there is a constant struggle to impose the spiritual directives of one particular religion on the citizens, to not have to go into detail. 

 

Superstition

 

Burma’s generals are said to be extremely superstitious. In the private lives of individuals not holding positions of power and responsibility, a little superstition may not do any harm – to the rest of the population, at any rate – but in the interests of public safety, good health, prosperity, equity, etc., decisions should be made on the basis of evidence, experience, common sense, knowledge, and ethics, not superstition.  We are entitled to ask deities or the Deity for help or guidance from time to time, primarily as a means of comfort, but that’s all. In World War II the Americans had a saying, “Praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition,” indicating a sound grasp of what was effective, under the circumstances. We are here on earth, God or the Gods are not. (Well, if they are, they are keeping quiet about it.) It’s up to us. (Where does this leave the Nats? They are part of the culture of Burma, and therefore are not to be mocked.  But, presumably, the Nats do not require human suffering in order to be kept in a good mood.)

 

8.Independence of thought, defined thus: An ability and willingness to challenge the statements, decisions and actions of authority; not with a view to overthrowing authority or creating social chaos, but in order to measure the statements, decisions and actions against a moral and philosophical code of “right thought, right conduct,” etc., or against reality as experienced, or by the standards of scientific proof.  Independence of thought also entails an openness to challenging one’s own beliefs, or to changing one’s mind, in the light of observation, experience, or discussion with others or consideration of what others have written about a subject.

 

“Developed” or “advanced” countries are not immune to a peculiar and very dangerous form of superstition: that which is known in French as the “idée fixe,” and in English as “a bee in one’s bonnet;” in other words, ideology. The western world has endured since the 1980s something called “economic rationalism,” meaning, briefly, the belief (superstition) that something called “the Market” will take care of every human need according to human demand, and that all government has to do is make things easier for “the market” to operate.  This ideology is responsible for the dismantling and “privatisation” of many public institutions and services.

 

Fear or unwillingness to question authority, an acceptance of its right to rule, and others’ duty to obey, is one of the props that maintains the rule of the military regime in Burma. 

 

Yet the regime has demonstrated, again and again, that it is not worthy of such respect.  It has defiled the most respected elements of Burmese society – the monkhood, and has no regard for the well-being of the people of Burma, other than its own members, cronies, and stooges – to use a word of which the regime is fond.

 

In the west, questioning of authority becomes more and more difficult with the culture of “the expert,” referred to earlier. I argue that, ideally, an educated, informed, and involved public can and should keep a critical eye on government.  However, the culture of “the expert” and the ideology that only “stakeholders” or “players” have any right to question or be involved in discussion, closes out citizens from participation. (See item 4, above: A Professional Bureaucracy.)

 

In different cultures, respect may be accorded certain persons because of age, gender, occupation, wealth, social class or ancestry. These “traditional” forms of respect, if I can call them that, are not the same in every case, and can be restrictive from the point of view of some recipients.  (For example, women may be “respected” only if they dress and behave in certain ways, and do not go out alone or in the company of a man who is not a relative or their husband.) On the other hand, respect for wealth or social position can lead to injustice against the lowly or the poor.

 

I argue for a sort of general respect for all people, as manifested by kindly and compassionate behaviour towards them; politeness, consideration and honest treatment. It’s just another form of trust.

 

In summary

 

Democracy requires that the government of a country rule the country for the benefit of all its citizens, and, where there are conflicts, as there always will be, managing the conflicts so that no side feels so aggrieved that they take matters into their own hands.

 

Regular elections are a necessary but not sufficient part of what constitutes democracy. If only certain parties are allowed to form and to put up their members for election, this does not constitute a democracy but a “one party state” – that is, without the possibility of change at an election.   

 

A system of “checks and balances” is necessary to prevent democracies sliding into dictatorships or oligarchies. Part of this system of checks and balances is the “Separation of powers”: an Executive, Legislature and Judiciary that are independent of one another. All three must be separate from and independent of the religious establishment.

 

A professional civil service, whose members continue to serve under successive governments, regardless of what party or coalition of parties wins elections, and whose members are not “politicised” is essential.  A civil service (public service bureaucracy) is “politicised” when its members, from juniors to the top bureaucrats, are afraid to freely express opinions and give advice based on the facts as they see them, to their superiors or their political “masters,” (i.e., the government).

 

Conclusion

 

As mentioned in “Burma Regime Transition Strategy, Part Two,”  Burma doesn’t have to re-invent the wheel, when it comes to democracy.

What the rest of the world’s democracies can do is point out the advantages and disadvantages of their own systems.

 

Burma can choose what looks as though it would work best for Burma.

 

There will be drawbacks in any system. This is to be expected, rather than feared. No system is perfect. Democracy, parliaments, etc., are human institutions. One thing is essential, though, and I rather fancifully express it by saying that democracy needs “deep soil.”

 

ANALYSIS

Volume 9, Number 3

THE NATIONAL BUREAU OF ASIAN RESEARCH

(Note: see separate document “footnotes”)

 

DEMOCRACY IN BURMA:

 

THE LESSONS OF HISTORY

 

Mary P. Callahan

 

This essay offers a historical analysis of political and socioeconomic developments in Burma over the past fifty years and delineates the obstacles to democratic development in the country. The author argues that the failure of democracy in Burma should be attributed not only to the actions of the military regime, but also to decades-old political and socio-economic conditions, which include: (1) an inadequate basis for federalism in a multi-ethnic society; (2) a crisis in state capacity to govern, rooted in the fragmented nature of society; and (3) an institutional intolerance for dissent on the part of pro-democracy and authoritarian organizations. Under British rule, Burma was never fully integrated nor adequately controlled by a central government. As a result, political leaders after independence have found it difficult to govern regions with large ethnic minorities. The military emerged as the sole institution that was capable of consolidating widespread authority, as the army had been repeatedly deployed to enforce martial law or establish military administration during times of domestic crisis. The United States has sought to punish the current military regime in Burma by suspending economic aid, activating an arms embargo, and blocking international assistance. U.S. policy has been supported by a bipartisan coalition of human rights organizations, members

of Congress, allies in the European Union, and expatriate Burmese. The author argues, however, that U.S. policy must address the obstacles to sustainable democratic rule in the country instead of focusing exclusively on deposing the military regime. A careful reading of events in Burma since 1948 generates sobering warnings about the complicated and deep historical roots of Burma’s contemporary troubles. The author asserts that these warnings must be heeded if U.S. pro-democracy policies are to be effective.

 

Introduction

 

In keeping with a national commitment to the promotion of democracy worldwide, contemporary U.S. policy punishes the military regime in Burma for its unrepentantly authoritarian practices that have continued since its brutal crackdown on a nationwide pro-democracy movement in 1988. In May 1997 President Clinton banned new investment in Burma by U.S. citizens, and renewed the ban in December. These moves complemented earlier American measures, which included the suspension of economic aid, the imposition of an arms embargo, a blockade against international humanitarian and financial aid, and a ban on U.S. visas for senior government leaders and their families. The results? Satisfaction from a broad, bipartisan coalition of expatriate Burmese, human rights groups, members of the U.S. Congress, and allies in the European Union. All agree the Burmese junta has to go. Within Burma, these moves have drawn praise from Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, daughter of the martyred national hero, Aung San, and leader of the present opposition party, the National League for Democracy (NLD). Suu Kyi hoped that the ban on U.S. investment would produce economic hardship that would force junta leaders to begin negotiating with the NLD for a transition to democratic rule. The regime, however, has neither faced such hardship nor capitulated, mainly because Asian investors have filled the void where U.S. investors might have competed. Instead, the junta appears unconcerned in its recharged, reorganized structure, the State Peace and Development Committee (SPDC), established in mid-November 1997.

 

Since the establishment of the SPDC’s predecessor, the State Law and Order Restoration Committee (SLORC) in 1988, U.S. policies toward Burma have failed to promote dialogue and democratic reform. This failure is not due to inappropriate intentions, but to an inadequate understanding of the barriers to reform that exist in Burma. To date, U.S. policy has held the military junta solely responsible for bottling up a transition to a more responsive, representative form of governance. The weakness of this position is that the junta is only part of the problem, albeit a big part. The real problem undermining U.S. and Burmese opposition party attempts to promote a transition to democracy in Burma lies in the decades-old political and socioeconomic structures that not only block meaningful political reform, but also undermine the authoritarian regime’s capacity to achieve its own goals.

This essay argues that the policymaking and scholarly community that is united in its commitment to democratize Burma and to dethrone the repressive military junta needs to rethink its assumptions about the obstacles to reform in Burma and to devise strategies based on realistic assessments of these barriers. Beyond the obvious anti-democratic measures taken by the military junta, three significant political and socioeconomic conditions stand in the way of establishing democratic governance in Burma: (1) an inadequate political basis for federalism in this multi-ethnic society; (2) a century-old crisis of state capacity rooted in the fragmented nature of society; and (3) an institutional intolerance for dissent that is found in authoritarian as well as democratic organizations.

In order to understand these three barriers, it is worth looking carefully at the ways in which they eroded the political institutions of Burma’s “democratic” era—the period of constitutionalism, civilian rule, and contested elections that lasted from 1948 until 1958, and from 1960 to 1962. In the 1950s, Burma’s political system was considered to be one of the most promising young democracies in the postcolonial world. However, a decade of constitutionalism and electoralism gave way to the first military coup d’etat in 1958 and then to the more enduring military takeover in 1962. Thereafter, military rule was enforced by the Burma Socialist Program Party (BSPP) until the party’s demise in 1988, and was reinvigorated by the military junta established in September of that year.

This essay does not argue that democracy was or is doomed in Burma, either in its 1950s incarnation or in the vision for the future advanced by reformers today. Instead, an analysis of the 1950s reveals systemic sources of instability for democratic governance that still exist today.

 

A careful reading of the 1950s generates sobering warnings about the complicated and deep historical roots of Burma’s contemporary troubles. These warnings must be heeded if U.S. prodemocracy policies are to have a more significant impact than they have had to date.

 

Historical Background

 

It is important to understand the historical and cultural conditions that led to the first democratic experiment and its failure in the 1950s. Burma shares land borders with Thailand, Laos,China, India, and Bangladesh and is the largest country in mainland Southeast Asia. Three north/south chains of mountains make east-west travel and communications difficult, although north/south travel is more accessible via river, road, or railroad. The inhabitants of this country, called the “Burmese,” include dozens of minority groups that are estimated to make up at least one third of the total population of 45 million. Burmans, who reside mainly in the central agricultural valleys and in the southern coastal and delta regions, are the largest ethnic group. Although an accurate census of the minority regions has not been attempted since 1931, most government and scholarly sources estimate that the ethnic makeup is as follows: 65 percent Burman,10 percent Shan, 7 percent Karen, 4 percent Rakhine, 3 percent Chinese, 2 percent Mon, 2 percent

Indian, along with small numbers of Assamese and Chin minority peoples. The official language of the state is Burmese (the language of the majority ethnic group), although otherlanguages such as Karen, Chin, Shan, and Kachin are spoken in ethnic minority regions.

Before the advent of British rule, the territory that came to be known as “Burma” had never been fully integrated or controlled by a single, central state. In the nineteenth century, Britainbegan a gradual, three-stage take-over of all territory that is now considered to be part of Burma.

The conquest was completed in 1886 when the last Burman king was deposed and Burma became a province of British India. The colonial regime divided the country into two administrative zones: the central area, called “Ministerial Burma,” was home to most of the ethnic Burmans, while the “Frontier Areas” (later known juridically as the “Excluded Areas”) were located along the newly drawn borders and were populated by other ethnic groups. The Frontier Areas were left largely untouched by the British rulers. In Ministerial Burma, the more intrusive, direct colonial rule sparked the emergence of a nationalist movement dominated by ethnic Burmans (the Dobama Asiayone) in the 1920s and 1930s that demanded independence from Britain. The agitation by nationalist leaders, including Aung San, along with the wartime collapse of the

British regime, eventually led to the granting of independence on January 4, 1948.

From independence until 1958, and again from 1960 to 1962, the Union of Burma experienced civilian rule with a parliamentary form of government. Former nationalist leader U Nu served as prime minister during most of this period. Political life was dominated by one party — the Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL). The early years of independence were characterized by a number of serious threats to the government’s survival. Domestically, the

government faced communist and separatist ethnic rebellions as well as army mutinies. External threats included incursions by the U.S.-backed Kuomintang into Burma, where they prepared to stage an assault to retake mainland China from the Chinese Communists. Due to AFPFL infighting that threatened to aggravate the insurgency and due to poor economic performance, the military (in Burmese, the tatmadaw) stepped in to govern as a caretaker government from 1958 to 1960, and then again more permanently in March 1962. Under the leadership of Commander- in-Chief General Ne Win, a Revolutionary Council of military officers was formed to replace the cabinet and parliament. The army-dominated Council suspended the 1947 constitution, established the Leninist-style Burma Socialist Program Party, and outlawed all other political parties. Under its Burmese Way to Socialism, the BSPP attempted to impose a central, command economy and to eliminate foreign control over business in Burma. In 1974 a new constitution was promulgated that provided for a highly centralized, civilian, single-party form of government. At the national, state, township, and village levels, government administration was greatly influenced by the BSPP, which stepped up its efforts to build a mass following across the country. Most leadership positions in the party and government came to be occupied by the same military officers who had held them before 1974, although they shed their ranks and their uniforms. As chairman of the State Council and party chairman,

General Ne Win continued his hold on power into the 1980s.

In September 1987, following a series of demonetization measures that devastated the economy and wiped out the savings of most Burmese people, student demonstrations erupted in Rangoon and continued sporadically into the following year. The police used harsh tactics to put down the demonstrations: in one incident 41 students suffocated to death in a police van.

Public outcry over the incident led to further demonstrations, some of which began attracting participants from other walks of life. This led to the convening of an extraordinary BSPP Congress in July, during which Ne Win and other officials resigned from the party leadership.

Nationwide demonstrations continued until September 18, when the army leadership cracked down on the demonstrations, took power directly, and established the State Law and Order Restoration Council under the chairmanship of an army commander and Ne Win follower, Senior General Saw Maung. As many as 10,000 were killed in the army crackdown.

SLORC suspended the 1974 constitution and abolished the presidency, State Council, Council of Ministers, and People’s Assembly. Under SLORC’s orders, the crack troops of the armed forces put an abrupt end to the popular pro-democracy demonstrations, killing thousands of unarmed civilians in the process. The SLORC distributed cabinet portfolios to senior military

officers, with Senior General Saw Maung assuming the responsibility of prime minister and defense minister. Saw Maung, who was replaced in an April 1992 palace coup by the SLORC vice-chair, General Than Shwe, had little education and no real power within the regime.

In its nine years of existence, SLORC made some progress toward reforming the autarkic, state-planned system into an internationally integrated, market-based economy. However, while SLORC’s economy posted better growth rates than the socialist economy of a decade earlier, there were few signs of market reforms. Among the results were the lining of relatively autonomous cabinet ministers’ coffers, the laundering of drug money into huge (but empty) real estate and tourism ventures, and the continuation of inflation rates that averaged between 20 and 30 percent annually.

It was probably this disastrous economic performance that led SLORC to reorganize its dysfunctional, bloated junta into the State Preservation and Development Council in November 1997. This move forced the most corrupt cabinet ministers out of office and replaced them with more junior military officers who will be less autonomous in their pursuit of market reforms and more subject

to control by the junta leadership. Most observers consider that Brigadier General Khin Nyunt, Secretary-1 of the SLORC/SPDC1 and head of the Directorate of Defense Services Intelligence, has been in charge of the regime; yet many are convinced that his long-time mentor—the aging General Ne Win—is in fact responsible for major policy decisions from his home along Inya Lake.

 

A Closer Look at Burma’s Democratic Era

 

From 1948 until 1962, the Burmese political system looked on paper like a model of democratic governance. The 1947 constitution provided, for example, that sovereignty resided “in the people”; ostensibly, all citizens were guaranteed equality of rights and opportunity, and freedom of expression, assembly, and association, as long as the exercise of these rights did not interfere with public order. Moreover, the constitution established a judiciary independent of the executive branch of government: this included a Supreme Court that would “issue directions in the nature of habeas corpus.”

The 1947 constitution established a federal framework to provide for minority rights in a majority-rule parliamentary system. A bicameral national legislature was inaugurated, guaranteeing

representation to minority ethnic groups in the Chamber of Nationalities.4 The constitution set forth a variety of solutions to the problem of local and regional authority in areas dominated by ethnic minorities. In the eastern regions where Shan peoples (10 percent of the national population) lived, all the traditional Shan principalities were amalgamated into one state, which was constitutionally guaranteed a right of secession after ten years. The elected fifty-member State Council was the chief executive authority under the 1974 constitution and constituted legislative authority in the Shan State, while in local areas, the hereditary Shan aristocracy — the sawbwas—were allowed to retain their traditional powers and authority. Likewise, the Kayah (also known as Karenni) principalities were reconstituted as a single state with

a similar secession guarantee. The Kachins were amalgamated into a state that was provided no secession rights: A nineteen-member state legislative council ran affairs at the state level,while local duwas (Kachin princes) and traditional headmen were reinstated as local administrators.

The Chin people, representing less than one percent of the Burmese population, were granted fewer rights and privileges, and their territory was labeled a “Special Division.” The status of the territorial authority over three other major ethnic groups—the Mons, Karens, and Arakanese, representing 2, 7, and 4 percent of the national population, respectively—was left open in the constitution to be decided after independence in January 1948.

In the early years of independence, these constitutional arrangements appeared to be establishing strong democratic roots in society. National-level parliamentary elections were held in

1947, 1951, 1956, and 1960. The Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League, the former wartime resistance organization that evolved into a political party, was victorious in the first three elections and accordingly formed AFPFL-dominated governments. In the 1960 election, former prime minister U Nu led his new Pyidaungsu (Union) Party to a decisive victory over the military-supported

Stable Faction of the collapsed AFPFL. Turnouts in these elections were often higher than 70 percent, and in accordance with Western expectations of electoral systems, losers vacated their offices and winners took over.

Furthermore, by the early 1950s another crucial element of democratic rule emerged in the form of a “loyal opposition.” Growing out of a faction that broke off from the AFPFL in 1950, the

National United Front (NUF) developed into a viable opposition party. In the 1956 election, it gained forty-seven seats to the Chamber of Deputies, including numerous seats previously considered “safe” by the AFPFL. In that election, the NUF polled more than 30 percent of the popular vote, as compared to 48 percent for the AFPFL.5 Beyond its electoral strength, the NUF also commanded extensive media attention and succeeded in organizing trade unions and peasant organizations outside of the AFPFL’s reach. Later, the two successor parties to the AFPFL that competed in the 1960 elections continued in the tradition of a loyal opposition as they worked within the provisions of the 1947 constitution. In many ways, the success of the NUF in the 1956 election and the election of U Nu over the military-backed candidate in 1960 represented clear steps forward on the paths toward institutionalizing a truly competitive parliamentary system.

 

Nationalists’ Intentions and Democratic Tensions

 

While these developments represented progress toward sustainable liberal democratic institutions and processes, the legacies of the colonial and wartime period gave a very different meaning to these constitutional provisions. For Burma’s young constitution-writers and political leaders in 1947, the overriding objective was not to establish a democracy but to get the colonial regime out of Burma once and for all. In fact, democracy advocates of the 1990s may be surprised that the word “democracy” does not appear anywhere in the 1947 constitution.

This was not an oversight by the first-time constitution writers who came together in 1947.

Although the constitution—written by U Chan Htoon and other lawyers trained in the colonial British system—had some provisions that were based on liberal democratic principles, the resulting document also reflected the influence of nationalist leader Aung San in its more socialist and anti-liberal provisions for the construction of a strong state. In actuality, the leaders of Burma

at independence had no interest in the promotion of liberal democracy.

It is helpful to remember that those who led Burma throughout the “democratic” 1950s came of age in student union politics associated with the nationalist movement in the 1930s. Their political program embraced the anti-imperialist, utopian socialist project, which they studied in the writings of Karl Marx, Vladimir Ilych Lenin, Joseph Stalin, George Bernard Shaw, and Sidney and Beatrice Webb. For the anti-colonial nationalists, democracy was the system of the colonizer, and as such represented that which Burma’s young leaders would fight to expel. The identification of democracy with imperialism grew particularly troublesome as the AFPFL united front began to splinter in the postwar period. In reaching a compromise with the British that prevented a violent anti-colonial revolution in 1947, Aung San and AFPFL leaders came under heavy pressure for giving too many concessions to the British imperialists and for writing what were perceived to be western-style institutions of governance into the 1947 constitution.

Hence, while the constitution appeared to guarantee equal rights and freedom of expression, in actuality it embodied a distrust of democracy. It placed far greater emphasis on the empowerment of the state to reduce the great economic disparities wrought by imperialism than on limiting state intrusions in individuals’ lives. To the degree that there was any support for democratic institutions such as elections, it was hoped that these processes could ensure the most equitable distribution of resources. In Aung San’s writings, for example, there is ambivalence regarding the global convergence in support of the democratic political institutions that emerged at the end of World War II. In one of his last public speeches, Aung San laid out his “Basis of Burmese Democracy,” which included the nationalization of the means of production, the provision of workers’ rights and social insurance, the establishment of the judicial system based “on popular conception,” and other components. For Aung San and many of his colleagues, regaining control over Burma’s wealth on behalf of the people of Burma—not the array of legal provisions that protect individuals in a Western-style democracy—was of paramount importance. “Only by building our economic system in such a way as to enable our country to get over capitalism in the quickest possible time can we attain a true democracy.”6

 

This anti-imperialist, anti-capitalist focus can be seen in Prime Minister U Nu’s introduction of the motion to adopt the 1947 constitution. He began his speech to the Constituent Assembly

by explaining “what Burma . . . will be”:

I might say, at once, that it will be Leftist. And a Leftist country is one in which the people working together to the best of their power and ability strive to convert the natural resources and the produce of the land . . . into consumer commodities to which everybody will be entitled according to his need. . . . [I]n such a country the aim of production is not profit for the few but comfort and the happiness of a full life for the many.7

Even earlier, the emphasis on the need to build a strong state and the disregard for the establishment of liberal democratic institutions was made particularly clear by Aung San, never a “liberal democrat.” He wrote: “What we want is a strong state administration as exemplified in Germany and Italy. There shall be only one nation, one state, one party, one leader. There shall be no parliamentary opposition, no nonsense of individualism.”8

In “democratic” Burma, the government routinely imprisoned critics . . . , suspended habeas corpus, shut down newspapers

and arrested their editors and publishers, banned novels . . . ,

and closed down fractious student unions.

 

Institutionalizing Unity and Uniformity

 

Throughout the early years following independence, concerns that individualism would undermine the nationalist project resulted in an emphasis not on the liberal democratic pursuit of difference and competition but instead on unity and uniformity. This emphasis had already led to the near collapse of the AFPFL and its government in 1947 and 1948 and later would spark widespread government and party repression of the free expression of dissenting opinions throughout the “democratic” era. Immediately after World War II, Aung San and the leadership of the AFPFL—which in 1945 was a united front of rather incompatible political parties, including Fabian socialists, communists, and conservative elements—were able to command uniformity and unity in the struggle to gain independence from the British regime. But in January 1947, when the British agreed to grant Burma independence the following year, each of the constituent parties in the united front began to press for its own vision of the future, and the AFPFL and the government

it had created unraveled. Having grown out of a highly decentralized resistance organization, where no dialogue and consensual processes were possible under wartime conditions, the AFPFL never developed any mechanisms to accommodate and resolve conflicting political views, visions, and objectives.

As the exigencies of rule led to the rightward drift of AFPFL leadership, the more left-leaning spokesmen of the rank-and-file majority of the League led their followers into rebellion against

the government.9 At least one-third of the army joined the Communist Party insurrection in 1948, as did the majority of the nationwide People’s Volunteer Organization, ostensibly a veterans’ affairs group but in reality the paramilitary wing of the AFPFL. In 1949, the Karen National Defense Organization revolted, prompting the defection of the Karen-dominated artillery units from the government’s army. By this time, important cities such as Mandalay, Maymyo, Prome, and even Insein (a suburb of Rangoon) had fallen to insurgent control. By the time Ne Win assumed his position as Supreme Commander in 1949, he commanded fewer than two thousand troops. At the time, most observers referred to the Government of the Union of Burma as “the Rangoon

Government,” reflecting the actual extent of territory that Prime Minister U Nu controlled.10

While what remained of the AFPFL and army leadership was able by 1952 to regain the upper hand in this civil war against their former colleagues, the experience institutionalized certain mechanisms that squashed public expressions of dissent. From the days leading up to independence, the leadership of the national front made its emphasis on unity and uniformity unconditional. For example, in his address to the AFPFL Convention in May 1947, Aung San ranked as top priority the purge of dissenters from the national front: “[The] AFPFL and affiliated people’s organizations should carry out a thorough cleansing process right through in order to be purged of rottenness in the blood.”11

 

As the civil war escalated, what little tolerance that existed for dissenting points of view soon evaporated. Throughout the first decade of independence, the U Nu government and the tatmadaw clamped down on any and all criticism of the shaky government by invoking emergency provisions and other legal devices. In “democratic” Burma, the government routinely imprisoned critics (at times for years before they were even brought to trial), suspended habeas corpus, shut down newspapers and arrested their editors and publishers, banned novels that “were deemed likely to cause disaffection against the Government,” and closed down fractious student unions.12 One of the more repressive tools, Section 5 of the 1947 Public Order (Preservation) Act, or PO(P)A, was strengthened soon after the outbreak of the civil war in order to allow local police to arrest possible rebels and detain them indefinitely, even without any significant evidence of criminal or treasonous acts. Over the next decade, PO(P)A was used by both national and local politicians and their followers to detain many opposition politicians. In fact, during the 1950s nearly every major opposition politician—including U Ba Pe, Thakin Ba Sein, and Thakin Lwin — was detained under Section 5 of the PO(P)A, some for more than two years without ever coming to trial. It is not surprising that many of the thousands of PO(P)A arrests occurred in the months leading up to the national elections of 1951, 1956, and 1960. As one newspaper editorial noted: “[P]olitical rivals, or just any cantankerous person who exercised his freedom to speak out against the AFPFL, have been arrested and held without trial.”13

 

This characterization of the use of Section 5 PO(P)A should not be taken to imply that the law was not used for its original purpose of containing the rebellion. However, even in that regard it was greatly abused. For example, a number of Karens were detained under Section 5 in January 1949 when the Karen insurrection broke out; all were held without trial, until June 1951, when the Supreme Court finally approved their habeas corpus application. [The Nation, July 10, 1951.] Additionally, newspapers also reported incidents in which police officers made arrests under Section 5 PO(P)A of individuals suspected of certain non-PO(P)A crimes when there was not enough evidence to arrest them for the crimes of which they were suspected. See, for example, the case of the Rangoon trishaw union leaders who were suspected of murdering the vice president of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce; there was not much evidence to link the trishaw union leaders to the murder, so the Rangoon police arrested them under Section 5. [The Nation, October 2, 1951.]

 

This is not to argue that the era of parliamentary rule in Burma was a total facade. Rather, because the particular unity-conscious focus of Burma’s young leaders came within the exigencies of a collapsing state, harsh methods of ensuring unity became normal practices of governance.

Over the long term, the obsession with unity and uniformity would impede the development of party and government institutions that could tolerate and process competition and difference in political ideas.

 

Governing Independent Burma

 

To pacify the countryside at the escalation of the insurrection, U Nu’s government revived the village and town militia that had fought in the anti-Japanese resistance during World War

II. Organized under local politicians loosely connected to the Socialist Party in the AFPFL, these units were armed with either homemade weapons or weapons abandoned by retreating British

and Japanese soldiers during the war. Called by various names (People’s Peace Guerrillas, Sitwundan, Pyusawhti), these units were not tied to a centrally based chain of command. They were formed in their home villages and rarely moved or saw action beyondvillage and town limits. Discipline was weak among many of these militia groups, and throughout the 1950s there were frequent reports of robbery, banditry, bribery, and murder committed by their members. Moreover, once formed to fight against the insurgents, these militias also became electoral tools of local political bosses, who deployed them during election campaigns to ensure victories for themselves or their followers.14 Consequently, throughout the 1950s, elections often were characterized by coercion and violence, with politically motivated murders not uncommon.

15 Although the government tried several times during the decade to disarm and demobilize these militia groups, as well as to bring the local political bosses under more central party control, its efforts never succeeded.

Already crippled by the flight of most of the senior civil servants in 1947 and 1948, the government unwittingly destroyed any possibility of building the strong central state of Aung San’s dreams by launching this highly decentralized campaign to salvage the AFPFL government in the first few years after independence.16 By relying on the decentralized forces of local politicians to fight off the very real threat to the government during 1948–1952, the Nu government revived and strengthened local power bases. Those bases continued throughout the 1950s to block central government efforts to obtain the economic resources and the cooperation from outside of Rangoon that were needed to finance the League’s ambitious socialist economic program.

Moreover, the areas near the British-drawn borders of Burma were even further beyond the “reach of the state.”17 Under British rule, for the first time ever these regions officially were delineated as parts of a territory called Burma. The British initially called these regions “frontier areas,” then later, “excluded” areas, and they were left largely untouched by the British rulers.

Authority rested in the hands of indigenous leaders of the Shans, Chins, Arakanese, and Kachins.

In February 1947, a complicated set of agreements was reached at the second Panglong Conference, which promised substantial local autonomy to the Shans and Kachins, while providing some constitutional measure of autonomy to the Chins. At the time, Aung San and AFPFL leaders were confident that the peoples of the minority regions would develop loyalty to the Union of Burma as the socialist economic development programs brought wealth, progress, and comfort. However, as the civil war derailed the AFPFL’s economic and social programs, the weakened government was too busy fighting off threats to Rangoon to worry about these regions, some of which launched separatist insurgencies.

 

State-building throughout Burma

 

The territory that comprises Burma has never been integrated in any politically or economically meaningful way. During the colonial period, residents of central Burma, including Burmans and Karens, had no reason or opportunity to visit the ethnic-minority, frontier areas. Those Burmans and Karens in government service or the military police were posted only in Burma proper; only British or Indian civil servants were deployed to the frontier, and even they were sent only on the rarest occasions. Ethnic minority residents of the frontier areas likewise made few journeys into central Burma. Unlike in central Burma, the British established no government schools in the frontier regions, and graduates of indigenous schools from these regions were not admitted to college or university in Burma proper (although the sons of some Shan princes were educated in England). As Martin Smith argues, throughout most of the colonial period, “the Frontier Areas remained largely forgotten” by the British and largely unknown for the Burmans.18

 

Although the 1947 constitution established institutions such as the Chamber of Nationalities in Rangoon that brought minority leaders into the capital on a regular basis, the only significant reverse traffic came under the auspices of the army. In the early years of independence, the military ordered its ethnic Burman troops out to distant minority-dominated regions to fight against communist insurgents. In 1952, U Nu also sent the army to the Shan state to displace some of the princes and set up an army administration when the U.S.-backed Kuomintang (KMT)—fleeing from the communists in China and also gearing up to retake China in the future — began moving deeper into Burma.19 Some Shan leaders perceived the tatmadaw intervention as an attack on their local power and later led armed, anti-Rangoon, separatist movements

that fought the government until the mid-1990s.

This move of army field and staff commanders into the administration of the frontier of Burma represented the first real—albeit unconscious—attempt at building state institutions that stretched beyond the central region. No state institution in either pre-colonial or colonial Burmese history had ever established centralized control throughout the territory enclosed by the borders drawn by the British in the nineteenth century. The construction of the loosely integrated federal system in the 1947 constitution was based on a dream that participation of national minorities in legislative politics in Rangoon would forge an overarching national identity.

In fact, since minority participation in the 1950s legislature was concentrated in the weaker of the two chambers, it probably did more to reinforce ethnic identification than it did to create a sense of shared purpose, identity, and future.

The significance of the tatmadaw being at the helm of this first-ever effort to extend authority to minority frontier areas cannot be overstated. When the AFPFL assumed power in 1948, there was little in the way of administrative personnel or resources left from the collapsed colonial regime.

After the insurrections in 1948 and 1949, there was even less. However, as the 1950s wore on, the army emerged among the three major national institutions as the only one capable of building nationwide structures of authority throughout the territory. In the early 1950s, the army became significantly more centralized and more institutionally capable of exerting influence over regions beyond the greater Rangoon area than either of the other two major national institutions — the ruling AFPFL and the bureaucracy. This point can be illustrated by the fact that by around 1954, the army was able to order locally recruited members of its field units to move to other parts of Burma and the War Office orders were followed with some degree of consistency. Neither the AFPFL nor the bureaucracy were able to do the same thing at any point from 1948 to 1962.

 

Evaluating the “Democratic” 1950s

 

Was the collapse of the “democratic,” parliamentary system inescapable? Although the parliamentary collapse was never preordained, it was, however, inevitable that the parliamentary structure of governance—as established by the hastily-written 1947 constitution—would have to be modified in the early years of independence. From the beginning there were incompatible tensions that could be glossed over in the somewhat rushed production of constitutional arrangements in 1947, but these problems could not be resolved in an enduring way without innovation, accommodation, and change. Most importantly, the patched-together constitutional “solutions” for the minority-dominated areas aggravated existing ethnic tensions by delaying any serious dialogue about how to harmonize never-before integrated portions of this territory into a functional nation-state. This was not a new problem: in fact, the more powerful colonial regime had never tried to do so, recognizing that Burma was not governable in the reaches of territory that stretched beyond the limited systems of roads, telegraph wires, and railroads.

Burma was even less governable in the early post-independence years, characterized as they were by civil war, economic decay, and political instability.

In assessing the 1950s, it is clear that democratic, parliamentary politics was not the problem that crashed the system. The problem was governability, and this problem was found not only in minority-dominated frontier areas but also in the regions where railroads and telegraphs could transport policies. Tax records indicate that the AFPFL regime never attained the level of collections of taxes on land, customs, and income that the British had obtained under laissez-faire, minimalist, colonial rule. What little in the way of state institutional capacity was bequeathed by the British to the AFPFL disintegrated in the chaotic early years of independence.

From 1947 to 1948, most senior civil servants resigned from office because of political differences with the incoming AFPFL leadership. The bureaucracy was decimated at all levels. Additionally, the government’s desperate devolution of power to local pocket armies at the outbreak of the civil war left all upcountry administration in the hands of political bosses, who frequently ignored and undermined requests from the Union government. In other words, there were very few skilled administrators, tools, or resources left for the Nu government to deploy to implement policy, collect taxes, or even just maintain the status quo.

Beyond Rangoon—and even within Rangoon—the state was decrepit. Set against the centuries- old centrifugal aspirations of the frontier area peoples, the Nu regime was in no position to start the state-building processes that would have been necessary to fulfill Aung San’s dream of winning the loyalty of the national minorities by distributing social resources fairly and justly to minorities and Burmans alike. In the throes of these turbulent conditions, Aung San’s oftquoted promise to the frontier people at the 1947 Panglong Conference, “If [central] Burma receives one kyat, you will also get one kyat,” was soon forgotten.

 

 

 

 

The Advent of Military Rule

 

The fact that the 1947 constitution needed revision did not make inevitable the arrival of strong, authoritarian rule under military leadership in postwar Burma. At independence, no one could have predicted that the tatmadaw would emerge from the chaos of mutinies, defections, and materiel losses in 1948 and 1949 as the powerful force that would dominate state and society for nearly four decades. In the throes of that chaos, there were few signs that the military leadership or anyone else could even envision such a future. The tatmadaw was but one of numerous armies that emerged at independence in 1948; many were illegal, anti-state armies, but there also were quasi-legal paramilitary squads maintained by cabinet members and other politicians in the Socialist party and the AFPFL. The “democratic era” was replete with challenges both to and within the tatmadaw and the state. Most challenges were backed by arms and violence.

In part, the tatmadaw developed the governing capabilities that made military rule possible at the request of its civilian rulers when the army was deployed to remote parts of Burma to fight communists and KMTs, to enforce martial law, or to establish military administration during internal crises. The military was alone among the state’s three major institutions—the others being the bureaucracy and the AFPFL—in consolidating some kind of authority that stretched to the borders. But the development of the Cold War also privileged the tatmadaw among these three institutions. Responding to the insecurity of Burma’s geographical and ideological position in the Cold War, the War Office, General Ne Win, and some field commanders bought arms on the world market and negotiated programs of military assistance with virtually no oversight by civilian politicians.20

In fact, the tatmadaw took a leading role in managing the impact of the world economy and of the Cold War confrontation in the 1950s. By the end of the decade, the army fully managed the impact of the world economy on the national economy through the import-export operations established under the Defense Services Institute.21 Its effectiveness and autonomy in doing so contrasted with the position of the ruling AFPFL, and suggests yet another early source of the army’s growing strength vis-à-vis other institutions within the postcolonial state. As weak civilian institutions came apart under the domestic and global pressures of the 1950s, the tatmadaw

was busy with what can only be seen in hindsight as state-building activities. During this period, the army extended the geographical “reach of the state” by creating a bureaucracy that ensured the implementation of central government policies in territory beyond the seat of government. 22 It must be noted, however, that there is no evidence that Ne Win or any other army leaders conspired from the outset to build an army capable of running the Burmese polity over the next several decades. That this happened was simply an unintended consequence of the turbulent 1950s.

 

Democracy: Past, Present, and Future

 

A careful analysis of postwar history demonstrates that the “democratic” 1950s does not hold the solutions for Burma in the 1990s and beyond. In fact, if anything, the decade provides some sobering warnings for pro-democratic forces inside and outside the country. In many ways, major political problems of the 1990s are the same ones faced by the parliamentary AFPFL government

in the 1950s (and arguably by the colonial regime prior to World War II). The most serious dilemmas today are the unworkable nature of federalism in this multi-ethnic society, the continued crisis of state capacity in a highly fragmented society, and the institutional intolerance for any form of dissent.

 

The Unworkable Nature of Federalism

 

There is a degree to which the assumptions that underlie the concept of Burma—that is, the delineation of a nation-state stretching across the territory bounded by the British-drawn borders— are impossible propositions. Given the financial and topographical barriers to integration, no state has ever even come close to the Weberian ideal of exerting authority throughout the territory. But beyond the non-integration of this territory, there are clear and recent historical barriers to the realization of this “Burma.” In the colonial period, frontier areas were deliberately kept separate from central administrative operations. Additionally, after Burman nationalists initially cooperated with the Japanese during World War II, British and U.S. special forces operating in border areas encouraged minority peoples to kill ethnic Burmans, and promised the minorities political independence from the Burmans in the postwar period.23 These two historical barriers contributed directly to the start of separatist movements in these regions in the 1950s and 1960s and reinforced the difficulties of developing any basis for establishing an integrated polity. As Martin Smith has observed: “Over the years, there have been few moments

of lasting reconciliation or compromise.”24

 

Some might argue that the recent cease-fire movement in ethnic war zones represents a step toward enduring reconciliation and compromise.25 However, these arrangements are nothing

more than temporary, ad hoc answers to complex, centuries-old structural problems. As many observers have noted, the cease-fires have broken down in a number of regions. Most importantly,

the agreements have provided ethnic groups with the authority to hold on to their arms, to police their own territory, and to use their former rebel armies as private security forces to protect both legal and illegal business operations. This authority, however, is due to run out when the junta’s hand-picked National Convention completes a new constitution. At that point, it is difficult to imagine that the SLORC/SPDC will be able to convince ethnic warlords to turn in their weapons peacefully.

 

 

In some respects, the junta’s ad hoc attempt at a kind of federal system that provides extensive local autonomy for minority groups along the border areas represents the most extreme concession of central control over Burmese territory in modern history, even more extreme than U Nu’s plans in 1962 to grant statehood to the Mons and Arakanese and to consider seriously Shan and Kayah efforts to exercise their secession rights.26 Moreover, former SLORC chairman

Senior General Saw Maung’s ill-conceived ethnic policy—that of dividing the dozen or so major national ethnic groups into what he claimed were 135 races—has apparently derailed preparation

of a constitution by the National Convention. According to one member of a Convention committee assigned to deal with the ethnic problem, “We have to accept the 135 races theory,

but now all 135 want their own states.”27

The difficulty of ensuring minority rights within a sovereign national state would not go away if a democratically-elected government were to take over the regime. It would be virtually impossible for a democratic government be able to collect taxes or implement social or economic policy in, for example, the Kokang region, where local elites are profiting greatly from being left alone by the Rangoon government. Without access to revenues generated by the extraction of resources such as gems and teak in the border areas, how would a democratic regime finance programs to alleviate the suffering of local populations throughout the frontier regions who are trying to find their way out of two generations of war? Some minority leaders currently question whether democratic leaders from central Burma would really commit national resources to development programs for the border areas. As one ethnic Pao leader told Martin Smith: “The issue of democracy is often put before ethnic nationality questions, but in our view it [the ethnic question] needs to come first.” 28 With the world focusing on Aung San Suu Kyi and her party, some minority leaders are justified in their worry that the needs of their people are not being considered, either by the National League for Democracy or by well-meaning

democratizers around the world.

 

The Dilemma of Ethnicity and Democracy in Comparative Perspective

 

From a comparative perspective, there are very few instances in which a postcolonial, multiethnic state has been able to democratize its political system at the same time that it builds

administrative, economic, and cultural linkages between geographically dispersed ethnic communities.

Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru may have engineered the most successful case of this combined project when he led India to significant progress in assuaging ethnic tensions.

However, that process also led to the Pakistan solution, which may still prove to have been the wrong answer for India. In fact, if Hindu nationalists seeking to convert India into a Hindu nation-state win power in the near future, India’s 110 million Muslims will no doubt react badly — with grave consequences for democracy.

Furthermore, as recent history in the former Soviet Union, Eastern Europe, and some African nations (such as Somalia) has shown, federal systems in which the state components are constitutionally defined largely by ethnicity, and in which the institutional, economic, and cultural linkages between ethnic majority and minority populations are minimal, frequently have not proven to be viable solutions to the problems of multi-ethnicity in a modern society. A federal constitution—such as the one envisioned by the NLD that would revisit the 1947 constitutional provisions or the SLORC/SPDC’s plan that would maintain the current range of ethnic

states while establishing new “self-administered areas” for smaller minorities (such as the Pao, Palaung, and Kokang in the Shan state) is not likely to produce a sustainable, integrated Burma.

For this kind of integration to take place, a future regime might need to try some of the tactics of consociationalism.29 It could, for example, provide for mutual veto in decision-making; education and mass media in minority languages; and army, university, and bureaucracy recruitment and promotion practices that favor previously excluded minorities.30 However, these kinds of policies face a major obstacle in Burma. Elsewhere, they have generally been successful in countries where there is either a ruling ethnic group (of either majority or minority status) that for some reason has been pressured to give up its privileged position and to commit

itself to proportionally fewer demands on national resources in the future (e.g., contemporary South Africa), or in societies where there is no clear single majority group (e.g., Lebanon from

1943–1975). Although it is difficult to measure, in the current environment it seems unlikely that ethnic Burmans—most of whom have never had access to reliable information about the plight of Karen, Kokang, Shan, or other minority groups and have developed little in the way of cross-ethnic empathy—will be content to give up university places, officer commissions, or other opportunities to members of other nationality groups.

 

Fragmentation and State Capacity

 

In terms of the second dilemma—state capacity—the SLORC/SPDC regime has developed to perhaps their highest form the tools of coercion and repression to maintain its hold over the government. However, the apparently unthreatened monopoly over guns and prisons that the regime needs to hold on to power does not translate into any kind of significant capacity or capability for what the SPDC considers its most pressing task: transforming Burma into a more modern, market-oriented, and productive society. In fact, many overseas investors have pulled their capital out of Burma because the junta’s nine-year track record has shown little real progress toward restructuring the agrarian economy into one that could support export-driven production.

Will a democratically-elected regime have any greater success in this arena?

From the experiences of other transitional societies that have attempted to concurrently liberalize their markets and democratize, it seems clear that these two processes often work at

odds with each other. Market reforms frequently produce economic losers who become constituents for anti-democratic politicians. Not every member of society will be better off under a democratic or market system. Hence, the dislocations created in society can lead to a backlash that may be serious to a democratic regime at the helm of a weak state such as Burma.31

 

If the SLORC/SPDC does give way to a more open, representative kind of government, Burma will become what political scientist Atul Kohli calls a “low-income democracy.”32 Like India—the subject of Kohli’s analysis—Burma represents a “highly fragmented political society.”

In the Burmese case, this social fragmentation has been overcome in only two instances in history, during which charismatic leaders have built powerful, cross-class, cross-ethnicity coalitions.

This occurred first during the anti-Japanese resistance, when Aung San was able to bring together leftists, rightists, Burmans, Karens, peasants, and entrepreneurs to end the Japanese occupation. This united front was strong enough to end the occupation, but disintegrated upon taking office in 1948. Aung San’s dreams of building an integrated, prosperous, socialist Burma disappeared with the resignations of bureaucrats, the ascension of local political bosses to power, and the increasing alienation of ethnic minority peoples. The AFPFL leaders in the 1950s—like India’s Indira Gandhi in the 1970s and Rajiv Gandhi in the 1980s—never built territorially expansive party organizations or state institutions that could restructure social relations and implement the reforms necessary to build an integrated nation-state. Only the army managed to do

so in the 1950s.

The second instance in which social fragmentation was overcome by a united political organization came from 1988 to 1990, when Aung San Suu Kyi attracted a broad-ranging political following that crossed ethnic, class, and—at times—even military lines. Her vision, charisma, and leadership carried her party, the NLD, to an overwhelming victory in the 1990 parliamentary elections, despite attempts by the military regime to hamper party-building and campaign activities. The junta’s subsequent refusal to honor the election results, the arrests and flight of many successful opposition candidates, the five-year house arrest of Suu Kyi, and the numerous

restrictions on party activities over the last eight years have all but decimated the loosely organized, populist party that carried the electoral victory in 1990. Any transition of authority to the NLD at this point would place the party in the difficult position of having to run a “low income democracy” with little party organization to rely on.

While the NLD’s weakness may not lessen Suu Kyi’s popular appeal in future elections, it will certainly affect the ability of the resulting regime to govern. Suu Kyi’s visionary reform proposals, which echo her father’s concerns for providing for the welfare of all individuals in Burma, will require fairly major socioeconomic restructuring. However, as Kohli notes, in other cases where extremely popular leaders or parties take power with populist reform plans but with few established linkages to social forces, the governments never succeed in any significant way to bring about change. Such reforms require those prospering under the old system to commit resources to reforms that may undermine their future prosperity in favor of improving the lot of weaker groups in society. The dilemma for the low income democracy, according to Kohli, is that if the polity is organized as a democracy, coercion definitely cannot be the main currency that leaders utilize to influence socioeconomic change. Instead, positive and negative incentives,

persuasion, and selective use of laws backed by the threat of coercion—legitimate domination — take on an increased significance. Within a democracy, therefore, the capacity to initiate

major developmental changes from above comes to rest on a prior capacity of leaders to institutionalize ‘blocs of consensus,’ or to build majority coalitions to support a specific path of change. . . . [This] requires that the link between rulers and supporters, or between the political center and the social periphery, be durable. This durability is likely to exist if the relationship of leaders and supporters is institutionalized through such mechanisms as political parties.33

 

Institutionalizing Dissent

 

Finally, regarding the third dilemma—institutional intolerance for dissent—the four decades since the 1950s have not given Burma any real experience with political institutions that allow, accommodate, and incorporate dissent, dialogue, and difference. The current regime clearly is unwilling to risk reforms in this regard. Moreover, the opposition also exhibits characteristics that seem rather intolerant of and inimical to the development of democratic processes. For example, in January 1997, the opposition National League for Democracy expelled Than Tun and Thein Kyi, two elected members of the never-convened parliament, for insubordination when they refused to sign a mandate giving the NLD’s Central Executive Committee full power to act on behalf of the party. Than Tun and Thein Kyi claimed after the expulsion that their differences with party leaders were over whether to compromise in the process of bringing SLORC to the negotiating table. According to Than Tun: “We are trying to put up these different ideas and ways for the NLD to survive through these difficult times. . . . We must get dialogue first . . . the SLORC is ignoring us all the time. They [NLD leaders] want to stick to principles. To get compromise you must not always stick to principles.”34 Given the censorship of political information, it is difficult to know whether such actions are justified (i.e., if the NLD

had evidence that the two members were SLORC plants, as some diplomats have suggested), representative, or taken out of context. However, anti-government student groups and political parties over the last nine years have shown a distinct tendency either to expel purveyors of minority views (who then form their own party or group) or to fragment around leaders of uncompromising positions.35

Some might argue that intolerance for dissent suggests an immutable cultural flaw in the Burmese personality. Yet the 1950s were not a completely lost cause for democratic practices, institutions, and dissent. While in practice the elections, constitutionalism, and civilian rule had their flaws and proved untenable in the crises of the 1950s, Burmese culture did not impede the emergence of such promising developments as loyal opposition (even under great repression), an independent judiciary, and a mobilized electorate.

Instead, I would argue that there may be a more historically discrete factor that accounts for institutionalized intolerance across the generations of “democratic,” “socialist,” and the SPDC’s

Burma. Under colonial, parliamentary, socialist, and post-1988 military rule, conflicts over views, visions, and policies have always been framed as winner-take-all battles. As most national-level

leaders (including the NLD executive committee in early 1997) have conceived of themselves as fighters against an old regime or imperialism or authoritarianism, they have behaved as though

the only answer to conflict was to eliminate it. Accordingly, the only way to eliminate conflict was to enforce unity and solidarity. The future of Burma will continue to look bleak until its leaders develop organizational frameworks that manage and moderate conflict.

. . . the four decades since the 1950s have not given

Burma any real experience with political institutions that allow,

accommodate, and incorporate dissent, dialogue, and difference.

This last dilemma appears to paralyze leaders of contemporary Burma within and outside the government and to make the prospects of sustaining any kind of democratic reform very

doubtful. As political theorist Bonnie Honig recently noted, democracy cannot exist without contest and contestation and without differences in opinions, outlooks, dreams, and demands.

To take difference . . . seriously in democratic theory is to affirm the inescapability of conflict and the ineradicability of resistance to the political and moral projects of ordering subjects, institutions and values. Moreover, it requires that we recast the task of democratic theory, and move it beyond that of simply orchestrating multiple and conflicting group needs and toward a new responsiveness to that first task’s propensity to involve democratic cultures and institutions in violent and resentful dynamics of identity/difference. It is to give up on the dream of a place called home, a place free of power, conflict, and struggle, a place—an

identity, a form of life, a group vision—unmarked or unriven by difference . . . 36

Common to both the SLORC and the NLD is an overarching emphasis on unity and solidarity that is simply inimical to the development of institutional mechanisms that can accommodate the needs and demands of the broad range of social forces that exist throughout the country. This political debate could come right out of the debates of 1946 and 1947, during which Aung San was attempting to rally disunited forces to stand up to the British one more time for

the cause of independence: “We must take care that ‘United we stand’ not ‘United we fall.’[sic] . . . Unity is the foundation. Let this fact be engraved in your memory, ye who hearken to

me, and go ye to your appointed tasks with diligence.”37 As a means to independence, this unified show of force was probably critical in moving the British to grant independence. However,

unity became an end in itself, and in many ways, by virtue of historical habit, politics has never grown out of this phase.

 

Rethinking U.S Policy

 

If pro-democracy policies must be tailored “to the specific circumstances of each country,” as John Shattuck, U.S. Assistant Secretary of State for Democracy, Human Rights, and Labor, recently told Congress, then the historical legacies that have shaped Burma’s political system since independence must be addressed in any assessment of U.S. policy.38 The review of Burma’s experiment in democracy—from 1948 to 1958, and again from 1960 to 1962—has pointed to three systemic barriers to the development of democratic governance. These barriers weakened and ultimately contributed to the end of democracy in the 1950s, and would do the same again unless careful reforms are crafted to eliminate the structural problems. Some of those policies can only

come from Burmese government and opposition leaders. But in its single-minded focus on eliminating military rule and in its tendency to ignore long-term barriers to reform, U.S. policy probably impedes progress toward the establishment of sustainable democratic political institutions.

The first structural weakness identified was that of establishing a federal political system that could serve as the basis of an integrated “Burma” by granting concrete concessions and

rights to minority populations. This study suggests that ethnic Burman and minority leaders inside the country should look into consociational approaches to this kind of reform. Where the

United States might play a bigger role is through a more judicious allocation of pro-democracy assistance by the National Endowment for Democracy. Most of the more than $2 million in democracy assistance funds allocated to Burmese groups has gone to single-ethnicity, minority groups fighting the SLORC/SPDC; the NLD exiles who fled Burma after the 1988–1990 interlude; and the National Coalition for the Government of the Union of Burma, the government-in-exile formed by Dr. Sein Win and others who were elected to parliament in 1990 but forced to flee the country.39 To the degree that the United States has supported coalition-building across ethnic boundaries, it has been based purely on an anti-junta appeal. While each of these groups is doing important work, the NED grants show little emphasis on developing the kind of cross-ethnic empathy that will be necessary to forging a multi-ethnic, democratic state. Such programs should not be geared toward “Burmanizing” the minorities, but instead should attempt to raise

the level of understanding among majority Burmans and all the minorities about their fellow citizens’ respective plights. For example, it is significant that no grants have ever been requested

or awarded to establish a program to teach ethnic-majority Burmans to speak the languages of their fellow citizens of minority ethnicity, although a significant number of grants support the

publication of anti-SLORC/SPDC literature in the Burmese language. Without establishing concrete cross-ethnic linkages between minorities and between minority and majority ethnicities,

“Burma” remains and will remain in the future a fantasy, unrealizable by democratic and authoritarian rulers alike.

The second dilemma, that of the weakness of national-level institutions across a socially fragmented society, requires far more prudent policies on the part of the United States in the fostering of horizontal linkages among different fragments of the population of Burma. Certainly, there should be no attempt to do this by strengthening state capacity vis-à-vis society under the current regime. Hence, pro-democracy advocates should turn to the strengthening of civil society as a means to overcome the centuries-old cellurization of Burmese society.40 However, the diplomatic and economic repudiation of SLORC/SPDC has cost the United States the

opportunity to support the development of the kind of autonomous, associational life that has played a role in the transitions from authoritarian rule in other countries. Currently, U.S. democratic

assistance programs can finance the efforts only of expatriate and overseas groups, many of which have weak links to individuals or nascent associations inside Burma. These overseas groups may play a role in a future transition, but there is no guarantee that an expatriate movement’s overseas mobilization techniques and organizations will address the fragmentation inside Burma that has long made all varieties of governance difficult, and democratic governance— in particular—unsustainable.

Finally, in regard to the third dilemma, current U.S. policy reinforces historical intolerance toward dissenting opinions. U.S. policy aims primarily at dethroning SLORC/SPDC and in doing

so frames the debate over Burma around an unrealistic and politically dangerous dualism. This dualism pits the forces of good (Suu Kyi, the NLD, and the United States) against the forces of evil (the SLORC/SPDC and the military). This mirrors the SLORC/SPDC world view which simply reverses the line-up of forces. As in the 1950s, politics in this framework remains an all-or-nothing struggle. In comparative historical perspective, the problem with this formulation is that such a rigid structuring of politics is unlikely to facilitate reform, either in the case of the government or the opposition. If we examine the actual experiences that have led to the establishment of sustainable, responsive, representative systems of governance in other repressive political systems, transitions from authoritarian rule have occurred in two ways. In a few instances, a national catastrophe destroyed the existing political system, creating a historical rupture that allowed populist, democratic forces to rebuild the system in a more open, transparent, responsive way. An example of this route would be Argentina’s political liberalization following the military regime’s debacle in the Falklands-Malvinas war in 1982.41 Most successful transitions, however, have been “pacted” ones in which reform-minded leaders of the authoritarian system separated themselves from the hard-line authoritarians in the governing elite and began

cooperating with moderate pro-democratic reformers, who in turn abandoned earlier alliances with anti-regime radicals demanding the outright destruction of every leader and institution of the old regime.42

Unless democracy advocates are counting on a national catastrophe in Burma, the pro-democracy movement appears aimed not at democratization, but only at unseating SLORC/SPDC.

Demonization of the regime raises the costs of conciliation for all parties involved, as compromise can be interpreted only as capitulation in such an all-or-nothing environment. Upon Suu

Kyi’s release from house arrest, it was apparent that she realized the inefficacy of the good-vs.- evil framework when she preached conciliation and negotiation with the SLORC. At the time, she hoped to bring about reform without repeating the bloodshed of 1988’s national catastrophe.

However, the regime’s refusal to meet with her weakened her position within the opposition, as the more radically anti-junta members of the NLD leadership held up the failure at conciliation as evidence that the NLD would never be able to work with SLORC/SPDC.

SLORC’s closure of that window of opportunity for a peaceful transition appears to have led pro-reform forces to conclude that there is no hope for the junta to ever “pact” a transition or tolerate dissent, unless the United States and the international community forces it to do so.

However, there may be other ways to take a longer-term approach to lowering the costs of negotiation for the regime. If democracy advocates would abandon the good-vs.-evil framework

for interpreting the present situation, it might be possible to approach transition issues based on a better, more realistic understanding of the complexity of Burma’s barriers to democracy.

For example, democracy advocates need to recognize that the destruction of the apparently evil military may not be in the best interests of the Burmese population, a view concealed by the pro-democracy movement’s conflation of the politically oppressive junta with the 400,000- strong military. Reform advocates need to keep in mind that although there is no reason to maintain such bloated force levels in the future tatmadaw, no prospective Burmese regime — democratic or authoritarian—can forego reliance on a security force of some magnitude given the piracy, drug problems, and Chinese threat in the region. Moreover, the polarized nature of the debate has concealed the fact that the outright dissolution or massive demobilization of the tatmadaw is frankly not in the interests of most Burmese families. It is difficult to find a family in Burma today that does not rely on some member, distant or immediate, whose service in the armed forces provides the family with access to higher-quality rice, cheaper cooking oil, and

other necessities that they cannot afford on the inflationary market. The United States must keep these realities in mind and should take a longer term view toward the development of

democratic institutions that will improve the capacity to govern the country over the long term.

In this respect, the United States might support programs to educate Burmese opposition leaders and citizens about the role of militaries in other transitions to democracies, covering such

basic issues as demobilization and reintegration into society of former soldiers; the establishment of civilian control of the military; and rule of law. An opposition that shows a nuanced

understanding of these issues—rather than one that simply denounces the military en masse — can lower the costs of compromise for members of the junta who may be leaning toward reform.

 

Conclusion

At this point, U.S. policy sanctions the military regime for its anti-democratic behavior. To date, Congress has allocated more than $2 million to assist anti-junta groups outside of Burma in their efforts to fight the regime. Very little can be done with groups inside Burma because of the junta’s restrictions on opposition collaboration with foreigners and because of the very minimal

U.S. government presence in Burma. As currently configured, U.S. policy may help to bring down the SLORC/SPDC, but because it does not address the other decades-old obstacles to democratization, it is unlikely to advance the cause of sustainable, long-term democracy in the very difficult conditions that characterize Burma today.

While it is difficult to assess the effects of the ban on U.S. investment because of its relative recency and the unavailability of accurate economic data, it is possible to look back over the last

decade to determine whether the punitive policies of the United States in general have resulted in any major concessions by the junta. In fact, if we look at the major political concession that the

regime has made over the last nine years of military rule, the linkages to U.S. policy are tenuous.

It is possible that the decision to release Aung San Suu Kyi from house arrest in July 1995 may have been influenced by international diplomatic pressure; her release came three days before a hearing was scheduled in the U.S. Congress to debate economic sanctions against SLORC. However, this linkage cannot be overstated since the junta paid no attention when the United States demanded that SLORC begin meeting with NLD leaders to discuss reform, and upon its refusal, retaliated with the investment ban in 1997. This suggests that other factors were at work in 1995.

SLORC would never have heeded U.S. pressure to release Suu Kyi if it had not resolved a dangerous internal split the month before. In the first five years of junta rule, tensions mounted between

powerful regional commanders and the Rangoon-based leadership. Throughout the first half of 1995, SLORC struggled to curb the incipient warlordism of upcountry regional commanders. It finally managed in June 1995 to lure the most powerful commanders to Rangoon where they took on lucrative portfolios and where SLORC could tighten its control over them. Confidence in its hold on power—not fear of retaliation by foreign countries—led the junta to release Suu Kyi.

This is not to suggest that international pressure has not weakened the junta or moved it toward important changes. Disgruntled hotel operators boasting very high vacancy rates report that Aung San Suu Kyi’s call on the world to boycott Burma’s Year of the Tourist, which ran from late 1996 through 1997, accounts for the utter failure of the regime’s attempt to promote tourism as a first step toward generating capital for its market reforms. During one mid-evening journey around Rangoon in September 1997, I counted fewer than two dozen lights on in the hundreds of guest rooms at the Sedona and Traders’ hotels. It was no coincidence that the cabinet minister responsible for tourism was one of the first to go in the November 1997 cabinet reshuffle.

However, U.S. sanctions against SLORC/SPDC had nothing to do with this campaign and subsequent junta reform. In fact, the U.S. government’s pro-democracy, anti-junta policy failed to get any results in Burma. More importantly, because of its disregard for the lessons learned in other transitions from repressive regimes to sustainable, responsive, representative systems of governance, U.S. policy is probably counterproductive in its single-minded focus on destroying the junta. Unless the United States is counting on a national catastrophe, U.S. policy is very likely to result not in democratization, but only in the unseating of SLORC/SPDC. The latter may happen, but, unfortunately, only at the cost of the former. Policymakers should take a longer-term view and help to facilitate the development of democratic institutions that will have

the capacity to govern the country.

 

 

 

State Formation in the Shadow of the Raj:

Violence, Warfare and Politics in Colonial Burma

Mary P. CALLAHAN

Southeast Asian Studies, Vol. 39, No. 4, March 2002

“Normally, society is organized for life; the object

of Leviathan was to organise it for production.”

J.S. Furnivall [1939: 124]

 

[Compiler’s note: Material in this article was later used in Callahan’s “Making Enemies: War and state building in Burma” (2004). Callahan’s acknowledgements have been omitted here.]

 

Abstract

 

This article examines the construction of the colonial security apparatus in Burma, within the broader British colonial project in eastern Asia. During the colonial period, the state in Burma was built by default, as no one in London or India ever mapped out a strategy for establishing governance in this outpost. Instead of sending in legal, commercial or police experts to establish law and order—the preconditions of the all-important commerce— Britain sent the Indian Army, which faced an intensity and landscape of guerilla resistance never anticipated. Early forays into the establishment of law and order increasingly became based on conceptions of the population as enemies to be pacified, rather than subjects to be incorporated into or even ignored by the newly defined political entity. The character of armed administration in colonial Burma had a disproportionate impact on how that population came to be regarded, treated, legalized and made into subjects of the Raj. Administrative simplifications along territorial and racial lines resulted in political, economic, and social boundaries that continue to divide the country today. Bureaucratic and security mechanisms politicized violence along territorial and racial lines, creating “two Burmas” in the administrative and security arms of the state. Despite the “laissez-faire” proclamations of colonial state officials in Burma, this geographically and functionally limited state nonetheless established durable administrative structures that precluded any significant integration throughout the territory for a century to come.

This article explores the relationship among violence, warfare and politics in the colonial outpost of Burma, located geographically, administratively and politically deep in the shadow of Britain’s flagship colony, India. I argue that the process by which Britain built a modern state in Burma enshrined violence as the currency of politics. As in other societies, war and crisis in colonial Burma created institutions with staying power, and in this case

created relations between state and society that have been and continue to be what Charles Tilly [1990] calls, “coercion-intensive.” Hardly the product of any colonial plot or intention, the coercion-intensive institutions that have dominated governance throughout

the twentieth century were, as Florencia Mallon [1994: 69] suggests, “the products of previous conflicts and confrontations,” and were imbedded with “the sediments of earlier struggles.”

The exigencies of colonial warfare in Burma deposited the sediments of a coercion-intensive political relationship between state and society. In this article, I show how ad hoc colonial political arrangements hardened into durable institutions and practices. The process of adding Burma to colonial India in the nineteenth century was far from smooth, and engaged first the East India Company and then a succession of unimaginative governors- general in a particular variant of state-building that never paid for itself, never accommodated any local interests, and never hesitated to call in firepower when the profits of European firms were threatened. From the nineteenth century on, Burma was a territorial and administrative appendage to India, serving as a buffer zone between French Indo-China and India. As such, Burma was never a priority in British imperial policy. At best, the British built a “skinny” or minimalist state, aimed at letting commerce flourish (which it did) and paying for itself (which it never did) by taxation of land and some commerce.

Paying for itself required pacifying the Burmese population following the three Anglo-Burmese wars. The pacifiers—Indian Army soldiers—had no way to communicate with locals and little information about the terrain or the unexpectedly dangerous enemy, and soon came to see little distinction between new subjects of the Crown and new enemies of the Crown. To a large degree, pacification was never entirely accomplished, and

the skinny state was filled out with the coercive muscles of British and Indian army units.

The power and modernity of this unprecedentedly organized force was not lost on individuals and groups resisting the skinny state. Resisters created anti-state martial organizations that became the core of every major political movement and party in the waning

years of colonialism and the early years after independence.

This coercion-intensive state relationship with Burmese society did not remain static throughout the colonial period. However, changes in the missions, character and make-up of the colonial armed forces—as well as reforms of every other aspect of colonial governance— came out of negotiations and compromises between colonial officials and Indian nationalists in India proper, and not out of any attempts to create channels of input from significant social forces in the colonial province of Burma. In fact, colonial officials increasingly identified most political and social forces in Burma as criminal, even as the same colonial officials began to recognize the difficulty and futility of ruling the province in such a singlemindedly coercive manner. As state-society relations in post World War I India

became more inclusive and more open to conflict and compromise, the colonial regime began a 15-year process of severing Burma administratively from India because this was the one part of the colony where political reforms were unthinkable. The separation

process led to a reorganization of the security forces, which politicized violence along ethnic lines.

At no point in the colonial era did the British state-building enterprise in Burma carry out any of the negotiation and bargaining with social constituencies that proved crucial to the development of responsive, representative governing institutions in Europe, India and other parts of the world. When local populations threatened the order necessary for successful colonial commerce and authority, the state’s response rarely entailed any attempt to win the support of political allies or resource-providers within the populace. Instead, the British repressed, coerced, arrested, exiled and executed murderers and nationalists, robbers and monks, and cattle thieves and student strikers. The formation of modern, bureaucratic states in Burma, as in much of the colonial world, thus established what Crawford Young [1988: 5] calls “a command relationship [between state and] civil society, reflected in its laws, its routine, its mentalities, even its imagery.”

 

Transplanting the British-Indian Colonial State

 

In the nineteenth century, diplomatic tensions and commercial competition between France and Britain over the natural resources available in Southeast Asia and over the security of Britain’s flagship colony in India led to Britain’s three-stage, gradual takeover of all territory now considered part of “Burma.” In the three Anglo-Burmese wars of 1825–26, 1852, and 1885–86, British-Indian troops dispatched from Madras and Bengal defeated the armies of the increasingly weak Burmese kings of the Konbaung dynasty. None of these wars were waged with a coherent, expansionist vision of a future “British Burma,” and the state that was established by default in post-1886 Burma was simply an

appendage to the colonial regime in India. The Government of India paid the bills for the expensive battles in Burma, and its model of administration and the bureaucrats to run it were assembled in India and transported to Burma following the proclaimed victory of the Indian Army in 1886. The colonial state was never “built” per se; it was transported from India.

Unlike British colonies in Africa, state-building was never explicitly a military enterprise in Burma. There was never a Military Governor. Colonial administrators sailed over from the other three provinces of India, bringing along English-speaking, mostly civilian,

Indian clerks to staff the state. Unlike in Africa, there were no significant armed European competitors for control over Burmese territory; the British and Indian Army garrisons established after the final annexation were strictly instruments of internal security, rather than of foreign policy. In a sense, the British-Indian state hit Burmese territory running. It was comprised of a relatively professional, modern, tested bureaucracy, developed over a century of experience in India and well-suited to the needs of the

Bombay-Burma Trading Corporation and other powerful commercial interests seeking a rapid establishment of law and order and an expansion of business opportunities in resource-rich Burma.

After 1886, colonial rule brought to Burmese society unprecedented changes, most of which benefited British and other foreign commercial interests at the expense of the majority of indigenous peoples. Many historians point to Chief Commissioner Charles

Crosthwaite’s implantation of the Indian system of local administration in Burma as one of the most important causes of the destruction of the social and cultural fabric of late nineteenth

century Burma [Crosthwaite 1968 [1912]; Cady 1958; Furnivall 1956 [1948]; Hall 1968; Mya Sein 1938]. Crosthwaite’s Village Act was passed as an instrument of martial law during the pacification campaign (1886–90) in villages throughout Upper and Lower Burma. The Act broke up traditional local-level administrative organizations, which Crosthwaite saw as giving rise to banditry and organized resistance to British rule. The traditional, non-territorial ties of the indigenous social unit (called the myo) of central Burma were replaced by the Indian administrative and territorial unit of the village. The new village system led to a gradual but steady increase in centralization and government involvement in the daily lives of the indigenous people. As Furnivall [1956 [1948]: 40]

wrote, Even up to 1900 the people saw little of any Government officials, and very few ever caught more than a passing glimpse of a European official. By 1923 the Government was no longer remote

from the people but, through various departmental subordinates, touched on almost every aspect of private life.

If Furnivall is right, by the 1920s, the British had constructed a modern bureaucratic state in Burma. Along the way, a whole class of traditional local officials were eliminated, destroying centuries-old social ties at the myo level. In the process, state-building via the Village Act actually paved the way for a longer-term trend of lawlessness and disorder.

From the turn of the century onward, Burma became the most dangerous place in the empire, with Rangoon boasting the highest murder rates for any colonial city [Harvey 1946: 40]. While the destruction of local authority did not cause these increases in violent crime—which more probably resulted from the dislocations experienced with the intrusions of the modern capitalist economy in precapitalist, agrarian Burma—it nonetheless eliminated traditional social controls and curbs on lawlessness, which was the absolute

opposite of Crosthwaite’s intention.

 

 

Coercion and the State in British Burma

 

Reorganizing Burmese society “for production,” in Furnivall’s words, required from 1885 (and arguably, from 1826) all the way through to 1942 a form of governance that one historian likens to “martial law” [Trocki 1992: 120]. The political and combat roles played by units of the British Indian Army in the early years after the 1885–86 war institutionalized an unequal relationship between military and civil authorities—in favor of military authority—that would greatly influence the development of future military and civil institutions in Burma.

 

Resistance and Rebellion

 

This military-dominated set-up did not come out of any coherent British or British-Indian plans to build a state around coercion. In fact, the post-conquest role of British-Indian troops was never much considered by the civilian or military authorities plotting the conquest from India. While British-Indian forces faced little effective resistance from the Burmese king’s army in the final annexation, the British occupation of Upper Burma in late 1885 sparked disturbances throughout the region and triggered a new round of resistance, dacoity, brigandage and rebellion in Lower Burma. By mid-1886, “a truly formidable rebellion had enveloped the country,” and the Government of India deployed upwards

of 16,000 reinforcement troops to back up the original expeditionary force [Cady 1958:

129–130; see also Hailes 1967; Ni Ni Myint 1983; Woodman 1962; Wylly 1927]. Ten military outposts were set up throughout Upper Burma to attempt to control local resistance.

Although the resistance lacked any centralized leadership and was comprised largely of small rebel groups and a handful of locally-popular “pretender-kings” hoping to re-establish indigenous rule, the violence nonetheless spread through every district of Upper

Burma and most of Lower Burma. Historian Cady [1958: 133] notes, “In many plains villages of Burma practically every household had some male member fighting with a rebel gang.” A regimental history of the Third Gurkha Rifles, which served in the campaign,

blamed the expedition commander’s “error of judgment” in allowing “the disbandment of King Thebaw’s [sic] army. . . . [H]undreds of Burmese soldiery were allowed to disperse,

with their arms, all over the country” [Woodyatt n.d.: 50, italics mine].

At the outbreak of violence in December 1885, British-Indian troops shot anyone caught possessing arms or engaging in pillage; they also burned villages where they encountered any resistance and conducted public floggings of alleged rebels. Another Indian Army regimental history [Hennell 1985: 134] defended these harsh tactics, given the Indian Army’s lack of expertise in guerrilla warfare: In practically all engagements with the enemy we had to fight an invisible foe. The dacoits waylaid our troops as they came up the river in boats or by road marches, poured forth a heavy fire upon the advancing forces as they got within range. Not only was it difficult to locate the enemy in their hidden lairs, but our men laboured under the vast disadvantage of having to force their way through the close undergrowth of an unknown forest, whilst the enemy knew all the ins and outs of their tangled labyrinths and were able to keep concealed. . . . Our only means of punishment

was to burn these villages.

 

These ruthless tactics backfired on the British. Villagers responded to the repressive measures by banding together to attack military posts. Eventually, Gen. Prendergrast, commander of the British-Indian expeditionary force ordered an end to summary executions

and village burning. Later, the 10 military posts were expanded to 25; detachments patrolled actively between posts, breaking up larger bands of rebels into smaller units. By February 1887, 40,500 British and Indian troops were fighting in Burma, and in some

areas of Upper Burma, armed garrisons were established every 10 to 15 miles [Cady 1958: 125–137].

By 1890, British-Indian troops had extinguished much of the rebellion, breaking up most large bands of rebels and forcing pretender-kings into hiding. In Upper Burma, order was maintained by 30,000 troops and Indian police; another 5,300 were assigned to Lower Burma. The cost of the annexation and subsequent pacification campaign increased from the original estimate of 􀋊300,000 to 􀋊635,000 in 1885–86, to more than twice that

amount in 1888 [ibid.: 135–137].

As order was restored to most of Burma, the majority of Indian Army troops were sent back to India, martial law was lifted and a civilian administration took over in local and national affairs. However, both British and Indian Army troops were garrisoned in Burma throughout the first half of the twentieth century. In 1938, there were 10,365 army troops in Burma; of these 4,713 were British (led by 358 British officers), in addition to roughly 3,000 Indians and nearly 3,000 indigenous Karens, Chins and Kachins [Notes on the Land Forces].

 

Pacification and Internal Security

 

What did these soldiers do in Burma? Beginning with the pacification campaigns described above and continuing throughout the colonial period with the armed forces’ deployment to put down threats to commerce and order, the function of Indian and British army units was primarily internal security. As in other British colonies where early interaction between the populace and the military was coercive and repressive in nature, colonial security policies “left a deep rift in army-society interaction” [Frazer 1994: 59]. From the very beginning of the pacification campaigns, the first contact much of the population of rural central Burma had with the colonial state was with the 40,000 British-Indian Army troops in Burma. In those first years following annexation, Indian Army units also pressed Burmese villagers into service for public works projects, including building roads and railways.

Following the third pacification period in the 1890s, the reduced, peacetime contingent of the armed forces served in two roles: first, as territorial forces, defending the frontier areas which were considered the major strategic threat in the territory; and second, as a back-up to civil and military police charged with maintaining law and order in both the frontier and the central regions.

In terms of territorial defense of the frontier areas of Burma, the British Indian Army arrived in these regions as a pacification force, just as it had in the central regions. After the third Anglo-Burmese war, some Shan sawbwas (traditional leaders) acquiesced to British

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plans to establish indirect rule in the hilly northeastern regions. In exchange for retaining their local authority over law and order within their domains, the cooperating sawbwas granted British concerns free trade and commerce in their regions. However, local leaders in the Chin and Kachin hills organized fairly extensive resistance to British overtures in the aftermath of the 1885–86 war. Most local leaders in these regions had been nearly autonomous under the Konbaung state, aside from occasional demands for tribute; hence British intrusions were not appreciated. Eventually, the British were able to convince most Chin and Kachin leaders to accept British authority in return for a promise not to interfere with local politics and customs and not to undermine the local chiefs’ taxation powers with their subjects. When a few local leaders refused to grant British demands, the British Indian Army conducted punitive raids on those areas.

The army’s ongoing role in the internal affairs of the frontier regions was fairly minimal from the conclusion of the pacification period through the 1930s. As Taylor [1987: 160] argued:

During much of the British period, the central state’s authority in more remote areas amounted to little more than periodic “flag marches” in which the symbol of state supremacy was displayed and the promise of punishment for unruly behavior was made.

Occasionally, the British representative in a Shan state called upon British-Indian troops to put down a popular rebellion sparked by a tax increase or other repressive measure undertaken by one of the sawbwas. However, most of the colonial period was characterized by relative peace in the hill regions, and whatever conflicts arose between villages and tribes usually were resolved peacefully, given the threat of punishment by British-Indian troops. With the approach of World War II, the Shan states, in particular, emerged as a region of strategic threat in the colony. For centuries, these regions had been vulnerable to or even been the bases of invading armies that attacked the Irrawaddy basin. In the buildup of forces preceding the war, Britain developed a more extensive territorial defence of the hill regions, allowing Shan sawbwas to recruit their own military forces and deploying more than 10,000 other Frontier Force troops in the frontier areas.

Nonetheless, the significance of this expansion should not be overstated. It is important to note that throughout the colonial period and right up until the Japanese invasion, British officials did not perceive any imminent threat to the borders of Burma. Hence,

according to a 1938 Colonial Office assessment of the armed forces in Burma, “the primary role of the Army in Burma” throughout the colonial era was not border defense but instead “Internal Security” [Notes on the Land Forces]. As far as the British-Indian Army was concerned, Burma was never a strategic concern, and as such received little consideration in army policy reviews even after World War II had begun in Europe.

Responsibility for internal security in the central plains region was the main occupation of the military. Formally this responsibility was divided between police and military units, but the British were never able to establish a functional police force in Burma.

During the pacification campaign that followed the second Anglo-Burmese war, the British raised indigenous local police forces to maintain law and order in the villages and towns.

At first, British officials tried to identify a traditional village leader who could take over police duties and chose the kyedangyi, the largest taxpayer who traditionally assisted the thu-gyi (headman) with revenue collection and police responsibilities. In a typical British colonial practice, the kyedangyi was appointed as an unarmed and initially unpaid constable.

By the 1880s, the anti-British rebellions had undermined the legitimacy and authority that the kyedangyis had long held, and the British had great difficulties recruiting local police officers, despite their offers of attractive salaries. Nonetheless, the British managed

to reorganize local administrative units under Crosthwaite’s Village Act, and from about 1890 on, made the new state-appointed headmen of the amalgamated village units responsible for maintaining order. In fact, the annual reports of the colonial provincial government in Burma placed the summary of “village affairs” in the section headed, “police administration” [Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 75].

Later, the British gave up this police conscription system at the local level and tried to centralize law enforcement administration. The Deputy Commissioner of each district was assigned a District Superintendent of Police (DSP), about half of whom were British or

Indian, while the other half were mostly Anglo-Burmans and Karens from Lower Burma.

Under the DSP were locally-recruited town and village constables, most of whom were unarmed until the late 1930s when the administration authorized each village to hold two or three firearms to ward off bandits.

The Village Act and the increasing destruction of the rural agrarian economy created the conditions that led to Burma being “consistently the most criminal province in the empire” throughout the twentieth century colonial period [Christian 1942: 152]. The

British-Indian Government responded to this problem by authorizing frequent enlargements and reorganizations of the more centralized civilian police force. As Donnison [1953:42] noted: “The accepted treatment was to strengthen that part of the administration whose task it was to combat the criminal, but this cure proved to be no cure for the disease— it was scarcely a palliative.” Observed another former civil servant:

According to Harvey [1946: 38], “England and Wales, with 40 million people, have 140 murders a year; Burma, with only 15 million, had 900.

The population was growing rapidly, but crime grew more rapidly. Between 1900 and the outbreak of war in 1914 the population increased by about 15 percent, the number of police rose

from one for every 789 people to one for every 744, but crime increased by 26 percent. [Furnivall1956 [1948]: 139] In areas with higher-than-average crime rates, the civilian police were reinforced by “punitive police.” Under the Police Act, collective penalties were imposed over localities by quartering a unit of this Indian-dominated, armed police force, paid for by fees added to the land taxes of the local community. Still, crime rates continued to increase. From 1911 to 1921, the population increased by about 9 percent, but the increase of major crimes “ranged from 31 percent in the case of murder to 109 percent in the case of robbery and

dacoity” [Government of India 1920–21, quoted in Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 139].

The corruption of the “ill-educated, ill-paid policemen” became a favorite target for Burmese nationalist politicians in the early 1920s, in part because of the sorry state of the civilian police forces, but also because “of the political control exercised by the police” [Moscotti 1974: 37]. One of the first acts of the Legislative Council established under the new 1923 constitution was an attempt to clean up the civilian police force by increasing pay to qualified officers and terminating the contracts of corrupt, unqualified ones.

However, the attempt failed miserably when a subsequent increase in robbery and dacoity forced the reinstatement of the fired officers and the re-lowering of standards.

These failures to establish any kind of effective local policing established the pattern of order maintenance that exists to today: when local affairs get unruly, the state sends in the military. The ineffectiveness of the civilian police led to the deployment of units of the Indian and British army and the expansion of the Military Police in times of trouble. The Military Police were established in 1886 for use in the final pacification campaign and grew to nine battalions by 1935 [Prasad 1963: 42]. Unlike the civilian police with its indigenous recruits, the Military Police consisted of almost entirely of Indians, with British officers in command positions usually on secondment from the British or Indian armies. They were the only police force to carry firearms regularly in Burma. Christian

[1942: 161] describes these units as constituting something of a strike force, “serving as mobile, well-armed police for duty in case of racial disturbances, riots, disasters, and similar emergencies that cannot be dealt with by local authorities.” From about 1920 onward, every year there was at least one instance in which the armed forces and the military police were called out to put down communal, nationalist or labor uprisings. The most prominent of these disturbances—the Hsaya San peasant rebellion of 1930–32—led to the immediate deployment of military, supported by administrative units operated by civilian police. Reinforcement troops came from India, and by June 1931, the British governor had

sent in roughly 8,100 Indian and British army troops to fight the small, dispersed groups of unarmed peasants. [Furnivall derived his statistics from Government of India [1877–78; 1910–11; 1914–15].

Three months later, six more Indian battalions and one more British battalion arrived from India, bringing British military strength to more than 10,000.

[Compiler’s note: In converting this article from an Adobe PDF file, a “floating” piece of text was found. An appropriate point to insert it seems to be here: The official history of the tatmadaw [Sitthamàin pyádaik (War History Museum) 1994: 44] has somewhat higher numbers: “In the fighting against Burmese rebels, the British used its infantry, cavalry, navy, artillery and other forces, bringing their strength to 50,000.” However, no primary sources are cited.]

 

Additionally, levies of Karens were raised and armed to fight against Burman rebel bands in the Delta [Cady 1958: 316].

Hence, beginning with the pacification campaign of 1885–90 onward, the coercive organizations of the colonial state played a significant role in reorganizing Burmese society for production for the world market. British colonial definitions of “crime” and “internal security” brought charged murderers, cattle thieves, robbers, rebels, Buddhist monks, labor organizers and starving, scavenging peasants into a legal system that treated them all similarly, and for the first time ever as enemies of the state. Facing these enemies, the colonial state relied extensively on the armed forces and police to control nearly all forms of criminal and political behavior throughout the colonial period. Even though widespread

nationalist-oriented political mobilization did not occur until the 1920s, the population of Burma had had extensive experience with the military arm of the colonial state beginning in 1886, with the frequent deployment of armed force in combating colonially defined crime. One of the “residues of the colonial state” [Young 1988: 28] which shaped postcolonial state-society relations is this prominent role of the military—vis-a-vis other state institutions—in controlling individual and social behavior.

Clearly, armed force played a significant role in the governance of colonial Burma.

The British state, which has long been characterized as “laissez-faire” in its organization of Burmese society for production, did not hesitate to employ coercion when there was any perception of a threat to British commerce and authority.􀌐􀊣The “laissez-faire” response of the colonial state to the enormous social and economic dislocations that came with the intrusion of the world economy and the commercialization of agriculture in Burma was to attempt to arrest and coerce the victims of these processes. This was undoubtedly a skinny state, barely capable of keeping the trains running and collecting enough land revenue to pay its police. Beyond the main lines of communication in the central region, this state barely existed. But where it did, it had big muscles. The slightest challenge to tenuous colonial order provoked automatic deployments of armed force, establishing a coercion-intensive

relationship between armed force and the state, and between the state and society, that carried over into the postcolonial period.

Furnivall’s [1956 [1948]] characterization of the “laissez-faire” nature of the British colonial state in Burma has never really been challenged. It is beyond the scope of this article to analyze the full nature of state-society relations in the colonial era, but simply looking at the state’s lack of welfare policy—as Furnivall does—misses the more “hands-on” approach taken to issues of social and crime control. It is hard to understand how a state that destroys a centuries-old traditional social system, imports more than 300,000 coolies from India to serve as laborers, and maintains law and order by resort to armed force in most situations can be characterized

as “laissez-faire.”

 

The Armed Forces in British Burma: Indigenous Participation

 

There were variations in the nature of this command relationship between the state and the population over time and territory, most notably in the regions where the British accommodated some of the demands of traditional rulers in the frontier regions. State-building

in colonial Burma, however, never followed the European-style state-building pattern of contestation, negotiation, accommodation and compromise between state officials and social forces. Nonetheless, the most enduring changes in state-building and the deployment of coercion in Burma came as a result of contestation and accommodation carried out by colonial officials and nationalists in India. The colonial organization of Burmese society for production, extraction and trade underwent two major institutional modifications under British rule that were outcomes of changes in governance in India.

From 1885 until 1923, Burma was designated a province of India, added to the existing three provinces, Madras, Bengal and Bombay. Notably, prior to the arrival of the British, most of the territory of modern Burma had never come under the rule of any sovereign based in India. After the three Anglo-Burmese wars, all major decisions about the new province were made or had to be approved by the Governor-General of India [Taylor 1974: 94].

The first change in this administrative set-up came after World War I, when Britain began planning for India’s eventual transition to self-government. London’s shift in policy came at least partially out of wartime pledges for greater political autonomy by British officials eager to entice India to provide more troops for the British war effort. However, the impossibility of Burma’s membership in a future independent Indian federation loomed large in the minds of colonial officials and Indian nationalists. Britain began formulating plans to treat Burma differently from the more “advanced” India.

Accordingly, on January 1, 1923, Burma became a full Governor’s Province under a new dyarchy constitution. The Governor of Burma was given a Legislative Council with a majority of seats to be filled by election; additionally, local administrative bodies were to

be partially democratized. Most importantly, as Robert Taylor [ibid.: 90] points out, Burma became a distinct entity in British policy from this time forward:

 All of the major decisions regarding Burma from the 1820’s to 1920 were made in Calcutta or New Delhi, not London. It was the decision in 1918 [implemented in 1923] not to extend . . . reforms [granted India] to the province of Burma that first caused His Majesty’s Government in London to take an active part in shaping Burma. After this event it is possible to write about “British policy” toward Burma.

The separation of Burma from India was aimed at freeing up India from the “Burma problem”

British interests tried to do whatever it took to move their flagship colony, India, toward Dominion status within the Commonwealth [Taylor 1974: 90–94].

The separation of Burma from India was completed in 1935, when another new constitution was enacted (effective in 1937) providing for a distinct, separate colony of Burma for the first time ever. It survived only four years.

What was significant about the two sets of reforms emanating from India was that the character of the armed forces gradually became a political issue in Burma just as Burma emerged as a distinct juridical and administrative entity in British policy. As Burma was

extricated and eventually separated from India, British officials and Burmese nationalist politicians realized that the government would not be able to depend forever on the troops of the Indian Army to keep order. By the early 1920s, leaders of the Indian National

Congress were agitating to bring all overseas units of the Indian Army back to India proper, where they would be used only for defense of Indian territory rather than in the service of the British Empire.

It is important to note that the availability of the Indian Army for internal and external security purposes in Burma first came into question at the same time Burmese nationalists began criticizing British policies that excluded ethnic majority Burmans from the

Indian Army. Although some piecemeal reforms were put into place to modify this exclusion at the time of the 1923 constitutional changes, colonial officials never seriously addressed the issue until separation was declared in 1935. According to former civil servant,

F.S.V. Donnison [1953: 96–97]:

It was not until after the separation of Burma from India [in 1937] had actually taken place that serious consideration was given to the problems of building up a separate Burmese army. . . . A self governing Burma would be overwhelmingly Burman, with 12 million true Burmans as against 4 million minority peoples. The majority race would be unrepresented in the military forces of the new state.

This issue of non-enrollment of indigenous Burmese in the armed forces in Burma actually needs to be broken down into two considerations. First, relative to British practices in the other administrative units of India—which was the reference point for indigenous peoples in Burma—participation by all indigenous groups in the armed forces in Burma was extremely low. Second, an examination of the development of British policy on non-recruitment of ethnic-majority Burmans throughout the colonial period will show that this practice was something of a historical accident—rather than a coherently thought-out policy—resulting from the timing of the annexation of Burma and the particular stage of development of the Indian armed forces. In existing historical analyses, the practice of excluding ethnic majority Burmans has long been characterized as a classic example of British divide et impera. [“divide and rule.”]

This is basically the argument of all postcolonial “official histories.” See Sitthamàin pyádaik (War History Museum) [1994] and Myanmà thamain (Myanmar Historical Commission) [1990]; and Ba Than [1962: 2]. It is true that most of the British-recruited indigenous levies were members of ethnic minorities with some basis for hostility toward the ethnic-majority Burman race, and in fact they dominated the armed forces on the eve of World War II.

However, the recruitment of ethnic minorities did not begin in earnest until World War I, and the absence of any significant numbers of indigenous troops of any ethnicity before 1914 is at least as important in the development of military institutions as the absence of ethnic-majority Burman troops from 1914–42. At various points in the nineteenth century, British Army and civilian officials considered recruiting indigenous peoples to fight alongside the Indian troops. In 1824, the Government of India authorized British-Indian troops to raise a levy of Arakanese to fight the Burmese king’s forces in the first Anglo-Burmese War. As early as 1833, Mons were recruited as soldiers to defend Tenasserim, although the British policy that the Mons be paid less than members of Indian units posted there made recruitment nearly impossible, and the unit languished, being formally disbanded in 1849. When the second Anglo- Burmese War broke out in 1852, the question of recruiting local troops was reopened.

Commissioner Arthur Phayre was authorized to raise a light infantry regiment in Pegu comprised at least in part of Burmans; but in 1861, when the threat of war with the Burmese king had diminished, the Pegu Light Infantry and the Arakan Levy were converted into unarmed civilian police [Sitthamàin pyádaik (War History Museum) 1994:

20–22; Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 178–184]. Over the next three decades, further attempts were made to enlist Karens, perhaps because of the increasing success of the American Baptist missionaries in converting Karens to Christianity and teaching them English. By 1880, the Karen contingent of the levies had grown, accounting for about three-quarters of the two indigenous companies. At the outbreak of widespread violence throughout Upper and Lower Burma after the third Anglo-Burmese War, the American Baptist missionaries successfully lobbied British officials to recruit more Karens as auxiliaries to put down the rebellion; they were disbanded at the end of martial law. In 1891, a Karen Military Police battalion was formed, but problems of discipline led to the dissolution of the unit. The few Karens who were allowed to continue service were distributed among the remaining battalions, which were predominantly Indian [Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 180–181].

By the outbreak of World War I, the number of indigenous members of the army and military police in Burma was probably no more than 300; the indigenous population in 1911 was 12 million [Government of India 1911]. While most observers looked back on the early exclusion of ethnic majority Burmans as the source of great political tensions in the later colonial period, these data suggest that what is more significant about colonial army recruitment is the absence of any appreciable indigenous representation whatsoever in the armed forces. Recruitment policy and practices were not functioning on the basis of a divide-and-rule principle; instead there was no recruitment of indigenous Burmese of any ethnicity.

Because this non-recruitment of any indigenous peoples was especially stark in comparison with the British recruitment of local men into the army in India, one must look for an explanation of why the British did not consider this to be an important issue until the

World War I era. The explanation is rather obvious when one considers the make-up of the forces garrisoned in Burma. After more than a century of development from the earliest guards of the East India Company to battalions “of sepoys, drilled, disciplined and clothed on western lines,” the Indian Army was “accustomed to European officers, under European officers accustomed to Indian ways” [Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 178–181]. Each time the Government of India decided to raise indigenous forces in Burma, it was because a Burma-based British official had made an appeal to do so based on the projected cost savings of not having to send Indian troops to Burma once indigenous troops could be trained to take over external and internal security functions. In most of the cases, the units were disbanded due to higher-than-expected costs vis-a-vis the availability of cheaper, English-speaking, already-trained Indian forces.

 

 

 

 

The Armed Forces in British Burma: Divide-and-Rule

 

Recruiting for the new, World-War-I-era units followed the 20-year-old Indian Army practice of establishing single-race or single-“class” units.􀌓􀊣When the end of the war came, the Government of India reduced its armed forces throughout all its provinces to a peacetime skeleton. Hence, in Burma, as in the rest of India, recruitment was halted for all army and military police units and many of the units formed during the war were disbanded. In Burma, top on the list of units to go were the various Burman-only companies and battalions, easily identifiable given the practice of establishing “class”-specific units.

Furnivall argues that this policy to exclude Burmans came out of British concerns about arming and training Burmans who someday might be swept up in the growing anti-colonial nationalist movement [ibid.: 178–184]. The Indian Army policy of raising class-specific battalions and companies had been established in the wake of the devastating mutiny in 1857, and was similarly designed to contain political and racial tensions; in India, this recruiting policy enabled the British to keep the “politically conscious classes” out of the army [Prasad 1956: 84]. The British had been surprised by the nationwide show of strength in the 1920 Students’ Strike in Burma, and there is no doubt that concerns about Burman nationalism led to the policy of formally banning Burmans from the armed

forces.

By the time of the 1931 census, the impact of the non-recruitment policy was clear

Table 1

Ethnic Composition of the Armed Forces in Burma, 1931

Ethnic Group	No. in Army	Proportion of Army	Proportion of Population
Burman	472	12.30 %	75.11%
Karen	1,448	37.74 %	9.34
Chin	868	22.62	2.38%
Kachin	881	22.96	1.05%
Others	168	4.38	12.12
Total                  3,837                  100                     100

 

Cohen [1990: 35–45] details the policy debate that went on in the aftermath of the 1857 Mutiny over the shift from territorially-based recruitment to the new system based on race and caste, adopted in 1892. The British used the term “class” to refer to one particular ethnic group or caste recruited into the army; hence this system came to be known as “class” recruitment, and the resulting units were called “class” regiments and “class” battalions. Representing roughly 13 percent of the population, the Karen, Kachin and Chin ethnic groups accounted for 83 percent of the indigenous portion of the armed forces in Burma in 1931. Clearly the policy to exclude Burmans—who comprised 75 percent of the population, but only about 12 percent of the indigenous armed forces—was successful. The indigenous contingent of the armed forces in Burma was 10 times larger than it was on the eve of World War I, but the 3,000 new spaces created in the interim provided little access to the ethnic-majority Burmans.

The 1920s policy to dismiss and effectively to ban Burmans from the army came along just as the second generation of the nationalist movement was coming of age. Although nationalist politicians were more concerned with expanding higher education opportunities

and indigenous (and especially ethnic Burman) representation on the Legislative Council, “[t]he belief was in the minds of Burmans that British policy to dismiss Burmans from the armed forces [deliberately] segregated the races” [Myanmà thamàin 1990: 46].

Ethnic tensions had been on the rise since the early part of the century, and increasing Burman resentment of Indian moneylenders, landlords, tenants and laborers led to bloody explosions of anti-Indian emotion during the 1920 strike, as well as later in 1924 and

1931. Although various factions of the nationalist movement competed with each other for popular support and disagreed over a number of contentious issues, all were united in their opposition to the occupation of Burmese territory by foreign “mercenary” (i.e., Indian) troops.

Additionally, the Dobama Asiayone (usually translated “Our Burma Association” or “Our Burmese Association”),􀌔􀊣founded in 1930 in the aftermath of four days of Indo- Burman rioting in Rangoon and moving gradually to the forefront of the nationalist campaign,

developed a new target of anti-colonial, nationalist fervor: the indigenous (non- Indian and non-Chinese) ethnic groups that collaborated with the British imperialists. The dobama’s early successes in popular mobilization came in its campaign aimed at repudiating foreign influences in language, clothing and literature and at affirming the traditions of indigenous Burmese language and clothing.􀌕􀊣This campaign was not aimed against the British colonial officials or Indian mercenaries, but instead targeted the indigenous people who collaborated with the British, took English names, wore English clothes, ate English food, and served the interests of the British. Kei Nemoto argues that the Dobama Asiayone began defining “Our Burma” in opposition to thudo-bama (their Burma) and the thudo were these collaborators who did not love their own country, cherish their own literature or respect their own language [Nemoto 2000]. Dobama writers criticized Karen troops for their participation in putting down the Hsaya San peasant rebellion of 1930–32, the 1936 student strike and the 1938 general strike. These deployments were considered evidence of collaboration on the part of Karen and other minority troops and of British attempts to divide and rule Burma.

 

Political Pocket Armies

 

With no opportunity to obtain military training in the armed forces, the Burman-majority nationalist political organizations began considering how to prepare for the possible use of armed force in their efforts to attain independence from Britain. By the mid-1930s, every major nationalist or religious organization had established its own tat or “army.”

According to U Maung Maung, the idea for this kind of organization was initially discussed in the Young Men’s Buddhist Association (one of the early nationalist organizations) a decade earlier, “but usually the promoters became ambitious and made requests to the government to open Burman military units to serve in the defence of Burma” [Maung Maung 1980: 76]. The first “tat” was founded in 1930 by U Maung Gyee, a conservative politician who was a former Legislative Council member for education and later (1940)

 

 

The dobama’s song became—in slightly different versions—the national anthem during the Japanese Occupation and at independence in 1948. The following are the original lyrics of the

song:

[Burmese script not downloaded]

Burma is our country,

Burmese literature is our literature,

Burmese language is our language,

Love our country,

Award [or praise] our literature,

Respect our language.

From Daw Khin Kyi [1988b: 1]. The above is my translation of the song.

“Tat” is translated as “armed forces,” “troops,” “military,” or “group of people assembled for collective action.” These groups are often referred to in English-language histories as “volunteer

corps,” which was the translation proffered by some of the 1930s politicians in order to camouflage their activities. I prefer to use “tat” throughout because none of the concepts in English translation carry the same range of ambiguity between “a group assembled for collective action” (with no connotation of violence) and “armed forces.”

 

became the first indigenous Defence Councillor. U Maung Gyee’s “Ye-tat” (“Brave” or “Daring” tat) was established to organize and give youths basic military and physical training for the nationalist movement, and units were formed both in major urban areas

and in small towns upcountry. In 1935 and 1936, two prominent groups of young, university- affiliated nationalists also formed cadet corps to provide paramilitary training: first, the Dobama Asiayone established the Burma Letyone (Strength) Tat, and then the university students’ union established the Thanmani (Steel) Tat. Additionally, older politicians like U Saw and Dr. Ba Maw established their own armies, called the Galon Tat and the Dahma (hewing knife) Tat, respectively. Religious organizations also established tats. Prominent Hindus in Rangoon founded the Aryan Veer Dal to coordinate efforts of Hindu Volunteer Corps. In Mandalay, the Thathana Alingyaung (Light of Religion) Tat was formed in June

1940 by followers of Premier U Pu [Taylor 1974: 188–189].

What is strange about the tats is that the British allowed them to exist at all. The British colonial government not only allowed these tats to function, but the Governor of Burma actually reviewed Ye-Tat parades on two different occasions. According to British law, none of these tats could carry firearms, but they nonetheless carried out extensive military drills and war exercises with bamboo staffs. Often wearing uniforms and strutting publicly in formation, these tats provided “protection” at nationalist political demonstrations, workers’ and peasant strikes and elections. Some modeled themselves explicitly and proudly after Hitler’s Brown Shirts, and while their numbers as a proportion of the general population were probably not very large, they nonetheless became a prominent feature of public life. They were particularly visible at National Day celebrations (held on the anniversary of the 1920 students’ strike), leading parades in Rangoon and Mandalay, as well as in towns like Pakkoku, Shwebo, Myingyan, and Yenangyaung.

Although they carried no firearms in public, their military nature should not have been difficult for the British to discern. Nonetheless, at no point in the prewar period were

Burmese nationalists ever arrested for their participation in these tats even though the

 

The galon is a mythical bird; the “Galons” was the name of Hsaya San’s forces during the peasant uprising of 1931–32. U Saw was one of the attorneys who defended Hsaya San, and was trying to remind the Burmese population of his association with the martyred hero.

Robert Taylor’s [1974: 189] analyses of British “Monthly Intelligence Summaries” on Burma in 1940–41 reveals that there were 743 “total live units” of “volunteer corps” operating in Burma in June 1941. Taylor notes that some of these “never got beyond the ‘paper’ stage” and many units were not active.

It is important to note that the fascination with the Hitler’s fascist ideology and practice was based on a fairly superficial understanding of it. These nationalists were trying to figure out how to fight an extremely powerful imperial apparatus, and the idea of mobilizing the masses in the cause of independence—as Hitler had done in the cause of national socialism—was quite appealing. Maung Maung [1980: 256] reports that the Galon Tat of U Saw was particularly inflammatory. He cites an article in U Saw’s newspaper, The Sun, on 28 May 1938, in which U Saw proclaimed he would build his army to a strength of 100,000, and it would be made available to Britain in the coming war in return for a promise of independence. He also published a column in The Sun throughout the month of July 1938 listing the names of youths who had joined the Galons in different towns throughout Burma. Taylor [1974: 189–191] reports that U Saw called himself “commander-in-chief” and publicly announced his plans in 1938 to establish a Cadet Officers’ Training Institution; he tried unsuccessfully to purchase an airplane and seaplane for instructional purposes.

 

 

British Defence of Burma law and public order laws would have authorized such arrests.

In the immediate postwar period, Aung San defended the absorption of his anti-Japanese guerrillas into a political army called the People’s Volunteer Organization (PVO) against British criticisms by pointing out that “volunteer corps [like the PVO] existed in this country before the war and they had been allowed to exist without being a danger to established government or law and order” [Aung San 1993 [1972]: 121].

One possible explanation is that British tolerance of these tats probably arose from the characteristically imperial optimism that the tats would never turn against the British. To wit, British civil servant Leslie Glass discussed the formation of these tats in

his memoirs. Even with the benefit of 40 postcolonial years of hindsight, Glass still maintains the tats were no real threat: “anti-British feeling was not widespread,” he writes [Glass 1985: 131]. More significantly, the timing of the organization of the tats came during a window of opportunity for such anti-state forces to emerge under an otherwise repressive regime. After the Hsaya San rebellion, British policy makers began exploring in earnest the necessity for a full separation of Burma from India, and as Donnison [1953:99] noted, this was the point at which it became clear that Burmans eventually would have to be recruited for the armed forces of a separated Burma. Additionally, growing concerns about the threat of coming war in Europe were accompanied by concerns about the practical issues of how to recruit soldiers from throughout the empire for the war effort, as in World War I. Perhaps this was a time when the Burman-dominated nationalist tats could be tolerated, with the objective that they might be incorporated into the war effort in the long run. Taylor [1974: 188] argues that the British saw the tats “as a means of developing Burma’s capacity of self-defense at a time when the British felt that Burmans were

not fit for military service.” The incorporation of U Maung Gyee’s Ye-Tat into the British-organized Rangoon Defence Volunteer Force supports this proposition.

Regardless of the reasons the colonial state tolerated the tats, what is clear is that the organization of non- or anti-state tats—armed to varying degrees—had at least three important implications for the development of state institutions in Burma. First, these

party-affiliated tats found a space to operate under the powerful colonial regime. The space afforded to these nationalist party tats did not disappear in the early postcolonial era. The proclivity of party politicians throughout the twentieth century to form “private,” “pocket” or “party” armies are a direct result of the lessons learned by the tats of the 1930s. In fact, 1930s tats were active in the anti-Japanese underground in 1944–45 and in early postwar politics, since surviving intact well into the postwar era and led by the same prewar politicians.

Second, the tats further institutionalized the ethnically-demarcated boundaries between “collaborators” and “nationalists.” The colonial state had itself rejected most tat members for enrollment in any state armed force on ethnic grounds. By the late 1930s, after more than a decade of outright rejection of Burman recruitment and several years of operation of non-state armies (the tats), the identification of membership in the government’s armed forces with “collaboration” or thudo-bama yielded little chance that these

tats could be persuaded to cooperate with anyone comprising thudo-bama in the increasingly threatened security environment of Southeast Asia.

Third, it was in the organization of these tats that military terminology, institutions and symbols were Burmanized. Ranks, words of command, and marching songs were all translated into Burmese by leaders of the Ye-Tat and Letyone Tat. The 1936 constitution of the Letyone Tat—called “The Constitution of the Most Dependable Army of Burma”— included the first extensive consideration of military affairs written in Burmese during the

colonial period. One-hundred-fifty items spelled out regulations in Burmese regarding membership in the Letyone Tat, as well as discipline, ranks, officers’ perquisites, training, communication, and the relationship between the tat and the Dobama Asiayone [Khin Kyi 1988b: 113–147].

 

 

 

 

 

Too Little, Too Late

 

When the British finally implemented the full separation from India in 1937 and established for the first time ever the “Burma Command,” it was too late to try to build any kind of numerically significant, integrated army. By the time the ban against enrollment

of Burmans was lifted in 1935, there were few Burmans who could view military service as anything but “collaboration.” And the existence of the various tats which provided military training for a possible anti-colonial revolution meant that the Burmese and Burman nationalists—unlike their counterparts in India in the same years—did not seriously entertain schemes for infiltrating existing units of the British armed forces in Burma for later subversion or simply for the development of tactical and technical skills.

Hence, the creation of the British Burma Army on April 1, 1937, was anti-climactic.

Units of the Indian Army serving in Burma (including the four battalions of the 20^th Burma Rifles and detachments of Administrative Corps and Departments) and the Military Police were renamed and placed under the command of the Governor of Burma,

who served as Commander-in-Chief. The latter authorized a Burma Army strength of about 6,000 soldiers to serve under 500 officers, but most of the soldiers and officers came from renamed Indian Army units and few were recruited from the Burmese population. If

we break down this authorization and look at what Taylor [1974: 31] calls the “core” of the army—the regular forces—we see a minimal role for ethnic Burmans in the all-important infantry forces, which became the dominant service in the postwar army. Of the 22 officers and 715 indigenous other ranks in the Burma Rifles infantry battalion, 50 percent were Karen, 25 percent Chin and 25 percent Kachin; only 4 officers were Burmans (Table 2).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Table 2 Regulars of the Burma Army 1938

	British Officers	British Other Ranks	Burma Army Officers (indigenous)	Burma Army Others
Burma Company, sappers and miners	6	3	6	380
Battalion of the Burma Rifles	13	0	22	715
Animal Transport Coy., BASC	1	0	2	123 (tentative only)

 

Source: (Taylor, 1974: 31-32)

 

 

There was a plan to add a fifth company of Burma Rifles that would be all Burman, but the British never got around to raising it. Nearly all of the Sappers and Miners were Burman. In addition to this “core,” irregular units included an Auxiliary Force with a total of 81 officers and 1,784 other ranks active, and 1,353 other ranks in reserve; auxiliaries were all volunteers of European descent, including British, Anglo-Burmans or Anglo- Indians. There was also a Territorial Battalion with 4 British grade officers and 694 other

ranks; personnel consisted of indigenous volunteers, mostly Karens, though some Burmans were admitted [Maung Maung 1954: 90; Taylor 1987: 100–101]. The only anti-aircraft battalion in prewar Burma was comprised mainly of Anglo-Burmans.

At separation in 1937, the Military Police was divided into two forces. One was deployed primarily in central Burma and the other—renamed the Burma Frontier Force— was for use mainly in the excluded areas. The former group, still called the Military Police,

consisted of 4,294 men in 1941. Nearly all were Indians, and command was exercised by British and Indian officers seconded from the Indian Army. The strength of the Frontier Force was 10,073, including 7,376 Indians with the remainder coming from the hill regions of Burma [Taylor 1987: 101].

Therefore, although the creation of the Burma Army in 1937 opened up the possibility of access for indigenous people, there was still no serious attempt to involve ethnic Burmans in what British officials considered the core of an army of a future independent Burma. This probably can be attributed to the colonial regime’s preoccupation with internal security, which narrowed the vision of army reformers so that considerations of how to establish a “national army”—in which indigenous minorities and the majority-Burmans could cooperate in defense matters—were never really entertained. Scholar-bureaucrat Furnivall [1956 [1948]: 183] summed up the British position: If the problem of responsible [colonial] government had been conceived in terms of creating a united people to which the Government might [eventually] be made responsible, the question of building up an army would have been recognized as a matter of primary importance, but it was

conceived in terms of . . . constructing machinery that, if it could not do much good, could do no serious damage; the military aspect of the problem was disregarded. . . .

Furnivall noted that the outbreak of war in 1939 led to a new emphasis by the British to recruit any and all potential troops, regardless of ethnicity. Although some progress was made toward including larger numbers of Burmans, the numbers in no way reflected the proportion of Burmans in the colony. Taylor [1987: 100–101] reports the breakdown of troops in Burma in 1941 (Table 3). Referring back to Table 1, “Ethnic Composition of the

Armed Forces in Burma, 1931,” we can see that the number of troops designated “Burmans” rose from 472 in 1931 to 1,893 in 1941, increasing their numbers by a factor of 2.5. At the same time, the number of Karens nearly doubled, rising from 1,448 in 1931 to

2,797 in 1941. The continued higher recruitment of Karens per head of Karen population (vis-a-vis Burman recruitment per head of Burman population) suggests that the colonial regime had not made any significant changes in recruiting priorities and practices.

 

 

Conclusion

 

The transportation of British-Indian rule to nineteenth-century Burma produced a matrix of state institutions that gave primacy to order, coercion and armed force. In sharp contrast to the earlier mercantilist age of imperialism—during which India was brought into

the British Empire—the imperialism of the late nineteenth century produced colonial states throughout Asia and Africa that were able to reorder society for production and commerce at unprecedented speed. In this process, the transportation of a two-century-old

colonial system of governance from India to Burma wreaked havoc with traditional, non-state forms of social control and created the need for internal security forces which would come to control many aspects of indigenous people’s lives.

 

Table 3:Ethnic Composition of the Armed Forces om Burma, 1941

Ethnic Group	No. in Army	Proportion of Army	Proportion of Population
Burman	1,893	23.71	75.11
Karen	2,797	35.03	9.34
Chin	1,258	15.76	2.38
Kachin	852	10.61	1.05
Yunnanese	32	0.04	n/a
Chinese	330	4.13
Indians	2,578	32.29
Others	168	2.10
Total	7,984	100	100

 

Population statistics for 1941 are from the 1831 census because the data from the 1941 census was lost in World War II.

 

 

The imposition of Indian administrators and administrative practices in Burma destroyed any indigenous social mechanisms that could have cushioned the impact of the rapid insertion into the world economy. The resulting increase in landlessness, tenancy, and indebtedness was responsible for the highest crime rates in the empire, and the Government of India’s response to this rising lawlessness—which was to send in more armed soldiers and police officers—was in part responsible for institutionalizing the primacy

of armed coercion in Burmese political affairs.

It should not be surprising that the British-Indian state relied on its relatively modern, professional Indian and British Armies to combat threats to colonial interests in Burma. The British officials who occupied top administrative positions in the colonial state were nearly all appointed from India never having previously set foot on Burmese territory [Piness 1983]. Their visions and plans about Asian colonies were probably derived from their Indian experiences, which included communal riots in which armed troops were deployed to restore order. These officials never really considered arming substantial numbers of indigenous Burmese. The imperatives of turning a profit in Burma gave these short-term civil servants no incentive to screen, equip and train the locals, especially when

the Indian Army was ready, and—most importantly—cheap to deploy.

Throughout the colonial period, the range of activities that placed indigenous Burmese in the line of fire underwent a series of expansions. During the three conquests and the subsequent pacification campaigns, colonial conceptions of “internal security” required British and Indian troops, along with a tiny handful of indigenous minority levies, to eliminate resistance to British-Indian rule. By the early twentieth century, “internal security” gradually became equated with crime control as rising rates of violent property crimes, in particular, threatened the interests of British capital. “Internal security” again was maintained by foreigners. The only significant numbers of indigenous people in uniform were unarmed local civilian police, and stories of their ineptitude reached legendary status even before World War I. With the emergence of the second wave of the nationalist movement after World War I came a new state conception of “internal security,” which gave the armed forces responsibility for fighting crime, quashing criticism and preventing potentially seditious acts. The threats to the colonial state were rarely from outside the British-drawn boundaries. More commonly the threats came from local populations in the form of such wide-ranging activities as cattle-thievery, highway banditry, trade unionization, peasant rebellions, student protests and hunger strikes. This meant that murderers and nationalists, dacoits and the Buddhist sangha, and petty thieves and

student strikers, all met the state at the barrels of foreigner-held rifles. Hence, from the first arrival of a prefabricated, relatively rationalized bureaucracy in Burma in the late nineteenth century, the state has been continuously at war with the population mapped

into its territorial claims.

 

Eleven of the first 14 chief commissioners or lieutenant governors of Burma were appointed from India no prior experience of the province. That the struggles of colonial politics and governance played out this way did not necessarily over-determine the rise of a militaristic postcolonial state. However, the indigenous elites who took over the national state at independence in 1948 started not with a tabula rasa but with the rickety yet repressive architecture of colonial states that was at odds with their anti-colonial ideological programs. With the immediate eruption of anti-state

civil warfare, Burmese Military and civilian leaders had few choices but to reinvigorate and redeploy the colonial security apparatus to hold together a disintegrating country during the formative period of postcolonial state transformation. For more than five decades now, intra-elite struggles—whether in the legal, political arena or in the arena of insurgent warfare—continued to be framed by and settled by violence or the threat of violence.

 

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Ba Than. 1962. The Roots of the Revolution. Rangoon: Director of Information.

 

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Crosthwaite, Charles. 1968 [1912]. Pacification of Burma. London: E. Arnold.

 

Donnison, F. S. V. 1953. Public Administration in Burma: A Study of the Development during the British Connexion. London: Royal Institute of International Affairs.

 

Frazer, Jendayi. 1994. Sustaining Civilian Control: Armed Counterweights in Regime Stability in Africa. Ph.D. Dissertation, Stanford University.

 

Furnivall, John S. 1939. The Fashioning of Leviathan. Journal of the Burma Research Society 29 (3): 1–138.

1956 [1948]. Colonial Policy and Practice: A Comparative Study of Burma and Netherlands India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

 

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Burma. Rangoon.

 

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Hailes, Lt. Col. W. L. 1967. The Jat Regiment: A History of the Regiment, 1803–1907. Bareilly: Jat Regimental Centre.

 

Hall, D.G.E. 1968. A History of South-East Asia. 3rd edition. London: MacMillan.

 

Harvey, G.E. 1946. British Rule in Burma 1824–1942. London: Faber and Faber.

 

Hennell, Sir Reginald. 1985. A Famous Indian Regiment. Delhi: B.R. Publications.

 

Khin Kyi, Daw. 1988a. The Dobama Movement in Burma. Ithaca: Southeast Asia Program Publications.

1988b. The Dobama Movement in Burma: Appendix. Ithaca: Southeast Asia Program Publications.

Mallon, Florencia. 1994. Reflections on the Ruins: Everyday Forms of State Formation in Nineteenth- Century Mexico. In Everyday Forms of State Formation: Revolution and the Negotiation of Rule in Modern Mexico, edited by Gilbert M. Joseph and Daniel Nugent, pp.69–106. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

 

Maung Maung, U (former Brig.). 1980. From Sangha to Laity. New Delhi: Manohar.

 

Maung Maung (Dr.). 1954. Burma in the Family of Nations. Amsterdam: Uitgeverij Djambatan.

 

Moscotti, Albert D. 1974. British Policy and The Nationalist Movement in Burma, 1917–1937. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.

 

Mya Sein, Daw. 1938. Administration of Burma: Sir Charles Crosthwaite and the Consolidation of Burma. Rangoon: Zabu Meitswe Pitaka.

 

Myanmá thamàin hpyityap ahman-myà yèithàpyúzú ahpwé [Myanmar Historical Commission]. 1990. Tàin’yìnthà lumyò-myà ayèi hnín 1947 acheigan úpadei [The Indigenous Races and the 1947

Constitution, Vol. 1]. Yangoun-myó: Tekkatho-myà pounhneiptaik [Rangoon: Universities Press].

 

Nemoto, Kei. 2000. The Concepts of Dobama (Our Burma) and Thudo-Bama (Their Burma) in Burmese Nationalism, 1930–1948. Journal of Burma Studies 5: 1–16.

 

Ni Ni Myint. 1983. Burma’s Struggle against British Imperialism. Rangoon: Universities Press.

 

Notes on the Land Forces of Burma, India Office Records Locator: L/WS/1/276.

 

Piness, Edith. 1983. The British Administrator in Burma: A New View. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 14 (2): 372–378.

Prasad, Bisheshwar. 1956. Official History of the Indian Armed Forces in the Second World War, 1939–45: Expansion of the Armed Forces and Defence Organisation, 1939–45. Bombay: Combined

Inter-Services Historical Section, India and Pakistan.

1963. Official History: Defence of India, Policy and Plans. Bombay: Combined Inter-Services Historical Section, India and Pakistan.

Sitthàmain pyádaik hnín tapmadaw kùndaik’hmù-yòun [War History Museum and Defence Services Archive]. 1994. Tapmadaw thamàin: 1824–1945 [Tatmadaw History, 1824–1945]. Yangoun-myó:

Sit’thamàin pyádaik hníntapmadaw. [Rangoon: War Museum and Defence Services Archive].

 

Smith Dun. 1980. Memoirs of the Four-Foot Colonel. Ithaca: Cornell University Southeast Asia Program Publications.

 

Taylor, Robert H. 1974. The Relationship between Burmese Social Classes and British-Indian Policy on the Behavior of the Burmese Political Elite, 1937–1942. Ph.D. Dissertation, Cornell University.

1987. The State in Burma. London: C. Hurst.

 

Tilly, Charles. 1990. Coercion, Capital and the State. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

 

Trocki, Carl. 1992. Political Structures in the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries. In The Cambridge History of Southeast Asia,Vol. II, edited by Nicholas Tarling, pp.79–130. Cambridge:

Cambridge University Press.

 

Woodman, Dorothy. 1962. The Making of Burma. London: Cresset Press.

 

Woodyatt, Nigel Gresley. n.d. The Regimental History of the 3rd Queen Alexandra’s Own Gurkha Rifles from April 1815 to December 1927. Simla: J. Ray.

 

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Young, Crawford. 1988. The African Colonial State and Its Political Legacy. In The Precarious Balance: State and Society in Africa, edited by Donald Rothchild and Naomi Chazan, pp.25–66. Boulder: Westview.

 

 

 

The Military Way

Building An Army: The Early Years Of The Tatmadaw
The Early Years: Indepence And Chaos
The First Transformation
The Second Transformation
Another Piece Of The Durability Puzzle

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Building An Army: The Early Years of the Tatmadaw

By Mary P. Callahan

From a comparative perspective, the last three-and-a-half decades of military rule in Burma represent a unique and puzzling phenomenon along several dimensions. For one, military officers are typically conservative and represent unlikely candidates to implement the kind of radical social and economic restructuring that the Burmese military (the Tatmadaw) first adopted in the 1960s. For another, entrenched military governments rarely conduct free elections, as the Tatmadaw did in both 1960 and in 1990. But perhaps the most remarkable aspect of this uniqueness lies in the sheer durability of military rule in Burma. Elsewhere, military regimes seldom last ten years, much less 35. Once in power, the factional struggles within the military over the spoils of office and over the inevitable incompatibilities between ruling and warring usually lead to a return to the barracks.

In explaining this last puzzle, scholars and other observers have focused on General Ne Win as a kind of glue that has held the Burmese armed forces and the post-1962 regime together. Throughout the civil wars, economic collapses and political debacles of the entire postwar period, observers have attributed the unusual endurance, unity and power of the Tatmadaw to Ne Win’s charisma, his formative experiences as a student politician, his ruthlessness, his awza (a kind of awe-inspiring power), and his ability to tempt fate (yeh-ti-ya). According to this view, from his youth onward, there has been a sense of destiny to Ne Win’ s path to power; taken as a whole package, Ne Win is considered to have engineered the fate of postwar Burma.

While no one could possibly dispute the central role that General Ne Win has played in modern Burmese politics, the problem with this characterization is that it reads back into history the prominence that Ne Win came to assume only as a result of activities and developments that occurred within the army and the Burmese polity in the 1950s over which Ne Win had very little control or influence. This article suggests that General Ne Win is only one piece of the puzzle at the heart of modern Burmese politics. Another piece lies in the emergence of the Tatmadaw in the 1950s as the powerful institution that came to dominate state and society for the next four decades.

The Early Years: Independence and Chaos

For the young Burman nationalists who would come to dominate the upper ranks of the armed forces in the 1950s, the early period of independence was one in which individual improvisation and creativity in solving the crisis-of-the-day led to the unintended — though nonetheless consequential — crafting of mechanisms that became institutionalized in the form of a modern, standing army. Following the transfer of power from Britain to Bogyoke Aung San and his successors, the army underwent at least two transformations that created the institutional basis for the enduring military rule that followed the 1962 coup.

Before examining the first transformation, it is important to note the context in which these transformations materialized. The postwar period began in chaos: In 1945, nationalist leader General Aung San and his nationalist forces turned against their Japanese allies by forming a shaky alliance with communists and the British Special Operations Executive. The result was a tenuous coalition of mostly ethnic-majority Burman nationalists fighting alongside the Anglo-Burman and Karen troops whom they had fought against in 1942 and whom they considered “mercenaries.” Upon defeating the Japanese, these British-led forces were reorganized under conditions of considerable division both between and among British officials, indigenous loyalists, Burmese socialists, communists and rightists. Tension was rife and within two months of independence in 1948 the Burma Communist Party revolted; the Karen National Defense Organization rebelled in 1949. By this time, one half of the government troops had mutinied and nearly that proportion of the army’s equipment was gone; important cities like Mandalay, Maymyo, Prome and even Insein (a suburb of the capital, Rangoon) fell to insurgent control. At the same time, private “pocket armies” were rallying under competing politicians all around the country. Hence, by the time Ne Win assumed the position of Commander-in-Chief in 1949, he commanded only two thousand remaining troops.

That the Burmese army emerged from this chaos as the powerful force that after 1962 would dominate state and society for more than 30 years is indeed remarkable. In the throes of this confusion, there were few signs that the military leadership (or anyone else) could even envision such a future. The Tatmadaw was but one of numerous armies that emerged at independence in 1948; many were illegal, anti-state armies but there were also quasi-legal paramilitary squads maintained by Cabinet members and other politicians in the Socialist party, which dominated the ruling Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL).1 The period was replete with challenges both to and within the Tatmadaw and the state, challenges often backed by arms and violence. For example, in the first decade of independence, the Tatmadaw faced a civil war waged by former classmates and comrades, a foreign aggressor backed by a superpower, and an ex-colonizer and later the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) trying to shape the army in its own fashion and for its own purposes. There was a lack of training facilities, a void of military doctrine, and a War Office administrative system ill-suited to the exigencies of internal security functions and counterinsurgency operations. At independence, the government was nearly bankrupt, and foreign assistance in supplying ammunition and other supplies had early Cold War strings tied to it that further threatened Burma’s borders and sovereignty.

The First Transformation

Moreover, the former Burman nationalist officers who stayed in the postwar Tatmadaw found themselves shut out of control over the armed forces in the years between the end of World War II and independence in January 1948. During this time, the returned British regime reorganized the Tatmadaw from a massive, unwieldy, guerrilla-style resistance force into a much smaller standing army. Not surprisingly, by 1948, the leadership roles in this army were monopolized by officers sympathetic to the British — mainly Karens and Anglo-Burmans.2 By contrast, the ethnic Burman nationalists who had served in the wartime Patriotic Burmese Forces (PBF) had very little institutional clout within the Tatmadaw, and spent much of the 1945-1949 period consulting with AFPFL politicians on ways to counter their institutional weakness and create “a Burma Army worthwhile having.”3 Their memories of mobilizing twice to fight the British for independence were fresh and foremost in their minds; therefore, “rightist” British collaborators running the army, and potentially the government, represented a failure of those mobilizations. Additionally, as groups formerly associated with the AFPFL went into rebellion — including the 3rd and 5th Burma Rifles — the Karen army leadership’s harsh and ruthless counterinsurgency tactics against their former nationalist comrades-in-arms further enraged the PBF officers.

As the civil war intensified, the PBF contingent began laying the basis for the first transformation of the Tatmadaw. Initially, their strategy was to sidestep existing army institutions and to build a second army outside the Tatmadaw in the form of levees or irregular forces; organized under upcountry AFPFL politicians, these “Sitwundan” units were tied loosely into a chain-of-command emanating from the one PBF-controlled portion of the War Office under Major Aung Gyi. While these units were under formation, Karen leaders outside the army who had been pressing for political autonomy launched their anti-government rebellion in January 1949. This ultimately gave the former PBF contingent in the Tatmadaw the legal basis to place most of the Karen in army leadership positions on “indefinite” leave. None of them ever returned to prominence as active-duty officers in the army.

However, this purge did not end the difficulties of the Tatmadaw. In overseeing the anti-Karen and anti-insurgent operations in the early years of independence, the post-Karen War Office had little in the way of the resources or skills necessary to take the helm of the highly-centralized, British-designed military bureaucracy. Furthermore, the continued presence of a civilian permanent secretary (U Ba Tint) and his staff duties officer (Lieutenant Colonel Hla Aung) who were both perceived as “rightists” sympathetic to expanded British influence in the army led former PBF field commanders and General Ne Win to simply disregard the British bureaucracy in the conduct of all these operations. In fact, a former field commander noted that Ne Win told him to ignore the chain-of-command to the War Office and instead come straight to him when he needed anything.4

The Second Transformation

This set-up was workable when the Tatmadaw was fighting weaker, disunited internal rebels. However, against the danger of the U.S.-backed KMT [Kuomintang] aggression and the related threat of Communist Chinese intervention in Burma,5 Tatmadaw leaders embarked on the second transformation of the armed forces: a program of institution-building in the mid-1950s with the objective of imposing a “modern,” bureaucratized, European-style, standing-army structure on to the array of personal networks that constituted the Burma army.

This transformation did not materialize with the 1949 arrival in the Shan State of the first 2,000 KMT stragglers from the Yunnan Province; at that point, they did not pose much of a threat, particularly in comparison with the communist and Karen threats to the Rangoon government. However, as more disciplined, better-organized and better-armed KMT units began entering Kengtung state in 1950 and receiving air-drops with U.S.-supplied arms and other supplies over the next few years, the 13,000-strong force became the major concern of Burmese political and army leaders. From the Union Government’s perspective, the Shan States grew increasingly dangerous in the early 1950s, with a perplexing array of anti-Rangoon forces — including the Burmese communists, the Karen rebels and the KMT — traversing this territory, forming ad hoc alliances, fighting against one another, and competing against both each other and the Rangoon government for resources and opium. This led Prime Minister U Nu to proclaim martial law in some of the Shan regions in 1950, and military administration spread to 22 of the 33 Shan subdivisions by 1952.

The imposition of martial law meant that the army was severely overcommitted. In addition to these administrative duties, the Tatmadaw was fighting against Karen, communist and other insurgents in central Burma and in the frontier areas. Early Tatmadaw operations against the KMT were weak and easily defeated. In 1953, the military waged its first-ever full-scale, combined forces counteroffensive against the KMT, which was repulsed within three weeks by superior KMT firepower. According to one Burmese air force pilot who flew air support during the operation: “It was a complete disaster.”6These disasters led to calls for reform from field commanders and staff officers alike. In the first step toward reform, Lieutenant Colonel Aung Gyi formed a “Military Planning Staff” (MPS). The MPS was to provide immediate advice in “charting a clear-cut course of military activities and in advising the Government to map the road to peace within the State and readiness for national emergency covering all aspects, military, political, social, economic, etc.”7 According to an August 1951 memorandum of authorization, the rationale for the planning staff’s formation was that: [w]e have been working mostly on an ad hoc or impromptu basis without giving much thought to coordination and correlation of different Departments of State… We are virtually at war and what is worse a more devastating one as any civil war is [sic]…. I cannot afford to wait for changes in organization and I am immediately in need of a nucleus Planning Staff…8

Once established under Lieutenant Colonels Aung Gyi and Maung Maung, the MPS sent study missions to Britain, the United States, Australia and the Soviet Union. In their views, what separated the early postcolonial Tatmadaw from these “progressive” armies around the world was the Tatmadaw’s organizational weakness at the center and the lack of institutional clout and autonomy for army leadership to plan, evaluate and carry out strategy and tactics.9 At that point the Burma army was still a disorganized army of guerrillas. What it needed to become was an army capable of standing up to the KMT and potentially the CIA and the People’s Republic of China. To do so, the MPS completely restructured the division of labor between civilian and military leaders over defense policy, notably shrinking the civilian secretary’s sphere of control over internal army affairs. Furthermore, the MPS also terminated the contract for the British advisors to the Tatmadaw, wrote Burma’s first draft of military doctrine, and undertook the creation of educational and training institutions (such as the Defense Services Academy at Maymyo) that remain in place to today. MPS also created other organizations — such as the psychological warfare and counterintelligence directorates — that would become important tools of the post-1962 military regime. Additionally, through the work of the MPS, the army made its first foray into economic affairs. In 1951, Aung Gyi set up a NAAFI- or P.X.-style concern to replace inefficient, unworkable unit-run canteens. Called the Defense Services Institute [DSI], this operation expanded quickly into the sale of bulk and consumer goods to soldiers; by 1960, Aung Gyi and his colleagues at DSI were running banks, international shipping lines and the largest import-export operation in the country.10

Another Piece of the Durability Puzzle

What is significant about the institutional innovations that emerged from this second transformation is that they were in stark contrast to the concurrent institutional decay of the other two major national institutions in Burma, the bureaucracy and the AFPFL. Similarly, by virtue of the operational demands on the army during the 1950s, the Tatmadaw was alone among national-level institutions in consolidating authority throughout territory that stretched beyond central Burma. A simple illustration of this point can be seen in the fact that by around 1954, the War Office could order locally-recruited members of its field units to move to other parts of Burma and expect that the order would probably be carried out. Neither the AFPFL nor the bureaucracy were able to do the same thing at any point during the 1948-1962 period.

The institutional innovations that led to the transformation of the army into a powerful force came out of the day-to-day decisions, whims and fantasies of field and staff officers throughout the army. Many of the projects developed in the second transformation were the ideas of then Major Aung Gyi (later to become Brigadier General), Colonel Maung Maung (considered by many to have been the architect of the modern Tatmadaw), Lieutenant Colonel Ba Than (who was the champion of the psychological warfare plans) and others; these were staff officers who were responding to particular crises and quite unintentionally created institutions.

To conclude, an analysis of intra-military affairs in the 1950s suggests that Ne Win’s involvement in the transformation of the Tatmadaw into a powerful, durable institution has been considerably overestimated. Within the chain of command, all of the above innovators worked for General Ne Win, who was Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces throughout the decade. However, while Ne Win was certainly involved in some of the first transformation to eliminate “rightist” influence in the army, his role in the more significant second transformation was minimal. At the time, he may have been Commander-in-Chief, but between scandals over his romantic affairs, foreign travel and visits to army units throughout the country, Ne Win had very little to do with the reorganization of the army. For example, in the case of what became the most consequential institutional development — the creation of the MPS — Ne Win’s signature on the order to form the MPS is misleading. In the months surrounding the issuance of that authorization, Ne Win had been distracted by personal scandals and their fall-out on the pages of Rangoon daily newspapers; in fact, officially he was on leave when this order was signed. Likewise, throughout the first decade of independence, the Commander-in-Chief’s name appears on many of the orders authorizing the creation of these institutional innovations, which may account for the tendency to attribute the transformation to his scheming.

Notes

1. The AFPFL was formed in 1945 out of a national front comprised of the various organizations that had banded together to fight the Japanese. Prior to independence, the bulk of its membership came from organizations allied with the Communist Party; however, after the two factions of the Communist Party rebelled against the AFPFL government, the national front was dominated throughout the 1950s by the Socialist Party.

2. British advisors had appointed Karens as commander of the armed forces (General Smith Dun) and the chief of the air force (Saw Shi Sho); the chief of operations was the Sandhurst-trained Karen, Brig. Saw Kya Doe. The Quartermaster General, who controlled three-quarters of the military budget, was a Karen, Saw Donny. Although Brig. Bo Let Ya, army chief of staff and later minister of Defence, was an ethnic Burman with solid nationalist experiences, his politics had shifted rightward during the postwar years and he publicly supported continued British influence if not control over the Tatmadaw. Karen officers and other ranks dominated nearly all the supporting services, including the staff, supply and ammunition depots, artillery and signals corps.

3. Diary (personal) of Capt. Maung Maung, 1947; 25 May 1947 entry describing an informal meeting at the home of Socialist Party leader U Kyaw Nyein attended by politicians Ba Swe, Ba Swe Lay, Bo Khin Maung Gale, Ko Ko Gyi and U Kyaw Nyein; and army officers Maung Maung, Aung Gyi and Tin Pe. Diary is on deposit in Defence Services Historical Research Institute (hereafter, DSHRI): CD 875.

4. Interview, February 1993. Former Brig. Maung Maung confirmed that this was the modus operandi from 1949-1952; interview 12 May 1992.

5. The real threat to Burma was not the KMT themselves, but the consolidating Chinese Communist regime. Throughout the early 1950s, Burmese leaders worried that in the course of trying to stabilize their position in mainland China, the Chinese Communists would find it necessary to eliminate the remaining KMT located on the fringes of China, in particular in Burma.

6. Interview, former Colonel Tin Maung Aye, 2 April 1992.

7. Government of the Union of Burma, General Staff Department, War Office, Secret Memorandum, “Formation of a Military Planning Staff at the War Office,” 28 August 1951, No. 102/E1/SD; in DSHRI: DR 4768.

8. Ibid.

9. Government of the Union of Burma, General Staff Department, War Office, Memorandum, “Organization of the War Office and Formation of an Army Council,” 23 September 1951, No.88/ E1/SD, Rangoon; in DSHRI: DR 4768.

10. From Maj. Kyaw Soe (second name in unreadable type), “The Defence Services Institute,” (n.d., probably 1956-1958); in DSHRI: DR 8117; also interview with U Aung Gyi, 4 May 1992. Mary P. Callahan is an assistant professor in the National Security Affairs Department at the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey, California. She teaches classes on Southeast Asian studies, civil-military relations and transitions to democracy. She completed her Ph.D. in political science at Cornell University in 1996. She is currently at work on a manuscript tentatively entitled, “The Origins of Military Rule in Burma.”

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Burma’s Struggle for Democracy: The Army Against the People

Josef Silverstein

Abstract

Since 1948 Burma has struggled, both to establish a modern democratic political system, and to unite the people under its rule. So far, it has failed on both counts.

The author outlines democracy and its roots in Burma before moving on to describe the military’s roots and to give an overview of the three phases of military rule: from 1962 to 1974; from 1974 to 1988, and from 1988 to 1993. Also covered are the opposition to military rule between 1962 and 1988, and the unity of the army from 1948 to 1988.

The author concludes that finally military rule has convinced even the most sceptical that a true democracy is the only way to domestic peace, freedom and personal safety.

The decade of the 1990s opened with the people cautiously hoping for change in the future of Burma. After twenty-eight years of military rule, in one guise or another, many were optimistic that the 1990 scheduled elections would begin a process by which they would recover power and restore democracy.

Almost from the day they regained their independence from British rule in 1948, their nation has been torn by civil war, which persists to this day, foreign invasion and slow economic recovery from the devastation wrought by World War II. The people were sorely tested in 1988 when they demonstrated for freedom and change but were met with the guns and bullets of the army as it suppressed their peaceful revolution. And even though they complied with martial law, and participated in the election of May 1990 to vote for members of a national assembly as a first step toward the restoration of democracy, their patience went unrewarded as the military found one excuse after another to delay change. All real hopes for peaceful change were dashed in September 1991, when Major-General Tin U said, ‘We cannot say how long we will be in charge of the state administration. It might be five or ten years’ (South China Morning Mail 11 September 1991).

On 23 April 1992 the State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC) began a series of actions which were intended to signal that political change was beginning. Under a new leader, SLORC started to release political prisoners and took the first steps toward writing a new constitution. These and other changes provide a preview of the future political system which the military rulers in Burma are trying to establish, a system where the military will play the leading role and the people will be the approving chorus. The model the soldiers-in-power have in mind derives from the present Indonesian system (The New Light of Myanmar 24, 25 June 1993). This is the political burden the people carry as they continue to struggle to free themselves from tyranny and dictatorship.

Democracy and its Roots

Before Burma regained independence on 4 January 1948, an uneven leadership struggle developed between the older leaders of the prewar period and the young men who had formed and led the wartime Burma army and the coalition nationalist party, the Anti Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL). While the former were prepared to work within the framework of change offered by the British, the latter were not. The people backed the AFPFL from the outset, and its legal right to lead was confirmed in the 1947 election and in the constituent assembly.

Before the authors of the 1947 constitution took up their task they had, at least, three traditions to draw upon. They could have returned to some form of monarchy, such as existed before British rule (Koenig 1990:65-97). But that idea had been rejected during the war period when the Japanese granted Burma independence (Cady 1958:4-5) and again by Aung San, the nationalist leader, when he addressed the AFPFL on the eve of the constitutent assembly (Silverstein 1972: 92-100). They could have created a bureaucratic-authoritarian system, after the model the British instituted at the end of the nineteenth century or that of the constitutional dictatorship fashioned by Dr Ba Maw, under Japanese tutelage, during World War II (Christian 1945:60-76; Maung 1959: 54-62). This, too, was rejected. They had a third model, parliamentary democracy, which the British introduced as early as 1921 to put the nation on a course to self-rule (Christian 1945:77-105).

Most amongst the young elite were Buddhists and were influenced, to various degrees, by Buddhism’s values and traditions. Many, however, like their leader Aung San, were Western-educated, holders of university degrees and believers in liberal democracy with its emphasis upon separation of church and state. They came to maturity in a period when democracy was evolving in Burma and they were able to study and debate the political ideas of their day – democracy, fascism, communism – and the meaning and content of Burmese nationalism. Overwhelmingly, they were drawn to socialism, secularism and democracy (Khin Yi 1988; Silverstein 1980:134-161). These ideas were foremost in the thinking of Aung San when he addressed the preconstituent assembly meeting of the AFPFL and committed the party to their support (Silverstein 1972).

But there were divisions within the AFPFL. In a barely disguised struggle between communists and socialists rival leaders and member parties fought for control of the AFPFL and influence in shaping the future constitution. In 1946 the communists were expelled from the AFPFL and the ideas of the socialists, together with those of Aung San, were influential in the writing of the basic law.

The constitution of 1947 created a parliamentary system with two legislative chambers. It included a renunciation of war as an instrument of policy, a set of socialist-influenced unenforceable goals – called directive principles, a definition of relations of the state to peasants and workers, and fundamental human rights for all.

The AFPFL leaders had a special problem in that nearly 40 per cent of the population were members of various minority groups who lived either amongst the Burman (the Karens and Mons) or in the hill areas which surrounded the heartland (the Shans, Kachins, Chins and others). Because the minorities either had been given special treatment under British rule (the Karens formed a separate electorate and were given a specific number of seats in the legislature) or had been excluded from the evolving political process during the same period (the various hill peoples), the question of uniting everyone in the territory of Burma proved vexing. Discussions leading to promises made by the Burman leaders to the minorities resulted in the creation of a unique federal union, which was more unitary than federal, and led to most Karens and Karennis rejecting it. It also promised the right of secession to the populations of two areas but denied it to all others. Failure to solve the problems of national unity at the outset was a major cause of minority revolts after independence (Silverstein 1980).

Internal wars tested the nation. Between 1948 and 1952 the government nearly collapsed as it fought to recover control first of the heartland and then of the hill areas. Yet even as it faced the threat of being overthrown and the union destroyed, the legislature met and acted, a national election was held, the High Court and Supreme Court upheld civil and political rights against the effort of the government to ignore them in its determination to restore control and domestic peace, education expanded at all levels, and the press flourished as one of the freest in all of Asia.

Religion and politics were never far apart. The 1947 constitution established religious freedom, but in the same chapter it declared that Buddhism enjoyed a ‘special position’. As early as 1949, a Ministry of Religious Affairs was created and ecclesiastical courts were established. The state also conducted religious examinations and sponsored an international Buddhist celebration to commemorate the Buddha’s 2500th birthday (Mendelson 1975:112).

Although the state was declared to be the ultimate owner of all the land, in fact agricultural lands were in private hands and the farmers were free to buy and sell and to make all farming and marketing decisions. While some economic enterprises, such as transportation and power generation, became government monopolies, there was a private economic sector which flourished alongside government businesses and cooperatives.

Despite a non-aligned foreign policy and the illegal invasion and occupation of some of its territory by remnants of the Chinese Nationalist Army – causing the government to divert resources from economic recovery and development to the expansion of the army and the purchase of weapons – the economy slowly recov-ered to near prewar levels in all areas; many of the groups in revolt either ended their war and returned home or, if they continued to fight, were driven into the hills and the delta area. In 1956 the nation held a second national election which generally was free and fair and produced an opposition party in parliament which generated lively debates and moved the nation from a one-dominant-party to a multi-party system (Silverstein 1956). The institutions of democracy began to grow in an atmosphere of peace and stability.

But unity and stability in the AFPFL leadership did not last. In 1958 the leaders split and, in their struggle to win control of the party and government, the rivals provoked a constitutional crisis. Prime Minister Nu tried to resolve it through a vote in the parliament; but even though he won, his margin was small and his backing came mainly from the minorities rather than the Burman members. Having no dependable majority in parliament, on 26 October Nu stepped down as prime minister and recommended General Ne Win, the military commander, to form a caretaker government and restore political conditions under which new elections could be held to resolve the political crisis.

This was not the first time that Ne Win was brought into government. In 1949, at the height of the rebellions, Nu asked him to serve as deputy prime minister and take charge of several ministries following the mass resignation of the socialists from his cabinet. Ne Win held those posts for nearly seventeen months.

The multiple internal wars in the decade of the 1950s gave Ne Win’s army the opportunity to exercise political authority under martial law. In 1952 martial law was proclaimed in parts of the Shan state; it lasted for two years. The army abused the people and acted corruptly, giving rise to its reputation of ruthless and autocratic behaviour. Whatever popularity it had in the hill areas at the outset of its rule vanished as it exercised power.

Ne Win’s caretaker government of 1958-60 ruled without party support. It drew upon senior military officers and respected civil servants to serve in the cabinet and administer government offices. Ne Win scrupulously adhered to the letter of the constitution, even demanding its amendment to allow him to serve beyond six months as a nonelected member. But his strict enforcement of the law, insensitivity to the people, and impatience with the democratic process, turned the public against his rule even though his administration brought law and order to a good portion of the country and improved the economy.

Like the government before his, Ne Win’s had no compunctions against using religion for political ends. In 1959 it published a booklet entitled Dhammantaraya (Dhamma in Danger), which declared that the Burmese communists posed a threat to Buddhism, and mobilised 80800 monks to hold meetings and denounce the local communist movement (Ba Than 1962:71). It also continued the practice of mixing religion and politics by placing religious affairs under the deputy prime minister and enforcing all laws pertaining to religion.

When elections were held in 1960, the party favoured by the military suffered an overwhelming defeat while its opponent, led by U Nu, returned to power (Director of Information 1960; Silverstein 1977). A major issue was U Nu’s promise, if elected, to make Buddhism the state religion.

Between that election and the military coup on 2 March 1962, Nu worked hard to strengthen democracy and address the causes of national disunity (Silverstein 1964). But before he could accomplish his goals the military struck, seized power, and replaced democracy and the constitution with a military dictatorship.

Although the democratic experiment lasted only fourteen years, it established an important watershed for Burmese political thought and action. Three national elections had been held and a multiparty system proved workable; leaders coped with major economic and political problems and adopted pragmatic solutions. Human and civil rights generally were honoured, and when questions arose the courts acted independently in defence of the constitution.

Divisions in the ruling party were a major cause of criticism of the democratic process; however, it must be remembered that the AFPFL started life as a broad coalition of conflicting leaders and ideas. In the face of multiple rebellions which threatened to destroy the union as well as the democratic system, the leaders generally remained united. In 1958, when the nation began to enjoy real peace and thousands of people in revolt began to put away their weapons and drift toward a peaceful way of life, Nu tried to convert the AFPFL into a coherent and unified party; but divisions amongst its leaders already were evident and barely concealed in the party congress of that year. Three months later, AFPFL unity was shattered. A similar phenomenon occurred in U Nu’s party during his last administration and reinforced the idea that personal rivalries outweighed commitment to democratic rule. If the people did not rise up to defend democracy against the military in 1962 it was because most of those who thought about it recognised the reality of a totally successful lightning coup and because many of them believed that a new caretaker government was going to be established.

The Military and its Roots

The modern military in Burma began as part of the independence struggle in the 1930s. In 1940 the Thakins, the political movement of the students and young intelligentsia, secretly sent one of their leaders, Aung San, to China to seek aid for their revolt. Picked up by the Japanese in Amoy, he was taken to Tokyo. There he met leaders of the Japanese Army command who were aware of the independence aspirations of the Thakins; Aung San entered into an agreement with them: ‘Japan would help Burma to gain her independence by supplying her with necessary arms’ (Ba Than 1962:15; Yoon 1973). At the same time, an underground revolutionary movement began to form inside Burma in preparation for the anticipated uprising against the British.

Aung San returned in 1941 and recruited twenty-nine Burmans to go secretly with him to Hainan Island where they would be given military training by the Japanese. These ‘Thirty Heroes’ formed the nucleus of the present Burma army. When the Pacific War broke out, they returned to Thailand, recruited the first members of the Burma Independence Army and followed the Japanese into Burma. Some of their units fought the British and the experience gave them pride and confidence. During the war the army’s name was changed, first to the Burma Defence Army, then the Burma National Army and at war’s end, to the Patriotic Burmese Forces. On 27 March 1945 it revolted against the Japanese and joined with the Allies in their final phase of the war against the Japanese in Burma.

There was a second strand to the modern Burma military: the ethnic minorities who were recruited and served in the pre-war Burma Defence Forces. During peacetime the colonial rulers recruited very few Burmans. Only in times of emergency – World War I and at the beginning of World War II – were the armed forces open to Burman recruits.

Following the defeat of British forces in Burma in 1942, minority recruits who did not escape to India returned to their villages in the hill areas and, there, were regrouped by British officers who stayed behind or were dropped by parachute to prepare for the return of the British army (Morrison 1947; Mountbatten 1960).

Shortly after the British were driven out of Burma in 1942, there were serious clashes between the Burma Independence Army and Karens living in the delta region. To overcome racial tensions, Aung San and other Burman leaders convinced some Karen leaders of their determination to build racial harmony by recruiting Karens into the new indigenous army and commissioning a few Karen officers. Following independence, a British-trained Karen officer, Smith Dun, was named the first head of the Burma army.

After the war, the Supreme Allied Commander, Admiral Mountbatten, met with Aung San and other Burman leaders in Kandy, Ceylon, where they agreed that the new Burma army would be created out of the two different military groups. It would contain approximately equal numbers from both and would be organised along racial lines on the model of the Indian Army. At the outset, it would employ British officers while Burmese officers were being trained to British standards. The armed force would be limited to approximately 10 000 officers and men.

The two elements brought different values and attitudes to the new army. The Burmans drew upon the ideas of the Thakins – opposition to colonial rule, independence and socialism. From their wartime experiences, they adopted the Japanese military ideas of loyalty, instant obedience to commands from above or punishment for their failures. They also learned to respond unquestioningly to authority and not to act independently in battle, no matter what the conditions. Their experiencelabourbattle against the British and the Japanese gave them a sense of self-confidence, a belief in themselves as the leaders who played an important role in bringing the AFPFL into being, and pride in their patriotism for having fought for the political freedom of Burma.

The minorities brought a different tradition: loyalty to the British monarch, military professionalism, separation between politics and military affairs, and fear of Burman domination.

There was also a third element of the military – private armies. Such forces existed in the 1930s and were nothing new for Burma. Aung San formed the Peoples Volunteer Organisation (PVO) from the Burman soldiers who were not taken into the new army, as a home guard to help maintain law and order in the countryside. But its real mission was political: to give the AFPFL a vehicle by which to intimidate the colonial rulers in the growing struggle for independence. Because PVO members shared the ideas and values of and had close personal ties to the leaders and men in the new army and the rival political parties in and out of the AFPFL – the socialists and communists – doubts were raised in many minds as to whether there was a real separation between the professional army, the political army and the parties. So long as Aung San lived, the PVO remained united and loyal to him and the AFPFL. Aung San’s assassination in 1947 left the PVO leaderless and subject to the persuasions of rival political groups seeking to lead the nation.

The communist uprising in 1948 split the PVO, with members divided between the government and its opposition. The PVO eventually faded as a military and political force, but not before its involvement in the civil war nearly tipped the scale on the side of those in revolt.

During this same period the minorities, too, were torn between loyalty to the new state and loyalty to their ethnic groups. The Karens, in particular, experienced a sense of abandonment by the British to their historic oppressors, the Burmans. This helped raise their ethnic consciousness at the expense of full identity with the new national army. In 1947 the Karens formed a paramilitary group, the Karen National Defence Organisation (KNDO) to defend their villages. At the same time, the other large minorities, the Shans, Kachins and Chins, gave their full loyalty to independent Burma. In the early phases of the rebellions their loyalty to the Union of Burma and their unwillingness to join the Karens and others in revolt was a major factor in saving the union.

The Kandy Agreement, which emphasised federation rather than full integration, had a second defect. It took no account of the political divisions and competing ideologies amongst the member groups in the AFPFL and their reflection in the new army. Thus, when the Communist Party went into revolt on 28 March 1948, less than three months after independence, the army began to come apart. The 1st and 3rd Burma Rifles – two Burman battalions – deserted with their weapons and joined forces with the revolutionaries. Two months later the PVO split, one part joining the communists in revolt and the other remaining loyal to the government.

Following independence and the failure of the constituent assembly to solve the problem of the Karens’ place in the new union, communal violence erupted be- tween Burmans and Karens. As the violence increased, in January 1949 the KNDO went into revolt. Three battalions of Karen Rifles deserted and joined the KNDO.

These events brought a change in military command; Smith Dun was placed on indefinite leave and Ne Win was placed in charge of the army. The government authorised the recruitment of PVOs loyal to the state, and other former World War II soldiers to form territorial units (Sitwundans) to buttress the depleted army (Tinker 1961:38). Under Ne Win’s leadership, a process of Burman domination in the army began. Despite the loyal support given by Kachin, Chin and Shan battalions, their units gradually were reformed with Burman officers in command and Burman soldiers in their ranks. Aung San’s federated army gave way to Ne Win’s Burman-dominated and integrated army. The new army became more professional with the establishment of a military academy in 1954, and later a National Defence College. As its size grew, so too did its strength in arms.

In the midst of the political turmoil caused by the 1958 split in the AFPFL, the military feared that the primary loyalty of the Union Military Police (UMP) and paramilitary forces was to political parties rather than the state and that UMP units might take sides and even displace the army as the nation’s defender. It also was alarmed at the divisions in the ranks of the nation’s leaders. In this deteriorating environment the army saw itself as the only national institution ready to sacrifice itself to preserve the union and protect the constitution.

On the eve of the formation of the caretaker government the military leaders held a conference at which they defined the national ideology, as they understood it, and their role in upholding it (Director of Information 1960: Appendix I), declaring that so long as their strength remained, ‘the Constitution shall remain inviolate’. They held that the nation’s goal was to build a political-economic system on the principles of justice, liberty and equality. To gain that end, they set three priorities: first, to restore peace and the rule of law; second, to construct a democratic society, and third, to create a socialist economy. They pledged to pursue the aims of national politics as distinct from party politics. When Ne Win presented himself to parliament as candidate for the office of prime minister on 3 October 1958, he said:

I wish deeply that all Members of Parliament would hold as much belief in the Constitution and democracy as I do. I wish deeply that all Members of Parliament would sacrifice their lives to defend the constitution as I would do in my capacity of Prime Minister, as a citizen and as a soldier (Director of Information 1960:547).

The caretaker government gave Ne Win a chance to put the army’s ideology and theories into practice; and as discussed earlier, while he followed the letter of the constitution, he violated its spirit.

Military Rule: First Phase, 1962–1974

The military justified the coup of 2 March 1962 on three grounds: to preserve the union, to restore order and harmony in the society, and to solve the economic problems facing the nation (Silverstein:1977:80). The men who made the coup were not the same as those who stood close to Ne Win in the caretaker period. Several had been sent abroad as ambassadors a year earlier. And those who remained were divided in their view of what the military should do with power. Brigadier Aung Gyi wanted to continue along the lines of the caretaker government, while his rival, Brigadier Tin Pe, wanted to turn the nation immediately down the road to socialism. A year later Aung Gyi was dismissed and Ne Win adopted Tin Pe’s position.

If the coup leaders were divided on their immediate course, they were agreed on abandoning their earlier commitment to the constitution and democracy in favour of dictatorship with no limits on their right to make rules and exercise power.

A month after the coup the leaders promulgated a new ideological statement, The Burmese Way to Socialism. In their new analysis they argued that Burma’s problems were the result of the economic system, which not only deformed society and the personal values and attitudes of the people, but contributed to disunity and social unrest (Silverstein 1964:716). Parliamentary democracy also contributed by failing to produce political stability and lent itself to misuse and personal profit by those in power. Thus, the priorities were altered: economic change and the creation of a socialist democracy – on the lines of the Eastern European states – must come before all else. Gone were all pretences of upholding constitutionalism and the liberal democracy of the past.

From the outset, the military displaced the institutions created at independence, replaced the civilian leadership with members of their own organisation, and substituted their thought for that of their political predecessors. The constitution was suspended and became inoperative in areas where the Revolutionary Council, the military governing body, issued decrees and promulgated orders. The courts were changed. The old parties were outlawed and replaced by the military’s own new party, the Burma Socialist Program Party (BSPP), the only political party allowed after 1964. The free press eventually was outlawed and replaced by an official publication, the Working Peoples Daily. Most of all, the federal system, while remaining in name, in fact became a centralised administrative system. Security Administration Councils, composed of representatives from the army, civil service and police, replaced state political and administrative organs. The new system was organised hierarchically with control located in Rangoon.

The changes were more than institutional. The people were cut off from contact with foreigners as the military’s propagandists and educators sought to change people’s beliefs, values and attitudes to those expressed in the new ideological documents. A police state emerged; people were required to inform on one another while a national network of domestic spies reported the activities and statements of ordinary citizens.

To bring an end to the various revolutions still in progress, the military rulers used both ‘carrot’ and ‘stick’, holding peace negotiations in 1963 and, following their failure, resuming their military campaigns.

The Burmese way to socialism failed both to improve the economy and to gain real support amongst the people. By the end of the decade Ne Win and his co-leaders gradually shifted to a new direction.

In 1971 the BSPP was converted from a cadre to a mass party and Ne Win gave it responsibility for writing a new constitution. Despite changes in structure, the party remained a political vehicle for the military with General Ne Win as its head and senior military officers monopolising all subleadership posts.

In April 1972, while the party pursued its tasks, Ne Win and nineteen senior military officers retired from the Defence Services. At the same time the government changed its name from the Revolutionary Council to the Government of Burma. U Ne Win remained prime minister and most of the same senior military leaders, now retired, continued as government heads; four civilian cabinet officers were added to their ranks. During this period Ne Win abolished the secretariat inherited from the British colonial system, and transferred its responsibilities to the ministers. In terms of who led the nation, these changes were more nominal than real as the military retained its near exclusive control of power. A new constitution was approved by the people in a referendum in December 1973, and in elections held the following month candidates for seats in the national assemby and the three sublevels of government were elected. On 2 March 1974 the second phase of military rule began.

Military Rule: Second Phase, 1974–1988

Despite the fanfare, the military did not return power to the people. The constitution institutionalised the power of the BSPP. It was directed to lead the nation; no other parties were allowed. It selected all candidates for seats in the national assembly, the Pyithu Hluttaw, and the deliberative bodies at the three lower levels; and it was empowered to give advice and suggestions to government. If there was any doubt that the new system was a continuation of its predecessor, Article 200 declared that when the People’s Assembly interpreted the constitution, it had to do so in accordance with the General Clauses Law promulgated by the preceding government.

Like the army, government was centralised and hierarchical. The various levels of administration were tied together by the principle of democratic centralism. The people were given rights and duties. They had the right to stand for election and to recall their representative; they had the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; the right to freedom of speech, expression and publication ‘to the extent that the enjoyment of such freedom is not contrary to the interests of the working people and of socialism’ (author’s emphasis). In carrying out one’s rights, the constitution declared that persons ‘shall be under a duty … to abstain from undermining any of the following: (l) sovereignty and security of the State; (2) the essence of the socialist system; (3) unity and solidarity of the national races; (4) public peace and tranquility; (5) public morality’.

With no right to organise a political party to express legal opposition to the ruling party and the government it controlled, with the requirement to report the speech of others as well as one’s own conversations with outsiders, with police informers everywhere, the rights were nominal, at best, and meaningless in this constitutional dictatorship.

The system remained intact, with relatively little change until 1988. At the Fourth Party Congress (August 1981) Ne Win announced his intention to give up the office of president of the nation, but to continue to serve as head of the party. As this was where real power was located, it did not represent any real change. His potential successor, U San Yu, was a former subordinate officer from the time he served under Ne Win in the 4th Burma Rifles. Other nominal changes were made but, as always, power remained in the hands of serving or retired military officers under Ne Win’s leadership (Silverstein 1982).

The first sign of real change came in August 1987, when Ne Win startled the nation by admitting ‘failure and faults’ in the management of the economy and called for open discussion about the past and change. Within weeks the heavy hand of socialist economic control was partially lifted as the government removed restrictions on the sale, purchase, transport, and storage of foodstuffs. This was followed by demonitisation of three units of currency, which was intended to disrupt the black market but in fact had a devastating effect upon the general population because most did their business in cash and kept their reserves at home instead of in a bank.

Developments came to a climax in July 1988 while the nation was in turmoil and an emergency party congress was in session. Ne Win announced his resignation as party head and urged the leaders to consider the creation of a multiparty system, among other changes. He also warned the nation not to demonstrate, for if they did, the army would not shoot over their heads.

Although the party permitted Ne Win to resign, it did not adopt his recommendations. Instead, it appointed as its new leader General Sein Lwin, another protégé of Ne Win. He had the reputation of having led his military unit in suppressing dissent on the university campus in 1962, and again in 1974 where hundreds of students were killed or wounded. To put down the growing national unrest, which had been building up during the year and was about to culminate in a national strike on 8 August, Sein Lwin ordered the military to suppress the strike of unarmed civilians; it resulted in the death of thousands.

The resignation of Sein Lwin brought the first true civilian to leadership. Dr Maung Maung, a legal scholar and strong supporter of Ne Win, became head of state and sought to end popular unrest by promising elections for a multi-party system and other reforms. But his offer came too late as dissent grew and threatened to topple his government; more important, defections from the air force and the navy to the side of the people were a prelude to defections from the army. During this period, the government released criminals from jail and crime rose; at the same time, it spread rumors that the water was poisoned and the city was unsafe. Instead of drawing the people back to BSPP rule, this only hardened their resolve to continue peaceful demonstrations for immediate change to a democratic multiparty system.

At this critical stage, when the people felt that they were on the verge of victory, General Saw Maung, the head of the army, organised a coup and on 18 September seized power and ordered the armed forces to suppress all dissent. Again, the number killed and wounded is unknown, but is reported to have reached 3000 or more.

Thus, within a year, from Ne Win’s 1987 announcement to the Saw Maung coup, the military’s carefully constructed constitutional dictatorship crumbled and the army found it necessary to abandon the façade of constitutional government in favour of naked power to restore its leadership. As in 1962, it abandoned all pretences of legality and democracy to create a new dictatorship based on martial law and backed by soldiers and guns.

Opposition to Military Rule: 1962–1988

Despite having complete political power and the backing of the armed forces, military rule in its various guises was never free of opposition. The civil war between the minorities and the government persisted even though the armed forces increased in both size and strength. In the heartland, Buddhist monks and university students resisted openly at various times. As the military was fashioning its dictatorship in 1962, the monks refused to register and carry identification cards; and in the Mandalay area some monasteries resisted with force. Eventually, in 1980 Ne Win was successful in bringing the monks and the various sects under government control and marked the event by holding a national celebration, granting amnesty to dissidents and imprisoned felons.

The opposition of the university students lasted longer and was more influential in bringing the constitutional dictatorship to an end. It began in June 1962, with resistance to harsh new university regulations and the killing of an unknown number of students as the army dislodged them from their barricades on the campus and blew up the Student Union Building – the historic centre of student resistance during the British period. Skirmishes between the military and students erupted over the next several years, with the most serious occurring in 1974. When the remains of U Thant, the third secretary-general of the United Nations, were returned to Burma, students and monks seized the coffin because the government did not intend to properly honour his remains. They took them to the university where, after a few days, the army used force, and killed more than a hundred students and monks in recovering the coffin (Selth 1989).

In 1987 the students, most of whom lived on the cash in their pockets, demonstrated against the demonitisation. A few months later, a minor fight between students and townfolk grew into large-scale student-army clashes and a major demonstration in Rangoon, which was suppressed by force, with forty-one students known to have died of suffocation in a police van; others were killed or jailed in the conflict.

The demonstrations of March did not end, despite the closing of the universities. When the universities were reopened in June, the students demanded an accounting of the missing and the arrest of those who inflicted injury upon them; this provoked new demonstrations. At the time, there were rice shortages and skyrocketing prices of basic goods in the cities; there also was large-scale unemployment. These and other issues finally brought the people onto the streets to join the student-led demonstrations. Martial law had been declared in several urban areas outside Rangoon. With the students at the head of the demonstrations and demanding real change in the political system – a return to democracy and constitutional government – the situation slipped out of the control of the military and threatened to bring down the nearly three-decade-old dictatorship (Lintner 1989).

On the Unity of the Army, 1948–1988

It often has been noted that throughout the period of military rule the army remained united and intact. Ne Win could appoint and dismiss leaders with no fear of army resistance. He could call upon it to carry out the most brutal suppression of the people without fear that it would reject his command.

The officers in the Burma army have come from three sources: from the ranks; from students and graduates of the universities of Rangoon and Mandalay, who were given ROTC training and after entering the armed forces completed the Officers Training School (OTS) course. Under Ne Win, the first category were the most trusted, especially if they had served under him in his first postwar command, the 4th Burma Rifles. They formed a close camaraderie, and such men as Aung Gyi, Tin Pe, San Yu and Sein Lwin rose to leadership this way. The academy graduates were intended to be the army elite; they were carefully selected and given an education comparable to that offered at the universities. The ROTC produced engineers and doctors mainly; however, some, upon entering the armed forces, became line officers and they represent the best educated amongst the senior command. Enlisted men have been drawn almost exclusively from amongst the rural population. They have had less education generally than urban youth and the military has offered an opportunity to live better and earn more than if they remained peasants. They have proven to be very loyal soldiers who respond faithfully to command. The army has also recruited soldiers from amongst some of the minorities who were thought to be less political and most loyal to the national government. The Chins are believed to be the most numerous at the present time.

The persistent unity within the army can be traced to three sources: training, ideology, and its self-declared special position in society. As noted earlier, the initial Burman component of the army was trained by the Japanese and absorbed its traditions of absolute authority, brutalisation of the troops and officers who delayed or questioned orders, and centralisation of command. This was the glue that held the units together and punishment for individual initiative ensured that no deviation occurred.

The special position in society was a by-product of the army’s central ideology. It saw itself as the most patriotic and loyal body in the nation. It had fought for independence and was in the front line of defence against both external and internal enemies. Because of its willingness to sacrifice everything for the people and the state, it saw itself as entitled to good housing, pay and benefits. During the democratic period, a two-class society emerged, with the army bases better built and cared for than the housing of the ordinary people. Through the Defence Services Institute the army expanded into the economic realm, where eventually, during the caretaker government, it organised and ran several large economic enterprises. From this period, the army argued that it not only defended the nation from its enemies but was the friend and helpmate of the farmer and worker, sharing in the harvesting and in building roads and dams. Throughout the period of the constitutional dictatorship this theme of friendship and partnership dominated in the press and at public events.

For all the apparent internal unity in the army, there was dissent in its officer ranks. In 1976, a coup against Ne Win was launched by more than a dozen junior officers. They were intent upon returning civilian leaders to power and the military to professional tasks. In court, the accused argued that they were dissatisfied with the political and economic system imposed on Burma by their leaders and with the corrupting influence of politics in the army. The failure of the coup and the conviction of the accused placed Academy graduates under suspicion, and many were diverted to administrative and party duties. Until 1988, military leadership remained in the hands of officers who rose from the ranks, from the OTS and from close association with Ne Win (Silverstein 1977); since then, Academy graduates have risen to leadership in SLORC, and General Maung Aye, a member of the first class at the Academy, is the second-highest ranking officer in the army.

Military Rule: Third Phase, 1988–1993

On the day before the 1988 coup, the minister of Defence ordered all members of the armed forces to resign from the BSPP and resume performing their ‘original duties’, working for the perpetuation of the state, for national unity and for the consolidation and strengthening of sovereignty. This was the first step towards ending party control, dismantling the constitutional dictatorship and reasserting the army’s determination to rule directly. Immediately following their seizure of power, the coup leaders explained their action as halting the deteriorating conditions in the country and announced three immediate goals: (1) restoring law, order, peace and tranquility; (2) easing the people’s food, clothing and shelter needs; and (3) holding democratic multi-party elections, once the first two goals were established. It also declared that all parties and organisations willing to accept and practise genuine democracy could make preparations and form parties. It abolished the state institutions and, in their place, created a State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC) comprising nineteen senior military officers under the leadership of General Saw Maung, the former minister of Defence and army chief of staff.

Also following the coup, the army dropped the original ethnic names of its military units. This was the last step in erasing its original federal structure.

Under martial law and arbitrary decrees, parties were able to form, but they were limited in their access to the media, and in their ability to hold rallies and communicate with their constituents. During the period of registration, 234 parties formed and all but one went onto the electoral rolls. Only a few were genuinely national, with leaders who attracted a wide following and offered some sort of program if they came to power.

The electoral law was highly restrictive and limited the ability of the parties to campaign and get their messages to potential supporters. Yet, despite the impediments to free and open campaigning established in the electoral law, the people took full advantage of the free election and voted overwhelmingly for the party which was recognised by all as being anti-military and pro-democracy. The National League for Democracy, led by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and former General Tin U gained 392 of the 485 seats in the new People’s Assembly, even though its leaders were either under house or direct arrest and the party was harassed in its efforts to reach its supporters.

Despite the coup leaders’ promises to return power to the people and permit the People’s Assembly to convene, the military had no real intention of doing that if the party and leaders it favoured did not win.

On 27 July 1990 they tore away their democratic mask and revealed their true authoritarian character. In their Announcement 1/90 they declared that SLORC was not bound by any constitution; it ruled by martial law and gained legitimacy from international recognition both by the United Nations and individual states. It declared that while it continued to rule, the elected members were responsible only for drafting ‘a constitution for the future democratic state’. Nearly a month later, General Saw Maung said in a press conference that all previous constitutions ceased to be effective after the coup leaders seized power in 1988 (International Human Rights Law Group 1990:26-27).

While the elected members of the People’s Assembly wait to assemble, SLORC continues its abuse of human rights by arbitrary arrest and imprisonment of the electees as well as citizens at large. Under Martial Law Order 1/89, military courts were established with power to severely punish, including issuing the death penalty for violators of SLORC decrees and pre-existing laws. In November 1989 Amnesty International reported that thousands of people had been arrested and convicted; other sources reported that more than 100 had received the death penalty (Amnesty International 1990a:1).

In the hill areas, the military pursues a dual policy to bring the civil wars to an end. Since 1989, it has offered individual ceasefire agreements that allow ethnic insurgents to retain their weapons and control local administration and economy in exchange for halting their wars against the state. All political issues remain unresolved until a new constitution and elected government are in place. For those who refuse the offer, war continues. By 1996, fourteen opposition groups had signed. Only the Karens have refused; the Karenni resumed warfare after the Burma army broke the agreement.

A key tactic of the military to force acceptance of an agreement is the persecution, torture, rape and murder of non-combatant old men, women and children of the minorities. By using innocent villagers as forced labour both in warfare and behind the lines, the army violates the human rights of civilians. These abuses are widely documented and reported by government agencies and non-governmental organisations.

Since 1989 the UN Commission on Human Rights in Geneva has pursued the issue of human rights violations in Burma. After listening to the reports of its special rapporteur and the testimony of representatives from various countries and non-governmental organisations, beginning in 1991 and continuing through its 1996 sessions the Commission adopted strong resolutions. Initially the Commission acted under a rule of secrecy, but the failure of Burma’s military rulers to give full cooperation to its special rapporteurs and to make appreciable progress in correcting identified abuses led the Commission, in 1993, to make public its proceedings and reports.

SLORC’s rule in Burma has drawn the continuous attention of the UN General Assembly since 1992. Following discussions in its Third Committee, it unanimously adopted strong resolutions calling on Burma’s military regime to release Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, the Nobel laureate, and other political prisoners, to halt human rights violations, and to restore democracy.

Faced with growing hostility from the world community, and in need of foreign aid, investment and technical assistance, on 23 April 1992 SLORC began a series of steps it hoped would indicate that political change was in progress and that the military’s iron grip was relaxing. Change began at the top, with General Than Shwe, the minister of Defence and commander-in-chief of the armed forces, replacing General Saw Maung as leader of SLORC. At the same time, SLORC announced that political prisoners who no longer were a threat to the regime would begin to be released. It also announced that Daw Aung San Suu Kyi could receive visits from her immediate family, and that if she promised to end her involvement in national politics she was free to leave the country.

Earlier in the same year, Muslims of Indian origin living in Arakan, many of whom are citizens of Burma, harassed and under pressure from the Burma army, began fleeing the country and seeking refuge in Bangladesh. The outflow led to a border incident between the two states and the mobilisation of tens of thousands of troops on both sides of the border. But tensions began to relax following the change in SLORC leadership and on 28 April the two countries agreed to an orderly return of the refugees if they could prove their citizenship or right to be in Burma.

Also, about the same time, General Than Shwe announced a halt to the military campaigns against the Karen, although he did not declare a ceasefire or take steps to halt fighting against other minorities.

But the change that attracted most attention was SLORC’s announcement that it would shortly begin a protracted process of writing a new constitution as the first step towards transfer of political power. On 23 June 1992 it convened a preconvention assembly of forty-three selected individuals, including candidates elected in 1990 to the parliament which they were never allowed to form, and fifteen representatives of the military. Their assignment was to decide who should be invited to the next stage of constitution-making, the drafting of principles and agreeing on chapter headings (Silverstein 1992).

To prepare for this second stage, SLORC promulgated Order 13/92 which set forth the six principles which the military rulers wanted the delegates to adopt as the basis of the new constitution: the unity of the territory, the people and the state; a multi-party democratic system; the incorporation of the principles of justice, liberty and equality, and ‘the participation of the Tatmadaw [army] in the leading role of national politics of the State in future’.

With these and other instructions, the national convention of SLORC-selected delegates assembled in January 1993. From the start it did not go as planned. The military managers were forced to adjourn after two days when some of the delegates wanted to talk against the sixth principle and about other topics. The meeting reassembled but adjourned four times during the first six months of the year. By 1994, the national convention had adopted more than 100 principles. On the future rule of the military in government, it agreed that one-quarter of the representatives in parliament would come from the military. They would be named by and responsible to the Commander-in-Chief; he would also name the ministers of defence, interior and border affairs, as well as have absolute power in times of emergency (New Light of Myanmar, 9 April 1994). The president must have long military experience. The armed forces budget would not be reviewed by the parliament.

More than four years have passed since SLORC announced its intention to oversee the writing of a new constitution. The people have yet to have a say. Their elected representatives were screened by SLORC, and when any of them refused to go along with the military representatives and spoke out they were disqualified; some left of their own accord, fearing that their outspokenness might land them in jail. On the basis of progress made thus far, General Tin U’s prediction about the length of time that might pass before the SLORC gives way to some other ruling body may not be too far from the mark. And when the soldiers-in-power get the signatures of their hand-picked delegates on the document they are readying for them, and have the document ratified by the public, they will have the legal basis for a new constitutional dictatorship under which they can rule indefinitely.

Conclusion

The five-decade-long history of independent Burma is one of struggle both to establish a modern democratic political system and to unite the people under its rule. Thus far, it has failed on both counts. But the struggle has not been in vain. Military rule has convinced even the most sceptical that a true democracy is the only way domestic peace, freedom and personal safety can be restored. If democracy failed in its first trial, most people in Burma are more than ready to give it a second trial.

Military dictatorship and human rights violations have destroyed the myth of the unity between the soldiers and the people; today, the army is the most hated and feared organisation in the country. And while the military has fashioned a jail out of the once free country, the people, as demonstrated in the 1990 election, will do what they can to recover the freedom they thought they achieved when Burma became independent in 1948.

The minorities, too, have concluded that their future lies in a union with the Burmans and not outside. They are willing to lay down their weapons and join the Burmans in forming a viable federal state, based on equality, autonomy and self-determination. They want modernisation and development to come to their areas and people, but on terms they can accept and live with.

Six years ago a handful of elected representatives fled to Manerplaw, the Karen headquarters on the Burma-Thai border, and with the backing of the Democratic Alliance of Burma – a political front of minority and Burman groups – established the National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma (NCGUB) as a rival to SLORC. The leader, Dr Sien Win, is the cousin of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. Although it has not received formal international recognition, its members travel widely and speak often to parliaments, political leaders and the press; they have a headquarters in the US and lobby at the UN, keeping the issue of Burma before them. Both the Burmans and the minorities want to see the military return to the barracks, leaving politics to civilian elected representatives. Until democracy is re-established, there will be disunity, warfare and economic decline in Burma.

From: The Military and Democracy in Asia and the Pacific

Edited by

R.J. May

Viberto Selochan, 1998,2004

Preface to the ANU E Press Publication

We are fortunate to be able to produce this title six years after the initial publication of The Military and Democracy in Asia and the Pacific. It forms part of an ANU E Press series that is intended to make critical research done at The Australian National University available to a wider readership.

The original edition of The Military and Democracy in Asia and the Pacific was undertaken within the context of the Regime Change and Regime Maintenance in Asia and the Pacific project of The Australian National University’s Department of Political and Social Change, Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, bringing together a number of prominent regional specialists to look at the military’s changing role in selected countries of Asia and the Pacific.

As the original edition sold out, we hope that this new publication will reach an even wider audience who can reflect on the issues raised in this volume and watch with interest the developments within the region.

Nov 2007

BURMA: State, not citizens, the cause of fear & alarm

 

As Burma’s military regime sets about concocting court cases against those whom it has labelled as the ringleaders of protests around the country in August and September, it is increasingly falling back upon a tried and tested provision of its antiquated Penal Code, section 505, according to which,

 

“Whoever makes, publishes or circulates any statement, rumour or report… (b) with intent to cause, or which is likely to cause, fear or alarm to the public or to any section of the public whereby any person may be induced to commit an offence against the State or against the public tranquility… shall be punished with imprisonment which may extend to two years, or with fine, or with both.”

 

It has been a characteristic of the criminal injustice system in Burma under the current administration that virtually anything can be found to fall within the parameters of section 505(b), from the making of complaints about forced labour to the watching of a wedding video of a general’s daughter. But in the aftermath of the recent uprising this section is being overused to the point of absurdity, suggesting a policy dictate rather than any kind of legal process, no matter how feigned. 

 

Here are some among many new 505(b) cases that have come to the notice of the Asian Human Rights Commission www.ahrchk.net (email: listmaster@ahrchk.net) in recent weeks.

 

On October 19, the township court in Katha, Sagaing Division, sentenced National League for Democracy (NLD) members U Myint Kyi (son of U Ba Zaw) and U Zaw Lin (a.k.a. U Maung Maung) to two years with hard labour for their alleged part in the protests. According to Police Superintendent Myint Zaw, the two men held a meeting with others at Myint Kyi’s house on September 25 to plan for a protest in the town the next day. The court heard that the march lasted for a half an hour and involved around 50 monks and over 400 residents who apparently went not in order to press for changes in their society but rather in order “to cause alarm to the public”. The accused maintained that they were not organisers of the protest and anyway Zaw Lin did not even attend it, but Judge Ne Aung does not appear to have considered their testimony as like other such judgments in Burma’s courts, his lacks evidence of any specific reasoning behind the verdict. 

 

In a related case, on October 18, the court in nearby Indaw sentenced Shwe Pein (a.k.a. Htay Naing Lin) and Chan Aung (a.k.a. Nyi Htay) also to two years with hard labour for allegedly having had contact with the defendants in Katha and having communicated to short wave radio stations abroad about goings on there. Interestingly, Deputy Police Chief Kyaw Htay used telephone records and called an official from the government communications department to testify against the two–who are members of the Human Rights Defenders and Promoters (HRDP) group. Others in that group have been targetted in similar legal actions thoughout the year. Judge Daw Khin Myat Tar concluded that the defendants had “sent news to foreign broadcasters with intent to injure State tranquility and the rule of law by causing alarm to the public” and passed her sentence accordingly.

 

U Min Aung, a father of three small children, was brought into the district court of Thandwe (upon the western seaboard) facing the same charge on October 17. Min Aung–who was apparently targetted for having worked on a number of forced labour cases in Arakan State and having had contact with the International Labour Organisation’s office in Rangoon–was sentenced for his alleged involvement in protests in his hometown of Taunggut on September 26 and 27, although in his defence he maintained that he had been away from the area until October 12, the day before he was arrested. When Min Aung complained that he had been denied a lawyer, in violation of his human rights, Judge Daw Hsaung Tin added another two years to his sentence for contempt of court, making it nine-and-a-half years in total. Later, it seems that a lawyer was able to get the case reviewed and the sentence brought back down to two-and-a-half years, despite having been refused permission to get copies of the court’s judgment. 

 

Reports of identikit charges, investigations and convictions are coming from all over the country. For instance, the Yoma 3 news service (Thailand) says that on November 7 Judge Maung Maung at a court in Pyi, lower Burma, sentenced two other HRDP members–Ko Zaw Htun and Ko Thet Oo–to two years each under 505(b), along with a disrobed monk, U Pandita. Similarly, according to the Burmese service of Radio Free Asia, courts in Kachin State, on the border with China, sentenced NLD members U Ba Myint of Banmaw and U Ne Win of Myitkyina (the state deputy chairman) to–yet again–two years apiece on November 9. Ba Myint was reportedly tried in a closed court, without the knowledge of his family, while Ne Win’s wife only learnt of the charge against him when she went to the court on the afternoon of November 8; the next morning he was given 15 minutes to hire a lawyer (without success), after which the judge tried the case and passed the judgment that evening.

Meanwhile, analogous cases were proceeding against two more party members in Monyin, U Kyaw Maung and U Hpe Sein, who are aged 60 and 74 respectively. And according to a human rights lawyer, others facing or having been sentenced in 505(b) cases include U Myint Oo, the NLD secretary in Magwe; U Thar Cho in Yenanchaung, Htun Htun Nyein in Chauk, and schoolteacher U Htay Win in Natmauk, all also in Magwe; and Ko Saw Win, an NLD organiser in Hinthada (Irrawaddy delta) and Maung Khaing Win, who offered water to protestors in the same township. The lawyer only came to learn of the last two by accident, when he was there following up on the case of the Hinthada Six, on whose case the AHRC has conducted an special campaign since April.

 

Clearly, it is not the persons who have been forced to defend themselves in these shabby show trials who have “intent to cause fear or alarm to the public” but rather, the persons behind the policy of 505(b) convictions and two-year sentences for anyone who might have been getting up the authorities’ collective nose, without regard to the legality of how they came to be in custody, how they came to be in the courts or how they came to be convicted.

 

It is Burma‘s authorities, not its citizens, who are responsible for the fear and alarm that persists in their country.

 

The fantastic irony of all of these cases is that while the military regime rails against neocolonialists and the supposed interference of others in its internal affairs, it is using a colonial-era law in its desperate attempts to crush opponents to its unsavoury rule in exactly the same manner as did the British officials who devised and implemented the law over a century ago. The provision is the same one that exists until today in the Indian Penal Code (1860), which can be found in one form or another throughout the Commonwealth; however, despite its persistence on the statute books, nowhere is the section so shamelessly and blatantly manipulated for purposes entirely contrary to notions of justice than in Burma today.

 

The use of section 505(b), police and conventional courts in handling virtually all of the cases arising out of the recent protests reinforces a point that the Asian Human Rights Commission has been making as a result of its close study of the situation in Burma over the last few years: it is in the case-based study of ordinary institutions, laws and procedures, not in the privileging of special security regulations and secret tribunals, that understanding about the management of Burma’s authoritarian state and mismanagement of its society is to be obtained. At this time that the UN Special Rapporteur on human rights in Myanmar, Professor Paulo Sergio Pinheiro, has again at last been able to visit the country, the AHRC calls for him and all other persons examining the situation of human rights there to pay special attention to this aspect of ongoing systemic violations in Burma.

 

The role of human rights organisations and defenders at this critical time in the country’s history must consist not only of documenting and describing events but understanding and interpreting them for the benefit of both ourselves and others. In the case of Burma especially we may not always be able to say why something happened, but we should at least be able to say how, and not just what.

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Introduction

By Helen Buchan, July, 2009

 

The first posting of documents in this blog includes articles I began collecting in October 2007, following the protests in Burma about price rises in petrol, diesel, and gas. The collection ended in January 2008. There are also articles by me, under the heading

“Some Ideas for Change.”

 

The purpose of the collection, and of what I wrote, was to try to put together, in a non-internet form, a package of facts and suggestions that might help spark ideas for a non-violent transition from a military dictatorship to some form of democracy, and towards a more equal sharing of the country’s wealth.

 

Who the hell do I think I am?

 

Well, nothing appears to have worked so far, to get rid of the generals, or to at least persuade them into doing useful work for the good of all the people. So I might as well try again, go global, and put in what in Australia are called my “two bobs’ worth” (twenty cents’ worth of unsolicited suggestions).

 

If Burma is NOT as isolated from the rest of the world as I thought, the articles I downloaded from the internet may have already been available to people inside Burma with access to a computer.

 

Whether everyone in the country knows what is happening in other parts of the country is another matter. (See the reference further on to Emma Larkin’s book, “Secret Histories.”) I will try to set up links to some articles, to avoid clogging up the blog. However, I will include here articles by Callahan and Silverstein on the history of Burma and its military.

 

Most of the stuff is in English, but there are some articles in Burmese.

 

Setting the scene

 

The Burmese military is obsessed with “unity”.  Dissent and criticism are forbidden, and severely punished. Under such conditions, the truth is not likely to be told. Only the official version is allowed to be broadcast or published: boring, pompous, self-congratulatory, sycophantic, pseudo-historical.

 

Each generation of Burmese is becoming worse educated than the one before. This, in a country of clever and resourceful people is a disgrace.

 

Worse: Burma has an arbitrary system of “justice” controlled by corrupt and greedy cronies of the military, which recruits gangs of civilian thugs to bash and intimidate the population. (See the web site “Rule of Lords”, and also the Asian Human Rights Commission (Hong Kong).These things suggest a country descending into some sort of madness.

 

About sanctions:  Many pro-democracy groups both inside and outside Burma support sanctions against the regime.  I don’t, for the reason that they haven’t worked, and may even have made things worse for ordinary Burmese: damaging the export textile industry, for example, and destroying the jobs of many women. Articles supporting sanctions are therefore not included here.

 

BURMA REGIME TRANSITION STRATEGY, PART ONE

By Helen Buchan, January, 2008, revised July 2009

Preface

 

This strategy started life as “A strategy to bring down the military regime in Burma.”

 

However, if one has any knowledge of Burma, it doesn’t take much thought to realise that, if the regime were to be “brought down”, there would at present be nothing to replace it.  Burma lacks the essential institutions of democracy.  (See “Democracy Essentials”, and “Burma Regime Transition Strategy, Part 2”.)

 

For historical background, see the document “Callahan: Democracy in Burma.”

 

Introduction

 

Part one of this document outlines the main obstacles to bringing about the transition of the military regime into a democracy.

 

Part two suggests a different approach from those tried before. (What might be called “making the military regime uncomfortable.” See “Burma Regime Transition Strategy Part two,” for more positive suggestions.)

 

Part three discusses organizational structures and financing.

 

Part one:  The main obstacles to bringing about a transition to democracy

 

So far, all attempts to encourage, persuade or force the military regime in Burma to begin the transition to democracy have failed. The Military is afraid, or claims to be, that the Union of Burma will break up. It is therefore unable to cope with dissent. People who have protested in the past have been severely punished. The system of Injustice makes people afraid to protest, though some are still brave enough to do so, and take the consequences. Burma is a “state within a state”. Burma doesn’t need the west – its “best friend” is China, hardly a mentor on democracy. Lastly, Burma lacks the essential elements on which to base democracy.

 

 

1.The fear, on the part of the military, of the break up of the Union of Burma 

 

 

Immediately after Independence from Britain, Burma’s military was flat out trying to hold the new nation together.  The centre did “hold”, but only just.  Thus began the military’s idea of itself as the force that keeps the nation together, against all external and internal enemies (See Mary P.Callahan’s book: “Making Enemies: War and State Building in Burma.”)

 

Fear of break-up of the Union has two main sources: inability to cope with dissent, and fear of ethnic breakaway.

 

1a. Inability to cope with dissent:

 

Dissent in Burma is forbidden. This is not something new, but deeply engrained, part of the culture of Burma.  There are simply no acceptable ways of expressing disagreement with whoever is in power.  (See Callahan, “Democracy in Burma: an historical perspective”, and “State Building in the Shadow of the Raj”, also in this blog.)

 

If you’ve been to Burma, you will have seen billboards carrying the message that any criticism of the regime endangers the State. The billboards carry slogans such as “Oppose those relying on external elements, acting as stooges, holding negative views.” The public is exhorted to “Crush all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy,” and warns that “Anyone who tries to break up the tatmadaw [military] is our enemy.”

 

The absurdity of the message is apparent to western observers living under some form of democracy, but its effect should not be underestimated.  First, because the Union Solidarity and Development Association (USDA), the political wing of the State Peace and Development Council – the regime’s newish name for itself – promotes the message as part of its “Four-Points People’s Desire.”

 

The Network for Democracy and Development says that these “four points” – unlike the “meaningless propaganda” of the “Three Main National Causes” and “The Twelve Objectives” – directly threaten political parties and can be used to trigger violence.

 

“The four points” are to:

 

“Oppose those relying on external elements, acting as stooges or holding negative views;

 

“Oppose those trying to jeopardize the stability of the State and progress of the nation;

 

“Oppose foreign nations interfering in internal affairs of the State; and

 

“Crush all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy.”

 

As membership of the USDA is compulsory in almost every occupation in Burma, and university students, and even school children, are told they must join, if they want an education, the message of the “four points” is widely promoted. Some of it, as the saying goes, must “stick.” Certainly, it gives licence to the gangs of thugs within the USDA to beat up members of the National League for Democracy (Aung San Suu Kyi’s party) and others. (See document: “USDA White Shirts.”)

 

A second reason for not simply dismissing the billboard slogans as absurd is expressed by Callahan: “While most observers interpret these bizarre sloganeering campaigns as a sign of the junta’s isolation from the desires and concerns of the Burmese citizenry, this view misses important components of the campaign that are directed as much at the tatmadaw as they are at the rest of the population. “ (“Cracks in the Edifice?” in “Burma/Myanmar: Strong Regime, Weak State?” 2000.) Callahan suggests the slogans are part of a campaign to rewrite history, putting the tatmadaw at the centre of Burma’s development.

 

Compare this self-promoted centrality of the military with what I suggest is the typical English-speaking civilian’s attitude to their own military. It is not that the armed forces are not recognised for what is generally summed up as their “sacrifice” (though not necessarily well-looked after when they become civilians again), or that war cemeteries are not maintained with reverence, or that the military are not cheered during anniversaries such as Victory in Europe and Victory over Japan (also known as Victory in the Pacific) – it is just that the armed forces are not the hub around which at English-speaking democracies revolve. (Is this true of America? I don’t know.) The military is under the ultimate control of civilian, elected politicians.

 

This suggests that more than simply ridiculing the billboards (and frontispieces to books published in Burma since 1989) is needed.

 

(More of this in “Burma Regime Transition strategy, Part two.”)

 

 

1b. Fear of ethnic breakaway

 

The military regime has concluded peace treaties with most ethnic armies and militias but has not disarmed them.  Aggressive and brutal displacement of some ethnic groups continues.  (See “Unsafe State: state-sanctioned sexual violence against Chin women in Burma”, at www.chinwomen.org  

and “State of Terror”, by the Karen Women’s Organisation: www.karenwomen.org )

 

One reason for the failure of the 1988 uprising was that the ethnic states did not make “common cause” with the majority Burmans, not seeing the uprising as having anything to do with themselves. If the regime is to change, ethnic Burmans and non Burmans will have to see themselves as citizens of the one country.

 

2. Fear, on the part of the non-military population, of arrest and imprisonment, if they protest in any way

 

This fear is well-founded, and has become worse since the protests of September/October 2007. The regime now has many more people “on its books,” having rounded up and questioned anyone who was on the street at the time or who appeared in photographs.

 

Since the partial dismantling of Khin Nyunt’s Military Intelligence, the business of informing on other people has been taken on by some USDA members. The important question is: do people know who the informers are?

 

Not only are protesters punished, but also those seeking legal redress

 

In a perversion of the legal system, Section 505 of the Penal Code is increasingly being used against anyone who complains about anything, and usually lands the complainant in jail, not the perpetrator. (See: “State, not citizens, the cause of fear”

 

 

3. The “State within a State” This is the system which the military and its friends, family members, and others who know which side their bread is buttered on, or feel their survival depends on it, work within and benefit from.  The military has its own schools, its own hospitals, its own businesses.  Those within this system are able to buy goods not available to the rest of the population, can afford to travel around the country by air, can always get a seat on trains and buses, and have a more comfortable life, compared to the rest of the population. Callahan (:”Cracks in the Edifice?”) details how the military has benefited from the dismantling of the socialist state of the Ne Win years, running businesses, acquiring land, “channel[ling ] privileges, contracts and resources toward private businesspeople in exchange for substantial rewards.” And so on.  What, in western democracies, would be called corruption, or, at best “conflict of interest.”

 

As noted earlier, membership of the USDA is compulsory for those working in certain (most?) occupations.  Others, such as students and school children, are told they must join. School children are offered various benefits, which should be available to them whether they join the USDA or not (except the offer of extra marks if they don’t make the grade in exams!). Villagers are told they will be exempted from forced labour if they join. (See the Network for Democracy and Development: “The White Shirts: How the USDA will become the new face of Burma’s dictatorship.” http://www.burmalibrary.org/docs3/USDAFinal1.pdf

 

(If that doesn’t work, google “white shirts USDA, etc etc – many internet references)

 

In other words, civil society in Burma has been perverted and corrupted by the military regime and the regime’s brainchild, the USDA. The USDA aims to take over every area of civilian life.  It even provides a role for thugs, to carry out some of the regime’s dirty work of threatening people and beating them up.

 

Even so…

 

In any transition to democracy, it would not be a good idea, even if it were possible, to simply reduce the size of the military. There are economic as well as political reasons why the size of the military should be reduced: it takes up about 40% of the budget.

However, if almost, if not every, family in Burma has someone in the military, on whose support they depend, it will be necessary to find jobs for these military people when the time comes. 

 

Some suggested areas for retraining former soldiers are for work in

a civilian police force, in fire brigades, medical rescue (Burma has the highest rate of deaths from snake bite in the world), railway repair and construction, building construction, urban road repair, water supply and sewerage, and electricity generation. A cut in spending on military hardware will reduce the budget deficit, as will reining in corruption. The money being skimmed off can go into financing some of the retraining, and payment of salaries. The training schemes should not be restricted to men – whether ex-military or not; women should be given the opportunity to train for technical jobs.

 

4.  The military regime doesn’t need the west – for trade, or anything else, really.  It can get everything it wants, except respectability, from its best friend, China.  If not from China, then from India or Russia.   India may be “the world’s largest democracy”, but its recent history includes unpunished massacres (Gujarat 2002), and Russia is not squeamish about such things either. China, because of its apparently 60 per cent ownership of Burma’s economy, is best placed to put demands on Burma to treat the people better, but asking Burma to turn itself into a democracy?  Hardly. China and Russia can also veto any proposed action by the UN Security Council.

Thus, sanctions against Burma haven’t worked, and won’t work.  Diplomat-level scolding of the regime for bad behaviour doesn’t work either. 

 

I now believe that the west does have a lot to offer Burma, if prejudice and stubbornness on both sides can be overcome.

DOWN TO HERE

 

5. Burma lacks the essential institutions for democracy

 

(For an account on this, see the separate article “Democracy Essentials”, in this blog.)

 

Summing up

 

The military regime in Burma can’t, on the above analysis, be forced to give up or even share power, and they certainly won’t do so voluntarily.  However, I no longer believe it is futile to try to persuade them to enter into discussions with the democracy movement, provided that any discussions involve more than Aung San Syu Kyi and the NLD. They should also involve ethnic representatives, and members of any embryonic political party – NOT the USDA, as they are a creature of the regime – and representatives from any western government willing to assist Burma with aid, information, or investment, in the transition to democracy – a democracy that includes the evolution of the military into a defence force, under civilian control.]

 

This leads one to the conclusion that something other than sanctions has to be tried.  It’s been suggested that some younger officers will be so appalled by the recent scenes of brutality against the monks – the most respected people in Burma – and by scenes of looting and vandalism in the monasteries, that they may start to undermine the regime from within.  Perhaps.  Callahan, writing in 1999 (“Cracks in the Edifice”) had the opinion that, far from being more likely to identify with the people than older officers of the military, despised them more.

 

 Part two: How it can be done: a different approach

 

Operation White Ant and Operation Blurt

 

 

Operation White Ant.

 

Operation White Ant aims to undermine the regime from within – not just, or even mainly, from within the military itself – but by undermining every person, every organisation, every business, that benefits from the regime, including the children, and including all foreign companies who have turned a blind eye to the oppression.

 

Foreign companies can be shamed in their own countries, in Burma, and internationally. Not shamed into withdrawing from Burma, but shamed into operating there in a different way: paying decent wages (by local standards), not tolerating forced labour, and refusing to benefit from forced displacement or environmental damage.  If the damage or displacement have already taken place, restitution and rehabilitation should be the demand, with boycotts if the companies do not comply.

 

I believe we in the rest of the world, including those in ASEAN countries, should be pressuring our governments to force companies to comply with the above demands, rather than pressuring governments to impose sanctions on the companies.

(There will be some repetition of the above, in the “Burma Transition Strategy Document part two.”)

 

It is essential to note that the methods of “Operation White Ant” be not violent, and not physically destructive.  This is not a scorched earth policy. This is not the same as recommending that people not defend themselves if attacked.  But creative ways of thwarting attacks should be explored.  

 

Nor is it intended that those persons who are, as it were, “brought down” should be excluded from participation in any future State in Burma – except, perhaps, the worst of the military. Some people will be co-operating with the regime out of fear, or for the sake of their families’ survival, or because they don’t know any better. (One of the purposes of gathering together the documents on this blog is to help people to “know better” – that is, to know the harm they do and the harm that others have done, the crimes committed, the injustices perpetrated.)  Even if people are co-operating because they are not, shall we say, very nice, the campaign is not intended to destroy people – just to stop the evil things they do. 

 

The informed-upon will inform upon the regime and its beneficiaries.  The techniques of Operation White Ant will include naming, identifying, ridiculing, inconveniencing, harassing (not physically), taunting, irritating and disrupting. Humour should play a big part, as opposed to mere ridicule, which is spiteful, and more for the benefit of others than the persons targeted. Humour conveys to its target the message “See how absurd the situation is.  Join us in laughing at yourself.  This will be the beginning of your cure.”

 

The intention of the above actions is to make anyone connected with or benefiting from the regime start to rethink their position, and conclude that they can no longer continue, either because their consciences are starting to worry them, or because things are just getting too difficult or too embarrassing. The people at the top may be beyond shame, but perhaps can be “got at” by their families, friends, subordinates, etc.

 

Applied to businesses, the techniques will have to be carefully thought out.  How much disruption? We don’t want to make things worse for “innocent bystanders,” for workers who need the job to live, and other people relying on the targeted business. The disruption needs to be along the lines of “We’re letting everyone know how you benefit from the misery of the people. You should feel deeply ashamed.” (That might work for businesses with head offices within Burma, as a mainly Buddhist country, but should not be relied on outside the country, where threatening the “bottom line” is likely to be more effective.)

 

How will it be done?

 

This is where it gets tricky, and possibly dangerous.  But first:  There must be some system of verification of information, to weed out those with a grudge against others, or wanting to bring personal or business rivals into disrepute. [I do not know how this verification can be done. It may have to come down to those taking action having self-discipline and integrity.] Secondly, those carrying out the actions will not wait around to be identified, let alone seized.  Perhaps back-up “security” could be provided by some people keeping an eye out for possible trouble, while others get on with the job. It may even be necessary to “arrest” the perpetrators in order to protect them (taking care that the crowd doesn’t turn on those doing the “arresting!”)

 

“Innocent bystanders” must be protected, by knowing as little as possible, preferably nothing, about those who have just carried out the action.  Not that “knowing nothing” will necessarily save them, unfortunately. The more paranoid a regime, the wider it is likely to cast its net.

Actions would best be carried out in an area where those carrying them out are not known … at the same time, there must be enough people around to make a quick escape possible. This suggests that these types of activity – public shaming – may only be possible in larger towns and cities.

 

Ridiculing State propaganda:  The billboards referred to earlier need to be discredited. Those who already laugh at them are not the ones who need to be convinced. Perhaps leaflets debunking the billboards could be scattered wherever crowds are to be found (not protesting crowds, just people going about their everyday activities in the cities).  Similarly, false frontispieces could be surreptitiously slipped into the front of books, covering the compulsory frontispiece  of “Our Cause”, “The People’s Desire”, etc., etc.

 

The leaflets could mention the following

 

(1)  Burma has no external enemies.  No one wants to invade Burma. China doesn’t have to – it already owns about 60 per cent of Burma’s economy; America is overstretched and is not interested anyway; Thailand might start getting annoyed at all the refugees the regime is creating, but would probably just make the lives of refugees more restricted, and continue to turn a blind eye to the exploitation and murder of Burmese working illegally in Thailand.

 

(2) The proper role of the military in a civilized country is protecting the citizens from external attack (none is to be feared in Burma), and, when required, assisting with disaster relief.  The military should be separate from the lawmakers (parliament) and the judiciary, and answerable to the elected, civilian authority. 

 

(3) As for opposing those “holding negative views,” and “[Crushing] all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy…” This can be countered by saying that, in a democracy, citizens are free to disagree with their governments (including holding peaceful protests) and to change them at regular intervals. A democracy that has institutions to protect citizens from the power of the state, and where citizens have reasonable hope of replacing governments they have come to loathe or are just bored with – such a democracy will not disintegrate as a result of protest or disagreement.

 

With the right institutions, Burma could be the same.

 

(None of this should be taken to imply that democracy is perfect. If you want a perfect human being, make a statue.)

 

As for the stuff about opposing “those relying on external elements”…In ordinary life, it is one’s duty to “interfere” if someone is being attacked, has been hit by a car, is in danger of drowning or being burnt to death, etc., etc. Burma’s people are in serious trouble, and if “interference” (I don’t mean Iraq-war style) can help them, then outsiders should interfere. How, is the problem.

 

Naming, shaming, identifying, etc., individuals and businesses

 

This could be done by a combination of the spoken and the written word.  Both carry risks.  A person in the crowd could point to the targeted person, shout their name and their connection with the regime, and any particular deeds of which they are guilty, then melt into the crowd. They must, of course, NOT be known to the “victim”.   

 

Pamphlets could be stuck to car windscreens, house gates, shop windows – (eg, naming those people known to shop there for goods not available to the general population).  Setting up a new capital in central Burma has physically removed how many people from the possibility of this sort of treatment? They can’t ALL have moved to the new capital, Middle of Nowhere.  (Or, to give it its full name, Holes in the Ground in the Middle of Nowhere.) (The “holes” are the bunkers.)

 

Another way of ridiculing the regime is by means of fables. For example, “Folk tales for modern Burma”, printed as a proper little book, just like all the other books of fables, but with characters and events with an uncanny similarity to actual persons and events.  The characters could be human or animal.  (But go easy on the hard-working water buffalo, a noble animal! Do not call the generals “buffalos”.  It is an insult to buffalos.) Scorpions, crocodiles, cobras, malaria mosquitoes, come to mind.) The fables, as with all other printed material referred to in this document, would have to be printed and distributed clandestinely.

 

Perhaps the following is an unnecessary warning to what we are told are the “internet savvy” youth of Rangoon in particular: No documents should be stored on computers, and defaults should be set so that there is no trail left on the computer of documents consulted. Removable storage devices are essential.

 

And, of course, there are songs. Chest-beating, military-regime patriotic songs can be easily parodied. 

 

How to get the pamphlets into the hands of the public:  Perhaps an armload could be dropped, on a windy day, in the middle of the city, or thrown out of the window of a bus, or dropped from the balcony of a tall building. Bundles (not tied!) could be set down on the pavement after dark, and by morning, with any luck, the pamphlets will have spread themselves throughout the city.  This is one advantage of very poor and restricted street lighting. 

 

Does everyone realize how bad the regime is?

 

One of the people interviewed by Emma Larkin for her book “Secret Histories” says something to the effect that, if the people of Burma knew what was being done, they would rise up against the regime.  I found this statement rather surprising, but perhaps they DON’T know – or at least, not all of them know, or they don’t know everything. Given the restriction on information, and the re-writing of history as taught in schools, this is possible, even probable.  The next technique I describe is aimed at these people – not to harm them, but to inform them.  It’s a bit tasteless and over-the-top, and is demanding of materials. It is as follows:

 

A body, apparently that of a monk, is seen lying in a rice paddy, or on the outskirts of a small town. The startled villagers approach.  The “body” is revealed to be a dummy, dressed in monk’s robes.  Pinned to the body is a list of all the known instances of massacres of monks, the number of monks imprisoned, and so on. The message would be along the lines of “This represents the monks killed by the military …” Similarly, the apparent body of a child could be dumped where villagers will find it.  Pinned to its body could be an account of the number of children killed by being shot during demonstrations, or who have died from malnutrition or disease due to poverty engendered by the regime.

It should be sufficiently shocking to come across what appears to be a dead body. There is no need to represent actual injuries, such as resulting from torture, nor depict the “body” in a degrading or humiliating way.  This applies particularly to the next suggestion:

 

The apparent body of a woman in ethnic dress could represent the systematic rape of ethnic-minority women by the military. (See “Unsafe State: state-sanctioned sexual violence against Chin women in Burma”, at www.chinwomen.org  (see publications)

and “State of Terror”, by the Karen Women’s Organisation: www.karenwomen.org )

 

If the crimes of the military are well-known in the area immediately around where they are committed, but not in the rest of the country, it would be a good idea to have these dummies dumped somewhere other than in the area where the crimes were committed. The dummies don’t need to be made of solid material, such as western fashion display dummies.  After all, representing dead bodies as they do, they won’t be required to stand upright. Anyone with a sewing machine (or needle and thread and a lot of time to spare), plus a supply – surreptitiously obtained – of plain cotton material of suitable colour, could make a passable dummy fairly easily.

Stuffing could be straw or chaff or dried grass or reeds.

 

Part three: Possible organizational structure, and financing.

 

My knowledge of the various Burmese pro-democracy groups is very limited. I think it can be left to the Burmese as to how they set up networks, or even if they set them up at all.

 

People who know and trust one another should try to give the impression of not behaving any differently – never meeting as a group, for example, if they have not done so in the past… The utmost caution must be applied when forming a group.

 

I suggest that groups outside Burma appoint a board of trustees to set up a fund, to help pay for equipment or materials. This should be in a country where it is not against the law to set up a fund for such purposes The fund could also help support those who have lost – at the hands of the military – family members on whom they relied for survival.

 

Means of communication (gadgetry): (This section is written on the assumption that the flurry of e-mails, so commonplace in the west, will not be a readily-available method of communication within Burma, given the restrictions on, and surveillance of, internet activity.)

 

Satellite telephones are the safest way of communicating.  Calls are pretty much untraceable, and, if the phones are capable of encryption (can civilians obtain this kind?), cannot be eavesdropped upon.   

The telephones are very expensive, however – probably around $2,500 US – and calls are also expensive.   So satellite phones may be pure fantasy.

CB radios have a range of about 25 miles, are quite cheap, and their location is hard to pin down, especially if the two parties keep moving. Transmissions, however, are not secure.  (Code books needed!)

Mobile phones require a transmission network, and their approximate location can be easily pinned down.  Called number records can also be accessed by the authorities.

Short wave transmitters: Very small short wave radio transmitters are now available, but are very expensive, and need good antennae

 

Burma Regime Transition Strategy, Part Two

By Helen Buchan, January, 2008

 

Preface:  

This “Burma Regime Transition Strategy, part two” discusses how it may be possible to encourage and help the regime begin the transition to democracy.

 

But what if the regime has no intention of giving up power?

Consider the extraordinary lengths the SPDC has gone to create a political wing for itself – the Union Solidarity Development Association (USDA), with SPDC members as patrons. Observers believe the USDA is intended by the SPDC to become a political party to contest any elections resulting from the National Convention process. The USDA is working towards having everyone in Burma a member, and eliminating the NLD or any other opposition party that dares to raise its head. 

 

Thus, if elections were to be held, the USDA could not help but win, and the regime could claim the legitimacy which comes from winning elections. The fact that such an election could not possibly meet the criteria of being “free and fair” (see “Democracy Essentials”) would not bother the regime at all. 

 

Anyone who has seized power is unlikely to want to give it up unless they can see beyond their own individual or group interests to what might be called “the greater good”. The task would therefore be to persuade them to accept the “greater good” above their own, selfish interests.

 

The other way the generals might be persuaded to give up power would be to convince them that what they SAY they are afraid of, were they to loosen their grip – the break-up of the Union of Burma – will not happen.

 

Dealing with the second point first:

 

1. Creating a sense of security that the Union is not going to break up

 

This will depend on demonstrating to the regime that the Union of Burma will not fall apart if the military hands over the functions of government to civilians, drastically reduces its own numbers, and transforms itself into a defence force under the ultimate control of a civilian government.

 

Ethnic groups

 

I think the minority ethnic groups are part, perhaps the major part, of the key to giving the military regime a sense of security that the Union will not fall apart.

 

The history of conflict with ethnic groups – NOT one-sided, it must be said – has given the regime an excuse, and therefore a form of legitimacy, for the extreme militarisation of Burma: protecting the Union from breaking up. (See at the end of this document some quotes from Callahan’s “State Formation in the Shadow of the Raj.”

 

Under the heading “The Unworkable Nature of Federalism” in her article “Democracy in Burma: The Lessons of History”: Callahan says that “no state has even come close to the…ideal of exerting authority throughout the territory” bounded by the British-drawn borders.  This was written in 1998, and maybe the situation is different now – or maybe there are still areas in which a democratic government would be unable to “collect taxes or implement social or economic policy…”

This “Burma Regime Transition Strategy, part two”, rests on the assumption that breaking up into independent states is not a realistic option, and that processes of reconciliation, integration and cooperation can and must be worked out.

Of course, Burma could become a province of China, in which case it would be all over, Red Rover.

 

A new Union of Burma 

 

No, I haven’t read the new constitution. The following is written with the idea of starting from scratch.

 

There needs to be some sort of consultation process between non-regime Burmese, including the main ethnic groups, to develop a policy of remaining in the Union, and co-operating with and participating in a central government – assuming that a federal system is agreed upon.

The idea would be for non-regime groups, including the self-styled National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma, refugees, the NLD, monks, and other indigenous pro-democracy groups to put forward ideas for a structure for the future Union of Burma.  They don’t have to re-invent the wheel – there are many models to choose from, and political scientists and practical politicians as well as ordinary citizens of the various democracies to call upon to discuss the strengths and weaknesses of different systems. They also have their own history – provided it has not been completely re-written – to examine for ideas on what worked or did not work in the past; and, more importantly, why.

 

(See the document: Democracy Essentials, in the folder “Some Ideas for Change,” for a theoretical discussion, and all the Callahan articles.)

 

The details of administration don’t have to be worked out at this stage. There are already States drawn on the map of Burma -presumably those boundaries are not in dispute. The questions really are: who is to govern the states, if they are to become semi-autonomous within a federal system, and if they are, what is to be the relationship of the States to each other, and to the central government?  Even if a federal system is not agreed upon, there needs to be protection of the rights of ethnic groups, and provision made for the protection of the culture and language of the ethnic groups. A common policy of non-discrimination and equal rights needs to be agreed on. (See The Ethnic Nationalities Council website: http://www.encburma.org/

 

I suggest the process go something like this:

 

Initial discussions. It’s not going to be possible to canvass everyone for their ideas. (Even in the sort of democracy that Australia has, consultation is very selective.) NGOs working in Burma and with refugees along Burma’s borders probably already have some information on what people – both Burman and the ethnic minorities want. Do they want semi-autonomous states within a federal system? What is the range of possibilities?

 

State boundaries to remain as at present.  Statehood only considered for the main ethnic groups: Shan, Chin, Karen, Karenni, Rahkine, Kachin, and Mon.  (Does this mean a state for the Bama? [ majority ethnic group] Smaller ethnic groups, within each state protected, but not given their own state. (Do the various “divisions” become states as well?)

 

Following discussions, as above, registration of adult inhabitants of each state onto an electoral roll.

Choice, by state referenda, of an appropriate form of government for the state.

Election of representatives, if a parliamentary system were to be chosen.

Whatever form of government the inhabitants of each state decide is best for them, the relationship between the states and the central government would have to be standardised, I suggest. 

 

A central government, or a federal government, would be responsible for functions considered universal within the whole country: for example, defence, foreign affairs and overseas trade, income tax, customs and excise, banking regulations, air transport regulations and safety, immigration, meteorology, scientific and medical research, business law, communications…probably the funding (if not control?) of higher education … It would probably be a good idea to have the federal government look into the question of road and rail transport, with a plan to link towns and cities with at least one decent highway and a rail line, as well as considering the provision of more regional airports.

 

There is the question as to whether anyone who is not intending ever to return to Burma to live, or who would not be entitled to citizenship, could take part in any vote on the proposals – or is this getting into too much detail?  (For example, the regime probably has stripped exiles and refugees of their citizenship?)

 

The UN could get involved in helping with the consultation process.

 

The role of the military in the new Union of Burma

 

If the main ethnic groups are able to come up with a policy that demonstrates to the military regime that the Union is not going to break up if there is a transition to democracy, the first demands by the ethnic groups should be the cessation of armed conflict, cessation of forced displacement and the forced takeover of land, cessation of recruitment of child soldiers and the use of forced labour.  In its turn, the military should demand the handover – probably to a peace-keeping UN force – of arms still held by present and former ethnic militia. (Yes, easier said than done.)

Any restrictions on the operation of international humanitarian NGOs such as the Red Cross and Medecins sans Frontieres must be lifted.

 

There would need to be a phased reduction in overall numbers of the military, and their replacement by civilian police, where necessary, or temporarily by UN peace-keepers.

 

Those removed from the military to be offered transfers to other employment or training to be funded by the government. (See Burma Regime Transition Strategy Part One.)Jobs to which ex-military could be transferred or trained include the civilian police force, fire brigades, railway repairs and construction, building construction, rural health clinics, building construction, urban road repair, minor urban road construction, regional airport construction. Sewerage works, electricity transmission construction and maintenance, a Burmese Flying Doctor Service (surely needed, in the country with the highest number of deaths from snake bite in the world?), and so on.

 

There is a huge problem of corruption in the military to be dealt with.  How much is this a barrier to the regime agreeing to a transition to democracy?

 

Acceptance that dissent does not mean disintegration

 

I have written in part one of this strategy about the intolerance of dissent, which has been part of Burma’s history, including its colonial history. (For a comment on this aspect of Burma’s colonial history, see Callahan: “State Formation in the Shadow of the Raj.”) Democracies are built on the acceptance of or at least tolerance of a certain amount of dissent. Stable democracies (ones that last a long time without breaking down into civil war or tyranny) have institutions which allow dissent to be expressed.

 

If dissenters can, peacefully, without coercion, persuade enough people to their point of view, they (the dissenters) can take their turn at running the country, by being voted into government. Things may get a bit worse (depending on one’s point of view), or they may get better, after a change of government, but they rarely (never?) get so bad that the whole system falls apart, provided there are “check and balances” built in, to prevent any section of society, but especially the government, going too far. (By “going too far”, I mean, gathering to themselves too much power. I don’t mean, preventing them from making a mess of how they run the country.)

 

2. Acceptance of “the greater good”

 

It will be difficult to persuade the military regime to stand down for the “greater good.” They won’t want to give up their luxuries, their comforts, many of which are taken for granted by the general population in some of the “developed” countries.

 

It is doubtful the generals can be persuaded on moral grounds, but it may be possible to convince them that a different way of running the country’s government and its economy will lead to greater efficiency and prosperity – enough to share with others in the population. Besides, there is the purely practical argument that people who are sufficiently well fed and well housed make much more efficient workers…

 

At the moment, certain sections of Burmese society – the military, and their families and those who co-operate with the military – are privileged above others. Like the animals in George Orwell’s “Animal Farm”, some Burmese are more equal than others. The irony is that the regime is evidently aiming to create a one-party state, by persuading or coercing everyone to join the USDA, the political wing of the SPDC. 

 

Presumably the thinking behind this is that if nearly everyone belongs – however unwillingly – to the same political party, they will hope to receive some of the benefits those at the top receive, and will not create any opposition.  In other words, there will be no dissent. If by any chance there were to be dissent, it would, under the present system, be forbidden to express it.

 

In this way, it might be possible to pretend that dissent doesn’t exist.  However, any outbreak of what looks like dissent must be “crushed” (always a favourite word of those with totalitarian tendencies), and the protesters treated as criminals.

 

Burma’s own post-colonial history demonstrates that what may start off as a State with ideals of benefits for all (“All animals are equal”), will, if there is no tolerance for dissent, start to fall apart if it is weak, or become more and more tyrannical if it is strong.  Burma has long been in the tyrannical phase. (“Some animals are more equal than others.”) With no correctives on the behaviour of such a regime; it ends up inflicting more suffering on its people than any course of action that the people might have chosen for themselves, if they had been free to do so. 

 

In a democratic system there are checks on extremes of behaviour, especially of government. (But note: the “checks and balances” must be assiduously maintained, now more than ever, during these “war on terror” times, post 9/11/2001.)

 

A distasteful, to put it mildly, development in Burma is the encouragement of thugs to beat people up.

 

In a democracy, people may grumble (and do), but they suffer less than under a dictatorship. (If some in Russia say they miss the old era, it is because they had jobs and certainty. See remarks on “feeding frenzy” below.) Economically, a democracy is likely to prosper more than a dictatorship, because there will be less rigidity and control on what, how, and where goods are produced and traded, and who can carry out these activities; what, where and how crops are sown; what can be written about, what books can be read… As a result, there are incentives for innovation and coming up with better ways of doing things. Such societies are more productive and therefore wealthier.

 

Provided there are systems to ensure fairness, a sharing of wealth, and a universal health and education system, the people are likely to be much happier under a democracy than under a dictatorship.

 

Burma’s transition to democracy need not, and should not, mean a loss of Burmese culture or the acceptance of everything western.  But with the more diversified economy that would be possible if western sanctions were to be lifted, it should be possible to ease off on the exploitation of Burma’s natural resources. Western scholars could combine with Burmese scholars in the setting up of Institutes of Burmese language culture and literature, as well as of Institutes for the study of ethnic languages and culture and literature.  Burma has some extraordinarily skilled weavers and other craftspeople.

 

I have tried to show, by the above arguments, that Burma under a democracy would be better off economically, and the people happier.

 

If the generals were persuaded to agree to a transition to democracy, much would need to be done.  (An understatement, if ever there were one.) The generals will almost certainly need advice, lots of it – and not from economic ideologues, unless they want to unleash a “feeding frenzy” on the country.

 

(It was the International Monetary Fund (IMF) that recommended the withdrawal of subsidies on food, petrol, diesel and gas, in order to reduce Burma’s deficit. But apparently the IMF recommended a gradual withdrawal of subsidies.

 

 

 

Some quotes from the Abstract of Mary P. Callahan’s article, “State Formation in the Shadow of the Raj: Violence, Warfare and Politics in Colonial Burma.”

 

“Early forays into the establishment of law and order increasingly became based on conceptions of the population as enemies to be pacified, rather than subjects to be incorporated into or even ignored by the newly defined political entity…

 

“Bureaucratic and security mechanisms politicized violence along territorial and racial lines, creating “two Burmas” in the administrative and security arms of the state…

 

“As in other societies, war and crisis in colonial Burma created institutions with staying power, and in this case

created relations between state and society that have been and continue to be what Charles Tilly [1990] calls, “coercion-intensive.” Hardly the product of any colonial plot or intention, the coercion-intensive institutions that have dominated governance throughout

the twentieth century …”

 

Democracy Essentials

January 2008

 

In English there is an expression, “Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs.”  A South East Asian equivalent is evidently “Don’t teach your grandmother to peel onions.” These curious expressions are ways of saying, “The advice you are trying to give is not needed; the person (or country – in this case, Burma – knows it all already.”

 

Really?

 

I believe there are general principles for what constitutes a democracy, but that there is more than one way of being a democratic country. Political and social scientists, practical politicians, and ordinary citizens have a lot to offer Burma about how their own democracies work – the advantages and the disadvantages.

 

First, a definition: Simply, democracy is a form of government in which the sovereign (highest) power resides in the people, or their chosen representatives.

 

But there is more to democracy than the ballot box, as Awzar Thi points out in his article “Milking the Cow Dry.”

 

“There is no advantage to be had in trite contrasts between “authoritarian” and “democratic” countries. Many Asian governments with democratic characteristics have strongly authoritarian tendencies. Shifts from naked authoritarianism to formal democracy have not been matched by substantially improved protection of human rights. Excessive attention to the ballot box has been followed by insufficient observance of the need for functioning institutions.”

 

The essential institutions of democracy

 

The word “Institutions” is used here very broadly to mean not only, or even mainly, organisations, but systems and rules of behaviour, things understood and accepted – if not by all, by almost all, in a particular society.

 

Some specifics of democracy

 

Trust: the ethical basis of democracy

 

Trust is being able to rely on people to not deceive us, and to carry out their obligations and duties; both those they have specifically undertaken, and those they have as a moral duty to others, such as to not betray or harm them.

 

We place trust in other people because we must. No society can operate without at least some degree of trust. In Burma under the military regime, trust in others, especially for those who are not members of the regime,  is probably limited to members of one’s own family – even then, sadly, it can prove to be misplaced – and to those one has known for many years and never known to deceive, cheat or betray.

In the BBC Reith Lectures, 2002: “A Question of Trust,” Onora O’Neill argues that trust is basic to human rights and democracy.

 

“Fear and intimidation undermine our ability to place trust…”

 

O’Neill’s analysis of human rights is not the rather “pie-in-the-sky” approach of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. I think it is worthwhile to explain this a little – though reference to O’Neill’s book is recommended.

 

O’Neill says “Rights are not taken seriously unless the duties that underpin them are also taken seriously; those duties are not taken seriously unless there are effective and committed people and institutions that can do what they require… How can rights to freedom of assembly be secure in the face of intimidation?…” O’Neill cites examples from warlord-infested Afghanistan, whereas in Burma it is the state itself, and those it has suborned or intimidated, who do not carry out their duties of protection, truth, and fairness.

 

“Without competent and committed persons and institutions, duties are not met; where they are not met, rights are not respected; where rights are not respected, democracy is unachievable. Democracy can show us what is politically legitimate; it can’t show us what is ethically justified. On the contrary, democracy presupposes rights, and rights presuppose duties. There can be no full democracy where rights and duties are violated…” (p. 31) 

 

If this sounds as though the regime in Burma has to be completely overthrown before any light can begin to shine, O’Neill – who at this point is referring to Czechoslovakia under Soviet rule – puts the case differently: from small refusals to collaborate by refusing to display propaganda, by refusing to lie and by telling more of the truth…“from [such] small refusals larger and bolder actions followed.” (See “Havel essay extracts.”)

 

”Trust is destroyed by deception: destroying deception builds trust, and thereby a basis for rights and democracy.”

 

I would add: trust is also destroyed by betrayal.

 

Some specifics of democracy

 

(Note that neither police nor military forces are essential elements of democracy.  They are essentials for a State – well, police are – but are not a part of what makes a democracy a democracy. Note also that although Athens in ancient Greece gave us the word democracy, the system would not qualify as a full democracy today.)

 

1. An agreed system of decision-making

2, Equal rights in voting and in connection with the law

3, Free and fair elections, held at regular intervals

4. A professional bureaucracy

5. Separation of powers: an Independent Judiciary

6. Independent media

7. Separation of church, or mosque, or temple, from the State.

8. Independence of thought

9. An educated public

 

1. An agreed system for decision making

 

In small groups, decisions can be made “democratically” either by consensus – majority agreement of people in the group – or by unanimous agreement. In something as large as a country, it is impossibly unwieldy to make decisions this way, with the fairly rare exception of a referendum, in which citizens are asked to vote on one or two specific questions.  (And even in a referendum, only those with the right to vote can, well, vote… So children, for example, have no say.)

 

A system of government is called a democracy where the people who make decisions about what the laws of the country will be, and other matters to do with how the country is to be run, have been elected to do so, or chosen to do so by those who have themselves been elected and given the task of choosing. Thus, a relatively small number of people make certain decisions for the rest of the population.

 

In a democracy, the government rules with the freely-given consent of the governed, as determined by regular elections which are free and fair. (See item 3, below.)

 

2, Equal rights in voting and in connection with the law

 

All people in a democracy have equal rights, whether it be the right to vote when a person becomes an adult, and enrols to vote, or equal rights before the law; meaning that wealth or social position do not – or rather, should not -protect a person from prosecution for crime. Minorities are protected against persecution at the hands of the majority. But – as discussed under the heading of “Trust,” above – “rights,” even if proclaimed, do not exist unless there are persons and institutions which protect those rights.

 

3. Free and fair elections, held at regular intervals

 

There are many conditions that must be fulfilled for elections to be free and fair:

 

 

• An agreed system as to who is a citizen and entitled to vote, and to receive whatever benefits citizens receive. Commonly, citizenship of a country is conferred by being born in the particular country, though the right to vote does not come into effect until the person becomes an adult. (See 2, above.) Sometimes citizenship is conferred by marriage. Foreigners may apply for citizenship under certain circumstances. These are matters for a country’s Constitution or some other law.

 

• A system of registering those who are entitled to vote. Generally, this means citizens who have reached adulthood, however defined.  (For example, 18 years or 21 years.)

 

• No discrimination against women being able to vote or to stand for election.

 

• Sufficient polling stations so that everyone who is entitled to vote is fairly easily able to reach a polling station on election day.

 

• No coercion – with one exception, discussed below. If the system of government is corrupt, some people may be prevented from registering to vote, even though by law they are entitled to do so, or they may be prevented from voting, though registered, by not being allowed into the polling station, or by being falsely declared to not be on the electoral roll. Or they may be coerced to voting for one particular person or party. (See “Secrecy”, below.)

 

Citizens must be free to set up political parties, whose members are free to put themselves up for election. It must also be possible for people to stand for election as individuals, who are not members of any particular party.

 

The one exception to the “no coercion” rule that I recommend is that voting in elections be compulsory. It may well be that it is only in long-established democracies that not everyone takes the right to vote as a duty to vote.  Perhaps if they were prevented from voting they would realise what a precious thing the vote is. However, it is unlikely that the Burmese would take the right to vote lightly.

 

• Secrecy as to who a person has voted for. Elections are not free and fair if a person is subject to threats when they turn up to vote, to try to force them to vote for a particular candidate. This is a danger when who one has voted for is not secret.  (It is a curious aspect of parliamentary democracy that how a parliamentarian has voted in parliament is NOT secret. This is part of the process of being ‘accountable’ to the people who have voted for the member of parliament: it makes public whether the person is acting in accordance with the undertakings they made before being elected, and/or it reveals something about the MP that may or may not influence how electors vote in the next election.)

 

In a democracy, no-one has the right to demand who a person has voted for, nor should it be possible to identify whose ballot paper is whose. Ballot papers must not have any marks on them which allow them to be identified as a vote by a particular person.

 

• Simple, unambiguous rules, agreed to by all political parties and Independents, as to what constitutes a valid vote – that is, one that can be counted.  In the US Presidential election of 2000, faulty voting equipment produced some ambiguous ballot papers. It is ironic that “high tech” systems of registering a vote are not suitable. Simple pencil and paper are best.

 

• Protection of ballot papers against theft or interference. A non-corrupt police force or other form of security service to prevent interference with or theft of ballot boxes is essential. In some countries, ballot boxes are “lost,” or stolen, or they mysteriously materialise, filled with votes for – usually – the governing party.

[I have been told, during a trip to Burma in early 2008, that in Burma one of two things is likely to happen: those not intending to vote for government proposals are told to go home; or, when the voting is over, ballot papers in the “no” (black) box are simply removed and put in the :yes” (white) box.  In other words, marks are not made on ballot papers to indicate a :for” or “against” vote, and are therefore easily manipulated to favour the government.]

It should be clear from the foregoing that free and fair elections require, in addition to a police force that is not corrupt, an Electoral Commission of the highest integrity, independent of interference, pressure or threats from the government or anyone else.

 

• Elections at regular intervals. It’s not a democracy if, once elected – however democratically – a government stays in power simply by refusing to hold any more elections. It is a matter of debate what the ideal “term” of government should be.  In Australian Federal (whole of nation) elections, the term is not fixed (held on a regular date), but is for a maximum of three years.  In the Australian State of New South Wales, the term is fixed, and is for four years.  The “term” for British general elections is five years, US Presidential elections, four years, and so on.

 

Too short a term means politicians spend too much time trying to make themselves popular so they will be re-elected next time, and not enough time on getting on with the job. Too long a term means that if the electorate has “got it wrong” and elected an incompetent, corrupt or downright disagreeable government, it can seem a very long time before the chance of getting rid of it comes around. Besides, the longer a government with authoritarian or corrupt tendencies remains in power, the more it is likely to try to pass laws that will make it difficult for it to be voted out at the next election. One of Australia’s states was burdened with such a government some years ago.  In such a situation, the remaining institutions of democracy have to work flat out to protect the citizenry.

 

A common fault of elected governments, whether the term is long or short, is that they have a tendency to avoid tackling vital and often difficult issues that will take more than one term to start to show results.  Wanting, above all else, to be re-elected, governments have a tendency to stick to shorter time-frame issues, hoping the electorate will reward them with re-election. This is where “leadership” is needed in government.

 

Who is there, to make sure regular elections are held? It can be put into legislation, or be a matter of convention, but if a government has become so corrupt that it has to be forced to hold an election, it may not be possible to do so.  This paradox is easily explained: It is respect for the conventions of democracy that makes a government obey the conventions. In rare cases where, in a country with a person in a higher position than the elected government, the government is dismissed by that person, it is a tribute to the respect which all parties hold for the institutions of democracy if such an act does not lead to the outbreak of civil war.

 

It all comes down to trust, as stated at the beginning. A coup is an illegal way of getting rid of a government, and indicates a total breakdown in the conventions of democracy. Of course, if there was no democracy in the first place, a coup might be thought of as a “necessary evil” to get rid of a bad government. But taking part in a coup is not a good foundation on which to build democracy. Violence corrupts even good intentions.

 

Continuing the list of democracy essentials…

 

4. A professional bureaucracy. Few words in English are uttered with more scorn than “bureaucracy” or “bureaucrat.”  But the words are simply derived from the French word for “office.”  The bureaucracy – or “Public Service” or “Civil Service” consists of all the people who do the work of administration that is required as a consequence of having a government at all.  Governments come and go – well, they do in a democracy – but the bureaucracy goes on, as an institution. A professional bureaucracy is one where officials are recruited according to their education and/or experience and capacity. The “Heads of Departments” are people who have either “risen through the ranks,” or been recruited because of their specialist expertise.

Governments appoint Ministers to be “in charge” of various departments of the Civil Service.  It is the job of the Minister to see that the department carries out its work in accordance with the policies of the current government.  This does NOT, or SHOULD NOT mean that Department officials blindly accept the directives of government Ministers without discussion, as circumstances require. If bureaucrats are afraid to offer advice, or to provide information not in line with a government’s ideologically-driven agenda, it is not healthy for a democracy. Democracy is, paradoxically, the frailest, yet strongest of political institutions. It is hard work.

(An ideologically-driven agenda is one where the government – or anyone else – develops a theory (or catches it, like a disease) about the nature of reality or about how things should be run (the economy, for instance), and is not swayed by any argument or evidence to the contrary. Where once the word “bureaucracy” would have implied endless pieces of paper tied up in “red tape” – that is, excessive rules and regulations for how something must be done, it now – to my mind – has the connotation of a closed-off group, convinced that it, and only it, has the knowledge required for whatever is in question.  This is a consequence of the “managerial” revolution in the west, leading to the reign of “experts.”  Everyone else – that is, the public – is shut out, and buried under shovel loads of waffle. This is not good for democracy: it leads to cynicism.)

Public servants must be paid enough so as not to be tempted to demand bribes for doing, without fear or favour, the work they are supposed to do.

 

5. Separation of powers: an Independent Judiciary

 

“Separation of Powers” means that neither the institution which proposes the laws (most of them,) nor the institution which passes the laws (makes the proposals into laws) should be the institution which applies and interprets the laws. The names for these institutions are the Executive (government), the Legislature (parliament), and the Judiciary (the system of solicitors, barristers, and law courts.)

 

Why should laws need interpreting in the first place? Anyway, who better to interpret them than those who made them? Can’t laws be written in such a way that there is absolutely no ambiguity?  The short answer is, “no,” or “rarely.”  Language is not pure mathematics. Words embody all sorts of meanings, derived from history and culture.  Even in an activity involving quantities and measurements, such as engineering, and building construction, quantities and measurements require qualification: how much deviation either way is to be permitted? Two millimetres?  More, less? These deviations are called “tolerances.”  At least the permitted deviations can be described in words. But what about the tools for measuring the deviations?  How precisely accurate do they have to be, or can they be?

 

Little wonder that something described solely in words can be subject to disputation. If the institution which made the laws was also the one to interpret them, it is conceivable, even probable, that laws would be interpreted in such a way that certain defendants – those who do not support the government – would be found guilty, and that others – those who do support the government – would be found not guilty. (This will sound familiar to anyone with knowledge of the Burmese legal system.) In fact, those who do support the government may not even be charged with breaking the law in the first place. The same goes for the application of laws. The Judiciary must be independent from the Executive (the government)

 

Probably the most important law of all concerns proof. What constitutes proof that a particular person has committed the crime with which they have been charged? There is more than one system of law, as between, say, the United  Kingdom and France.

 

An independent judiciary or legal system is one in which lawyers and judges apply the law without interference from a government telling them how they should do so.  Usually there is also a system of “appeal” to a higher court, if either the defence in a case, or the prosecution, does not accept the decision of the lower court – that is, does not accept that justice has been done – providing there are legal grounds which permit such an appeal. But note: having a system of higher courts does not itself ensure that justice will be done – not if “justice” has any meaning of “fairness” attached to it.  For example, Muslim judges may decide against a Christian defendant, simply because the person is not – or does not want to be – Muslim. (Such a case occurred recently in Indonesia.)

 

(See two articles on the Rule of Law, in the folder, “Legal system and issues”)

 

6. An Independent Media

 

If the only news outlets allowed in a country are those run by the government or which unfailingly support the government, the truth about government mistakes or misdeeds will not be able to be made widely known.  If nothing bad about a government is ever published, the government can claim that people have no reason to protest about anything. (It also helps if such a government has passed laws which prohibit protest.)

 

Not only will nothing unfavourable about the country’s government be allowed to be published; it is also probable that nothing good will be will be published or broadcast about foreign countries. If news about foreign countries is allowed to be published or broadcast at all, it is likely to be about something trivial, bizarre, grotesque, or a natural disaster.

 

7. Separation of pagoda, church, mosque, or temple, from the State

 

This means that the government, which is elected by the citizens of a country, is not under the direction or control of any particular religious institution.  It does not mean that members of the government are not allowed to be “religious”.  The religious “establishment” is not elected or chosen by the people, and so can’t be voted either in or out by them.

 

A second point is that the “separation of church and state” means that religious minorities are less likely to be persecuted by religious majorities.  There are enough examples of countries where there is not a separation of church and state, or where there is a constant struggle to impose the spiritual directives of one particular religion on the citizens, to not have to go into detail. 

 

Superstition

 

Burma’s generals are said to be extremely superstitious. In the private lives of individuals not holding positions of power and responsibility, a little superstition may not do any harm – to the rest of the population, at any rate – but in the interests of public safety, good health, prosperity, equity, etc., decisions should be made on the basis of evidence, experience, common sense, knowledge, and ethics, not superstition.  We are entitled to ask deities or the Deity for help or guidance from time to time, primarily as a means of comfort, but that’s all. In World War II the Americans had a saying, “Praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition,” indicating a sound grasp of what was effective, under the circumstances. We are here on earth, God or the Gods are not. (Well, if they are, they are keeping quiet about it.) It’s up to us. (Where does this leave the Nats? They are part of the culture of Burma, and therefore are not to be mocked.  But, presumably, the Nats do not require human suffering in order to be kept in a good mood.)

 

8.Independence of thought, defined thus: An ability and willingness to challenge the statements, decisions and actions of authority; not with a view to overthrowing authority or creating social chaos, but in order to measure the statements, decisions and actions against a moral and philosophical code of “right thought, right conduct,” etc., or against reality as experienced, or by the standards of scientific proof.  Independence of thought also entails an openness to challenging one’s own beliefs, or to changing one’s mind, in the light of observation, experience, or discussion with others or consideration of what others have written about a subject.

 

“Developed” or “advanced” countries are not immune to a peculiar and very dangerous form of superstition: that which is known in French as the “idée fixe,” and in English as “a bee in one’s bonnet;” in other words, ideology. The western world has endured since the 1980s something called “economic rationalism,” meaning, briefly, the belief (superstition) that something called “the Market” will take care of every human need according to human demand, and that all government has to do is make things easier for “the market” to operate.  This ideology is responsible for the dismantling and “privatisation” of many public institutions and services.

 

Fear or unwillingness to question authority, an acceptance of its right to rule, and others’ duty to obey, is one of the props that maintains the rule of the military regime in Burma. 

 

Yet the regime has demonstrated, again and again, that it is not worthy of such respect.  It has defiled the most respected elements of Burmese society – the monkhood, and has no regard for the well-being of the people of Burma, other than its own members, cronies, and stooges – to use a word of which the regime is fond.

 

In the west, questioning of authority becomes more and more difficult with the culture of “the expert,” referred to earlier. I argue that, ideally, an educated, informed, and involved public can and should keep a critical eye on government.  However, the culture of “the expert” and the ideology that only “stakeholders” or “players” have any right to question or be involved in discussion, closes out citizens from participation. (See item 4, above: A Professional Bureaucracy.)

 

In different cultures, respect may be accorded certain persons because of age, gender, occupation, wealth, social class or ancestry. These “traditional” forms of respect, if I can call them that, are not the same in every case, and can be restrictive from the point of view of some recipients.  (For example, women may be “respected” only if they dress and behave in certain ways, and do not go out alone or in the company of a man who is not a relative or their husband.) On the other hand, respect for wealth or social position can lead to injustice against the lowly or the poor.

 

I argue for a sort of general respect for all people, as manifested by kindly and compassionate behaviour towards them; politeness, consideration and honest treatment. It’s just another form of trust.

 

In summary

 

Democracy requires that the government of a country rule the country for the benefit of all its citizens, and, where there are conflicts, as there always will be, managing the conflicts so that no side feels so aggrieved that they take matters into their own hands.

 

Regular elections are a necessary but not sufficient part of what constitutes democracy. If only certain parties are allowed to form and to put up their members for election, this does not constitute a democracy but a “one party state” – that is, without the possibility of change at an election.   

 

A system of “checks and balances” is necessary to prevent democracies sliding into dictatorships or oligarchies. Part of this system of checks and balances is the “Separation of powers”: an Executive, Legislature and Judiciary that are independent of one another. All three must be separate from and independent of the religious establishment.

 

A professional civil service, whose members continue to serve under successive governments, regardless of what party or coalition of parties wins elections, and whose members are not “politicised” is essential.  A civil service (public service bureaucracy) is “politicised” when its members, from juniors to the top bureaucrats, are afraid to freely express opinions and give advice based on the facts as they see them, to their superiors or their political “masters,” (i.e., the government).

 

Conclusion

 

As mentioned in “Burma Regime Transition Strategy, Part Two,”  Burma doesn’t have to re-invent the wheel, when it comes to democracy.

What the rest of the world’s democracies can do is point out the advantages and disadvantages of their own systems.

 

Burma can choose what looks as though it would work best for Burma.

 

There will be drawbacks in any system. This is to be expected, rather than feared. No system is perfect. Democracy, parliaments, etc., are human institutions. One thing is essential, though, and I rather fancifully express it by saying that democracy needs “deep soil.”

 

ANALYSIS

Volume 9, Number 3

THE NATIONAL BUREAU OF ASIAN RESEARCH

(Note: see separate document “footnotes”)

 

DEMOCRACY IN BURMA:

 

THE LESSONS OF HISTORY

 

Mary P. Callahan

 

This essay offers a historical analysis of political and socioeconomic developments in Burma over the past fifty years and delineates the obstacles to democratic development in the country. The author argues that the failure of democracy in Burma should be attributed not only to the actions of the military regime, but also to decades-old political and socio-economic conditions, which include: (1) an inadequate basis for federalism in a multi-ethnic society; (2) a crisis in state capacity to govern, rooted in the fragmented nature of society; and (3) an institutional intolerance for dissent on the part of pro-democracy and authoritarian organizations. Under British rule, Burma was never fully integrated nor adequately controlled by a central government. As a result, political leaders after independence have found it difficult to govern regions with large ethnic minorities. The military emerged as the sole institution that was capable of consolidating widespread authority, as the army had been repeatedly deployed to enforce martial law or establish military administration during times of domestic crisis. The United States has sought to punish the current military regime in Burma by suspending economic aid, activating an arms embargo, and blocking international assistance. U.S. policy has been supported by a bipartisan coalition of human rights organizations, members

of Congress, allies in the European Union, and expatriate Burmese. The author argues, however, that U.S. policy must address the obstacles to sustainable democratic rule in the country instead of focusing exclusively on deposing the military regime. A careful reading of events in Burma since 1948 generates sobering warnings about the complicated and deep historical roots of Burma’s contemporary troubles. The author asserts that these warnings must be heeded if U.S. pro-democracy policies are to be effective.

 

Introduction

 

In keeping with a national commitment to the promotion of democracy worldwide, contemporary U.S. policy punishes the military regime in Burma for its unrepentantly authoritarian practices that have continued since its brutal crackdown on a nationwide pro-democracy movement in 1988. In May 1997 President Clinton banned new investment in Burma by U.S. citizens, and renewed the ban in December. These moves complemented earlier American measures, which included the suspension of economic aid, the imposition of an arms embargo, a blockade against international humanitarian and financial aid, and a ban on U.S. visas for senior government leaders and their families. The results? Satisfaction from a broad, bipartisan coalition of expatriate Burmese, human rights groups, members of the U.S. Congress, and allies in the European Union. All agree the Burmese junta has to go. Within Burma, these moves have drawn praise from Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, daughter of the martyred national hero, Aung San, and leader of the present opposition party, the National League for Democracy (NLD). Suu Kyi hoped that the ban on U.S. investment would produce economic hardship that would force junta leaders to begin negotiating with the NLD for a transition to democratic rule. The regime, however, has neither faced such hardship nor capitulated, mainly because Asian investors have filled the void where U.S. investors might have competed. Instead, the junta appears unconcerned in its recharged, reorganized structure, the State Peace and Development Committee (SPDC), established in mid-November 1997.

 

Since the establishment of the SPDC’s predecessor, the State Law and Order Restoration Committee (SLORC) in 1988, U.S. policies toward Burma have failed to promote dialogue and democratic reform. This failure is not due to inappropriate intentions, but to an inadequate understanding of the barriers to reform that exist in Burma. To date, U.S. policy has held the military junta solely responsible for bottling up a transition to a more responsive, representative form of governance. The weakness of this position is that the junta is only part of the problem, albeit a big part. The real problem undermining U.S. and Burmese opposition party attempts to promote a transition to democracy in Burma lies in the decades-old political and socioeconomic structures that not only block meaningful political reform, but also undermine the authoritarian regime’s capacity to achieve its own goals.

This essay argues that the policymaking and scholarly community that is united in its commitment to democratize Burma and to dethrone the repressive military junta needs to rethink its assumptions about the obstacles to reform in Burma and to devise strategies based on realistic assessments of these barriers. Beyond the obvious anti-democratic measures taken by the military junta, three significant political and socioeconomic conditions stand in the way of establishing democratic governance in Burma: (1) an inadequate political basis for federalism in this multi-ethnic society; (2) a century-old crisis of state capacity rooted in the fragmented nature of society; and (3) an institutional intolerance for dissent that is found in authoritarian as well as democratic organizations.

In order to understand these three barriers, it is worth looking carefully at the ways in which they eroded the political institutions of Burma’s “democratic” era—the period of constitutionalism, civilian rule, and contested elections that lasted from 1948 until 1958, and from 1960 to 1962. In the 1950s, Burma’s political system was considered to be one of the most promising young democracies in the postcolonial world. However, a decade of constitutionalism and electoralism gave way to the first military coup d’etat in 1958 and then to the more enduring military takeover in 1962. Thereafter, military rule was enforced by the Burma Socialist Program Party (BSPP) until the party’s demise in 1988, and was reinvigorated by the military junta established in September of that year.

This essay does not argue that democracy was or is doomed in Burma, either in its 1950s incarnation or in the vision for the future advanced by reformers today. Instead, an analysis of the 1950s reveals systemic sources of instability for democratic governance that still exist today.

 

A careful reading of the 1950s generates sobering warnings about the complicated and deep historical roots of Burma’s contemporary troubles. These warnings must be heeded if U.S. prodemocracy policies are to have a more significant impact than they have had to date.

 

Historical Background

 

It is important to understand the historical and cultural conditions that led to the first democratic experiment and its failure in the 1950s. Burma shares land borders with Thailand, Laos,China, India, and Bangladesh and is the largest country in mainland Southeast Asia. Three north/south chains of mountains make east-west travel and communications difficult, although north/south travel is more accessible via river, road, or railroad. The inhabitants of this country, called the “Burmese,” include dozens of minority groups that are estimated to make up at least one third of the total population of 45 million. Burmans, who reside mainly in the central agricultural valleys and in the southern coastal and delta regions, are the largest ethnic group. Although an accurate census of the minority regions has not been attempted since 1931, most government and scholarly sources estimate that the ethnic makeup is as follows: 65 percent Burman,10 percent Shan, 7 percent Karen, 4 percent Rakhine, 3 percent Chinese, 2 percent Mon, 2 percent

Indian, along with small numbers of Assamese and Chin minority peoples. The official language of the state is Burmese (the language of the majority ethnic group), although otherlanguages such as Karen, Chin, Shan, and Kachin are spoken in ethnic minority regions.

Before the advent of British rule, the territory that came to be known as “Burma” had never been fully integrated or controlled by a single, central state. In the nineteenth century, Britainbegan a gradual, three-stage take-over of all territory that is now considered to be part of Burma.

The conquest was completed in 1886 when the last Burman king was deposed and Burma became a province of British India. The colonial regime divided the country into two administrative zones: the central area, called “Ministerial Burma,” was home to most of the ethnic Burmans, while the “Frontier Areas” (later known juridically as the “Excluded Areas”) were located along the newly drawn borders and were populated by other ethnic groups. The Frontier Areas were left largely untouched by the British rulers. In Ministerial Burma, the more intrusive, direct colonial rule sparked the emergence of a nationalist movement dominated by ethnic Burmans (the Dobama Asiayone) in the 1920s and 1930s that demanded independence from Britain. The agitation by nationalist leaders, including Aung San, along with the wartime collapse of the

British regime, eventually led to the granting of independence on January 4, 1948.

From independence until 1958, and again from 1960 to 1962, the Union of Burma experienced civilian rule with a parliamentary form of government. Former nationalist leader U Nu served as prime minister during most of this period. Political life was dominated by one party — the Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL). The early years of independence were characterized by a number of serious threats to the government’s survival. Domestically, the

government faced communist and separatist ethnic rebellions as well as army mutinies. External threats included incursions by the U.S.-backed Kuomintang into Burma, where they prepared to stage an assault to retake mainland China from the Chinese Communists. Due to AFPFL infighting that threatened to aggravate the insurgency and due to poor economic performance, the military (in Burmese, the tatmadaw) stepped in to govern as a caretaker government from 1958 to 1960, and then again more permanently in March 1962. Under the leadership of Commander- in-Chief General Ne Win, a Revolutionary Council of military officers was formed to replace the cabinet and parliament. The army-dominated Council suspended the 1947 constitution, established the Leninist-style Burma Socialist Program Party, and outlawed all other political parties. Under its Burmese Way to Socialism, the BSPP attempted to impose a central, command economy and to eliminate foreign control over business in Burma. In 1974 a new constitution was promulgated that provided for a highly centralized, civilian, single-party form of government. At the national, state, township, and village levels, government administration was greatly influenced by the BSPP, which stepped up its efforts to build a mass following across the country. Most leadership positions in the party and government came to be occupied by the same military officers who had held them before 1974, although they shed their ranks and their uniforms. As chairman of the State Council and party chairman,

General Ne Win continued his hold on power into the 1980s.

In September 1987, following a series of demonetization measures that devastated the economy and wiped out the savings of most Burmese people, student demonstrations erupted in Rangoon and continued sporadically into the following year. The police used harsh tactics to put down the demonstrations: in one incident 41 students suffocated to death in a police van.

Public outcry over the incident led to further demonstrations, some of which began attracting participants from other walks of life. This led to the convening of an extraordinary BSPP Congress in July, during which Ne Win and other officials resigned from the party leadership.

Nationwide demonstrations continued until September 18, when the army leadership cracked down on the demonstrations, took power directly, and established the State Law and Order Restoration Council under the chairmanship of an army commander and Ne Win follower, Senior General Saw Maung. As many as 10,000 were killed in the army crackdown.

SLORC suspended the 1974 constitution and abolished the presidency, State Council, Council of Ministers, and People’s Assembly. Under SLORC’s orders, the crack troops of the armed forces put an abrupt end to the popular pro-democracy demonstrations, killing thousands of unarmed civilians in the process. The SLORC distributed cabinet portfolios to senior military

officers, with Senior General Saw Maung assuming the responsibility of prime minister and defense minister. Saw Maung, who was replaced in an April 1992 palace coup by the SLORC vice-chair, General Than Shwe, had little education and no real power within the regime.

In its nine years of existence, SLORC made some progress toward reforming the autarkic, state-planned system into an internationally integrated, market-based economy. However, while SLORC’s economy posted better growth rates than the socialist economy of a decade earlier, there were few signs of market reforms. Among the results were the lining of relatively autonomous cabinet ministers’ coffers, the laundering of drug money into huge (but empty) real estate and tourism ventures, and the continuation of inflation rates that averaged between 20 and 30 percent annually.

It was probably this disastrous economic performance that led SLORC to reorganize its dysfunctional, bloated junta into the State Preservation and Development Council in November 1997. This move forced the most corrupt cabinet ministers out of office and replaced them with more junior military officers who will be less autonomous in their pursuit of market reforms and more subject

to control by the junta leadership. Most observers consider that Brigadier General Khin Nyunt, Secretary-1 of the SLORC/SPDC1 and head of the Directorate of Defense Services Intelligence, has been in charge of the regime; yet many are convinced that his long-time mentor—the aging General Ne Win—is in fact responsible for major policy decisions from his home along Inya Lake.

 

A Closer Look at Burma’s Democratic Era

 

From 1948 until 1962, the Burmese political system looked on paper like a model of democratic governance. The 1947 constitution provided, for example, that sovereignty resided “in the people”; ostensibly, all citizens were guaranteed equality of rights and opportunity, and freedom of expression, assembly, and association, as long as the exercise of these rights did not interfere with public order. Moreover, the constitution established a judiciary independent of the executive branch of government: this included a Supreme Court that would “issue directions in the nature of habeas corpus.”

The 1947 constitution established a federal framework to provide for minority rights in a majority-rule parliamentary system. A bicameral national legislature was inaugurated, guaranteeing

representation to minority ethnic groups in the Chamber of Nationalities.4 The constitution set forth a variety of solutions to the problem of local and regional authority in areas dominated by ethnic minorities. In the eastern regions where Shan peoples (10 percent of the national population) lived, all the traditional Shan principalities were amalgamated into one state, which was constitutionally guaranteed a right of secession after ten years. The elected fifty-member State Council was the chief executive authority under the 1974 constitution and constituted legislative authority in the Shan State, while in local areas, the hereditary Shan aristocracy — the sawbwas—were allowed to retain their traditional powers and authority. Likewise, the Kayah (also known as Karenni) principalities were reconstituted as a single state with

a similar secession guarantee. The Kachins were amalgamated into a state that was provided no secession rights: A nineteen-member state legislative council ran affairs at the state level,while local duwas (Kachin princes) and traditional headmen were reinstated as local administrators.

The Chin people, representing less than one percent of the Burmese population, were granted fewer rights and privileges, and their territory was labeled a “Special Division.” The status of the territorial authority over three other major ethnic groups—the Mons, Karens, and Arakanese, representing 2, 7, and 4 percent of the national population, respectively—was left open in the constitution to be decided after independence in January 1948.

In the early years of independence, these constitutional arrangements appeared to be establishing strong democratic roots in society. National-level parliamentary elections were held in

1947, 1951, 1956, and 1960. The Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League, the former wartime resistance organization that evolved into a political party, was victorious in the first three elections and accordingly formed AFPFL-dominated governments. In the 1960 election, former prime minister U Nu led his new Pyidaungsu (Union) Party to a decisive victory over the military-supported

Stable Faction of the collapsed AFPFL. Turnouts in these elections were often higher than 70 percent, and in accordance with Western expectations of electoral systems, losers vacated their offices and winners took over.

Furthermore, by the early 1950s another crucial element of democratic rule emerged in the form of a “loyal opposition.” Growing out of a faction that broke off from the AFPFL in 1950, the

National United Front (NUF) developed into a viable opposition party. In the 1956 election, it gained forty-seven seats to the Chamber of Deputies, including numerous seats previously considered “safe” by the AFPFL. In that election, the NUF polled more than 30 percent of the popular vote, as compared to 48 percent for the AFPFL.5 Beyond its electoral strength, the NUF also commanded extensive media attention and succeeded in organizing trade unions and peasant organizations outside of the AFPFL’s reach. Later, the two successor parties to the AFPFL that competed in the 1960 elections continued in the tradition of a loyal opposition as they worked within the provisions of the 1947 constitution. In many ways, the success of the NUF in the 1956 election and the election of U Nu over the military-backed candidate in 1960 represented clear steps forward on the paths toward institutionalizing a truly competitive parliamentary system.

 

Nationalists’ Intentions and Democratic Tensions

 

While these developments represented progress toward sustainable liberal democratic institutions and processes, the legacies of the colonial and wartime period gave a very different meaning to these constitutional provisions. For Burma’s young constitution-writers and political leaders in 1947, the overriding objective was not to establish a democracy but to get the colonial regime out of Burma once and for all. In fact, democracy advocates of the 1990s may be surprised that the word “democracy” does not appear anywhere in the 1947 constitution.

This was not an oversight by the first-time constitution writers who came together in 1947.

Although the constitution—written by U Chan Htoon and other lawyers trained in the colonial British system—had some provisions that were based on liberal democratic principles, the resulting document also reflected the influence of nationalist leader Aung San in its more socialist and anti-liberal provisions for the construction of a strong state. In actuality, the leaders of Burma

at independence had no interest in the promotion of liberal democracy.

It is helpful to remember that those who led Burma throughout the “democratic” 1950s came of age in student union politics associated with the nationalist movement in the 1930s. Their political program embraced the anti-imperialist, utopian socialist project, which they studied in the writings of Karl Marx, Vladimir Ilych Lenin, Joseph Stalin, George Bernard Shaw, and Sidney and Beatrice Webb. For the anti-colonial nationalists, democracy was the system of the colonizer, and as such represented that which Burma’s young leaders would fight to expel. The identification of democracy with imperialism grew particularly troublesome as the AFPFL united front began to splinter in the postwar period. In reaching a compromise with the British that prevented a violent anti-colonial revolution in 1947, Aung San and AFPFL leaders came under heavy pressure for giving too many concessions to the British imperialists and for writing what were perceived to be western-style institutions of governance into the 1947 constitution.

Hence, while the constitution appeared to guarantee equal rights and freedom of expression, in actuality it embodied a distrust of democracy. It placed far greater emphasis on the empowerment of the state to reduce the great economic disparities wrought by imperialism than on limiting state intrusions in individuals’ lives. To the degree that there was any support for democratic institutions such as elections, it was hoped that these processes could ensure the most equitable distribution of resources. In Aung San’s writings, for example, there is ambivalence regarding the global convergence in support of the democratic political institutions that emerged at the end of World War II. In one of his last public speeches, Aung San laid out his “Basis of Burmese Democracy,” which included the nationalization of the means of production, the provision of workers’ rights and social insurance, the establishment of the judicial system based “on popular conception,” and other components. For Aung San and many of his colleagues, regaining control over Burma’s wealth on behalf of the people of Burma—not the array of legal provisions that protect individuals in a Western-style democracy—was of paramount importance. “Only by building our economic system in such a way as to enable our country to get over capitalism in the quickest possible time can we attain a true democracy.”6

 

This anti-imperialist, anti-capitalist focus can be seen in Prime Minister U Nu’s introduction of the motion to adopt the 1947 constitution. He began his speech to the Constituent Assembly

by explaining “what Burma . . . will be”:

I might say, at once, that it will be Leftist. And a Leftist country is one in which the people working together to the best of their power and ability strive to convert the natural resources and the produce of the land . . . into consumer commodities to which everybody will be entitled according to his need. . . . [I]n such a country the aim of production is not profit for the few but comfort and the happiness of a full life for the many.7

Even earlier, the emphasis on the need to build a strong state and the disregard for the establishment of liberal democratic institutions was made particularly clear by Aung San, never a “liberal democrat.” He wrote: “What we want is a strong state administration as exemplified in Germany and Italy. There shall be only one nation, one state, one party, one leader. There shall be no parliamentary opposition, no nonsense of individualism.”8

In “democratic” Burma, the government routinely imprisoned critics . . . , suspended habeas corpus, shut down newspapers

and arrested their editors and publishers, banned novels . . . ,

and closed down fractious student unions.

 

Institutionalizing Unity and Uniformity

 

Throughout the early years following independence, concerns that individualism would undermine the nationalist project resulted in an emphasis not on the liberal democratic pursuit of difference and competition but instead on unity and uniformity. This emphasis had already led to the near collapse of the AFPFL and its government in 1947 and 1948 and later would spark widespread government and party repression of the free expression of dissenting opinions throughout the “democratic” era. Immediately after World War II, Aung San and the leadership of the AFPFL—which in 1945 was a united front of rather incompatible political parties, including Fabian socialists, communists, and conservative elements—were able to command uniformity and unity in the struggle to gain independence from the British regime. But in January 1947, when the British agreed to grant Burma independence the following year, each of the constituent parties in the united front began to press for its own vision of the future, and the AFPFL and the government

it had created unraveled. Having grown out of a highly decentralized resistance organization, where no dialogue and consensual processes were possible under wartime conditions, the AFPFL never developed any mechanisms to accommodate and resolve conflicting political views, visions, and objectives.

As the exigencies of rule led to the rightward drift of AFPFL leadership, the more left-leaning spokesmen of the rank-and-file majority of the League led their followers into rebellion against

the government.9 At least one-third of the army joined the Communist Party insurrection in 1948, as did the majority of the nationwide People’s Volunteer Organization, ostensibly a veterans’ affairs group but in reality the paramilitary wing of the AFPFL. In 1949, the Karen National Defense Organization revolted, prompting the defection of the Karen-dominated artillery units from the government’s army. By this time, important cities such as Mandalay, Maymyo, Prome, and even Insein (a suburb of Rangoon) had fallen to insurgent control. By the time Ne Win assumed his position as Supreme Commander in 1949, he commanded fewer than two thousand troops. At the time, most observers referred to the Government of the Union of Burma as “the Rangoon

Government,” reflecting the actual extent of territory that Prime Minister U Nu controlled.10

While what remained of the AFPFL and army leadership was able by 1952 to regain the upper hand in this civil war against their former colleagues, the experience institutionalized certain mechanisms that squashed public expressions of dissent. From the days leading up to independence, the leadership of the national front made its emphasis on unity and uniformity unconditional. For example, in his address to the AFPFL Convention in May 1947, Aung San ranked as top priority the purge of dissenters from the national front: “[The] AFPFL and affiliated people’s organizations should carry out a thorough cleansing process right through in order to be purged of rottenness in the blood.”11

 

As the civil war escalated, what little tolerance that existed for dissenting points of view soon evaporated. Throughout the first decade of independence, the U Nu government and the tatmadaw clamped down on any and all criticism of the shaky government by invoking emergency provisions and other legal devices. In “democratic” Burma, the government routinely imprisoned critics (at times for years before they were even brought to trial), suspended habeas corpus, shut down newspapers and arrested their editors and publishers, banned novels that “were deemed likely to cause disaffection against the Government,” and closed down fractious student unions.12 One of the more repressive tools, Section 5 of the 1947 Public Order (Preservation) Act, or PO(P)A, was strengthened soon after the outbreak of the civil war in order to allow local police to arrest possible rebels and detain them indefinitely, even without any significant evidence of criminal or treasonous acts. Over the next decade, PO(P)A was used by both national and local politicians and their followers to detain many opposition politicians. In fact, during the 1950s nearly every major opposition politician—including U Ba Pe, Thakin Ba Sein, and Thakin Lwin — was detained under Section 5 of the PO(P)A, some for more than two years without ever coming to trial. It is not surprising that many of the thousands of PO(P)A arrests occurred in the months leading up to the national elections of 1951, 1956, and 1960. As one newspaper editorial noted: “[P]olitical rivals, or just any cantankerous person who exercised his freedom to speak out against the AFPFL, have been arrested and held without trial.”13

 

This characterization of the use of Section 5 PO(P)A should not be taken to imply that the law was not used for its original purpose of containing the rebellion. However, even in that regard it was greatly abused. For example, a number of Karens were detained under Section 5 in January 1949 when the Karen insurrection broke out; all were held without trial, until June 1951, when the Supreme Court finally approved their habeas corpus application. [The Nation, July 10, 1951.] Additionally, newspapers also reported incidents in which police officers made arrests under Section 5 PO(P)A of individuals suspected of certain non-PO(P)A crimes when there was not enough evidence to arrest them for the crimes of which they were suspected. See, for example, the case of the Rangoon trishaw union leaders who were suspected of murdering the vice president of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce; there was not much evidence to link the trishaw union leaders to the murder, so the Rangoon police arrested them under Section 5. [The Nation, October 2, 1951.]

 

This is not to argue that the era of parliamentary rule in Burma was a total facade. Rather, because the particular unity-conscious focus of Burma’s young leaders came within the exigencies of a collapsing state, harsh methods of ensuring unity became normal practices of governance.

Over the long term, the obsession with unity and uniformity would impede the development of party and government institutions that could tolerate and process competition and difference in political ideas.

 

Governing Independent Burma

 

To pacify the countryside at the escalation of the insurrection, U Nu’s government revived the village and town militia that had fought in the anti-Japanese resistance during World War

II. Organized under local politicians loosely connected to the Socialist Party in the AFPFL, these units were armed with either homemade weapons or weapons abandoned by retreating British

and Japanese soldiers during the war. Called by various names (People’s Peace Guerrillas, Sitwundan, Pyusawhti), these units were not tied to a centrally based chain of command. They were formed in their home villages and rarely moved or saw action beyondvillage and town limits. Discipline was weak among many of these militia groups, and throughout the 1950s there were frequent reports of robbery, banditry, bribery, and murder committed by their members. Moreover, once formed to fight against the insurgents, these militias also became electoral tools of local political bosses, who deployed them during election campaigns to ensure victories for themselves or their followers.14 Consequently, throughout the 1950s, elections often were characterized by coercion and violence, with politically motivated murders not uncommon.

15 Although the government tried several times during the decade to disarm and demobilize these militia groups, as well as to bring the local political bosses under more central party control, its efforts never succeeded.

Already crippled by the flight of most of the senior civil servants in 1947 and 1948, the government unwittingly destroyed any possibility of building the strong central state of Aung San’s dreams by launching this highly decentralized campaign to salvage the AFPFL government in the first few years after independence.16 By relying on the decentralized forces of local politicians to fight off the very real threat to the government during 1948–1952, the Nu government revived and strengthened local power bases. Those bases continued throughout the 1950s to block central government efforts to obtain the economic resources and the cooperation from outside of Rangoon that were needed to finance the League’s ambitious socialist economic program.

Moreover, the areas near the British-drawn borders of Burma were even further beyond the “reach of the state.”17 Under British rule, for the first time ever these regions officially were delineated as parts of a territory called Burma. The British initially called these regions “frontier areas,” then later, “excluded” areas, and they were left largely untouched by the British rulers.

Authority rested in the hands of indigenous leaders of the Shans, Chins, Arakanese, and Kachins.

In February 1947, a complicated set of agreements was reached at the second Panglong Conference, which promised substantial local autonomy to the Shans and Kachins, while providing some constitutional measure of autonomy to the Chins. At the time, Aung San and AFPFL leaders were confident that the peoples of the minority regions would develop loyalty to the Union of Burma as the socialist economic development programs brought wealth, progress, and comfort. However, as the civil war derailed the AFPFL’s economic and social programs, the weakened government was too busy fighting off threats to Rangoon to worry about these regions, some of which launched separatist insurgencies.

 

State-building throughout Burma

 

The territory that comprises Burma has never been integrated in any politically or economically meaningful way. During the colonial period, residents of central Burma, including Burmans and Karens, had no reason or opportunity to visit the ethnic-minority, frontier areas. Those Burmans and Karens in government service or the military police were posted only in Burma proper; only British or Indian civil servants were deployed to the frontier, and even they were sent only on the rarest occasions. Ethnic minority residents of the frontier areas likewise made few journeys into central Burma. Unlike in central Burma, the British established no government schools in the frontier regions, and graduates of indigenous schools from these regions were not admitted to college or university in Burma proper (although the sons of some Shan princes were educated in England). As Martin Smith argues, throughout most of the colonial period, “the Frontier Areas remained largely forgotten” by the British and largely unknown for the Burmans.18

 

Although the 1947 constitution established institutions such as the Chamber of Nationalities in Rangoon that brought minority leaders into the capital on a regular basis, the only significant reverse traffic came under the auspices of the army. In the early years of independence, the military ordered its ethnic Burman troops out to distant minority-dominated regions to fight against communist insurgents. In 1952, U Nu also sent the army to the Shan state to displace some of the princes and set up an army administration when the U.S.-backed Kuomintang (KMT)—fleeing from the communists in China and also gearing up to retake China in the future — began moving deeper into Burma.19 Some Shan leaders perceived the tatmadaw intervention as an attack on their local power and later led armed, anti-Rangoon, separatist movements

that fought the government until the mid-1990s.

This move of army field and staff commanders into the administration of the frontier of Burma represented the first real—albeit unconscious—attempt at building state institutions that stretched beyond the central region. No state institution in either pre-colonial or colonial Burmese history had ever established centralized control throughout the territory enclosed by the borders drawn by the British in the nineteenth century. The construction of the loosely integrated federal system in the 1947 constitution was based on a dream that participation of national minorities in legislative politics in Rangoon would forge an overarching national identity.

In fact, since minority participation in the 1950s legislature was concentrated in the weaker of the two chambers, it probably did more to reinforce ethnic identification than it did to create a sense of shared purpose, identity, and future.

The significance of the tatmadaw being at the helm of this first-ever effort to extend authority to minority frontier areas cannot be overstated. When the AFPFL assumed power in 1948, there was little in the way of administrative personnel or resources left from the collapsed colonial regime.

After the insurrections in 1948 and 1949, there was even less. However, as the 1950s wore on, the army emerged among the three major national institutions as the only one capable of building nationwide structures of authority throughout the territory. In the early 1950s, the army became significantly more centralized and more institutionally capable of exerting influence over regions beyond the greater Rangoon area than either of the other two major national institutions — the ruling AFPFL and the bureaucracy. This point can be illustrated by the fact that by around 1954, the army was able to order locally recruited members of its field units to move to other parts of Burma and the War Office orders were followed with some degree of consistency. Neither the AFPFL nor the bureaucracy were able to do the same thing at any point from 1948 to 1962.

 

Evaluating the “Democratic” 1950s

 

Was the collapse of the “democratic,” parliamentary system inescapable? Although the parliamentary collapse was never preordained, it was, however, inevitable that the parliamentary structure of governance—as established by the hastily-written 1947 constitution—would have to be modified in the early years of independence. From the beginning there were incompatible tensions that could be glossed over in the somewhat rushed production of constitutional arrangements in 1947, but these problems could not be resolved in an enduring way without innovation, accommodation, and change. Most importantly, the patched-together constitutional “solutions” for the minority-dominated areas aggravated existing ethnic tensions by delaying any serious dialogue about how to harmonize never-before integrated portions of this territory into a functional nation-state. This was not a new problem: in fact, the more powerful colonial regime had never tried to do so, recognizing that Burma was not governable in the reaches of territory that stretched beyond the limited systems of roads, telegraph wires, and railroads.

Burma was even less governable in the early post-independence years, characterized as they were by civil war, economic decay, and political instability.

In assessing the 1950s, it is clear that democratic, parliamentary politics was not the problem that crashed the system. The problem was governability, and this problem was found not only in minority-dominated frontier areas but also in the regions where railroads and telegraphs could transport policies. Tax records indicate that the AFPFL regime never attained the level of collections of taxes on land, customs, and income that the British had obtained under laissez-faire, minimalist, colonial rule. What little in the way of state institutional capacity was bequeathed by the British to the AFPFL disintegrated in the chaotic early years of independence.

From 1947 to 1948, most senior civil servants resigned from office because of political differences with the incoming AFPFL leadership. The bureaucracy was decimated at all levels. Additionally, the government’s desperate devolution of power to local pocket armies at the outbreak of the civil war left all upcountry administration in the hands of political bosses, who frequently ignored and undermined requests from the Union government. In other words, there were very few skilled administrators, tools, or resources left for the Nu government to deploy to implement policy, collect taxes, or even just maintain the status quo.

Beyond Rangoon—and even within Rangoon—the state was decrepit. Set against the centuries- old centrifugal aspirations of the frontier area peoples, the Nu regime was in no position to start the state-building processes that would have been necessary to fulfill Aung San’s dream of winning the loyalty of the national minorities by distributing social resources fairly and justly to minorities and Burmans alike. In the throes of these turbulent conditions, Aung San’s oftquoted promise to the frontier people at the 1947 Panglong Conference, “If [central] Burma receives one kyat, you will also get one kyat,” was soon forgotten.

 

 

 

 

The Advent of Military Rule

 

The fact that the 1947 constitution needed revision did not make inevitable the arrival of strong, authoritarian rule under military leadership in postwar Burma. At independence, no one could have predicted that the tatmadaw would emerge from the chaos of mutinies, defections, and materiel losses in 1948 and 1949 as the powerful force that would dominate state and society for nearly four decades. In the throes of that chaos, there were few signs that the military leadership or anyone else could even envision such a future. The tatmadaw was but one of numerous armies that emerged at independence in 1948; many were illegal, anti-state armies, but there also were quasi-legal paramilitary squads maintained by cabinet members and other politicians in the Socialist party and the AFPFL. The “democratic era” was replete with challenges both to and within the tatmadaw and the state. Most challenges were backed by arms and violence.

In part, the tatmadaw developed the governing capabilities that made military rule possible at the request of its civilian rulers when the army was deployed to remote parts of Burma to fight communists and KMTs, to enforce martial law, or to establish military administration during internal crises. The military was alone among the state’s three major institutions—the others being the bureaucracy and the AFPFL—in consolidating some kind of authority that stretched to the borders. But the development of the Cold War also privileged the tatmadaw among these three institutions. Responding to the insecurity of Burma’s geographical and ideological position in the Cold War, the War Office, General Ne Win, and some field commanders bought arms on the world market and negotiated programs of military assistance with virtually no oversight by civilian politicians.20

In fact, the tatmadaw took a leading role in managing the impact of the world economy and of the Cold War confrontation in the 1950s. By the end of the decade, the army fully managed the impact of the world economy on the national economy through the import-export operations established under the Defense Services Institute.21 Its effectiveness and autonomy in doing so contrasted with the position of the ruling AFPFL, and suggests yet another early source of the army’s growing strength vis-à-vis other institutions within the postcolonial state. As weak civilian institutions came apart under the domestic and global pressures of the 1950s, the tatmadaw

was busy with what can only be seen in hindsight as state-building activities. During this period, the army extended the geographical “reach of the state” by creating a bureaucracy that ensured the implementation of central government policies in territory beyond the seat of government. 22 It must be noted, however, that there is no evidence that Ne Win or any other army leaders conspired from the outset to build an army capable of running the Burmese polity over the next several decades. That this happened was simply an unintended consequence of the turbulent 1950s.

 

Democracy: Past, Present, and Future

 

A careful analysis of postwar history demonstrates that the “democratic” 1950s does not hold the solutions for Burma in the 1990s and beyond. In fact, if anything, the decade provides some sobering warnings for pro-democratic forces inside and outside the country. In many ways, major political problems of the 1990s are the same ones faced by the parliamentary AFPFL government

in the 1950s (and arguably by the colonial regime prior to World War II). The most serious dilemmas today are the unworkable nature of federalism in this multi-ethnic society, the continued crisis of state capacity in a highly fragmented society, and the institutional intolerance for any form of dissent.

 

The Unworkable Nature of Federalism

 

There is a degree to which the assumptions that underlie the concept of Burma—that is, the delineation of a nation-state stretching across the territory bounded by the British-drawn borders— are impossible propositions. Given the financial and topographical barriers to integration, no state has ever even come close to the Weberian ideal of exerting authority throughout the territory. But beyond the non-integration of this territory, there are clear and recent historical barriers to the realization of this “Burma.” In the colonial period, frontier areas were deliberately kept separate from central administrative operations. Additionally, after Burman nationalists initially cooperated with the Japanese during World War II, British and U.S. special forces operating in border areas encouraged minority peoples to kill ethnic Burmans, and promised the minorities political independence from the Burmans in the postwar period.23 These two historical barriers contributed directly to the start of separatist movements in these regions in the 1950s and 1960s and reinforced the difficulties of developing any basis for establishing an integrated polity. As Martin Smith has observed: “Over the years, there have been few moments

of lasting reconciliation or compromise.”24

 

Some might argue that the recent cease-fire movement in ethnic war zones represents a step toward enduring reconciliation and compromise.25 However, these arrangements are nothing

more than temporary, ad hoc answers to complex, centuries-old structural problems. As many observers have noted, the cease-fires have broken down in a number of regions. Most importantly,

the agreements have provided ethnic groups with the authority to hold on to their arms, to police their own territory, and to use their former rebel armies as private security forces to protect both legal and illegal business operations. This authority, however, is due to run out when the junta’s hand-picked National Convention completes a new constitution. At that point, it is difficult to imagine that the SLORC/SPDC will be able to convince ethnic warlords to turn in their weapons peacefully.

 

 

In some respects, the junta’s ad hoc attempt at a kind of federal system that provides extensive local autonomy for minority groups along the border areas represents the most extreme concession of central control over Burmese territory in modern history, even more extreme than U Nu’s plans in 1962 to grant statehood to the Mons and Arakanese and to consider seriously Shan and Kayah efforts to exercise their secession rights.26 Moreover, former SLORC chairman

Senior General Saw Maung’s ill-conceived ethnic policy—that of dividing the dozen or so major national ethnic groups into what he claimed were 135 races—has apparently derailed preparation

of a constitution by the National Convention. According to one member of a Convention committee assigned to deal with the ethnic problem, “We have to accept the 135 races theory,

but now all 135 want their own states.”27

The difficulty of ensuring minority rights within a sovereign national state would not go away if a democratically-elected government were to take over the regime. It would be virtually impossible for a democratic government be able to collect taxes or implement social or economic policy in, for example, the Kokang region, where local elites are profiting greatly from being left alone by the Rangoon government. Without access to revenues generated by the extraction of resources such as gems and teak in the border areas, how would a democratic regime finance programs to alleviate the suffering of local populations throughout the frontier regions who are trying to find their way out of two generations of war? Some minority leaders currently question whether democratic leaders from central Burma would really commit national resources to development programs for the border areas. As one ethnic Pao leader told Martin Smith: “The issue of democracy is often put before ethnic nationality questions, but in our view it [the ethnic question] needs to come first.” 28 With the world focusing on Aung San Suu Kyi and her party, some minority leaders are justified in their worry that the needs of their people are not being considered, either by the National League for Democracy or by well-meaning

democratizers around the world.

 

The Dilemma of Ethnicity and Democracy in Comparative Perspective

 

From a comparative perspective, there are very few instances in which a postcolonial, multiethnic state has been able to democratize its political system at the same time that it builds

administrative, economic, and cultural linkages between geographically dispersed ethnic communities.

Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru may have engineered the most successful case of this combined project when he led India to significant progress in assuaging ethnic tensions.

However, that process also led to the Pakistan solution, which may still prove to have been the wrong answer for India. In fact, if Hindu nationalists seeking to convert India into a Hindu nation-state win power in the near future, India’s 110 million Muslims will no doubt react badly — with grave consequences for democracy.

Furthermore, as recent history in the former Soviet Union, Eastern Europe, and some African nations (such as Somalia) has shown, federal systems in which the state components are constitutionally defined largely by ethnicity, and in which the institutional, economic, and cultural linkages between ethnic majority and minority populations are minimal, frequently have not proven to be viable solutions to the problems of multi-ethnicity in a modern society. A federal constitution—such as the one envisioned by the NLD that would revisit the 1947 constitutional provisions or the SLORC/SPDC’s plan that would maintain the current range of ethnic

states while establishing new “self-administered areas” for smaller minorities (such as the Pao, Palaung, and Kokang in the Shan state) is not likely to produce a sustainable, integrated Burma.

For this kind of integration to take place, a future regime might need to try some of the tactics of consociationalism.29 It could, for example, provide for mutual veto in decision-making; education and mass media in minority languages; and army, university, and bureaucracy recruitment and promotion practices that favor previously excluded minorities.30 However, these kinds of policies face a major obstacle in Burma. Elsewhere, they have generally been successful in countries where there is either a ruling ethnic group (of either majority or minority status) that for some reason has been pressured to give up its privileged position and to commit

itself to proportionally fewer demands on national resources in the future (e.g., contemporary South Africa), or in societies where there is no clear single majority group (e.g., Lebanon from

1943–1975). Although it is difficult to measure, in the current environment it seems unlikely that ethnic Burmans—most of whom have never had access to reliable information about the plight of Karen, Kokang, Shan, or other minority groups and have developed little in the way of cross-ethnic empathy—will be content to give up university places, officer commissions, or other opportunities to members of other nationality groups.

 

Fragmentation and State Capacity

 

In terms of the second dilemma—state capacity—the SLORC/SPDC regime has developed to perhaps their highest form the tools of coercion and repression to maintain its hold over the government. However, the apparently unthreatened monopoly over guns and prisons that the regime needs to hold on to power does not translate into any kind of significant capacity or capability for what the SPDC considers its most pressing task: transforming Burma into a more modern, market-oriented, and productive society. In fact, many overseas investors have pulled their capital out of Burma because the junta’s nine-year track record has shown little real progress toward restructuring the agrarian economy into one that could support export-driven production.

Will a democratically-elected regime have any greater success in this arena?

From the experiences of other transitional societies that have attempted to concurrently liberalize their markets and democratize, it seems clear that these two processes often work at

odds with each other. Market reforms frequently produce economic losers who become constituents for anti-democratic politicians. Not every member of society will be better off under a democratic or market system. Hence, the dislocations created in society can lead to a backlash that may be serious to a democratic regime at the helm of a weak state such as Burma.31

 

If the SLORC/SPDC does give way to a more open, representative kind of government, Burma will become what political scientist Atul Kohli calls a “low-income democracy.”32 Like India—the subject of Kohli’s analysis—Burma represents a “highly fragmented political society.”

In the Burmese case, this social fragmentation has been overcome in only two instances in history, during which charismatic leaders have built powerful, cross-class, cross-ethnicity coalitions.

This occurred first during the anti-Japanese resistance, when Aung San was able to bring together leftists, rightists, Burmans, Karens, peasants, and entrepreneurs to end the Japanese occupation. This united front was strong enough to end the occupation, but disintegrated upon taking office in 1948. Aung San’s dreams of building an integrated, prosperous, socialist Burma disappeared with the resignations of bureaucrats, the ascension of local political bosses to power, and the increasing alienation of ethnic minority peoples. The AFPFL leaders in the 1950s—like India’s Indira Gandhi in the 1970s and Rajiv Gandhi in the 1980s—never built territorially expansive party organizations or state institutions that could restructure social relations and implement the reforms necessary to build an integrated nation-state. Only the army managed to do

so in the 1950s.

The second instance in which social fragmentation was overcome by a united political organization came from 1988 to 1990, when Aung San Suu Kyi attracted a broad-ranging political following that crossed ethnic, class, and—at times—even military lines. Her vision, charisma, and leadership carried her party, the NLD, to an overwhelming victory in the 1990 parliamentary elections, despite attempts by the military regime to hamper party-building and campaign activities. The junta’s subsequent refusal to honor the election results, the arrests and flight of many successful opposition candidates, the five-year house arrest of Suu Kyi, and the numerous

restrictions on party activities over the last eight years have all but decimated the loosely organized, populist party that carried the electoral victory in 1990. Any transition of authority to the NLD at this point would place the party in the difficult position of having to run a “low income democracy” with little party organization to rely on.

While the NLD’s weakness may not lessen Suu Kyi’s popular appeal in future elections, it will certainly affect the ability of the resulting regime to govern. Suu Kyi’s visionary reform proposals, which echo her father’s concerns for providing for the welfare of all individuals in Burma, will require fairly major socioeconomic restructuring. However, as Kohli notes, in other cases where extremely popular leaders or parties take power with populist reform plans but with few established linkages to social forces, the governments never succeed in any significant way to bring about change. Such reforms require those prospering under the old system to commit resources to reforms that may undermine their future prosperity in favor of improving the lot of weaker groups in society. The dilemma for the low income democracy, according to Kohli, is that if the polity is organized as a democracy, coercion definitely cannot be the main currency that leaders utilize to influence socioeconomic change. Instead, positive and negative incentives,

persuasion, and selective use of laws backed by the threat of coercion—legitimate domination — take on an increased significance. Within a democracy, therefore, the capacity to initiate

major developmental changes from above comes to rest on a prior capacity of leaders to institutionalize ‘blocs of consensus,’ or to build majority coalitions to support a specific path of change. . . . [This] requires that the link between rulers and supporters, or between the political center and the social periphery, be durable. This durability is likely to exist if the relationship of leaders and supporters is institutionalized through such mechanisms as political parties.33

 

Institutionalizing Dissent

 

Finally, regarding the third dilemma—institutional intolerance for dissent—the four decades since the 1950s have not given Burma any real experience with political institutions that allow, accommodate, and incorporate dissent, dialogue, and difference. The current regime clearly is unwilling to risk reforms in this regard. Moreover, the opposition also exhibits characteristics that seem rather intolerant of and inimical to the development of democratic processes. For example, in January 1997, the opposition National League for Democracy expelled Than Tun and Thein Kyi, two elected members of the never-convened parliament, for insubordination when they refused to sign a mandate giving the NLD’s Central Executive Committee full power to act on behalf of the party. Than Tun and Thein Kyi claimed after the expulsion that their differences with party leaders were over whether to compromise in the process of bringing SLORC to the negotiating table. According to Than Tun: “We are trying to put up these different ideas and ways for the NLD to survive through these difficult times. . . . We must get dialogue first . . . the SLORC is ignoring us all the time. They [NLD leaders] want to stick to principles. To get compromise you must not always stick to principles.”34 Given the censorship of political information, it is difficult to know whether such actions are justified (i.e., if the NLD

had evidence that the two members were SLORC plants, as some diplomats have suggested), representative, or taken out of context. However, anti-government student groups and political parties over the last nine years have shown a distinct tendency either to expel purveyors of minority views (who then form their own party or group) or to fragment around leaders of uncompromising positions.35

Some might argue that intolerance for dissent suggests an immutable cultural flaw in the Burmese personality. Yet the 1950s were not a completely lost cause for democratic practices, institutions, and dissent. While in practice the elections, constitutionalism, and civilian rule had their flaws and proved untenable in the crises of the 1950s, Burmese culture did not impede the emergence of such promising developments as loyal opposition (even under great repression), an independent judiciary, and a mobilized electorate.

Instead, I would argue that there may be a more historically discrete factor that accounts for institutionalized intolerance across the generations of “democratic,” “socialist,” and the SPDC’s

Burma. Under colonial, parliamentary, socialist, and post-1988 military rule, conflicts over views, visions, and policies have always been framed as winner-take-all battles. As most national-level

leaders (including the NLD executive committee in early 1997) have conceived of themselves as fighters against an old regime or imperialism or authoritarianism, they have behaved as though

the only answer to conflict was to eliminate it. Accordingly, the only way to eliminate conflict was to enforce unity and solidarity. The future of Burma will continue to look bleak until its leaders develop organizational frameworks that manage and moderate conflict.

. . . the four decades since the 1950s have not given

Burma any real experience with political institutions that allow,

accommodate, and incorporate dissent, dialogue, and difference.

This last dilemma appears to paralyze leaders of contemporary Burma within and outside the government and to make the prospects of sustaining any kind of democratic reform very

doubtful. As political theorist Bonnie Honig recently noted, democracy cannot exist without contest and contestation and without differences in opinions, outlooks, dreams, and demands.

To take difference . . . seriously in democratic theory is to affirm the inescapability of conflict and the ineradicability of resistance to the political and moral projects of ordering subjects, institutions and values. Moreover, it requires that we recast the task of democratic theory, and move it beyond that of simply orchestrating multiple and conflicting group needs and toward a new responsiveness to that first task’s propensity to involve democratic cultures and institutions in violent and resentful dynamics of identity/difference. It is to give up on the dream of a place called home, a place free of power, conflict, and struggle, a place—an

identity, a form of life, a group vision—unmarked or unriven by difference . . . 36

Common to both the SLORC and the NLD is an overarching emphasis on unity and solidarity that is simply inimical to the development of institutional mechanisms that can accommodate the needs and demands of the broad range of social forces that exist throughout the country. This political debate could come right out of the debates of 1946 and 1947, during which Aung San was attempting to rally disunited forces to stand up to the British one more time for

the cause of independence: “We must take care that ‘United we stand’ not ‘United we fall.’[sic] . . . Unity is the foundation. Let this fact be engraved in your memory, ye who hearken to

me, and go ye to your appointed tasks with diligence.”37 As a means to independence, this unified show of force was probably critical in moving the British to grant independence. However,

unity became an end in itself, and in many ways, by virtue of historical habit, politics has never grown out of this phase.

 

Rethinking U.S Policy

 

If pro-democracy policies must be tailored “to the specific circumstances of each country,” as John Shattuck, U.S. Assistant Secretary of State for Democracy, Human Rights, and Labor, recently told Congress, then the historical legacies that have shaped Burma’s political system since independence must be addressed in any assessment of U.S. policy.38 The review of Burma’s experiment in democracy—from 1948 to 1958, and again from 1960 to 1962—has pointed to three systemic barriers to the development of democratic governance. These barriers weakened and ultimately contributed to the end of democracy in the 1950s, and would do the same again unless careful reforms are crafted to eliminate the structural problems. Some of those policies can only

come from Burmese government and opposition leaders. But in its single-minded focus on eliminating military rule and in its tendency to ignore long-term barriers to reform, U.S. policy probably impedes progress toward the establishment of sustainable democratic political institutions.

The first structural weakness identified was that of establishing a federal political system that could serve as the basis of an integrated “Burma” by granting concrete concessions and

rights to minority populations. This study suggests that ethnic Burman and minority leaders inside the country should look into consociational approaches to this kind of reform. Where the

United States might play a bigger role is through a more judicious allocation of pro-democracy assistance by the National Endowment for Democracy. Most of the more than $2 million in democracy assistance funds allocated to Burmese groups has gone to single-ethnicity, minority groups fighting the SLORC/SPDC; the NLD exiles who fled Burma after the 1988–1990 interlude; and the National Coalition for the Government of the Union of Burma, the government-in-exile formed by Dr. Sein Win and others who were elected to parliament in 1990 but forced to flee the country.39 To the degree that the United States has supported coalition-building across ethnic boundaries, it has been based purely on an anti-junta appeal. While each of these groups is doing important work, the NED grants show little emphasis on developing the kind of cross-ethnic empathy that will be necessary to forging a multi-ethnic, democratic state. Such programs should not be geared toward “Burmanizing” the minorities, but instead should attempt to raise

the level of understanding among majority Burmans and all the minorities about their fellow citizens’ respective plights. For example, it is significant that no grants have ever been requested

or awarded to establish a program to teach ethnic-majority Burmans to speak the languages of their fellow citizens of minority ethnicity, although a significant number of grants support the

publication of anti-SLORC/SPDC literature in the Burmese language. Without establishing concrete cross-ethnic linkages between minorities and between minority and majority ethnicities,

“Burma” remains and will remain in the future a fantasy, unrealizable by democratic and authoritarian rulers alike.

The second dilemma, that of the weakness of national-level institutions across a socially fragmented society, requires far more prudent policies on the part of the United States in the fostering of horizontal linkages among different fragments of the population of Burma. Certainly, there should be no attempt to do this by strengthening state capacity vis-à-vis society under the current regime. Hence, pro-democracy advocates should turn to the strengthening of civil society as a means to overcome the centuries-old cellurization of Burmese society.40 However, the diplomatic and economic repudiation of SLORC/SPDC has cost the United States the

opportunity to support the development of the kind of autonomous, associational life that has played a role in the transitions from authoritarian rule in other countries. Currently, U.S. democratic

assistance programs can finance the efforts only of expatriate and overseas groups, many of which have weak links to individuals or nascent associations inside Burma. These overseas groups may play a role in a future transition, but there is no guarantee that an expatriate movement’s overseas mobilization techniques and organizations will address the fragmentation inside Burma that has long made all varieties of governance difficult, and democratic governance— in particular—unsustainable.

Finally, in regard to the third dilemma, current U.S. policy reinforces historical intolerance toward dissenting opinions. U.S. policy aims primarily at dethroning SLORC/SPDC and in doing

so frames the debate over Burma around an unrealistic and politically dangerous dualism. This dualism pits the forces of good (Suu Kyi, the NLD, and the United States) against the forces of evil (the SLORC/SPDC and the military). This mirrors the SLORC/SPDC world view which simply reverses the line-up of forces. As in the 1950s, politics in this framework remains an all-or-nothing struggle. In comparative historical perspective, the problem with this formulation is that such a rigid structuring of politics is unlikely to facilitate reform, either in the case of the government or the opposition. If we examine the actual experiences that have led to the establishment of sustainable, responsive, representative systems of governance in other repressive political systems, transitions from authoritarian rule have occurred in two ways. In a few instances, a national catastrophe destroyed the existing political system, creating a historical rupture that allowed populist, democratic forces to rebuild the system in a more open, transparent, responsive way. An example of this route would be Argentina’s political liberalization following the military regime’s debacle in the Falklands-Malvinas war in 1982.41 Most successful transitions, however, have been “pacted” ones in which reform-minded leaders of the authoritarian system separated themselves from the hard-line authoritarians in the governing elite and began

cooperating with moderate pro-democratic reformers, who in turn abandoned earlier alliances with anti-regime radicals demanding the outright destruction of every leader and institution of the old regime.42

Unless democracy advocates are counting on a national catastrophe in Burma, the pro-democracy movement appears aimed not at democratization, but only at unseating SLORC/SPDC.

Demonization of the regime raises the costs of conciliation for all parties involved, as compromise can be interpreted only as capitulation in such an all-or-nothing environment. Upon Suu

Kyi’s release from house arrest, it was apparent that she realized the inefficacy of the good-vs.- evil framework when she preached conciliation and negotiation with the SLORC. At the time, she hoped to bring about reform without repeating the bloodshed of 1988’s national catastrophe.

However, the regime’s refusal to meet with her weakened her position within the opposition, as the more radically anti-junta members of the NLD leadership held up the failure at conciliation as evidence that the NLD would never be able to work with SLORC/SPDC.

SLORC’s closure of that window of opportunity for a peaceful transition appears to have led pro-reform forces to conclude that there is no hope for the junta to ever “pact” a transition or tolerate dissent, unless the United States and the international community forces it to do so.

However, there may be other ways to take a longer-term approach to lowering the costs of negotiation for the regime. If democracy advocates would abandon the good-vs.-evil framework

for interpreting the present situation, it might be possible to approach transition issues based on a better, more realistic understanding of the complexity of Burma’s barriers to democracy.

For example, democracy advocates need to recognize that the destruction of the apparently evil military may not be in the best interests of the Burmese population, a view concealed by the pro-democracy movement’s conflation of the politically oppressive junta with the 400,000- strong military. Reform advocates need to keep in mind that although there is no reason to maintain such bloated force levels in the future tatmadaw, no prospective Burmese regime — democratic or authoritarian—can forego reliance on a security force of some magnitude given the piracy, drug problems, and Chinese threat in the region. Moreover, the polarized nature of the debate has concealed the fact that the outright dissolution or massive demobilization of the tatmadaw is frankly not in the interests of most Burmese families. It is difficult to find a family in Burma today that does not rely on some member, distant or immediate, whose service in the armed forces provides the family with access to higher-quality rice, cheaper cooking oil, and

other necessities that they cannot afford on the inflationary market. The United States must keep these realities in mind and should take a longer term view toward the development of

democratic institutions that will improve the capacity to govern the country over the long term.

In this respect, the United States might support programs to educate Burmese opposition leaders and citizens about the role of militaries in other transitions to democracies, covering such

basic issues as demobilization and reintegration into society of former soldiers; the establishment of civilian control of the military; and rule of law. An opposition that shows a nuanced

understanding of these issues—rather than one that simply denounces the military en masse — can lower the costs of compromise for members of the junta who may be leaning toward reform.

 

Conclusion

At this point, U.S. policy sanctions the military regime for its anti-democratic behavior. To date, Congress has allocated more than $2 million to assist anti-junta groups outside of Burma in their efforts to fight the regime. Very little can be done with groups inside Burma because of the junta’s restrictions on opposition collaboration with foreigners and because of the very minimal

U.S. government presence in Burma. As currently configured, U.S. policy may help to bring down the SLORC/SPDC, but because it does not address the other decades-old obstacles to democratization, it is unlikely to advance the cause of sustainable, long-term democracy in the very difficult conditions that characterize Burma today.

While it is difficult to assess the effects of the ban on U.S. investment because of its relative recency and the unavailability of accurate economic data, it is possible to look back over the last

decade to determine whether the punitive policies of the United States in general have resulted in any major concessions by the junta. In fact, if we look at the major political concession that the

regime has made over the last nine years of military rule, the linkages to U.S. policy are tenuous.

It is possible that the decision to release Aung San Suu Kyi from house arrest in July 1995 may have been influenced by international diplomatic pressure; her release came three days before a hearing was scheduled in the U.S. Congress to debate economic sanctions against SLORC. However, this linkage cannot be overstated since the junta paid no attention when the United States demanded that SLORC begin meeting with NLD leaders to discuss reform, and upon its refusal, retaliated with the investment ban in 1997. This suggests that other factors were at work in 1995.

SLORC would never have heeded U.S. pressure to release Suu Kyi if it had not resolved a dangerous internal split the month before. In the first five years of junta rule, tensions mounted between

powerful regional commanders and the Rangoon-based leadership. Throughout the first half of 1995, SLORC struggled to curb the incipient warlordism of upcountry regional commanders. It finally managed in June 1995 to lure the most powerful commanders to Rangoon where they took on lucrative portfolios and where SLORC could tighten its control over them. Confidence in its hold on power—not fear of retaliation by foreign countries—led the junta to release Suu Kyi.

This is not to suggest that international pressure has not weakened the junta or moved it toward important changes. Disgruntled hotel operators boasting very high vacancy rates report that Aung San Suu Kyi’s call on the world to boycott Burma’s Year of the Tourist, which ran from late 1996 through 1997, accounts for the utter failure of the regime’s attempt to promote tourism as a first step toward generating capital for its market reforms. During one mid-evening journey around Rangoon in September 1997, I counted fewer than two dozen lights on in the hundreds of guest rooms at the Sedona and Traders’ hotels. It was no coincidence that the cabinet minister responsible for tourism was one of the first to go in the November 1997 cabinet reshuffle.

However, U.S. sanctions against SLORC/SPDC had nothing to do with this campaign and subsequent junta reform. In fact, the U.S. government’s pro-democracy, anti-junta policy failed to get any results in Burma. More importantly, because of its disregard for the lessons learned in other transitions from repressive regimes to sustainable, responsive, representative systems of governance, U.S. policy is probably counterproductive in its single-minded focus on destroying the junta. Unless the United States is counting on a national catastrophe, U.S. policy is very likely to result not in democratization, but only in the unseating of SLORC/SPDC. The latter may happen, but, unfortunately, only at the cost of the former. Policymakers should take a longer-term view and help to facilitate the development of democratic institutions that will have

the capacity to govern the country.

 

 

 

State Formation in the Shadow of the Raj:

Violence, Warfare and Politics in Colonial Burma

Mary P. CALLAHAN

Southeast Asian Studies, Vol. 39, No. 4, March 2002

“Normally, society is organized for life; the object

of Leviathan was to organise it for production.”

J.S. Furnivall [1939: 124]

 

[Compiler’s note: Material in this article was later used in Callahan’s “Making Enemies: War and state building in Burma” (2004). Callahan’s acknowledgements have been omitted here.]

 

Abstract

 

This article examines the construction of the colonial security apparatus in Burma, within the broader British colonial project in eastern Asia. During the colonial period, the state in Burma was built by default, as no one in London or India ever mapped out a strategy for establishing governance in this outpost. Instead of sending in legal, commercial or police experts to establish law and order—the preconditions of the all-important commerce— Britain sent the Indian Army, which faced an intensity and landscape of guerilla resistance never anticipated. Early forays into the establishment of law and order increasingly became based on conceptions of the population as enemies to be pacified, rather than subjects to be incorporated into or even ignored by the newly defined political entity. The character of armed administration in colonial Burma had a disproportionate impact on how that population came to be regarded, treated, legalized and made into subjects of the Raj. Administrative simplifications along territorial and racial lines resulted in political, economic, and social boundaries that continue to divide the country today. Bureaucratic and security mechanisms politicized violence along territorial and racial lines, creating “two Burmas” in the administrative and security arms of the state. Despite the “laissez-faire” proclamations of colonial state officials in Burma, this geographically and functionally limited state nonetheless established durable administrative structures that precluded any significant integration throughout the territory for a century to come.

This article explores the relationship among violence, warfare and politics in the colonial outpost of Burma, located geographically, administratively and politically deep in the shadow of Britain’s flagship colony, India. I argue that the process by which Britain built a modern state in Burma enshrined violence as the currency of politics. As in other societies, war and crisis in colonial Burma created institutions with staying power, and in this case

created relations between state and society that have been and continue to be what Charles Tilly [1990] calls, “coercion-intensive.” Hardly the product of any colonial plot or intention, the coercion-intensive institutions that have dominated governance throughout

the twentieth century were, as Florencia Mallon [1994: 69] suggests, “the products of previous conflicts and confrontations,” and were imbedded with “the sediments of earlier struggles.”

The exigencies of colonial warfare in Burma deposited the sediments of a coercion-intensive political relationship between state and society. In this article, I show how ad hoc colonial political arrangements hardened into durable institutions and practices. The process of adding Burma to colonial India in the nineteenth century was far from smooth, and engaged first the East India Company and then a succession of unimaginative governors- general in a particular variant of state-building that never paid for itself, never accommodated any local interests, and never hesitated to call in firepower when the profits of European firms were threatened. From the nineteenth century on, Burma was a territorial and administrative appendage to India, serving as a buffer zone between French Indo-China and India. As such, Burma was never a priority in British imperial policy. At best, the British built a “skinny” or minimalist state, aimed at letting commerce flourish (which it did) and paying for itself (which it never did) by taxation of land and some commerce.

Paying for itself required pacifying the Burmese population following the three Anglo-Burmese wars. The pacifiers—Indian Army soldiers—had no way to communicate with locals and little information about the terrain or the unexpectedly dangerous enemy, and soon came to see little distinction between new subjects of the Crown and new enemies of the Crown. To a large degree, pacification was never entirely accomplished, and

the skinny state was filled out with the coercive muscles of British and Indian army units.

The power and modernity of this unprecedentedly organized force was not lost on individuals and groups resisting the skinny state. Resisters created anti-state martial organizations that became the core of every major political movement and party in the waning

years of colonialism and the early years after independence.

This coercion-intensive state relationship with Burmese society did not remain static throughout the colonial period. However, changes in the missions, character and make-up of the colonial armed forces—as well as reforms of every other aspect of colonial governance— came out of negotiations and compromises between colonial officials and Indian nationalists in India proper, and not out of any attempts to create channels of input from significant social forces in the colonial province of Burma. In fact, colonial officials increasingly identified most political and social forces in Burma as criminal, even as the same colonial officials began to recognize the difficulty and futility of ruling the province in such a singlemindedly coercive manner. As state-society relations in post World War I India

became more inclusive and more open to conflict and compromise, the colonial regime began a 15-year process of severing Burma administratively from India because this was the one part of the colony where political reforms were unthinkable. The separation

process led to a reorganization of the security forces, which politicized violence along ethnic lines.

At no point in the colonial era did the British state-building enterprise in Burma carry out any of the negotiation and bargaining with social constituencies that proved crucial to the development of responsive, representative governing institutions in Europe, India and other parts of the world. When local populations threatened the order necessary for successful colonial commerce and authority, the state’s response rarely entailed any attempt to win the support of political allies or resource-providers within the populace. Instead, the British repressed, coerced, arrested, exiled and executed murderers and nationalists, robbers and monks, and cattle thieves and student strikers. The formation of modern, bureaucratic states in Burma, as in much of the colonial world, thus established what Crawford Young [1988: 5] calls “a command relationship [between state and] civil society, reflected in its laws, its routine, its mentalities, even its imagery.”

 

Transplanting the British-Indian Colonial State

 

In the nineteenth century, diplomatic tensions and commercial competition between France and Britain over the natural resources available in Southeast Asia and over the security of Britain’s flagship colony in India led to Britain’s three-stage, gradual takeover of all territory now considered part of “Burma.” In the three Anglo-Burmese wars of 1825–26, 1852, and 1885–86, British-Indian troops dispatched from Madras and Bengal defeated the armies of the increasingly weak Burmese kings of the Konbaung dynasty. None of these wars were waged with a coherent, expansionist vision of a future “British Burma,” and the state that was established by default in post-1886 Burma was simply an

appendage to the colonial regime in India. The Government of India paid the bills for the expensive battles in Burma, and its model of administration and the bureaucrats to run it were assembled in India and transported to Burma following the proclaimed victory of the Indian Army in 1886. The colonial state was never “built” per se; it was transported from India.

Unlike British colonies in Africa, state-building was never explicitly a military enterprise in Burma. There was never a Military Governor. Colonial administrators sailed over from the other three provinces of India, bringing along English-speaking, mostly civilian,

Indian clerks to staff the state. Unlike in Africa, there were no significant armed European competitors for control over Burmese territory; the British and Indian Army garrisons established after the final annexation were strictly instruments of internal security, rather than of foreign policy. In a sense, the British-Indian state hit Burmese territory running. It was comprised of a relatively professional, modern, tested bureaucracy, developed over a century of experience in India and well-suited to the needs of the

Bombay-Burma Trading Corporation and other powerful commercial interests seeking a rapid establishment of law and order and an expansion of business opportunities in resource-rich Burma.

After 1886, colonial rule brought to Burmese society unprecedented changes, most of which benefited British and other foreign commercial interests at the expense of the majority of indigenous peoples. Many historians point to Chief Commissioner Charles

Crosthwaite’s implantation of the Indian system of local administration in Burma as one of the most important causes of the destruction of the social and cultural fabric of late nineteenth

century Burma [Crosthwaite 1968 [1912]; Cady 1958; Furnivall 1956 [1948]; Hall 1968; Mya Sein 1938]. Crosthwaite’s Village Act was passed as an instrument of martial law during the pacification campaign (1886–90) in villages throughout Upper and Lower Burma. The Act broke up traditional local-level administrative organizations, which Crosthwaite saw as giving rise to banditry and organized resistance to British rule. The traditional, non-territorial ties of the indigenous social unit (called the myo) of central Burma were replaced by the Indian administrative and territorial unit of the village. The new village system led to a gradual but steady increase in centralization and government involvement in the daily lives of the indigenous people. As Furnivall [1956 [1948]: 40]

wrote, Even up to 1900 the people saw little of any Government officials, and very few ever caught more than a passing glimpse of a European official. By 1923 the Government was no longer remote

from the people but, through various departmental subordinates, touched on almost every aspect of private life.

If Furnivall is right, by the 1920s, the British had constructed a modern bureaucratic state in Burma. Along the way, a whole class of traditional local officials were eliminated, destroying centuries-old social ties at the myo level. In the process, state-building via the Village Act actually paved the way for a longer-term trend of lawlessness and disorder.

From the turn of the century onward, Burma became the most dangerous place in the empire, with Rangoon boasting the highest murder rates for any colonial city [Harvey 1946: 40]. While the destruction of local authority did not cause these increases in violent crime—which more probably resulted from the dislocations experienced with the intrusions of the modern capitalist economy in precapitalist, agrarian Burma—it nonetheless eliminated traditional social controls and curbs on lawlessness, which was the absolute

opposite of Crosthwaite’s intention.

 

 

Coercion and the State in British Burma

 

Reorganizing Burmese society “for production,” in Furnivall’s words, required from 1885 (and arguably, from 1826) all the way through to 1942 a form of governance that one historian likens to “martial law” [Trocki 1992: 120]. The political and combat roles played by units of the British Indian Army in the early years after the 1885–86 war institutionalized an unequal relationship between military and civil authorities—in favor of military authority—that would greatly influence the development of future military and civil institutions in Burma.

 

Resistance and Rebellion

 

This military-dominated set-up did not come out of any coherent British or British-Indian plans to build a state around coercion. In fact, the post-conquest role of British-Indian troops was never much considered by the civilian or military authorities plotting the conquest from India. While British-Indian forces faced little effective resistance from the Burmese king’s army in the final annexation, the British occupation of Upper Burma in late 1885 sparked disturbances throughout the region and triggered a new round of resistance, dacoity, brigandage and rebellion in Lower Burma. By mid-1886, “a truly formidable rebellion had enveloped the country,” and the Government of India deployed upwards

of 16,000 reinforcement troops to back up the original expeditionary force [Cady 1958:

129–130; see also Hailes 1967; Ni Ni Myint 1983; Woodman 1962; Wylly 1927]. Ten military outposts were set up throughout Upper Burma to attempt to control local resistance.

Although the resistance lacked any centralized leadership and was comprised largely of small rebel groups and a handful of locally-popular “pretender-kings” hoping to re-establish indigenous rule, the violence nonetheless spread through every district of Upper

Burma and most of Lower Burma. Historian Cady [1958: 133] notes, “In many plains villages of Burma practically every household had some male member fighting with a rebel gang.” A regimental history of the Third Gurkha Rifles, which served in the campaign,

blamed the expedition commander’s “error of judgment” in allowing “the disbandment of King Thebaw’s [sic] army. . . . [H]undreds of Burmese soldiery were allowed to disperse,

with their arms, all over the country” [Woodyatt n.d.: 50, italics mine].

At the outbreak of violence in December 1885, British-Indian troops shot anyone caught possessing arms or engaging in pillage; they also burned villages where they encountered any resistance and conducted public floggings of alleged rebels. Another Indian Army regimental history [Hennell 1985: 134] defended these harsh tactics, given the Indian Army’s lack of expertise in guerrilla warfare: In practically all engagements with the enemy we had to fight an invisible foe. The dacoits waylaid our troops as they came up the river in boats or by road marches, poured forth a heavy fire upon the advancing forces as they got within range. Not only was it difficult to locate the enemy in their hidden lairs, but our men laboured under the vast disadvantage of having to force their way through the close undergrowth of an unknown forest, whilst the enemy knew all the ins and outs of their tangled labyrinths and were able to keep concealed. . . . Our only means of punishment

was to burn these villages.

 

These ruthless tactics backfired on the British. Villagers responded to the repressive measures by banding together to attack military posts. Eventually, Gen. Prendergrast, commander of the British-Indian expeditionary force ordered an end to summary executions

and village burning. Later, the 10 military posts were expanded to 25; detachments patrolled actively between posts, breaking up larger bands of rebels into smaller units. By February 1887, 40,500 British and Indian troops were fighting in Burma, and in some

areas of Upper Burma, armed garrisons were established every 10 to 15 miles [Cady 1958: 125–137].

By 1890, British-Indian troops had extinguished much of the rebellion, breaking up most large bands of rebels and forcing pretender-kings into hiding. In Upper Burma, order was maintained by 30,000 troops and Indian police; another 5,300 were assigned to Lower Burma. The cost of the annexation and subsequent pacification campaign increased from the original estimate of 􀋊300,000 to 􀋊635,000 in 1885–86, to more than twice that

amount in 1888 [ibid.: 135–137].

As order was restored to most of Burma, the majority of Indian Army troops were sent back to India, martial law was lifted and a civilian administration took over in local and national affairs. However, both British and Indian Army troops were garrisoned in Burma throughout the first half of the twentieth century. In 1938, there were 10,365 army troops in Burma; of these 4,713 were British (led by 358 British officers), in addition to roughly 3,000 Indians and nearly 3,000 indigenous Karens, Chins and Kachins [Notes on the Land Forces].

 

Pacification and Internal Security

 

What did these soldiers do in Burma? Beginning with the pacification campaigns described above and continuing throughout the colonial period with the armed forces’ deployment to put down threats to commerce and order, the function of Indian and British army units was primarily internal security. As in other British colonies where early interaction between the populace and the military was coercive and repressive in nature, colonial security policies “left a deep rift in army-society interaction” [Frazer 1994: 59]. From the very beginning of the pacification campaigns, the first contact much of the population of rural central Burma had with the colonial state was with the 40,000 British-Indian Army troops in Burma. In those first years following annexation, Indian Army units also pressed Burmese villagers into service for public works projects, including building roads and railways.

Following the third pacification period in the 1890s, the reduced, peacetime contingent of the armed forces served in two roles: first, as territorial forces, defending the frontier areas which were considered the major strategic threat in the territory; and second, as a back-up to civil and military police charged with maintaining law and order in both the frontier and the central regions.

In terms of territorial defense of the frontier areas of Burma, the British Indian Army arrived in these regions as a pacification force, just as it had in the central regions. After the third Anglo-Burmese war, some Shan sawbwas (traditional leaders) acquiesced to British

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plans to establish indirect rule in the hilly northeastern regions. In exchange for retaining their local authority over law and order within their domains, the cooperating sawbwas granted British concerns free trade and commerce in their regions. However, local leaders in the Chin and Kachin hills organized fairly extensive resistance to British overtures in the aftermath of the 1885–86 war. Most local leaders in these regions had been nearly autonomous under the Konbaung state, aside from occasional demands for tribute; hence British intrusions were not appreciated. Eventually, the British were able to convince most Chin and Kachin leaders to accept British authority in return for a promise not to interfere with local politics and customs and not to undermine the local chiefs’ taxation powers with their subjects. When a few local leaders refused to grant British demands, the British Indian Army conducted punitive raids on those areas.

The army’s ongoing role in the internal affairs of the frontier regions was fairly minimal from the conclusion of the pacification period through the 1930s. As Taylor [1987: 160] argued:

During much of the British period, the central state’s authority in more remote areas amounted to little more than periodic “flag marches” in which the symbol of state supremacy was displayed and the promise of punishment for unruly behavior was made.

Occasionally, the British representative in a Shan state called upon British-Indian troops to put down a popular rebellion sparked by a tax increase or other repressive measure undertaken by one of the sawbwas. However, most of the colonial period was characterized by relative peace in the hill regions, and whatever conflicts arose between villages and tribes usually were resolved peacefully, given the threat of punishment by British-Indian troops. With the approach of World War II, the Shan states, in particular, emerged as a region of strategic threat in the colony. For centuries, these regions had been vulnerable to or even been the bases of invading armies that attacked the Irrawaddy basin. In the buildup of forces preceding the war, Britain developed a more extensive territorial defence of the hill regions, allowing Shan sawbwas to recruit their own military forces and deploying more than 10,000 other Frontier Force troops in the frontier areas.

Nonetheless, the significance of this expansion should not be overstated. It is important to note that throughout the colonial period and right up until the Japanese invasion, British officials did not perceive any imminent threat to the borders of Burma. Hence,

according to a 1938 Colonial Office assessment of the armed forces in Burma, “the primary role of the Army in Burma” throughout the colonial era was not border defense but instead “Internal Security” [Notes on the Land Forces]. As far as the British-Indian Army was concerned, Burma was never a strategic concern, and as such received little consideration in army policy reviews even after World War II had begun in Europe.

Responsibility for internal security in the central plains region was the main occupation of the military. Formally this responsibility was divided between police and military units, but the British were never able to establish a functional police force in Burma.

During the pacification campaign that followed the second Anglo-Burmese war, the British raised indigenous local police forces to maintain law and order in the villages and towns.

At first, British officials tried to identify a traditional village leader who could take over police duties and chose the kyedangyi, the largest taxpayer who traditionally assisted the thu-gyi (headman) with revenue collection and police responsibilities. In a typical British colonial practice, the kyedangyi was appointed as an unarmed and initially unpaid constable.

By the 1880s, the anti-British rebellions had undermined the legitimacy and authority that the kyedangyis had long held, and the British had great difficulties recruiting local police officers, despite their offers of attractive salaries. Nonetheless, the British managed

to reorganize local administrative units under Crosthwaite’s Village Act, and from about 1890 on, made the new state-appointed headmen of the amalgamated village units responsible for maintaining order. In fact, the annual reports of the colonial provincial government in Burma placed the summary of “village affairs” in the section headed, “police administration” [Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 75].

Later, the British gave up this police conscription system at the local level and tried to centralize law enforcement administration. The Deputy Commissioner of each district was assigned a District Superintendent of Police (DSP), about half of whom were British or

Indian, while the other half were mostly Anglo-Burmans and Karens from Lower Burma.

Under the DSP were locally-recruited town and village constables, most of whom were unarmed until the late 1930s when the administration authorized each village to hold two or three firearms to ward off bandits.

The Village Act and the increasing destruction of the rural agrarian economy created the conditions that led to Burma being “consistently the most criminal province in the empire” throughout the twentieth century colonial period [Christian 1942: 152]. The

British-Indian Government responded to this problem by authorizing frequent enlargements and reorganizations of the more centralized civilian police force. As Donnison [1953:42] noted: “The accepted treatment was to strengthen that part of the administration whose task it was to combat the criminal, but this cure proved to be no cure for the disease— it was scarcely a palliative.” Observed another former civil servant:

According to Harvey [1946: 38], “England and Wales, with 40 million people, have 140 murders a year; Burma, with only 15 million, had 900.

The population was growing rapidly, but crime grew more rapidly. Between 1900 and the outbreak of war in 1914 the population increased by about 15 percent, the number of police rose

from one for every 789 people to one for every 744, but crime increased by 26 percent. [Furnivall1956 [1948]: 139] In areas with higher-than-average crime rates, the civilian police were reinforced by “punitive police.” Under the Police Act, collective penalties were imposed over localities by quartering a unit of this Indian-dominated, armed police force, paid for by fees added to the land taxes of the local community. Still, crime rates continued to increase. From 1911 to 1921, the population increased by about 9 percent, but the increase of major crimes “ranged from 31 percent in the case of murder to 109 percent in the case of robbery and

dacoity” [Government of India 1920–21, quoted in Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 139].

The corruption of the “ill-educated, ill-paid policemen” became a favorite target for Burmese nationalist politicians in the early 1920s, in part because of the sorry state of the civilian police forces, but also because “of the political control exercised by the police” [Moscotti 1974: 37]. One of the first acts of the Legislative Council established under the new 1923 constitution was an attempt to clean up the civilian police force by increasing pay to qualified officers and terminating the contracts of corrupt, unqualified ones.

However, the attempt failed miserably when a subsequent increase in robbery and dacoity forced the reinstatement of the fired officers and the re-lowering of standards.

These failures to establish any kind of effective local policing established the pattern of order maintenance that exists to today: when local affairs get unruly, the state sends in the military. The ineffectiveness of the civilian police led to the deployment of units of the Indian and British army and the expansion of the Military Police in times of trouble. The Military Police were established in 1886 for use in the final pacification campaign and grew to nine battalions by 1935 [Prasad 1963: 42]. Unlike the civilian police with its indigenous recruits, the Military Police consisted of almost entirely of Indians, with British officers in command positions usually on secondment from the British or Indian armies. They were the only police force to carry firearms regularly in Burma. Christian

[1942: 161] describes these units as constituting something of a strike force, “serving as mobile, well-armed police for duty in case of racial disturbances, riots, disasters, and similar emergencies that cannot be dealt with by local authorities.” From about 1920 onward, every year there was at least one instance in which the armed forces and the military police were called out to put down communal, nationalist or labor uprisings. The most prominent of these disturbances—the Hsaya San peasant rebellion of 1930–32—led to the immediate deployment of military, supported by administrative units operated by civilian police. Reinforcement troops came from India, and by June 1931, the British governor had

sent in roughly 8,100 Indian and British army troops to fight the small, dispersed groups of unarmed peasants. [Furnivall derived his statistics from Government of India [1877–78; 1910–11; 1914–15].

Three months later, six more Indian battalions and one more British battalion arrived from India, bringing British military strength to more than 10,000.

[Compiler’s note: In converting this article from an Adobe PDF file, a “floating” piece of text was found. An appropriate point to insert it seems to be here: The official history of the tatmadaw [Sitthamàin pyádaik (War History Museum) 1994: 44] has somewhat higher numbers: “In the fighting against Burmese rebels, the British used its infantry, cavalry, navy, artillery and other forces, bringing their strength to 50,000.” However, no primary sources are cited.]

 

Additionally, levies of Karens were raised and armed to fight against Burman rebel bands in the Delta [Cady 1958: 316].

Hence, beginning with the pacification campaign of 1885–90 onward, the coercive organizations of the colonial state played a significant role in reorganizing Burmese society for production for the world market. British colonial definitions of “crime” and “internal security” brought charged murderers, cattle thieves, robbers, rebels, Buddhist monks, labor organizers and starving, scavenging peasants into a legal system that treated them all similarly, and for the first time ever as enemies of the state. Facing these enemies, the colonial state relied extensively on the armed forces and police to control nearly all forms of criminal and political behavior throughout the colonial period. Even though widespread

nationalist-oriented political mobilization did not occur until the 1920s, the population of Burma had had extensive experience with the military arm of the colonial state beginning in 1886, with the frequent deployment of armed force in combating colonially defined crime. One of the “residues of the colonial state” [Young 1988: 28] which shaped postcolonial state-society relations is this prominent role of the military—vis-a-vis other state institutions—in controlling individual and social behavior.

Clearly, armed force played a significant role in the governance of colonial Burma.

The British state, which has long been characterized as “laissez-faire” in its organization of Burmese society for production, did not hesitate to employ coercion when there was any perception of a threat to British commerce and authority.􀌐􀊣The “laissez-faire” response of the colonial state to the enormous social and economic dislocations that came with the intrusion of the world economy and the commercialization of agriculture in Burma was to attempt to arrest and coerce the victims of these processes. This was undoubtedly a skinny state, barely capable of keeping the trains running and collecting enough land revenue to pay its police. Beyond the main lines of communication in the central region, this state barely existed. But where it did, it had big muscles. The slightest challenge to tenuous colonial order provoked automatic deployments of armed force, establishing a coercion-intensive

relationship between armed force and the state, and between the state and society, that carried over into the postcolonial period.

Furnivall’s [1956 [1948]] characterization of the “laissez-faire” nature of the British colonial state in Burma has never really been challenged. It is beyond the scope of this article to analyze the full nature of state-society relations in the colonial era, but simply looking at the state’s lack of welfare policy—as Furnivall does—misses the more “hands-on” approach taken to issues of social and crime control. It is hard to understand how a state that destroys a centuries-old traditional social system, imports more than 300,000 coolies from India to serve as laborers, and maintains law and order by resort to armed force in most situations can be characterized

as “laissez-faire.”

 

The Armed Forces in British Burma: Indigenous Participation

 

There were variations in the nature of this command relationship between the state and the population over time and territory, most notably in the regions where the British accommodated some of the demands of traditional rulers in the frontier regions. State-building

in colonial Burma, however, never followed the European-style state-building pattern of contestation, negotiation, accommodation and compromise between state officials and social forces. Nonetheless, the most enduring changes in state-building and the deployment of coercion in Burma came as a result of contestation and accommodation carried out by colonial officials and nationalists in India. The colonial organization of Burmese society for production, extraction and trade underwent two major institutional modifications under British rule that were outcomes of changes in governance in India.

From 1885 until 1923, Burma was designated a province of India, added to the existing three provinces, Madras, Bengal and Bombay. Notably, prior to the arrival of the British, most of the territory of modern Burma had never come under the rule of any sovereign based in India. After the three Anglo-Burmese wars, all major decisions about the new province were made or had to be approved by the Governor-General of India [Taylor 1974: 94].

The first change in this administrative set-up came after World War I, when Britain began planning for India’s eventual transition to self-government. London’s shift in policy came at least partially out of wartime pledges for greater political autonomy by British officials eager to entice India to provide more troops for the British war effort. However, the impossibility of Burma’s membership in a future independent Indian federation loomed large in the minds of colonial officials and Indian nationalists. Britain began formulating plans to treat Burma differently from the more “advanced” India.

Accordingly, on January 1, 1923, Burma became a full Governor’s Province under a new dyarchy constitution. The Governor of Burma was given a Legislative Council with a majority of seats to be filled by election; additionally, local administrative bodies were to

be partially democratized. Most importantly, as Robert Taylor [ibid.: 90] points out, Burma became a distinct entity in British policy from this time forward:

 All of the major decisions regarding Burma from the 1820’s to 1920 were made in Calcutta or New Delhi, not London. It was the decision in 1918 [implemented in 1923] not to extend . . . reforms [granted India] to the province of Burma that first caused His Majesty’s Government in London to take an active part in shaping Burma. After this event it is possible to write about “British policy” toward Burma.

The separation of Burma from India was aimed at freeing up India from the “Burma problem”

British interests tried to do whatever it took to move their flagship colony, India, toward Dominion status within the Commonwealth [Taylor 1974: 90–94].

The separation of Burma from India was completed in 1935, when another new constitution was enacted (effective in 1937) providing for a distinct, separate colony of Burma for the first time ever. It survived only four years.

What was significant about the two sets of reforms emanating from India was that the character of the armed forces gradually became a political issue in Burma just as Burma emerged as a distinct juridical and administrative entity in British policy. As Burma was

extricated and eventually separated from India, British officials and Burmese nationalist politicians realized that the government would not be able to depend forever on the troops of the Indian Army to keep order. By the early 1920s, leaders of the Indian National

Congress were agitating to bring all overseas units of the Indian Army back to India proper, where they would be used only for defense of Indian territory rather than in the service of the British Empire.

It is important to note that the availability of the Indian Army for internal and external security purposes in Burma first came into question at the same time Burmese nationalists began criticizing British policies that excluded ethnic majority Burmans from the

Indian Army. Although some piecemeal reforms were put into place to modify this exclusion at the time of the 1923 constitutional changes, colonial officials never seriously addressed the issue until separation was declared in 1935. According to former civil servant,

F.S.V. Donnison [1953: 96–97]:

It was not until after the separation of Burma from India [in 1937] had actually taken place that serious consideration was given to the problems of building up a separate Burmese army. . . . A self governing Burma would be overwhelmingly Burman, with 12 million true Burmans as against 4 million minority peoples. The majority race would be unrepresented in the military forces of the new state.

This issue of non-enrollment of indigenous Burmese in the armed forces in Burma actually needs to be broken down into two considerations. First, relative to British practices in the other administrative units of India—which was the reference point for indigenous peoples in Burma—participation by all indigenous groups in the armed forces in Burma was extremely low. Second, an examination of the development of British policy on non-recruitment of ethnic-majority Burmans throughout the colonial period will show that this practice was something of a historical accident—rather than a coherently thought-out policy—resulting from the timing of the annexation of Burma and the particular stage of development of the Indian armed forces. In existing historical analyses, the practice of excluding ethnic majority Burmans has long been characterized as a classic example of British divide et impera. [“divide and rule.”]

This is basically the argument of all postcolonial “official histories.” See Sitthamàin pyádaik (War History Museum) [1994] and Myanmà thamain (Myanmar Historical Commission) [1990]; and Ba Than [1962: 2]. It is true that most of the British-recruited indigenous levies were members of ethnic minorities with some basis for hostility toward the ethnic-majority Burman race, and in fact they dominated the armed forces on the eve of World War II.

However, the recruitment of ethnic minorities did not begin in earnest until World War I, and the absence of any significant numbers of indigenous troops of any ethnicity before 1914 is at least as important in the development of military institutions as the absence of ethnic-majority Burman troops from 1914–42. At various points in the nineteenth century, British Army and civilian officials considered recruiting indigenous peoples to fight alongside the Indian troops. In 1824, the Government of India authorized British-Indian troops to raise a levy of Arakanese to fight the Burmese king’s forces in the first Anglo-Burmese War. As early as 1833, Mons were recruited as soldiers to defend Tenasserim, although the British policy that the Mons be paid less than members of Indian units posted there made recruitment nearly impossible, and the unit languished, being formally disbanded in 1849. When the second Anglo- Burmese War broke out in 1852, the question of recruiting local troops was reopened.

Commissioner Arthur Phayre was authorized to raise a light infantry regiment in Pegu comprised at least in part of Burmans; but in 1861, when the threat of war with the Burmese king had diminished, the Pegu Light Infantry and the Arakan Levy were converted into unarmed civilian police [Sitthamàin pyádaik (War History Museum) 1994:

20–22; Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 178–184]. Over the next three decades, further attempts were made to enlist Karens, perhaps because of the increasing success of the American Baptist missionaries in converting Karens to Christianity and teaching them English. By 1880, the Karen contingent of the levies had grown, accounting for about three-quarters of the two indigenous companies. At the outbreak of widespread violence throughout Upper and Lower Burma after the third Anglo-Burmese War, the American Baptist missionaries successfully lobbied British officials to recruit more Karens as auxiliaries to put down the rebellion; they were disbanded at the end of martial law. In 1891, a Karen Military Police battalion was formed, but problems of discipline led to the dissolution of the unit. The few Karens who were allowed to continue service were distributed among the remaining battalions, which were predominantly Indian [Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 180–181].

By the outbreak of World War I, the number of indigenous members of the army and military police in Burma was probably no more than 300; the indigenous population in 1911 was 12 million [Government of India 1911]. While most observers looked back on the early exclusion of ethnic majority Burmans as the source of great political tensions in the later colonial period, these data suggest that what is more significant about colonial army recruitment is the absence of any appreciable indigenous representation whatsoever in the armed forces. Recruitment policy and practices were not functioning on the basis of a divide-and-rule principle; instead there was no recruitment of indigenous Burmese of any ethnicity.

Because this non-recruitment of any indigenous peoples was especially stark in comparison with the British recruitment of local men into the army in India, one must look for an explanation of why the British did not consider this to be an important issue until the

World War I era. The explanation is rather obvious when one considers the make-up of the forces garrisoned in Burma. After more than a century of development from the earliest guards of the East India Company to battalions “of sepoys, drilled, disciplined and clothed on western lines,” the Indian Army was “accustomed to European officers, under European officers accustomed to Indian ways” [Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 178–181]. Each time the Government of India decided to raise indigenous forces in Burma, it was because a Burma-based British official had made an appeal to do so based on the projected cost savings of not having to send Indian troops to Burma once indigenous troops could be trained to take over external and internal security functions. In most of the cases, the units were disbanded due to higher-than-expected costs vis-a-vis the availability of cheaper, English-speaking, already-trained Indian forces.

 

 

 

 

The Armed Forces in British Burma: Divide-and-Rule

 

Recruiting for the new, World-War-I-era units followed the 20-year-old Indian Army practice of establishing single-race or single-“class” units.􀌓􀊣When the end of the war came, the Government of India reduced its armed forces throughout all its provinces to a peacetime skeleton. Hence, in Burma, as in the rest of India, recruitment was halted for all army and military police units and many of the units formed during the war were disbanded. In Burma, top on the list of units to go were the various Burman-only companies and battalions, easily identifiable given the practice of establishing “class”-specific units.

Furnivall argues that this policy to exclude Burmans came out of British concerns about arming and training Burmans who someday might be swept up in the growing anti-colonial nationalist movement [ibid.: 178–184]. The Indian Army policy of raising class-specific battalions and companies had been established in the wake of the devastating mutiny in 1857, and was similarly designed to contain political and racial tensions; in India, this recruiting policy enabled the British to keep the “politically conscious classes” out of the army [Prasad 1956: 84]. The British had been surprised by the nationwide show of strength in the 1920 Students’ Strike in Burma, and there is no doubt that concerns about Burman nationalism led to the policy of formally banning Burmans from the armed

forces.

By the time of the 1931 census, the impact of the non-recruitment policy was clear

Table 1

Ethnic Composition of the Armed Forces in Burma, 1931

Ethnic Group	No. in Army	Proportion of Army	Proportion of Population
Burman	472	12.30 %	75.11%
Karen	1,448	37.74 %	9.34
Chin	868	22.62	2.38%
Kachin	881	22.96	1.05%
Others	168	4.38	12.12
Total                  3,837                  100                     100

 

Cohen [1990: 35–45] details the policy debate that went on in the aftermath of the 1857 Mutiny over the shift from territorially-based recruitment to the new system based on race and caste, adopted in 1892. The British used the term “class” to refer to one particular ethnic group or caste recruited into the army; hence this system came to be known as “class” recruitment, and the resulting units were called “class” regiments and “class” battalions. Representing roughly 13 percent of the population, the Karen, Kachin and Chin ethnic groups accounted for 83 percent of the indigenous portion of the armed forces in Burma in 1931. Clearly the policy to exclude Burmans—who comprised 75 percent of the population, but only about 12 percent of the indigenous armed forces—was successful. The indigenous contingent of the armed forces in Burma was 10 times larger than it was on the eve of World War I, but the 3,000 new spaces created in the interim provided little access to the ethnic-majority Burmans.

The 1920s policy to dismiss and effectively to ban Burmans from the army came along just as the second generation of the nationalist movement was coming of age. Although nationalist politicians were more concerned with expanding higher education opportunities

and indigenous (and especially ethnic Burman) representation on the Legislative Council, “[t]he belief was in the minds of Burmans that British policy to dismiss Burmans from the armed forces [deliberately] segregated the races” [Myanmà thamàin 1990: 46].

Ethnic tensions had been on the rise since the early part of the century, and increasing Burman resentment of Indian moneylenders, landlords, tenants and laborers led to bloody explosions of anti-Indian emotion during the 1920 strike, as well as later in 1924 and

1931. Although various factions of the nationalist movement competed with each other for popular support and disagreed over a number of contentious issues, all were united in their opposition to the occupation of Burmese territory by foreign “mercenary” (i.e., Indian) troops.

Additionally, the Dobama Asiayone (usually translated “Our Burma Association” or “Our Burmese Association”),􀌔􀊣founded in 1930 in the aftermath of four days of Indo- Burman rioting in Rangoon and moving gradually to the forefront of the nationalist campaign,

developed a new target of anti-colonial, nationalist fervor: the indigenous (non- Indian and non-Chinese) ethnic groups that collaborated with the British imperialists. The dobama’s early successes in popular mobilization came in its campaign aimed at repudiating foreign influences in language, clothing and literature and at affirming the traditions of indigenous Burmese language and clothing.􀌕􀊣This campaign was not aimed against the British colonial officials or Indian mercenaries, but instead targeted the indigenous people who collaborated with the British, took English names, wore English clothes, ate English food, and served the interests of the British. Kei Nemoto argues that the Dobama Asiayone began defining “Our Burma” in opposition to thudo-bama (their Burma) and the thudo were these collaborators who did not love their own country, cherish their own literature or respect their own language [Nemoto 2000]. Dobama writers criticized Karen troops for their participation in putting down the Hsaya San peasant rebellion of 1930–32, the 1936 student strike and the 1938 general strike. These deployments were considered evidence of collaboration on the part of Karen and other minority troops and of British attempts to divide and rule Burma.

 

Political Pocket Armies

 

With no opportunity to obtain military training in the armed forces, the Burman-majority nationalist political organizations began considering how to prepare for the possible use of armed force in their efforts to attain independence from Britain. By the mid-1930s, every major nationalist or religious organization had established its own tat or “army.”

According to U Maung Maung, the idea for this kind of organization was initially discussed in the Young Men’s Buddhist Association (one of the early nationalist organizations) a decade earlier, “but usually the promoters became ambitious and made requests to the government to open Burman military units to serve in the defence of Burma” [Maung Maung 1980: 76]. The first “tat” was founded in 1930 by U Maung Gyee, a conservative politician who was a former Legislative Council member for education and later (1940)

 

 

The dobama’s song became—in slightly different versions—the national anthem during the Japanese Occupation and at independence in 1948. The following are the original lyrics of the

song:

[Burmese script not downloaded]

Burma is our country,

Burmese literature is our literature,

Burmese language is our language,

Love our country,

Award [or praise] our literature,

Respect our language.

From Daw Khin Kyi [1988b: 1]. The above is my translation of the song.

“Tat” is translated as “armed forces,” “troops,” “military,” or “group of people assembled for collective action.” These groups are often referred to in English-language histories as “volunteer

corps,” which was the translation proffered by some of the 1930s politicians in order to camouflage their activities. I prefer to use “tat” throughout because none of the concepts in English translation carry the same range of ambiguity between “a group assembled for collective action” (with no connotation of violence) and “armed forces.”

 

became the first indigenous Defence Councillor. U Maung Gyee’s “Ye-tat” (“Brave” or “Daring” tat) was established to organize and give youths basic military and physical training for the nationalist movement, and units were formed both in major urban areas

and in small towns upcountry. In 1935 and 1936, two prominent groups of young, university- affiliated nationalists also formed cadet corps to provide paramilitary training: first, the Dobama Asiayone established the Burma Letyone (Strength) Tat, and then the university students’ union established the Thanmani (Steel) Tat. Additionally, older politicians like U Saw and Dr. Ba Maw established their own armies, called the Galon Tat and the Dahma (hewing knife) Tat, respectively. Religious organizations also established tats. Prominent Hindus in Rangoon founded the Aryan Veer Dal to coordinate efforts of Hindu Volunteer Corps. In Mandalay, the Thathana Alingyaung (Light of Religion) Tat was formed in June

1940 by followers of Premier U Pu [Taylor 1974: 188–189].

What is strange about the tats is that the British allowed them to exist at all. The British colonial government not only allowed these tats to function, but the Governor of Burma actually reviewed Ye-Tat parades on two different occasions. According to British law, none of these tats could carry firearms, but they nonetheless carried out extensive military drills and war exercises with bamboo staffs. Often wearing uniforms and strutting publicly in formation, these tats provided “protection” at nationalist political demonstrations, workers’ and peasant strikes and elections. Some modeled themselves explicitly and proudly after Hitler’s Brown Shirts, and while their numbers as a proportion of the general population were probably not very large, they nonetheless became a prominent feature of public life. They were particularly visible at National Day celebrations (held on the anniversary of the 1920 students’ strike), leading parades in Rangoon and Mandalay, as well as in towns like Pakkoku, Shwebo, Myingyan, and Yenangyaung.

Although they carried no firearms in public, their military nature should not have been difficult for the British to discern. Nonetheless, at no point in the prewar period were

Burmese nationalists ever arrested for their participation in these tats even though the

 

The galon is a mythical bird; the “Galons” was the name of Hsaya San’s forces during the peasant uprising of 1931–32. U Saw was one of the attorneys who defended Hsaya San, and was trying to remind the Burmese population of his association with the martyred hero.

Robert Taylor’s [1974: 189] analyses of British “Monthly Intelligence Summaries” on Burma in 1940–41 reveals that there were 743 “total live units” of “volunteer corps” operating in Burma in June 1941. Taylor notes that some of these “never got beyond the ‘paper’ stage” and many units were not active.

It is important to note that the fascination with the Hitler’s fascist ideology and practice was based on a fairly superficial understanding of it. These nationalists were trying to figure out how to fight an extremely powerful imperial apparatus, and the idea of mobilizing the masses in the cause of independence—as Hitler had done in the cause of national socialism—was quite appealing. Maung Maung [1980: 256] reports that the Galon Tat of U Saw was particularly inflammatory. He cites an article in U Saw’s newspaper, The Sun, on 28 May 1938, in which U Saw proclaimed he would build his army to a strength of 100,000, and it would be made available to Britain in the coming war in return for a promise of independence. He also published a column in The Sun throughout the month of July 1938 listing the names of youths who had joined the Galons in different towns throughout Burma. Taylor [1974: 189–191] reports that U Saw called himself “commander-in-chief” and publicly announced his plans in 1938 to establish a Cadet Officers’ Training Institution; he tried unsuccessfully to purchase an airplane and seaplane for instructional purposes.

 

 

British Defence of Burma law and public order laws would have authorized such arrests.

In the immediate postwar period, Aung San defended the absorption of his anti-Japanese guerrillas into a political army called the People’s Volunteer Organization (PVO) against British criticisms by pointing out that “volunteer corps [like the PVO] existed in this country before the war and they had been allowed to exist without being a danger to established government or law and order” [Aung San 1993 [1972]: 121].

One possible explanation is that British tolerance of these tats probably arose from the characteristically imperial optimism that the tats would never turn against the British. To wit, British civil servant Leslie Glass discussed the formation of these tats in

his memoirs. Even with the benefit of 40 postcolonial years of hindsight, Glass still maintains the tats were no real threat: “anti-British feeling was not widespread,” he writes [Glass 1985: 131]. More significantly, the timing of the organization of the tats came during a window of opportunity for such anti-state forces to emerge under an otherwise repressive regime. After the Hsaya San rebellion, British policy makers began exploring in earnest the necessity for a full separation of Burma from India, and as Donnison [1953:99] noted, this was the point at which it became clear that Burmans eventually would have to be recruited for the armed forces of a separated Burma. Additionally, growing concerns about the threat of coming war in Europe were accompanied by concerns about the practical issues of how to recruit soldiers from throughout the empire for the war effort, as in World War I. Perhaps this was a time when the Burman-dominated nationalist tats could be tolerated, with the objective that they might be incorporated into the war effort in the long run. Taylor [1974: 188] argues that the British saw the tats “as a means of developing Burma’s capacity of self-defense at a time when the British felt that Burmans were

not fit for military service.” The incorporation of U Maung Gyee’s Ye-Tat into the British-organized Rangoon Defence Volunteer Force supports this proposition.

Regardless of the reasons the colonial state tolerated the tats, what is clear is that the organization of non- or anti-state tats—armed to varying degrees—had at least three important implications for the development of state institutions in Burma. First, these

party-affiliated tats found a space to operate under the powerful colonial regime. The space afforded to these nationalist party tats did not disappear in the early postcolonial era. The proclivity of party politicians throughout the twentieth century to form “private,” “pocket” or “party” armies are a direct result of the lessons learned by the tats of the 1930s. In fact, 1930s tats were active in the anti-Japanese underground in 1944–45 and in early postwar politics, since surviving intact well into the postwar era and led by the same prewar politicians.

Second, the tats further institutionalized the ethnically-demarcated boundaries between “collaborators” and “nationalists.” The colonial state had itself rejected most tat members for enrollment in any state armed force on ethnic grounds. By the late 1930s, after more than a decade of outright rejection of Burman recruitment and several years of operation of non-state armies (the tats), the identification of membership in the government’s armed forces with “collaboration” or thudo-bama yielded little chance that these

tats could be persuaded to cooperate with anyone comprising thudo-bama in the increasingly threatened security environment of Southeast Asia.

Third, it was in the organization of these tats that military terminology, institutions and symbols were Burmanized. Ranks, words of command, and marching songs were all translated into Burmese by leaders of the Ye-Tat and Letyone Tat. The 1936 constitution of the Letyone Tat—called “The Constitution of the Most Dependable Army of Burma”— included the first extensive consideration of military affairs written in Burmese during the

colonial period. One-hundred-fifty items spelled out regulations in Burmese regarding membership in the Letyone Tat, as well as discipline, ranks, officers’ perquisites, training, communication, and the relationship between the tat and the Dobama Asiayone [Khin Kyi 1988b: 113–147].

 

 

 

 

 

Too Little, Too Late

 

When the British finally implemented the full separation from India in 1937 and established for the first time ever the “Burma Command,” it was too late to try to build any kind of numerically significant, integrated army. By the time the ban against enrollment

of Burmans was lifted in 1935, there were few Burmans who could view military service as anything but “collaboration.” And the existence of the various tats which provided military training for a possible anti-colonial revolution meant that the Burmese and Burman nationalists—unlike their counterparts in India in the same years—did not seriously entertain schemes for infiltrating existing units of the British armed forces in Burma for later subversion or simply for the development of tactical and technical skills.

Hence, the creation of the British Burma Army on April 1, 1937, was anti-climactic.

Units of the Indian Army serving in Burma (including the four battalions of the 20^th Burma Rifles and detachments of Administrative Corps and Departments) and the Military Police were renamed and placed under the command of the Governor of Burma,

who served as Commander-in-Chief. The latter authorized a Burma Army strength of about 6,000 soldiers to serve under 500 officers, but most of the soldiers and officers came from renamed Indian Army units and few were recruited from the Burmese population. If

we break down this authorization and look at what Taylor [1974: 31] calls the “core” of the army—the regular forces—we see a minimal role for ethnic Burmans in the all-important infantry forces, which became the dominant service in the postwar army. Of the 22 officers and 715 indigenous other ranks in the Burma Rifles infantry battalion, 50 percent were Karen, 25 percent Chin and 25 percent Kachin; only 4 officers were Burmans (Table 2).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Table 2 Regulars of the Burma Army 1938

	British Officers	British Other Ranks	Burma Army Officers (indigenous)	Burma Army Others
Burma Company, sappers and miners	6	3	6	380
Battalion of the Burma Rifles	13	0	22	715
Animal Transport Coy., BASC	1	0	2	123 (tentative only)

 

Source: (Taylor, 1974: 31-32)

 

 

There was a plan to add a fifth company of Burma Rifles that would be all Burman, but the British never got around to raising it. Nearly all of the Sappers and Miners were Burman. In addition to this “core,” irregular units included an Auxiliary Force with a total of 81 officers and 1,784 other ranks active, and 1,353 other ranks in reserve; auxiliaries were all volunteers of European descent, including British, Anglo-Burmans or Anglo- Indians. There was also a Territorial Battalion with 4 British grade officers and 694 other

ranks; personnel consisted of indigenous volunteers, mostly Karens, though some Burmans were admitted [Maung Maung 1954: 90; Taylor 1987: 100–101]. The only anti-aircraft battalion in prewar Burma was comprised mainly of Anglo-Burmans.

At separation in 1937, the Military Police was divided into two forces. One was deployed primarily in central Burma and the other—renamed the Burma Frontier Force— was for use mainly in the excluded areas. The former group, still called the Military Police,

consisted of 4,294 men in 1941. Nearly all were Indians, and command was exercised by British and Indian officers seconded from the Indian Army. The strength of the Frontier Force was 10,073, including 7,376 Indians with the remainder coming from the hill regions of Burma [Taylor 1987: 101].

Therefore, although the creation of the Burma Army in 1937 opened up the possibility of access for indigenous people, there was still no serious attempt to involve ethnic Burmans in what British officials considered the core of an army of a future independent Burma. This probably can be attributed to the colonial regime’s preoccupation with internal security, which narrowed the vision of army reformers so that considerations of how to establish a “national army”—in which indigenous minorities and the majority-Burmans could cooperate in defense matters—were never really entertained. Scholar-bureaucrat Furnivall [1956 [1948]: 183] summed up the British position: If the problem of responsible [colonial] government had been conceived in terms of creating a united people to which the Government might [eventually] be made responsible, the question of building up an army would have been recognized as a matter of primary importance, but it was

conceived in terms of . . . constructing machinery that, if it could not do much good, could do no serious damage; the military aspect of the problem was disregarded. . . .

Furnivall noted that the outbreak of war in 1939 led to a new emphasis by the British to recruit any and all potential troops, regardless of ethnicity. Although some progress was made toward including larger numbers of Burmans, the numbers in no way reflected the proportion of Burmans in the colony. Taylor [1987: 100–101] reports the breakdown of troops in Burma in 1941 (Table 3). Referring back to Table 1, “Ethnic Composition of the

Armed Forces in Burma, 1931,” we can see that the number of troops designated “Burmans” rose from 472 in 1931 to 1,893 in 1941, increasing their numbers by a factor of 2.5. At the same time, the number of Karens nearly doubled, rising from 1,448 in 1931 to

2,797 in 1941. The continued higher recruitment of Karens per head of Karen population (vis-a-vis Burman recruitment per head of Burman population) suggests that the colonial regime had not made any significant changes in recruiting priorities and practices.

 

 

Conclusion

 

The transportation of British-Indian rule to nineteenth-century Burma produced a matrix of state institutions that gave primacy to order, coercion and armed force. In sharp contrast to the earlier mercantilist age of imperialism—during which India was brought into

the British Empire—the imperialism of the late nineteenth century produced colonial states throughout Asia and Africa that were able to reorder society for production and commerce at unprecedented speed. In this process, the transportation of a two-century-old

colonial system of governance from India to Burma wreaked havoc with traditional, non-state forms of social control and created the need for internal security forces which would come to control many aspects of indigenous people’s lives.

 

Table 3:Ethnic Composition of the Armed Forces om Burma, 1941

Ethnic Group	No. in Army	Proportion of Army	Proportion of Population
Burman	1,893	23.71	75.11
Karen	2,797	35.03	9.34
Chin	1,258	15.76	2.38
Kachin	852	10.61	1.05
Yunnanese	32	0.04	n/a
Chinese	330	4.13
Indians	2,578	32.29
Others	168	2.10
Total	7,984	100	100

 

Population statistics for 1941 are from the 1831 census because the data from the 1941 census was lost in World War II.

 

 

The imposition of Indian administrators and administrative practices in Burma destroyed any indigenous social mechanisms that could have cushioned the impact of the rapid insertion into the world economy. The resulting increase in landlessness, tenancy, and indebtedness was responsible for the highest crime rates in the empire, and the Government of India’s response to this rising lawlessness—which was to send in more armed soldiers and police officers—was in part responsible for institutionalizing the primacy

of armed coercion in Burmese political affairs.

It should not be surprising that the British-Indian state relied on its relatively modern, professional Indian and British Armies to combat threats to colonial interests in Burma. The British officials who occupied top administrative positions in the colonial state were nearly all appointed from India never having previously set foot on Burmese territory [Piness 1983]. Their visions and plans about Asian colonies were probably derived from their Indian experiences, which included communal riots in which armed troops were deployed to restore order. These officials never really considered arming substantial numbers of indigenous Burmese. The imperatives of turning a profit in Burma gave these short-term civil servants no incentive to screen, equip and train the locals, especially when

the Indian Army was ready, and—most importantly—cheap to deploy.

Throughout the colonial period, the range of activities that placed indigenous Burmese in the line of fire underwent a series of expansions. During the three conquests and the subsequent pacification campaigns, colonial conceptions of “internal security” required British and Indian troops, along with a tiny handful of indigenous minority levies, to eliminate resistance to British-Indian rule. By the early twentieth century, “internal security” gradually became equated with crime control as rising rates of violent property crimes, in particular, threatened the interests of British capital. “Internal security” again was maintained by foreigners. The only significant numbers of indigenous people in uniform were unarmed local civilian police, and stories of their ineptitude reached legendary status even before World War I. With the emergence of the second wave of the nationalist movement after World War I came a new state conception of “internal security,” which gave the armed forces responsibility for fighting crime, quashing criticism and preventing potentially seditious acts. The threats to the colonial state were rarely from outside the British-drawn boundaries. More commonly the threats came from local populations in the form of such wide-ranging activities as cattle-thievery, highway banditry, trade unionization, peasant rebellions, student protests and hunger strikes. This meant that murderers and nationalists, dacoits and the Buddhist sangha, and petty thieves and

student strikers, all met the state at the barrels of foreigner-held rifles. Hence, from the first arrival of a prefabricated, relatively rationalized bureaucracy in Burma in the late nineteenth century, the state has been continuously at war with the population mapped

into its territorial claims.

 

Eleven of the first 14 chief commissioners or lieutenant governors of Burma were appointed from India no prior experience of the province. That the struggles of colonial politics and governance played out this way did not necessarily over-determine the rise of a militaristic postcolonial state. However, the indigenous elites who took over the national state at independence in 1948 started not with a tabula rasa but with the rickety yet repressive architecture of colonial states that was at odds with their anti-colonial ideological programs. With the immediate eruption of anti-state

civil warfare, Burmese Military and civilian leaders had few choices but to reinvigorate and redeploy the colonial security apparatus to hold together a disintegrating country during the formative period of postcolonial state transformation. For more than five decades now, intra-elite struggles—whether in the legal, political arena or in the arena of insurgent warfare—continued to be framed by and settled by violence or the threat of violence.

 

Bibliography

 

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Crosthwaite, Charles. 1968 [1912]. Pacification of Burma. London: E. Arnold.

 

Donnison, F. S. V. 1953. Public Administration in Burma: A Study of the Development during the British Connexion. London: Royal Institute of International Affairs.

 

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Furnivall, John S. 1939. The Fashioning of Leviathan. Journal of the Burma Research Society 29 (3): 1–138.

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Harvey, G.E. 1946. British Rule in Burma 1824–1942. London: Faber and Faber.

 

Hennell, Sir Reginald. 1985. A Famous Indian Regiment. Delhi: B.R. Publications.

 

Khin Kyi, Daw. 1988a. The Dobama Movement in Burma. Ithaca: Southeast Asia Program Publications.

1988b. The Dobama Movement in Burma: Appendix. Ithaca: Southeast Asia Program Publications.

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Maung Maung, U (former Brig.). 1980. From Sangha to Laity. New Delhi: Manohar.

 

Maung Maung (Dr.). 1954. Burma in the Family of Nations. Amsterdam: Uitgeverij Djambatan.

 

Moscotti, Albert D. 1974. British Policy and The Nationalist Movement in Burma, 1917–1937. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.

 

Mya Sein, Daw. 1938. Administration of Burma: Sir Charles Crosthwaite and the Consolidation of Burma. Rangoon: Zabu Meitswe Pitaka.

 

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Constitution, Vol. 1]. Yangoun-myó: Tekkatho-myà pounhneiptaik [Rangoon: Universities Press].

 

Nemoto, Kei. 2000. The Concepts of Dobama (Our Burma) and Thudo-Bama (Their Burma) in Burmese Nationalism, 1930–1948. Journal of Burma Studies 5: 1–16.

 

Ni Ni Myint. 1983. Burma’s Struggle against British Imperialism. Rangoon: Universities Press.

 

Notes on the Land Forces of Burma, India Office Records Locator: L/WS/1/276.

 

Piness, Edith. 1983. The British Administrator in Burma: A New View. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 14 (2): 372–378.

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Inter-Services Historical Section, India and Pakistan.

1963. Official History: Defence of India, Policy and Plans. Bombay: Combined Inter-Services Historical Section, India and Pakistan.

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Sit’thamàin pyádaik hníntapmadaw. [Rangoon: War Museum and Defence Services Archive].

 

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The Military Way

Building An Army: The Early Years Of The Tatmadaw
The Early Years: Indepence And Chaos
The First Transformation
The Second Transformation
Another Piece Of The Durability Puzzle

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Building An Army: The Early Years of the Tatmadaw

By Mary P. Callahan

From a comparative perspective, the last three-and-a-half decades of military rule in Burma represent a unique and puzzling phenomenon along several dimensions. For one, military officers are typically conservative and represent unlikely candidates to implement the kind of radical social and economic restructuring that the Burmese military (the Tatmadaw) first adopted in the 1960s. For another, entrenched military governments rarely conduct free elections, as the Tatmadaw did in both 1960 and in 1990. But perhaps the most remarkable aspect of this uniqueness lies in the sheer durability of military rule in Burma. Elsewhere, military regimes seldom last ten years, much less 35. Once in power, the factional struggles within the military over the spoils of office and over the inevitable incompatibilities between ruling and warring usually lead to a return to the barracks.

In explaining this last puzzle, scholars and other observers have focused on General Ne Win as a kind of glue that has held the Burmese armed forces and the post-1962 regime together. Throughout the civil wars, economic collapses and political debacles of the entire postwar period, observers have attributed the unusual endurance, unity and power of the Tatmadaw to Ne Win’s charisma, his formative experiences as a student politician, his ruthlessness, his awza (a kind of awe-inspiring power), and his ability to tempt fate (yeh-ti-ya). According to this view, from his youth onward, there has been a sense of destiny to Ne Win’ s path to power; taken as a whole package, Ne Win is considered to have engineered the fate of postwar Burma.

While no one could possibly dispute the central role that General Ne Win has played in modern Burmese politics, the problem with this characterization is that it reads back into history the prominence that Ne Win came to assume only as a result of activities and developments that occurred within the army and the Burmese polity in the 1950s over which Ne Win had very little control or influence. This article suggests that General Ne Win is only one piece of the puzzle at the heart of modern Burmese politics. Another piece lies in the emergence of the Tatmadaw in the 1950s as the powerful institution that came to dominate state and society for the next four decades.

The Early Years: Independence and Chaos

For the young Burman nationalists who would come to dominate the upper ranks of the armed forces in the 1950s, the early period of independence was one in which individual improvisation and creativity in solving the crisis-of-the-day led to the unintended — though nonetheless consequential — crafting of mechanisms that became institutionalized in the form of a modern, standing army. Following the transfer of power from Britain to Bogyoke Aung San and his successors, the army underwent at least two transformations that created the institutional basis for the enduring military rule that followed the 1962 coup.

Before examining the first transformation, it is important to note the context in which these transformations materialized. The postwar period began in chaos: In 1945, nationalist leader General Aung San and his nationalist forces turned against their Japanese allies by forming a shaky alliance with communists and the British Special Operations Executive. The result was a tenuous coalition of mostly ethnic-majority Burman nationalists fighting alongside the Anglo-Burman and Karen troops whom they had fought against in 1942 and whom they considered “mercenaries.” Upon defeating the Japanese, these British-led forces were reorganized under conditions of considerable division both between and among British officials, indigenous loyalists, Burmese socialists, communists and rightists. Tension was rife and within two months of independence in 1948 the Burma Communist Party revolted; the Karen National Defense Organization rebelled in 1949. By this time, one half of the government troops had mutinied and nearly that proportion of the army’s equipment was gone; important cities like Mandalay, Maymyo, Prome and even Insein (a suburb of the capital, Rangoon) fell to insurgent control. At the same time, private “pocket armies” were rallying under competing politicians all around the country. Hence, by the time Ne Win assumed the position of Commander-in-Chief in 1949, he commanded only two thousand remaining troops.

That the Burmese army emerged from this chaos as the powerful force that after 1962 would dominate state and society for more than 30 years is indeed remarkable. In the throes of this confusion, there were few signs that the military leadership (or anyone else) could even envision such a future. The Tatmadaw was but one of numerous armies that emerged at independence in 1948; many were illegal, anti-state armies but there were also quasi-legal paramilitary squads maintained by Cabinet members and other politicians in the Socialist party, which dominated the ruling Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL).1 The period was replete with challenges both to and within the Tatmadaw and the state, challenges often backed by arms and violence. For example, in the first decade of independence, the Tatmadaw faced a civil war waged by former classmates and comrades, a foreign aggressor backed by a superpower, and an ex-colonizer and later the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) trying to shape the army in its own fashion and for its own purposes. There was a lack of training facilities, a void of military doctrine, and a War Office administrative system ill-suited to the exigencies of internal security functions and counterinsurgency operations. At independence, the government was nearly bankrupt, and foreign assistance in supplying ammunition and other supplies had early Cold War strings tied to it that further threatened Burma’s borders and sovereignty.

The First Transformation

Moreover, the former Burman nationalist officers who stayed in the postwar Tatmadaw found themselves shut out of control over the armed forces in the years between the end of World War II and independence in January 1948. During this time, the returned British regime reorganized the Tatmadaw from a massive, unwieldy, guerrilla-style resistance force into a much smaller standing army. Not surprisingly, by 1948, the leadership roles in this army were monopolized by officers sympathetic to the British — mainly Karens and Anglo-Burmans.2 By contrast, the ethnic Burman nationalists who had served in the wartime Patriotic Burmese Forces (PBF) had very little institutional clout within the Tatmadaw, and spent much of the 1945-1949 period consulting with AFPFL politicians on ways to counter their institutional weakness and create “a Burma Army worthwhile having.”3 Their memories of mobilizing twice to fight the British for independence were fresh and foremost in their minds; therefore, “rightist” British collaborators running the army, and potentially the government, represented a failure of those mobilizations. Additionally, as groups formerly associated with the AFPFL went into rebellion — including the 3rd and 5th Burma Rifles — the Karen army leadership’s harsh and ruthless counterinsurgency tactics against their former nationalist comrades-in-arms further enraged the PBF officers.

As the civil war intensified, the PBF contingent began laying the basis for the first transformation of the Tatmadaw. Initially, their strategy was to sidestep existing army institutions and to build a second army outside the Tatmadaw in the form of levees or irregular forces; organized under upcountry AFPFL politicians, these “Sitwundan” units were tied loosely into a chain-of-command emanating from the one PBF-controlled portion of the War Office under Major Aung Gyi. While these units were under formation, Karen leaders outside the army who had been pressing for political autonomy launched their anti-government rebellion in January 1949. This ultimately gave the former PBF contingent in the Tatmadaw the legal basis to place most of the Karen in army leadership positions on “indefinite” leave. None of them ever returned to prominence as active-duty officers in the army.

However, this purge did not end the difficulties of the Tatmadaw. In overseeing the anti-Karen and anti-insurgent operations in the early years of independence, the post-Karen War Office had little in the way of the resources or skills necessary to take the helm of the highly-centralized, British-designed military bureaucracy. Furthermore, the continued presence of a civilian permanent secretary (U Ba Tint) and his staff duties officer (Lieutenant Colonel Hla Aung) who were both perceived as “rightists” sympathetic to expanded British influence in the army led former PBF field commanders and General Ne Win to simply disregard the British bureaucracy in the conduct of all these operations. In fact, a former field commander noted that Ne Win told him to ignore the chain-of-command to the War Office and instead come straight to him when he needed anything.4

The Second Transformation

This set-up was workable when the Tatmadaw was fighting weaker, disunited internal rebels. However, against the danger of the U.S.-backed KMT [Kuomintang] aggression and the related threat of Communist Chinese intervention in Burma,5 Tatmadaw leaders embarked on the second transformation of the armed forces: a program of institution-building in the mid-1950s with the objective of imposing a “modern,” bureaucratized, European-style, standing-army structure on to the array of personal networks that constituted the Burma army.

This transformation did not materialize with the 1949 arrival in the Shan State of the first 2,000 KMT stragglers from the Yunnan Province; at that point, they did not pose much of a threat, particularly in comparison with the communist and Karen threats to the Rangoon government. However, as more disciplined, better-organized and better-armed KMT units began entering Kengtung state in 1950 and receiving air-drops with U.S.-supplied arms and other supplies over the next few years, the 13,000-strong force became the major concern of Burmese political and army leaders. From the Union Government’s perspective, the Shan States grew increasingly dangerous in the early 1950s, with a perplexing array of anti-Rangoon forces — including the Burmese communists, the Karen rebels and the KMT — traversing this territory, forming ad hoc alliances, fighting against one another, and competing against both each other and the Rangoon government for resources and opium. This led Prime Minister U Nu to proclaim martial law in some of the Shan regions in 1950, and military administration spread to 22 of the 33 Shan subdivisions by 1952.

The imposition of martial law meant that the army was severely overcommitted. In addition to these administrative duties, the Tatmadaw was fighting against Karen, communist and other insurgents in central Burma and in the frontier areas. Early Tatmadaw operations against the KMT were weak and easily defeated. In 1953, the military waged its first-ever full-scale, combined forces counteroffensive against the KMT, which was repulsed within three weeks by superior KMT firepower. According to one Burmese air force pilot who flew air support during the operation: “It was a complete disaster.”6These disasters led to calls for reform from field commanders and staff officers alike. In the first step toward reform, Lieutenant Colonel Aung Gyi formed a “Military Planning Staff” (MPS). The MPS was to provide immediate advice in “charting a clear-cut course of military activities and in advising the Government to map the road to peace within the State and readiness for national emergency covering all aspects, military, political, social, economic, etc.”7 According to an August 1951 memorandum of authorization, the rationale for the planning staff’s formation was that: [w]e have been working mostly on an ad hoc or impromptu basis without giving much thought to coordination and correlation of different Departments of State… We are virtually at war and what is worse a more devastating one as any civil war is [sic]…. I cannot afford to wait for changes in organization and I am immediately in need of a nucleus Planning Staff…8

Once established under Lieutenant Colonels Aung Gyi and Maung Maung, the MPS sent study missions to Britain, the United States, Australia and the Soviet Union. In their views, what separated the early postcolonial Tatmadaw from these “progressive” armies around the world was the Tatmadaw’s organizational weakness at the center and the lack of institutional clout and autonomy for army leadership to plan, evaluate and carry out strategy and tactics.9 At that point the Burma army was still a disorganized army of guerrillas. What it needed to become was an army capable of standing up to the KMT and potentially the CIA and the People’s Republic of China. To do so, the MPS completely restructured the division of labor between civilian and military leaders over defense policy, notably shrinking the civilian secretary’s sphere of control over internal army affairs. Furthermore, the MPS also terminated the contract for the British advisors to the Tatmadaw, wrote Burma’s first draft of military doctrine, and undertook the creation of educational and training institutions (such as the Defense Services Academy at Maymyo) that remain in place to today. MPS also created other organizations — such as the psychological warfare and counterintelligence directorates — that would become important tools of the post-1962 military regime. Additionally, through the work of the MPS, the army made its first foray into economic affairs. In 1951, Aung Gyi set up a NAAFI- or P.X.-style concern to replace inefficient, unworkable unit-run canteens. Called the Defense Services Institute [DSI], this operation expanded quickly into the sale of bulk and consumer goods to soldiers; by 1960, Aung Gyi and his colleagues at DSI were running banks, international shipping lines and the largest import-export operation in the country.10

Another Piece of the Durability Puzzle

What is significant about the institutional innovations that emerged from this second transformation is that they were in stark contrast to the concurrent institutional decay of the other two major national institutions in Burma, the bureaucracy and the AFPFL. Similarly, by virtue of the operational demands on the army during the 1950s, the Tatmadaw was alone among national-level institutions in consolidating authority throughout territory that stretched beyond central Burma. A simple illustration of this point can be seen in the fact that by around 1954, the War Office could order locally-recruited members of its field units to move to other parts of Burma and expect that the order would probably be carried out. Neither the AFPFL nor the bureaucracy were able to do the same thing at any point during the 1948-1962 period.

The institutional innovations that led to the transformation of the army into a powerful force came out of the day-to-day decisions, whims and fantasies of field and staff officers throughout the army. Many of the projects developed in the second transformation were the ideas of then Major Aung Gyi (later to become Brigadier General), Colonel Maung Maung (considered by many to have been the architect of the modern Tatmadaw), Lieutenant Colonel Ba Than (who was the champion of the psychological warfare plans) and others; these were staff officers who were responding to particular crises and quite unintentionally created institutions.

To conclude, an analysis of intra-military affairs in the 1950s suggests that Ne Win’s involvement in the transformation of the Tatmadaw into a powerful, durable institution has been considerably overestimated. Within the chain of command, all of the above innovators worked for General Ne Win, who was Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces throughout the decade. However, while Ne Win was certainly involved in some of the first transformation to eliminate “rightist” influence in the army, his role in the more significant second transformation was minimal. At the time, he may have been Commander-in-Chief, but between scandals over his romantic affairs, foreign travel and visits to army units throughout the country, Ne Win had very little to do with the reorganization of the army. For example, in the case of what became the most consequential institutional development — the creation of the MPS — Ne Win’s signature on the order to form the MPS is misleading. In the months surrounding the issuance of that authorization, Ne Win had been distracted by personal scandals and their fall-out on the pages of Rangoon daily newspapers; in fact, officially he was on leave when this order was signed. Likewise, throughout the first decade of independence, the Commander-in-Chief’s name appears on many of the orders authorizing the creation of these institutional innovations, which may account for the tendency to attribute the transformation to his scheming.

Notes

1. The AFPFL was formed in 1945 out of a national front comprised of the various organizations that had banded together to fight the Japanese. Prior to independence, the bulk of its membership came from organizations allied with the Communist Party; however, after the two factions of the Communist Party rebelled against the AFPFL government, the national front was dominated throughout the 1950s by the Socialist Party.

2. British advisors had appointed Karens as commander of the armed forces (General Smith Dun) and the chief of the air force (Saw Shi Sho); the chief of operations was the Sandhurst-trained Karen, Brig. Saw Kya Doe. The Quartermaster General, who controlled three-quarters of the military budget, was a Karen, Saw Donny. Although Brig. Bo Let Ya, army chief of staff and later minister of Defence, was an ethnic Burman with solid nationalist experiences, his politics had shifted rightward during the postwar years and he publicly supported continued British influence if not control over the Tatmadaw. Karen officers and other ranks dominated nearly all the supporting services, including the staff, supply and ammunition depots, artillery and signals corps.

3. Diary (personal) of Capt. Maung Maung, 1947; 25 May 1947 entry describing an informal meeting at the home of Socialist Party leader U Kyaw Nyein attended by politicians Ba Swe, Ba Swe Lay, Bo Khin Maung Gale, Ko Ko Gyi and U Kyaw Nyein; and army officers Maung Maung, Aung Gyi and Tin Pe. Diary is on deposit in Defence Services Historical Research Institute (hereafter, DSHRI): CD 875.

4. Interview, February 1993. Former Brig. Maung Maung confirmed that this was the modus operandi from 1949-1952; interview 12 May 1992.

5. The real threat to Burma was not the KMT themselves, but the consolidating Chinese Communist regime. Throughout the early 1950s, Burmese leaders worried that in the course of trying to stabilize their position in mainland China, the Chinese Communists would find it necessary to eliminate the remaining KMT located on the fringes of China, in particular in Burma.

6. Interview, former Colonel Tin Maung Aye, 2 April 1992.

7. Government of the Union of Burma, General Staff Department, War Office, Secret Memorandum, “Formation of a Military Planning Staff at the War Office,” 28 August 1951, No. 102/E1/SD; in DSHRI: DR 4768.

8. Ibid.

9. Government of the Union of Burma, General Staff Department, War Office, Memorandum, “Organization of the War Office and Formation of an Army Council,” 23 September 1951, No.88/ E1/SD, Rangoon; in DSHRI: DR 4768.

10. From Maj. Kyaw Soe (second name in unreadable type), “The Defence Services Institute,” (n.d., probably 1956-1958); in DSHRI: DR 8117; also interview with U Aung Gyi, 4 May 1992. Mary P. Callahan is an assistant professor in the National Security Affairs Department at the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey, California. She teaches classes on Southeast Asian studies, civil-military relations and transitions to democracy. She completed her Ph.D. in political science at Cornell University in 1996. She is currently at work on a manuscript tentatively entitled, “The Origins of Military Rule in Burma.”

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Burma’s Struggle for Democracy: The Army Against the People

Josef Silverstein

Abstract

Since 1948 Burma has struggled, both to establish a modern democratic political system, and to unite the people under its rule. So far, it has failed on both counts.

The author outlines democracy and its roots in Burma before moving on to describe the military’s roots and to give an overview of the three phases of military rule: from 1962 to 1974; from 1974 to 1988, and from 1988 to 1993. Also covered are the opposition to military rule between 1962 and 1988, and the unity of the army from 1948 to 1988.

The author concludes that finally military rule has convinced even the most sceptical that a true democracy is the only way to domestic peace, freedom and personal safety.

The decade of the 1990s opened with the people cautiously hoping for change in the future of Burma. After twenty-eight years of military rule, in one guise or another, many were optimistic that the 1990 scheduled elections would begin a process by which they would recover power and restore democracy.

Almost from the day they regained their independence from British rule in 1948, their nation has been torn by civil war, which persists to this day, foreign invasion and slow economic recovery from the devastation wrought by World War II. The people were sorely tested in 1988 when they demonstrated for freedom and change but were met with the guns and bullets of the army as it suppressed their peaceful revolution. And even though they complied with martial law, and participated in the election of May 1990 to vote for members of a national assembly as a first step toward the restoration of democracy, their patience went unrewarded as the military found one excuse after another to delay change. All real hopes for peaceful change were dashed in September 1991, when Major-General Tin U said, ‘We cannot say how long we will be in charge of the state administration. It might be five or ten years’ (South China Morning Mail 11 September 1991).

On 23 April 1992 the State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC) began a series of actions which were intended to signal that political change was beginning. Under a new leader, SLORC started to release political prisoners and took the first steps toward writing a new constitution. These and other changes provide a preview of the future political system which the military rulers in Burma are trying to establish, a system where the military will play the leading role and the people will be the approving chorus. The model the soldiers-in-power have in mind derives from the present Indonesian system (The New Light of Myanmar 24, 25 June 1993). This is the political burden the people carry as they continue to struggle to free themselves from tyranny and dictatorship.

Democracy and its Roots

Before Burma regained independence on 4 January 1948, an uneven leadership struggle developed between the older leaders of the prewar period and the young men who had formed and led the wartime Burma army and the coalition nationalist party, the Anti Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL). While the former were prepared to work within the framework of change offered by the British, the latter were not. The people backed the AFPFL from the outset, and its legal right to lead was confirmed in the 1947 election and in the constituent assembly.

Before the authors of the 1947 constitution took up their task they had, at least, three traditions to draw upon. They could have returned to some form of monarchy, such as existed before British rule (Koenig 1990:65-97). But that idea had been rejected during the war period when the Japanese granted Burma independence (Cady 1958:4-5) and again by Aung San, the nationalist leader, when he addressed the AFPFL on the eve of the constitutent assembly (Silverstein 1972: 92-100). They could have created a bureaucratic-authoritarian system, after the model the British instituted at the end of the nineteenth century or that of the constitutional dictatorship fashioned by Dr Ba Maw, under Japanese tutelage, during World War II (Christian 1945:60-76; Maung 1959: 54-62). This, too, was rejected. They had a third model, parliamentary democracy, which the British introduced as early as 1921 to put the nation on a course to self-rule (Christian 1945:77-105).

Most amongst the young elite were Buddhists and were influenced, to various degrees, by Buddhism’s values and traditions. Many, however, like their leader Aung San, were Western-educated, holders of university degrees and believers in liberal democracy with its emphasis upon separation of church and state. They came to maturity in a period when democracy was evolving in Burma and they were able to study and debate the political ideas of their day – democracy, fascism, communism – and the meaning and content of Burmese nationalism. Overwhelmingly, they were drawn to socialism, secularism and democracy (Khin Yi 1988; Silverstein 1980:134-161). These ideas were foremost in the thinking of Aung San when he addressed the preconstituent assembly meeting of the AFPFL and committed the party to their support (Silverstein 1972).

But there were divisions within the AFPFL. In a barely disguised struggle between communists and socialists rival leaders and member parties fought for control of the AFPFL and influence in shaping the future constitution. In 1946 the communists were expelled from the AFPFL and the ideas of the socialists, together with those of Aung San, were influential in the writing of the basic law.

The constitution of 1947 created a parliamentary system with two legislative chambers. It included a renunciation of war as an instrument of policy, a set of socialist-influenced unenforceable goals – called directive principles, a definition of relations of the state to peasants and workers, and fundamental human rights for all.

The AFPFL leaders had a special problem in that nearly 40 per cent of the population were members of various minority groups who lived either amongst the Burman (the Karens and Mons) or in the hill areas which surrounded the heartland (the Shans, Kachins, Chins and others). Because the minorities either had been given special treatment under British rule (the Karens formed a separate electorate and were given a specific number of seats in the legislature) or had been excluded from the evolving political process during the same period (the various hill peoples), the question of uniting everyone in the territory of Burma proved vexing. Discussions leading to promises made by the Burman leaders to the minorities resulted in the creation of a unique federal union, which was more unitary than federal, and led to most Karens and Karennis rejecting it. It also promised the right of secession to the populations of two areas but denied it to all others. Failure to solve the problems of national unity at the outset was a major cause of minority revolts after independence (Silverstein 1980).

Internal wars tested the nation. Between 1948 and 1952 the government nearly collapsed as it fought to recover control first of the heartland and then of the hill areas. Yet even as it faced the threat of being overthrown and the union destroyed, the legislature met and acted, a national election was held, the High Court and Supreme Court upheld civil and political rights against the effort of the government to ignore them in its determination to restore control and domestic peace, education expanded at all levels, and the press flourished as one of the freest in all of Asia.

Religion and politics were never far apart. The 1947 constitution established religious freedom, but in the same chapter it declared that Buddhism enjoyed a ‘special position’. As early as 1949, a Ministry of Religious Affairs was created and ecclesiastical courts were established. The state also conducted religious examinations and sponsored an international Buddhist celebration to commemorate the Buddha’s 2500th birthday (Mendelson 1975:112).

Although the state was declared to be the ultimate owner of all the land, in fact agricultural lands were in private hands and the farmers were free to buy and sell and to make all farming and marketing decisions. While some economic enterprises, such as transportation and power generation, became government monopolies, there was a private economic sector which flourished alongside government businesses and cooperatives.

Despite a non-aligned foreign policy and the illegal invasion and occupation of some of its territory by remnants of the Chinese Nationalist Army – causing the government to divert resources from economic recovery and development to the expansion of the army and the purchase of weapons – the economy slowly recov-ered to near prewar levels in all areas; many of the groups in revolt either ended their war and returned home or, if they continued to fight, were driven into the hills and the delta area. In 1956 the nation held a second national election which generally was free and fair and produced an opposition party in parliament which generated lively debates and moved the nation from a one-dominant-party to a multi-party system (Silverstein 1956). The institutions of democracy began to grow in an atmosphere of peace and stability.

But unity and stability in the AFPFL leadership did not last. In 1958 the leaders split and, in their struggle to win control of the party and government, the rivals provoked a constitutional crisis. Prime Minister Nu tried to resolve it through a vote in the parliament; but even though he won, his margin was small and his backing came mainly from the minorities rather than the Burman members. Having no dependable majority in parliament, on 26 October Nu stepped down as prime minister and recommended General Ne Win, the military commander, to form a caretaker government and restore political conditions under which new elections could be held to resolve the political crisis.

This was not the first time that Ne Win was brought into government. In 1949, at the height of the rebellions, Nu asked him to serve as deputy prime minister and take charge of several ministries following the mass resignation of the socialists from his cabinet. Ne Win held those posts for nearly seventeen months.

The multiple internal wars in the decade of the 1950s gave Ne Win’s army the opportunity to exercise political authority under martial law. In 1952 martial law was proclaimed in parts of the Shan state; it lasted for two years. The army abused the people and acted corruptly, giving rise to its reputation of ruthless and autocratic behaviour. Whatever popularity it had in the hill areas at the outset of its rule vanished as it exercised power.

Ne Win’s caretaker government of 1958-60 ruled without party support. It drew upon senior military officers and respected civil servants to serve in the cabinet and administer government offices. Ne Win scrupulously adhered to the letter of the constitution, even demanding its amendment to allow him to serve beyond six months as a nonelected member. But his strict enforcement of the law, insensitivity to the people, and impatience with the democratic process, turned the public against his rule even though his administration brought law and order to a good portion of the country and improved the economy.

Like the government before his, Ne Win’s had no compunctions against using religion for political ends. In 1959 it published a booklet entitled Dhammantaraya (Dhamma in Danger), which declared that the Burmese communists posed a threat to Buddhism, and mobilised 80800 monks to hold meetings and denounce the local communist movement (Ba Than 1962:71). It also continued the practice of mixing religion and politics by placing religious affairs under the deputy prime minister and enforcing all laws pertaining to religion.

When elections were held in 1960, the party favoured by the military suffered an overwhelming defeat while its opponent, led by U Nu, returned to power (Director of Information 1960; Silverstein 1977). A major issue was U Nu’s promise, if elected, to make Buddhism the state religion.

Between that election and the military coup on 2 March 1962, Nu worked hard to strengthen democracy and address the causes of national disunity (Silverstein 1964). But before he could accomplish his goals the military struck, seized power, and replaced democracy and the constitution with a military dictatorship.

Although the democratic experiment lasted only fourteen years, it established an important watershed for Burmese political thought and action. Three national elections had been held and a multiparty system proved workable; leaders coped with major economic and political problems and adopted pragmatic solutions. Human and civil rights generally were honoured, and when questions arose the courts acted independently in defence of the constitution.

Divisions in the ruling party were a major cause of criticism of the democratic process; however, it must be remembered that the AFPFL started life as a broad coalition of conflicting leaders and ideas. In the face of multiple rebellions which threatened to destroy the union as well as the democratic system, the leaders generally remained united. In 1958, when the nation began to enjoy real peace and thousands of people in revolt began to put away their weapons and drift toward a peaceful way of life, Nu tried to convert the AFPFL into a coherent and unified party; but divisions amongst its leaders already were evident and barely concealed in the party congress of that year. Three months later, AFPFL unity was shattered. A similar phenomenon occurred in U Nu’s party during his last administration and reinforced the idea that personal rivalries outweighed commitment to democratic rule. If the people did not rise up to defend democracy against the military in 1962 it was because most of those who thought about it recognised the reality of a totally successful lightning coup and because many of them believed that a new caretaker government was going to be established.

The Military and its Roots

The modern military in Burma began as part of the independence struggle in the 1930s. In 1940 the Thakins, the political movement of the students and young intelligentsia, secretly sent one of their leaders, Aung San, to China to seek aid for their revolt. Picked up by the Japanese in Amoy, he was taken to Tokyo. There he met leaders of the Japanese Army command who were aware of the independence aspirations of the Thakins; Aung San entered into an agreement with them: ‘Japan would help Burma to gain her independence by supplying her with necessary arms’ (Ba Than 1962:15; Yoon 1973). At the same time, an underground revolutionary movement began to form inside Burma in preparation for the anticipated uprising against the British.

Aung San returned in 1941 and recruited twenty-nine Burmans to go secretly with him to Hainan Island where they would be given military training by the Japanese. These ‘Thirty Heroes’ formed the nucleus of the present Burma army. When the Pacific War broke out, they returned to Thailand, recruited the first members of the Burma Independence Army and followed the Japanese into Burma. Some of their units fought the British and the experience gave them pride and confidence. During the war the army’s name was changed, first to the Burma Defence Army, then the Burma National Army and at war’s end, to the Patriotic Burmese Forces. On 27 March 1945 it revolted against the Japanese and joined with the Allies in their final phase of the war against the Japanese in Burma.

There was a second strand to the modern Burma military: the ethnic minorities who were recruited and served in the pre-war Burma Defence Forces. During peacetime the colonial rulers recruited very few Burmans. Only in times of emergency – World War I and at the beginning of World War II – were the armed forces open to Burman recruits.

Following the defeat of British forces in Burma in 1942, minority recruits who did not escape to India returned to their villages in the hill areas and, there, were regrouped by British officers who stayed behind or were dropped by parachute to prepare for the return of the British army (Morrison 1947; Mountbatten 1960).

Shortly after the British were driven out of Burma in 1942, there were serious clashes between the Burma Independence Army and Karens living in the delta region. To overcome racial tensions, Aung San and other Burman leaders convinced some Karen leaders of their determination to build racial harmony by recruiting Karens into the new indigenous army and commissioning a few Karen officers. Following independence, a British-trained Karen officer, Smith Dun, was named the first head of the Burma army.

After the war, the Supreme Allied Commander, Admiral Mountbatten, met with Aung San and other Burman leaders in Kandy, Ceylon, where they agreed that the new Burma army would be created out of the two different military groups. It would contain approximately equal numbers from both and would be organised along racial lines on the model of the Indian Army. At the outset, it would employ British officers while Burmese officers were being trained to British standards. The armed force would be limited to approximately 10 000 officers and men.

The two elements brought different values and attitudes to the new army. The Burmans drew upon the ideas of the Thakins – opposition to colonial rule, independence and socialism. From their wartime experiences, they adopted the Japanese military ideas of loyalty, instant obedience to commands from above or punishment for their failures. They also learned to respond unquestioningly to authority and not to act independently in battle, no matter what the conditions. Their experiencelabourbattle against the British and the Japanese gave them a sense of self-confidence, a belief in themselves as the leaders who played an important role in bringing the AFPFL into being, and pride in their patriotism for having fought for the political freedom of Burma.

The minorities brought a different tradition: loyalty to the British monarch, military professionalism, separation between politics and military affairs, and fear of Burman domination.

There was also a third element of the military – private armies. Such forces existed in the 1930s and were nothing new for Burma. Aung San formed the Peoples Volunteer Organisation (PVO) from the Burman soldiers who were not taken into the new army, as a home guard to help maintain law and order in the countryside. But its real mission was political: to give the AFPFL a vehicle by which to intimidate the colonial rulers in the growing struggle for independence. Because PVO members shared the ideas and values of and had close personal ties to the leaders and men in the new army and the rival political parties in and out of the AFPFL – the socialists and communists – doubts were raised in many minds as to whether there was a real separation between the professional army, the political army and the parties. So long as Aung San lived, the PVO remained united and loyal to him and the AFPFL. Aung San’s assassination in 1947 left the PVO leaderless and subject to the persuasions of rival political groups seeking to lead the nation.

The communist uprising in 1948 split the PVO, with members divided between the government and its opposition. The PVO eventually faded as a military and political force, but not before its involvement in the civil war nearly tipped the scale on the side of those in revolt.

During this same period the minorities, too, were torn between loyalty to the new state and loyalty to their ethnic groups. The Karens, in particular, experienced a sense of abandonment by the British to their historic oppressors, the Burmans. This helped raise their ethnic consciousness at the expense of full identity with the new national army. In 1947 the Karens formed a paramilitary group, the Karen National Defence Organisation (KNDO) to defend their villages. At the same time, the other large minorities, the Shans, Kachins and Chins, gave their full loyalty to independent Burma. In the early phases of the rebellions their loyalty to the Union of Burma and their unwillingness to join the Karens and others in revolt was a major factor in saving the union.

The Kandy Agreement, which emphasised federation rather than full integration, had a second defect. It took no account of the political divisions and competing ideologies amongst the member groups in the AFPFL and their reflection in the new army. Thus, when the Communist Party went into revolt on 28 March 1948, less than three months after independence, the army began to come apart. The 1st and 3rd Burma Rifles – two Burman battalions – deserted with their weapons and joined forces with the revolutionaries. Two months later the PVO split, one part joining the communists in revolt and the other remaining loyal to the government.

Following independence and the failure of the constituent assembly to solve the problem of the Karens’ place in the new union, communal violence erupted be- tween Burmans and Karens. As the violence increased, in January 1949 the KNDO went into revolt. Three battalions of Karen Rifles deserted and joined the KNDO.

These events brought a change in military command; Smith Dun was placed on indefinite leave and Ne Win was placed in charge of the army. The government authorised the recruitment of PVOs loyal to the state, and other former World War II soldiers to form territorial units (Sitwundans) to buttress the depleted army (Tinker 1961:38). Under Ne Win’s leadership, a process of Burman domination in the army began. Despite the loyal support given by Kachin, Chin and Shan battalions, their units gradually were reformed with Burman officers in command and Burman soldiers in their ranks. Aung San’s federated army gave way to Ne Win’s Burman-dominated and integrated army. The new army became more professional with the establishment of a military academy in 1954, and later a National Defence College. As its size grew, so too did its strength in arms.

In the midst of the political turmoil caused by the 1958 split in the AFPFL, the military feared that the primary loyalty of the Union Military Police (UMP) and paramilitary forces was to political parties rather than the state and that UMP units might take sides and even displace the army as the nation’s defender. It also was alarmed at the divisions in the ranks of the nation’s leaders. In this deteriorating environment the army saw itself as the only national institution ready to sacrifice itself to preserve the union and protect the constitution.

On the eve of the formation of the caretaker government the military leaders held a conference at which they defined the national ideology, as they understood it, and their role in upholding it (Director of Information 1960: Appendix I), declaring that so long as their strength remained, ‘the Constitution shall remain inviolate’. They held that the nation’s goal was to build a political-economic system on the principles of justice, liberty and equality. To gain that end, they set three priorities: first, to restore peace and the rule of law; second, to construct a democratic society, and third, to create a socialist economy. They pledged to pursue the aims of national politics as distinct from party politics. When Ne Win presented himself to parliament as candidate for the office of prime minister on 3 October 1958, he said:

I wish deeply that all Members of Parliament would hold as much belief in the Constitution and democracy as I do. I wish deeply that all Members of Parliament would sacrifice their lives to defend the constitution as I would do in my capacity of Prime Minister, as a citizen and as a soldier (Director of Information 1960:547).

The caretaker government gave Ne Win a chance to put the army’s ideology and theories into practice; and as discussed earlier, while he followed the letter of the constitution, he violated its spirit.

Military Rule: First Phase, 1962–1974

The military justified the coup of 2 March 1962 on three grounds: to preserve the union, to restore order and harmony in the society, and to solve the economic problems facing the nation (Silverstein:1977:80). The men who made the coup were not the same as those who stood close to Ne Win in the caretaker period. Several had been sent abroad as ambassadors a year earlier. And those who remained were divided in their view of what the military should do with power. Brigadier Aung Gyi wanted to continue along the lines of the caretaker government, while his rival, Brigadier Tin Pe, wanted to turn the nation immediately down the road to socialism. A year later Aung Gyi was dismissed and Ne Win adopted Tin Pe’s position.

If the coup leaders were divided on their immediate course, they were agreed on abandoning their earlier commitment to the constitution and democracy in favour of dictatorship with no limits on their right to make rules and exercise power.

A month after the coup the leaders promulgated a new ideological statement, The Burmese Way to Socialism. In their new analysis they argued that Burma’s problems were the result of the economic system, which not only deformed society and the personal values and attitudes of the people, but contributed to disunity and social unrest (Silverstein 1964:716). Parliamentary democracy also contributed by failing to produce political stability and lent itself to misuse and personal profit by those in power. Thus, the priorities were altered: economic change and the creation of a socialist democracy – on the lines of the Eastern European states – must come before all else. Gone were all pretences of upholding constitutionalism and the liberal democracy of the past.

From the outset, the military displaced the institutions created at independence, replaced the civilian leadership with members of their own organisation, and substituted their thought for that of their political predecessors. The constitution was suspended and became inoperative in areas where the Revolutionary Council, the military governing body, issued decrees and promulgated orders. The courts were changed. The old parties were outlawed and replaced by the military’s own new party, the Burma Socialist Program Party (BSPP), the only political party allowed after 1964. The free press eventually was outlawed and replaced by an official publication, the Working Peoples Daily. Most of all, the federal system, while remaining in name, in fact became a centralised administrative system. Security Administration Councils, composed of representatives from the army, civil service and police, replaced state political and administrative organs. The new system was organised hierarchically with control located in Rangoon.

The changes were more than institutional. The people were cut off from contact with foreigners as the military’s propagandists and educators sought to change people’s beliefs, values and attitudes to those expressed in the new ideological documents. A police state emerged; people were required to inform on one another while a national network of domestic spies reported the activities and statements of ordinary citizens.

To bring an end to the various revolutions still in progress, the military rulers used both ‘carrot’ and ‘stick’, holding peace negotiations in 1963 and, following their failure, resuming their military campaigns.

The Burmese way to socialism failed both to improve the economy and to gain real support amongst the people. By the end of the decade Ne Win and his co-leaders gradually shifted to a new direction.

In 1971 the BSPP was converted from a cadre to a mass party and Ne Win gave it responsibility for writing a new constitution. Despite changes in structure, the party remained a political vehicle for the military with General Ne Win as its head and senior military officers monopolising all subleadership posts.

In April 1972, while the party pursued its tasks, Ne Win and nineteen senior military officers retired from the Defence Services. At the same time the government changed its name from the Revolutionary Council to the Government of Burma. U Ne Win remained prime minister and most of the same senior military leaders, now retired, continued as government heads; four civilian cabinet officers were added to their ranks. During this period Ne Win abolished the secretariat inherited from the British colonial system, and transferred its responsibilities to the ministers. In terms of who led the nation, these changes were more nominal than real as the military retained its near exclusive control of power. A new constitution was approved by the people in a referendum in December 1973, and in elections held the following month candidates for seats in the national assemby and the three sublevels of government were elected. On 2 March 1974 the second phase of military rule began.

Military Rule: Second Phase, 1974–1988

Despite the fanfare, the military did not return power to the people. The constitution institutionalised the power of the BSPP. It was directed to lead the nation; no other parties were allowed. It selected all candidates for seats in the national assembly, the Pyithu Hluttaw, and the deliberative bodies at the three lower levels; and it was empowered to give advice and suggestions to government. If there was any doubt that the new system was a continuation of its predecessor, Article 200 declared that when the People’s Assembly interpreted the constitution, it had to do so in accordance with the General Clauses Law promulgated by the preceding government.

Like the army, government was centralised and hierarchical. The various levels of administration were tied together by the principle of democratic centralism. The people were given rights and duties. They had the right to stand for election and to recall their representative; they had the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; the right to freedom of speech, expression and publication ‘to the extent that the enjoyment of such freedom is not contrary to the interests of the working people and of socialism’ (author’s emphasis). In carrying out one’s rights, the constitution declared that persons ‘shall be under a duty … to abstain from undermining any of the following: (l) sovereignty and security of the State; (2) the essence of the socialist system; (3) unity and solidarity of the national races; (4) public peace and tranquility; (5) public morality’.

With no right to organise a political party to express legal opposition to the ruling party and the government it controlled, with the requirement to report the speech of others as well as one’s own conversations with outsiders, with police informers everywhere, the rights were nominal, at best, and meaningless in this constitutional dictatorship.

The system remained intact, with relatively little change until 1988. At the Fourth Party Congress (August 1981) Ne Win announced his intention to give up the office of president of the nation, but to continue to serve as head of the party. As this was where real power was located, it did not represent any real change. His potential successor, U San Yu, was a former subordinate officer from the time he served under Ne Win in the 4th Burma Rifles. Other nominal changes were made but, as always, power remained in the hands of serving or retired military officers under Ne Win’s leadership (Silverstein 1982).

The first sign of real change came in August 1987, when Ne Win startled the nation by admitting ‘failure and faults’ in the management of the economy and called for open discussion about the past and change. Within weeks the heavy hand of socialist economic control was partially lifted as the government removed restrictions on the sale, purchase, transport, and storage of foodstuffs. This was followed by demonitisation of three units of currency, which was intended to disrupt the black market but in fact had a devastating effect upon the general population because most did their business in cash and kept their reserves at home instead of in a bank.

Developments came to a climax in July 1988 while the nation was in turmoil and an emergency party congress was in session. Ne Win announced his resignation as party head and urged the leaders to consider the creation of a multiparty system, among other changes. He also warned the nation not to demonstrate, for if they did, the army would not shoot over their heads.

Although the party permitted Ne Win to resign, it did not adopt his recommendations. Instead, it appointed as its new leader General Sein Lwin, another protégé of Ne Win. He had the reputation of having led his military unit in suppressing dissent on the university campus in 1962, and again in 1974 where hundreds of students were killed or wounded. To put down the growing national unrest, which had been building up during the year and was about to culminate in a national strike on 8 August, Sein Lwin ordered the military to suppress the strike of unarmed civilians; it resulted in the death of thousands.

The resignation of Sein Lwin brought the first true civilian to leadership. Dr Maung Maung, a legal scholar and strong supporter of Ne Win, became head of state and sought to end popular unrest by promising elections for a multi-party system and other reforms. But his offer came too late as dissent grew and threatened to topple his government; more important, defections from the air force and the navy to the side of the people were a prelude to defections from the army. During this period, the government released criminals from jail and crime rose; at the same time, it spread rumors that the water was poisoned and the city was unsafe. Instead of drawing the people back to BSPP rule, this only hardened their resolve to continue peaceful demonstrations for immediate change to a democratic multiparty system.

At this critical stage, when the people felt that they were on the verge of victory, General Saw Maung, the head of the army, organised a coup and on 18 September seized power and ordered the armed forces to suppress all dissent. Again, the number killed and wounded is unknown, but is reported to have reached 3000 or more.

Thus, within a year, from Ne Win’s 1987 announcement to the Saw Maung coup, the military’s carefully constructed constitutional dictatorship crumbled and the army found it necessary to abandon the façade of constitutional government in favour of naked power to restore its leadership. As in 1962, it abandoned all pretences of legality and democracy to create a new dictatorship based on martial law and backed by soldiers and guns.

Opposition to Military Rule: 1962–1988

Despite having complete political power and the backing of the armed forces, military rule in its various guises was never free of opposition. The civil war between the minorities and the government persisted even though the armed forces increased in both size and strength. In the heartland, Buddhist monks and university students resisted openly at various times. As the military was fashioning its dictatorship in 1962, the monks refused to register and carry identification cards; and in the Mandalay area some monasteries resisted with force. Eventually, in 1980 Ne Win was successful in bringing the monks and the various sects under government control and marked the event by holding a national celebration, granting amnesty to dissidents and imprisoned felons.

The opposition of the university students lasted longer and was more influential in bringing the constitutional dictatorship to an end. It began in June 1962, with resistance to harsh new university regulations and the killing of an unknown number of students as the army dislodged them from their barricades on the campus and blew up the Student Union Building – the historic centre of student resistance during the British period. Skirmishes between the military and students erupted over the next several years, with the most serious occurring in 1974. When the remains of U Thant, the third secretary-general of the United Nations, were returned to Burma, students and monks seized the coffin because the government did not intend to properly honour his remains. They took them to the university where, after a few days, the army used force, and killed more than a hundred students and monks in recovering the coffin (Selth 1989).

In 1987 the students, most of whom lived on the cash in their pockets, demonstrated against the demonitisation. A few months later, a minor fight between students and townfolk grew into large-scale student-army clashes and a major demonstration in Rangoon, which was suppressed by force, with forty-one students known to have died of suffocation in a police van; others were killed or jailed in the conflict.

The demonstrations of March did not end, despite the closing of the universities. When the universities were reopened in June, the students demanded an accounting of the missing and the arrest of those who inflicted injury upon them; this provoked new demonstrations. At the time, there were rice shortages and skyrocketing prices of basic goods in the cities; there also was large-scale unemployment. These and other issues finally brought the people onto the streets to join the student-led demonstrations. Martial law had been declared in several urban areas outside Rangoon. With the students at the head of the demonstrations and demanding real change in the political system – a return to democracy and constitutional government – the situation slipped out of the control of the military and threatened to bring down the nearly three-decade-old dictatorship (Lintner 1989).

On the Unity of the Army, 1948–1988

It often has been noted that throughout the period of military rule the army remained united and intact. Ne Win could appoint and dismiss leaders with no fear of army resistance. He could call upon it to carry out the most brutal suppression of the people without fear that it would reject his command.

The officers in the Burma army have come from three sources: from the ranks; from students and graduates of the universities of Rangoon and Mandalay, who were given ROTC training and after entering the armed forces completed the Officers Training School (OTS) course. Under Ne Win, the first category were the most trusted, especially if they had served under him in his first postwar command, the 4th Burma Rifles. They formed a close camaraderie, and such men as Aung Gyi, Tin Pe, San Yu and Sein Lwin rose to leadership this way. The academy graduates were intended to be the army elite; they were carefully selected and given an education comparable to that offered at the universities. The ROTC produced engineers and doctors mainly; however, some, upon entering the armed forces, became line officers and they represent the best educated amongst the senior command. Enlisted men have been drawn almost exclusively from amongst the rural population. They have had less education generally than urban youth and the military has offered an opportunity to live better and earn more than if they remained peasants. They have proven to be very loyal soldiers who respond faithfully to command. The army has also recruited soldiers from amongst some of the minorities who were thought to be less political and most loyal to the national government. The Chins are believed to be the most numerous at the present time.

The persistent unity within the army can be traced to three sources: training, ideology, and its self-declared special position in society. As noted earlier, the initial Burman component of the army was trained by the Japanese and absorbed its traditions of absolute authority, brutalisation of the troops and officers who delayed or questioned orders, and centralisation of command. This was the glue that held the units together and punishment for individual initiative ensured that no deviation occurred.

The special position in society was a by-product of the army’s central ideology. It saw itself as the most patriotic and loyal body in the nation. It had fought for independence and was in the front line of defence against both external and internal enemies. Because of its willingness to sacrifice everything for the people and the state, it saw itself as entitled to good housing, pay and benefits. During the democratic period, a two-class society emerged, with the army bases better built and cared for than the housing of the ordinary people. Through the Defence Services Institute the army expanded into the economic realm, where eventually, during the caretaker government, it organised and ran several large economic enterprises. From this period, the army argued that it not only defended the nation from its enemies but was the friend and helpmate of the farmer and worker, sharing in the harvesting and in building roads and dams. Throughout the period of the constitutional dictatorship this theme of friendship and partnership dominated in the press and at public events.

For all the apparent internal unity in the army, there was dissent in its officer ranks. In 1976, a coup against Ne Win was launched by more than a dozen junior officers. They were intent upon returning civilian leaders to power and the military to professional tasks. In court, the accused argued that they were dissatisfied with the political and economic system imposed on Burma by their leaders and with the corrupting influence of politics in the army. The failure of the coup and the conviction of the accused placed Academy graduates under suspicion, and many were diverted to administrative and party duties. Until 1988, military leadership remained in the hands of officers who rose from the ranks, from the OTS and from close association with Ne Win (Silverstein 1977); since then, Academy graduates have risen to leadership in SLORC, and General Maung Aye, a member of the first class at the Academy, is the second-highest ranking officer in the army.

Military Rule: Third Phase, 1988–1993

On the day before the 1988 coup, the minister of Defence ordered all members of the armed forces to resign from the BSPP and resume performing their ‘original duties’, working for the perpetuation of the state, for national unity and for the consolidation and strengthening of sovereignty. This was the first step towards ending party control, dismantling the constitutional dictatorship and reasserting the army’s determination to rule directly. Immediately following their seizure of power, the coup leaders explained their action as halting the deteriorating conditions in the country and announced three immediate goals: (1) restoring law, order, peace and tranquility; (2) easing the people’s food, clothing and shelter needs; and (3) holding democratic multi-party elections, once the first two goals were established. It also declared that all parties and organisations willing to accept and practise genuine democracy could make preparations and form parties. It abolished the state institutions and, in their place, created a State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC) comprising nineteen senior military officers under the leadership of General Saw Maung, the former minister of Defence and army chief of staff.

Also following the coup, the army dropped the original ethnic names of its military units. This was the last step in erasing its original federal structure.

Under martial law and arbitrary decrees, parties were able to form, but they were limited in their access to the media, and in their ability to hold rallies and communicate with their constituents. During the period of registration, 234 parties formed and all but one went onto the electoral rolls. Only a few were genuinely national, with leaders who attracted a wide following and offered some sort of program if they came to power.

The electoral law was highly restrictive and limited the ability of the parties to campaign and get their messages to potential supporters. Yet, despite the impediments to free and open campaigning established in the electoral law, the people took full advantage of the free election and voted overwhelmingly for the party which was recognised by all as being anti-military and pro-democracy. The National League for Democracy, led by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and former General Tin U gained 392 of the 485 seats in the new People’s Assembly, even though its leaders were either under house or direct arrest and the party was harassed in its efforts to reach its supporters.

Despite the coup leaders’ promises to return power to the people and permit the People’s Assembly to convene, the military had no real intention of doing that if the party and leaders it favoured did not win.

On 27 July 1990 they tore away their democratic mask and revealed their true authoritarian character. In their Announcement 1/90 they declared that SLORC was not bound by any constitution; it ruled by martial law and gained legitimacy from international recognition both by the United Nations and individual states. It declared that while it continued to rule, the elected members were responsible only for drafting ‘a constitution for the future democratic state’. Nearly a month later, General Saw Maung said in a press conference that all previous constitutions ceased to be effective after the coup leaders seized power in 1988 (International Human Rights Law Group 1990:26-27).

While the elected members of the People’s Assembly wait to assemble, SLORC continues its abuse of human rights by arbitrary arrest and imprisonment of the electees as well as citizens at large. Under Martial Law Order 1/89, military courts were established with power to severely punish, including issuing the death penalty for violators of SLORC decrees and pre-existing laws. In November 1989 Amnesty International reported that thousands of people had been arrested and convicted; other sources reported that more than 100 had received the death penalty (Amnesty International 1990a:1).

In the hill areas, the military pursues a dual policy to bring the civil wars to an end. Since 1989, it has offered individual ceasefire agreements that allow ethnic insurgents to retain their weapons and control local administration and economy in exchange for halting their wars against the state. All political issues remain unresolved until a new constitution and elected government are in place. For those who refuse the offer, war continues. By 1996, fourteen opposition groups had signed. Only the Karens have refused; the Karenni resumed warfare after the Burma army broke the agreement.

A key tactic of the military to force acceptance of an agreement is the persecution, torture, rape and murder of non-combatant old men, women and children of the minorities. By using innocent villagers as forced labour both in warfare and behind the lines, the army violates the human rights of civilians. These abuses are widely documented and reported by government agencies and non-governmental organisations.

Since 1989 the UN Commission on Human Rights in Geneva has pursued the issue of human rights violations in Burma. After listening to the reports of its special rapporteur and the testimony of representatives from various countries and non-governmental organisations, beginning in 1991 and continuing through its 1996 sessions the Commission adopted strong resolutions. Initially the Commission acted under a rule of secrecy, but the failure of Burma’s military rulers to give full cooperation to its special rapporteurs and to make appreciable progress in correcting identified abuses led the Commission, in 1993, to make public its proceedings and reports.

SLORC’s rule in Burma has drawn the continuous attention of the UN General Assembly since 1992. Following discussions in its Third Committee, it unanimously adopted strong resolutions calling on Burma’s military regime to release Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, the Nobel laureate, and other political prisoners, to halt human rights violations, and to restore democracy.

Faced with growing hostility from the world community, and in need of foreign aid, investment and technical assistance, on 23 April 1992 SLORC began a series of steps it hoped would indicate that political change was in progress and that the military’s iron grip was relaxing. Change began at the top, with General Than Shwe, the minister of Defence and commander-in-chief of the armed forces, replacing General Saw Maung as leader of SLORC. At the same time, SLORC announced that political prisoners who no longer were a threat to the regime would begin to be released. It also announced that Daw Aung San Suu Kyi could receive visits from her immediate family, and that if she promised to end her involvement in national politics she was free to leave the country.

Earlier in the same year, Muslims of Indian origin living in Arakan, many of whom are citizens of Burma, harassed and under pressure from the Burma army, began fleeing the country and seeking refuge in Bangladesh. The outflow led to a border incident between the two states and the mobilisation of tens of thousands of troops on both sides of the border. But tensions began to relax following the change in SLORC leadership and on 28 April the two countries agreed to an orderly return of the refugees if they could prove their citizenship or right to be in Burma.

Also, about the same time, General Than Shwe announced a halt to the military campaigns against the Karen, although he did not declare a ceasefire or take steps to halt fighting against other minorities.

But the change that attracted most attention was SLORC’s announcement that it would shortly begin a protracted process of writing a new constitution as the first step towards transfer of political power. On 23 June 1992 it convened a preconvention assembly of forty-three selected individuals, including candidates elected in 1990 to the parliament which they were never allowed to form, and fifteen representatives of the military. Their assignment was to decide who should be invited to the next stage of constitution-making, the drafting of principles and agreeing on chapter headings (Silverstein 1992).

To prepare for this second stage, SLORC promulgated Order 13/92 which set forth the six principles which the military rulers wanted the delegates to adopt as the basis of the new constitution: the unity of the territory, the people and the state; a multi-party democratic system; the incorporation of the principles of justice, liberty and equality, and ‘the participation of the Tatmadaw [army] in the leading role of national politics of the State in future’.

With these and other instructions, the national convention of SLORC-selected delegates assembled in January 1993. From the start it did not go as planned. The military managers were forced to adjourn after two days when some of the delegates wanted to talk against the sixth principle and about other topics. The meeting reassembled but adjourned four times during the first six months of the year. By 1994, the national convention had adopted more than 100 principles. On the future rule of the military in government, it agreed that one-quarter of the representatives in parliament would come from the military. They would be named by and responsible to the Commander-in-Chief; he would also name the ministers of defence, interior and border affairs, as well as have absolute power in times of emergency (New Light of Myanmar, 9 April 1994). The president must have long military experience. The armed forces budget would not be reviewed by the parliament.

More than four years have passed since SLORC announced its intention to oversee the writing of a new constitution. The people have yet to have a say. Their elected representatives were screened by SLORC, and when any of them refused to go along with the military representatives and spoke out they were disqualified; some left of their own accord, fearing that their outspokenness might land them in jail. On the basis of progress made thus far, General Tin U’s prediction about the length of time that might pass before the SLORC gives way to some other ruling body may not be too far from the mark. And when the soldiers-in-power get the signatures of their hand-picked delegates on the document they are readying for them, and have the document ratified by the public, they will have the legal basis for a new constitutional dictatorship under which they can rule indefinitely.

Conclusion

The five-decade-long history of independent Burma is one of struggle both to establish a modern democratic political system and to unite the people under its rule. Thus far, it has failed on both counts. But the struggle has not been in vain. Military rule has convinced even the most sceptical that a true democracy is the only way domestic peace, freedom and personal safety can be restored. If democracy failed in its first trial, most people in Burma are more than ready to give it a second trial.

Military dictatorship and human rights violations have destroyed the myth of the unity between the soldiers and the people; today, the army is the most hated and feared organisation in the country. And while the military has fashioned a jail out of the once free country, the people, as demonstrated in the 1990 election, will do what they can to recover the freedom they thought they achieved when Burma became independent in 1948.

The minorities, too, have concluded that their future lies in a union with the Burmans and not outside. They are willing to lay down their weapons and join the Burmans in forming a viable federal state, based on equality, autonomy and self-determination. They want modernisation and development to come to their areas and people, but on terms they can accept and live with.

Six years ago a handful of elected representatives fled to Manerplaw, the Karen headquarters on the Burma-Thai border, and with the backing of the Democratic Alliance of Burma – a political front of minority and Burman groups – established the National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma (NCGUB) as a rival to SLORC. The leader, Dr Sien Win, is the cousin of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. Although it has not received formal international recognition, its members travel widely and speak often to parliaments, political leaders and the press; they have a headquarters in the US and lobby at the UN, keeping the issue of Burma before them. Both the Burmans and the minorities want to see the military return to the barracks, leaving politics to civilian elected representatives. Until democracy is re-established, there will be disunity, warfare and economic decline in Burma.

From: The Military and Democracy in Asia and the Pacific

Edited by

R.J. May

Viberto Selochan, 1998,2004

Preface to the ANU E Press Publication

We are fortunate to be able to produce this title six years after the initial publication of The Military and Democracy in Asia and the Pacific. It forms part of an ANU E Press series that is intended to make critical research done at The Australian National University available to a wider readership.

The original edition of The Military and Democracy in Asia and the Pacific was undertaken within the context of the Regime Change and Regime Maintenance in Asia and the Pacific project of The Australian National University’s Department of Political and Social Change, Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, bringing together a number of prominent regional specialists to look at the military’s changing role in selected countries of Asia and the Pacific.

As the original edition sold out, we hope that this new publication will reach an even wider audience who can reflect on the issues raised in this volume and watch with interest the developments within the region.

Nov 2007

BURMA: State, not citizens, the cause of fear & alarm

 

As Burma’s military regime sets about concocting court cases against those whom it has labelled as the ringleaders of protests around the country in August and September, it is increasingly falling back upon a tried and tested provision of its antiquated Penal Code, section 505, according to which,

 

“Whoever makes, publishes or circulates any statement, rumour or report… (b) with intent to cause, or which is likely to cause, fear or alarm to the public or to any section of the public whereby any person may be induced to commit an offence against the State or against the public tranquility… shall be punished with imprisonment which may extend to two years, or with fine, or with both.”

 

It has been a characteristic of the criminal injustice system in Burma under the current administration that virtually anything can be found to fall within the parameters of section 505(b), from the making of complaints about forced labour to the watching of a wedding video of a general’s daughter. But in the aftermath of the recent uprising this section is being overused to the point of absurdity, suggesting a policy dictate rather than any kind of legal process, no matter how feigned. 

 

Here are some among many new 505(b) cases that have come to the notice of the Asian Human Rights Commission www.ahrchk.net (email: listmaster@ahrchk.net) in recent weeks.

 

On October 19, the township court in Katha, Sagaing Division, sentenced National League for Democracy (NLD) members U Myint Kyi (son of U Ba Zaw) and U Zaw Lin (a.k.a. U Maung Maung) to two years with hard labour for their alleged part in the protests. According to Police Superintendent Myint Zaw, the two men held a meeting with others at Myint Kyi’s house on September 25 to plan for a protest in the town the next day. The court heard that the march lasted for a half an hour and involved around 50 monks and over 400 residents who apparently went not in order to press for changes in their society but rather in order “to cause alarm to the public”. The accused maintained that they were not organisers of the protest and anyway Zaw Lin did not even attend it, but Judge Ne Aung does not appear to have considered their testimony as like other such judgments in Burma’s courts, his lacks evidence of any specific reasoning behind the verdict. 

 

In a related case, on October 18, the court in nearby Indaw sentenced Shwe Pein (a.k.a. Htay Naing Lin) and Chan Aung (a.k.a. Nyi Htay) also to two years with hard labour for allegedly having had contact with the defendants in Katha and having communicated to short wave radio stations abroad about goings on there. Interestingly, Deputy Police Chief Kyaw Htay used telephone records and called an official from the government communications department to testify against the two–who are members of the Human Rights Defenders and Promoters (HRDP) group. Others in that group have been targetted in similar legal actions thoughout the year. Judge Daw Khin Myat Tar concluded that the defendants had “sent news to foreign broadcasters with intent to injure State tranquility and the rule of law by causing alarm to the public” and passed her sentence accordingly.

 

U Min Aung, a father of three small children, was brought into the district court of Thandwe (upon the western seaboard) facing the same charge on October 17. Min Aung–who was apparently targetted for having worked on a number of forced labour cases in Arakan State and having had contact with the International Labour Organisation’s office in Rangoon–was sentenced for his alleged involvement in protests in his hometown of Taunggut on September 26 and 27, although in his defence he maintained that he had been away from the area until October 12, the day before he was arrested. When Min Aung complained that he had been denied a lawyer, in violation of his human rights, Judge Daw Hsaung Tin added another two years to his sentence for contempt of court, making it nine-and-a-half years in total. Later, it seems that a lawyer was able to get the case reviewed and the sentence brought back down to two-and-a-half years, despite having been refused permission to get copies of the court’s judgment. 

 

Reports of identikit charges, investigations and convictions are coming from all over the country. For instance, the Yoma 3 news service (Thailand) says that on November 7 Judge Maung Maung at a court in Pyi, lower Burma, sentenced two other HRDP members–Ko Zaw Htun and Ko Thet Oo–to two years each under 505(b), along with a disrobed monk, U Pandita. Similarly, according to the Burmese service of Radio Free Asia, courts in Kachin State, on the border with China, sentenced NLD members U Ba Myint of Banmaw and U Ne Win of Myitkyina (the state deputy chairman) to–yet again–two years apiece on November 9. Ba Myint was reportedly tried in a closed court, without the knowledge of his family, while Ne Win’s wife only learnt of the charge against him when she went to the court on the afternoon of November 8; the next morning he was given 15 minutes to hire a lawyer (without success), after which the judge tried the case and passed the judgment that evening.

Meanwhile, analogous cases were proceeding against two more party members in Monyin, U Kyaw Maung and U Hpe Sein, who are aged 60 and 74 respectively. And according to a human rights lawyer, others facing or having been sentenced in 505(b) cases include U Myint Oo, the NLD secretary in Magwe; U Thar Cho in Yenanchaung, Htun Htun Nyein in Chauk, and schoolteacher U Htay Win in Natmauk, all also in Magwe; and Ko Saw Win, an NLD organiser in Hinthada (Irrawaddy delta) and Maung Khaing Win, who offered water to protestors in the same township. The lawyer only came to learn of the last two by accident, when he was there following up on the case of the Hinthada Six, on whose case the AHRC has conducted an special campaign since April.

 

Clearly, it is not the persons who have been forced to defend themselves in these shabby show trials who have “intent to cause fear or alarm to the public” but rather, the persons behind the policy of 505(b) convictions and two-year sentences for anyone who might have been getting up the authorities’ collective nose, without regard to the legality of how they came to be in custody, how they came to be in the courts or how they came to be convicted.

 

It is Burma‘s authorities, not its citizens, who are responsible for the fear and alarm that persists in their country.

 

The fantastic irony of all of these cases is that while the military regime rails against neocolonialists and the supposed interference of others in its internal affairs, it is using a colonial-era law in its desperate attempts to crush opponents to its unsavoury rule in exactly the same manner as did the British officials who devised and implemented the law over a century ago. The provision is the same one that exists until today in the Indian Penal Code (1860), which can be found in one form or another throughout the Commonwealth; however, despite its persistence on the statute books, nowhere is the section so shamelessly and blatantly manipulated for purposes entirely contrary to notions of justice than in Burma today.

 

The use of section 505(b), police and conventional courts in handling virtually all of the cases arising out of the recent protests reinforces a point that the Asian Human Rights Commission has been making as a result of its close study of the situation in Burma over the last few years: it is in the case-based study of ordinary institutions, laws and procedures, not in the privileging of special security regulations and secret tribunals, that understanding about the management of Burma’s authoritarian state and mismanagement of its society is to be obtained. At this time that the UN Special Rapporteur on human rights in Myanmar, Professor Paulo Sergio Pinheiro, has again at last been able to visit the country, the AHRC calls for him and all other persons examining the situation of human rights there to pay special attention to this aspect of ongoing systemic violations in Burma.

 

The role of human rights organisations and defenders at this critical time in the country’s history must consist not only of documenting and describing events but understanding and interpreting them for the benefit of both ourselves and others. In the case of Burma especially we may not always be able to say why something happened, but we should at least be able to say how, and not just what.

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Introduction

By Helen Buchan, July, 2009

 

The first posting of documents in this blog includes articles I began collecting in October 2007, following the protests in Burma about price rises in petrol, diesel, and gas. The collection ended in January 2008. There are also articles by me, under the heading

“Some Ideas for Change.”

 

The purpose of the collection, and of what I wrote, was to try to put together, in a non-internet form, a package of facts and suggestions that might help spark ideas for a non-violent transition from a military dictatorship to some form of democracy, and towards a more equal sharing of the country’s wealth.

 

Who the hell do I think I am?

 

Well, nothing appears to have worked so far, to get rid of the generals, or to at least persuade them into doing useful work for the good of all the people. So I might as well try again, go global, and put in what in Australia are called my “two bobs’ worth” (twenty cents’ worth of unsolicited suggestions).

 

If Burma is NOT as isolated from the rest of the world as I thought, the articles I downloaded from the internet may have already been available to people inside Burma with access to a computer.

 

Whether everyone in the country knows what is happening in other parts of the country is another matter. (See the reference further on to Emma Larkin’s book, “Secret Histories.”) I will try to set up links to some articles, to avoid clogging up the blog. However, I will include here articles by Callahan and Silverstein on the history of Burma and its military.

 

Most of the stuff is in English, but there are some articles in Burmese.

 

Setting the scene

 

The Burmese military is obsessed with “unity”.  Dissent and criticism are forbidden, and severely punished. Under such conditions, the truth is not likely to be told. Only the official version is allowed to be broadcast or published: boring, pompous, self-congratulatory, sycophantic, pseudo-historical.

 

Each generation of Burmese is becoming worse educated than the one before. This, in a country of clever and resourceful people is a disgrace.

 

Worse: Burma has an arbitrary system of “justice” controlled by corrupt and greedy cronies of the military, which recruits gangs of civilian thugs to bash and intimidate the population. (See the web site “Rule of Lords”, and also the Asian Human Rights Commission (Hong Kong).These things suggest a country descending into some sort of madness.

 

About sanctions:  Many pro-democracy groups both inside and outside Burma support sanctions against the regime.  I don’t, for the reason that they haven’t worked, and may even have made things worse for ordinary Burmese: damaging the export textile industry, for example, and destroying the jobs of many women. Articles supporting sanctions are therefore not included here.

 

BURMA REGIME TRANSITION STRATEGY, PART ONE

By Helen Buchan, January, 2008, revised July 2009

Preface

 

This strategy started life as “A strategy to bring down the military regime in Burma.”

 

However, if one has any knowledge of Burma, it doesn’t take much thought to realise that, if the regime were to be “brought down”, there would at present be nothing to replace it.  Burma lacks the essential institutions of democracy.  (See “Democracy Essentials”, and “Burma Regime Transition Strategy, Part 2”.)

 

For historical background, see the document “Callahan: Democracy in Burma.”

 

Introduction

 

Part one of this document outlines the main obstacles to bringing about the transition of the military regime into a democracy.

 

Part two suggests a different approach from those tried before. (What might be called “making the military regime uncomfortable.” See “Burma Regime Transition Strategy Part two,” for more positive suggestions.)

 

Part three discusses organizational structures and financing.

 

Part one:  The main obstacles to bringing about a transition to democracy

 

So far, all attempts to encourage, persuade or force the military regime in Burma to begin the transition to democracy have failed. The Military is afraid, or claims to be, that the Union of Burma will break up. It is therefore unable to cope with dissent. People who have protested in the past have been severely punished. The system of Injustice makes people afraid to protest, though some are still brave enough to do so, and take the consequences. Burma is a “state within a state”. Burma doesn’t need the west – its “best friend” is China, hardly a mentor on democracy. Lastly, Burma lacks the essential elements on which to base democracy.

 

 

1.The fear, on the part of the military, of the break up of the Union of Burma 

 

 

Immediately after Independence from Britain, Burma’s military was flat out trying to hold the new nation together.  The centre did “hold”, but only just.  Thus began the military’s idea of itself as the force that keeps the nation together, against all external and internal enemies (See Mary P.Callahan’s book: “Making Enemies: War and State Building in Burma.”)

 

Fear of break-up of the Union has two main sources: inability to cope with dissent, and fear of ethnic breakaway.

 

1a. Inability to cope with dissent:

 

Dissent in Burma is forbidden. This is not something new, but deeply engrained, part of the culture of Burma.  There are simply no acceptable ways of expressing disagreement with whoever is in power.  (See Callahan, “Democracy in Burma: an historical perspective”, and “State Building in the Shadow of the Raj”, also in this blog.)

 

If you’ve been to Burma, you will have seen billboards carrying the message that any criticism of the regime endangers the State. The billboards carry slogans such as “Oppose those relying on external elements, acting as stooges, holding negative views.” The public is exhorted to “Crush all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy,” and warns that “Anyone who tries to break up the tatmadaw [military] is our enemy.”

 

The absurdity of the message is apparent to western observers living under some form of democracy, but its effect should not be underestimated.  First, because the Union Solidarity and Development Association (USDA), the political wing of the State Peace and Development Council – the regime’s newish name for itself – promotes the message as part of its “Four-Points People’s Desire.”

 

The Network for Democracy and Development says that these “four points” – unlike the “meaningless propaganda” of the “Three Main National Causes” and “The Twelve Objectives” – directly threaten political parties and can be used to trigger violence.

 

“The four points” are to:

 

“Oppose those relying on external elements, acting as stooges or holding negative views;

 

“Oppose those trying to jeopardize the stability of the State and progress of the nation;

 

“Oppose foreign nations interfering in internal affairs of the State; and

 

“Crush all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy.”

 

As membership of the USDA is compulsory in almost every occupation in Burma, and university students, and even school children, are told they must join, if they want an education, the message of the “four points” is widely promoted. Some of it, as the saying goes, must “stick.” Certainly, it gives licence to the gangs of thugs within the USDA to beat up members of the National League for Democracy (Aung San Suu Kyi’s party) and others. (See document: “USDA White Shirts.”)

 

A second reason for not simply dismissing the billboard slogans as absurd is expressed by Callahan: “While most observers interpret these bizarre sloganeering campaigns as a sign of the junta’s isolation from the desires and concerns of the Burmese citizenry, this view misses important components of the campaign that are directed as much at the tatmadaw as they are at the rest of the population. “ (“Cracks in the Edifice?” in “Burma/Myanmar: Strong Regime, Weak State?” 2000.) Callahan suggests the slogans are part of a campaign to rewrite history, putting the tatmadaw at the centre of Burma’s development.

 

Compare this self-promoted centrality of the military with what I suggest is the typical English-speaking civilian’s attitude to their own military. It is not that the armed forces are not recognised for what is generally summed up as their “sacrifice” (though not necessarily well-looked after when they become civilians again), or that war cemeteries are not maintained with reverence, or that the military are not cheered during anniversaries such as Victory in Europe and Victory over Japan (also known as Victory in the Pacific) – it is just that the armed forces are not the hub around which at English-speaking democracies revolve. (Is this true of America? I don’t know.) The military is under the ultimate control of civilian, elected politicians.

 

This suggests that more than simply ridiculing the billboards (and frontispieces to books published in Burma since 1989) is needed.

 

(More of this in “Burma Regime Transition strategy, Part two.”)

 

 

1b. Fear of ethnic breakaway

 

The military regime has concluded peace treaties with most ethnic armies and militias but has not disarmed them.  Aggressive and brutal displacement of some ethnic groups continues.  (See “Unsafe State: state-sanctioned sexual violence against Chin women in Burma”, at www.chinwomen.org  

and “State of Terror”, by the Karen Women’s Organisation: www.karenwomen.org )

 

One reason for the failure of the 1988 uprising was that the ethnic states did not make “common cause” with the majority Burmans, not seeing the uprising as having anything to do with themselves. If the regime is to change, ethnic Burmans and non Burmans will have to see themselves as citizens of the one country.

 

2. Fear, on the part of the non-military population, of arrest and imprisonment, if they protest in any way

 

This fear is well-founded, and has become worse since the protests of September/October 2007. The regime now has many more people “on its books,” having rounded up and questioned anyone who was on the street at the time or who appeared in photographs.

 

Since the partial dismantling of Khin Nyunt’s Military Intelligence, the business of informing on other people has been taken on by some USDA members. The important question is: do people know who the informers are?

 

Not only are protesters punished, but also those seeking legal redress

 

In a perversion of the legal system, Section 505 of the Penal Code is increasingly being used against anyone who complains about anything, and usually lands the complainant in jail, not the perpetrator. (See: “State, not citizens, the cause of fear”

 

 

3. The “State within a State” This is the system which the military and its friends, family members, and others who know which side their bread is buttered on, or feel their survival depends on it, work within and benefit from.  The military has its own schools, its own hospitals, its own businesses.  Those within this system are able to buy goods not available to the rest of the population, can afford to travel around the country by air, can always get a seat on trains and buses, and have a more comfortable life, compared to the rest of the population. Callahan (:”Cracks in the Edifice?”) details how the military has benefited from the dismantling of the socialist state of the Ne Win years, running businesses, acquiring land, “channel[ling ] privileges, contracts and resources toward private businesspeople in exchange for substantial rewards.” And so on.  What, in western democracies, would be called corruption, or, at best “conflict of interest.”

 

As noted earlier, membership of the USDA is compulsory for those working in certain (most?) occupations.  Others, such as students and school children, are told they must join. School children are offered various benefits, which should be available to them whether they join the USDA or not (except the offer of extra marks if they don’t make the grade in exams!). Villagers are told they will be exempted from forced labour if they join. (See the Network for Democracy and Development: “The White Shirts: How the USDA will become the new face of Burma’s dictatorship.” http://www.burmalibrary.org/docs3/USDAFinal1.pdf

 

(If that doesn’t work, google “white shirts USDA, etc etc – many internet references)

 

In other words, civil society in Burma has been perverted and corrupted by the military regime and the regime’s brainchild, the USDA. The USDA aims to take over every area of civilian life.  It even provides a role for thugs, to carry out some of the regime’s dirty work of threatening people and beating them up.

 

Even so…

 

In any transition to democracy, it would not be a good idea, even if it were possible, to simply reduce the size of the military. There are economic as well as political reasons why the size of the military should be reduced: it takes up about 40% of the budget.

However, if almost, if not every, family in Burma has someone in the military, on whose support they depend, it will be necessary to find jobs for these military people when the time comes. 

 

Some suggested areas for retraining former soldiers are for work in

a civilian police force, in fire brigades, medical rescue (Burma has the highest rate of deaths from snake bite in the world), railway repair and construction, building construction, urban road repair, water supply and sewerage, and electricity generation. A cut in spending on military hardware will reduce the budget deficit, as will reining in corruption. The money being skimmed off can go into financing some of the retraining, and payment of salaries. The training schemes should not be restricted to men – whether ex-military or not; women should be given the opportunity to train for technical jobs.

 

4.  The military regime doesn’t need the west – for trade, or anything else, really.  It can get everything it wants, except respectability, from its best friend, China.  If not from China, then from India or Russia.   India may be “the world’s largest democracy”, but its recent history includes unpunished massacres (Gujarat 2002), and Russia is not squeamish about such things either. China, because of its apparently 60 per cent ownership of Burma’s economy, is best placed to put demands on Burma to treat the people better, but asking Burma to turn itself into a democracy?  Hardly. China and Russia can also veto any proposed action by the UN Security Council.

Thus, sanctions against Burma haven’t worked, and won’t work.  Diplomat-level scolding of the regime for bad behaviour doesn’t work either. 

 

I now believe that the west does have a lot to offer Burma, if prejudice and stubbornness on both sides can be overcome.

DOWN TO HERE

 

5. Burma lacks the essential institutions for democracy

 

(For an account on this, see the separate article “Democracy Essentials”, in this blog.)

 

Summing up

 

The military regime in Burma can’t, on the above analysis, be forced to give up or even share power, and they certainly won’t do so voluntarily.  However, I no longer believe it is futile to try to persuade them to enter into discussions with the democracy movement, provided that any discussions involve more than Aung San Syu Kyi and the NLD. They should also involve ethnic representatives, and members of any embryonic political party – NOT the USDA, as they are a creature of the regime – and representatives from any western government willing to assist Burma with aid, information, or investment, in the transition to democracy – a democracy that includes the evolution of the military into a defence force, under civilian control.]

 

This leads one to the conclusion that something other than sanctions has to be tried.  It’s been suggested that some younger officers will be so appalled by the recent scenes of brutality against the monks – the most respected people in Burma – and by scenes of looting and vandalism in the monasteries, that they may start to undermine the regime from within.  Perhaps.  Callahan, writing in 1999 (“Cracks in the Edifice”) had the opinion that, far from being more likely to identify with the people than older officers of the military, despised them more.

 

 Part two: How it can be done: a different approach

 

Operation White Ant and Operation Blurt

 

 

Operation White Ant.

 

Operation White Ant aims to undermine the regime from within – not just, or even mainly, from within the military itself – but by undermining every person, every organisation, every business, that benefits from the regime, including the children, and including all foreign companies who have turned a blind eye to the oppression.

 

Foreign companies can be shamed in their own countries, in Burma, and internationally. Not shamed into withdrawing from Burma, but shamed into operating there in a different way: paying decent wages (by local standards), not tolerating forced labour, and refusing to benefit from forced displacement or environmental damage.  If the damage or displacement have already taken place, restitution and rehabilitation should be the demand, with boycotts if the companies do not comply.

 

I believe we in the rest of the world, including those in ASEAN countries, should be pressuring our governments to force companies to comply with the above demands, rather than pressuring governments to impose sanctions on the companies.

(There will be some repetition of the above, in the “Burma Transition Strategy Document part two.”)

 

It is essential to note that the methods of “Operation White Ant” be not violent, and not physically destructive.  This is not a scorched earth policy. This is not the same as recommending that people not defend themselves if attacked.  But creative ways of thwarting attacks should be explored.  

 

Nor is it intended that those persons who are, as it were, “brought down” should be excluded from participation in any future State in Burma – except, perhaps, the worst of the military. Some people will be co-operating with the regime out of fear, or for the sake of their families’ survival, or because they don’t know any better. (One of the purposes of gathering together the documents on this blog is to help people to “know better” – that is, to know the harm they do and the harm that others have done, the crimes committed, the injustices perpetrated.)  Even if people are co-operating because they are not, shall we say, very nice, the campaign is not intended to destroy people – just to stop the evil things they do. 

 

The informed-upon will inform upon the regime and its beneficiaries.  The techniques of Operation White Ant will include naming, identifying, ridiculing, inconveniencing, harassing (not physically), taunting, irritating and disrupting. Humour should play a big part, as opposed to mere ridicule, which is spiteful, and more for the benefit of others than the persons targeted. Humour conveys to its target the message “See how absurd the situation is.  Join us in laughing at yourself.  This will be the beginning of your cure.”

 

The intention of the above actions is to make anyone connected with or benefiting from the regime start to rethink their position, and conclude that they can no longer continue, either because their consciences are starting to worry them, or because things are just getting too difficult or too embarrassing. The people at the top may be beyond shame, but perhaps can be “got at” by their families, friends, subordinates, etc.

 

Applied to businesses, the techniques will have to be carefully thought out.  How much disruption? We don’t want to make things worse for “innocent bystanders,” for workers who need the job to live, and other people relying on the targeted business. The disruption needs to be along the lines of “We’re letting everyone know how you benefit from the misery of the people. You should feel deeply ashamed.” (That might work for businesses with head offices within Burma, as a mainly Buddhist country, but should not be relied on outside the country, where threatening the “bottom line” is likely to be more effective.)

 

How will it be done?

 

This is where it gets tricky, and possibly dangerous.  But first:  There must be some system of verification of information, to weed out those with a grudge against others, or wanting to bring personal or business rivals into disrepute. [I do not know how this verification can be done. It may have to come down to those taking action having self-discipline and integrity.] Secondly, those carrying out the actions will not wait around to be identified, let alone seized.  Perhaps back-up “security” could be provided by some people keeping an eye out for possible trouble, while others get on with the job. It may even be necessary to “arrest” the perpetrators in order to protect them (taking care that the crowd doesn’t turn on those doing the “arresting!”)

 

“Innocent bystanders” must be protected, by knowing as little as possible, preferably nothing, about those who have just carried out the action.  Not that “knowing nothing” will necessarily save them, unfortunately. The more paranoid a regime, the wider it is likely to cast its net.

Actions would best be carried out in an area where those carrying them out are not known … at the same time, there must be enough people around to make a quick escape possible. This suggests that these types of activity – public shaming – may only be possible in larger towns and cities.

 

Ridiculing State propaganda:  The billboards referred to earlier need to be discredited. Those who already laugh at them are not the ones who need to be convinced. Perhaps leaflets debunking the billboards could be scattered wherever crowds are to be found (not protesting crowds, just people going about their everyday activities in the cities).  Similarly, false frontispieces could be surreptitiously slipped into the front of books, covering the compulsory frontispiece  of “Our Cause”, “The People’s Desire”, etc., etc.

 

The leaflets could mention the following

 

(1)  Burma has no external enemies.  No one wants to invade Burma. China doesn’t have to – it already owns about 60 per cent of Burma’s economy; America is overstretched and is not interested anyway; Thailand might start getting annoyed at all the refugees the regime is creating, but would probably just make the lives of refugees more restricted, and continue to turn a blind eye to the exploitation and murder of Burmese working illegally in Thailand.

 

(2) The proper role of the military in a civilized country is protecting the citizens from external attack (none is to be feared in Burma), and, when required, assisting with disaster relief.  The military should be separate from the lawmakers (parliament) and the judiciary, and answerable to the elected, civilian authority. 

 

(3) As for opposing those “holding negative views,” and “[Crushing] all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy…” This can be countered by saying that, in a democracy, citizens are free to disagree with their governments (including holding peaceful protests) and to change them at regular intervals. A democracy that has institutions to protect citizens from the power of the state, and where citizens have reasonable hope of replacing governments they have come to loathe or are just bored with – such a democracy will not disintegrate as a result of protest or disagreement.

 

With the right institutions, Burma could be the same.

 

(None of this should be taken to imply that democracy is perfect. If you want a perfect human being, make a statue.)

 

As for the stuff about opposing “those relying on external elements”…In ordinary life, it is one’s duty to “interfere” if someone is being attacked, has been hit by a car, is in danger of drowning or being burnt to death, etc., etc. Burma’s people are in serious trouble, and if “interference” (I don’t mean Iraq-war style) can help them, then outsiders should interfere. How, is the problem.

 

Naming, shaming, identifying, etc., individuals and businesses

 

This could be done by a combination of the spoken and the written word.  Both carry risks.  A person in the crowd could point to the targeted person, shout their name and their connection with the regime, and any particular deeds of which they are guilty, then melt into the crowd. They must, of course, NOT be known to the “victim”.   

 

Pamphlets could be stuck to car windscreens, house gates, shop windows – (eg, naming those people known to shop there for goods not available to the general population).  Setting up a new capital in central Burma has physically removed how many people from the possibility of this sort of treatment? They can’t ALL have moved to the new capital, Middle of Nowhere.  (Or, to give it its full name, Holes in the Ground in the Middle of Nowhere.) (The “holes” are the bunkers.)

 

Another way of ridiculing the regime is by means of fables. For example, “Folk tales for modern Burma”, printed as a proper little book, just like all the other books of fables, but with characters and events with an uncanny similarity to actual persons and events.  The characters could be human or animal.  (But go easy on the hard-working water buffalo, a noble animal! Do not call the generals “buffalos”.  It is an insult to buffalos.) Scorpions, crocodiles, cobras, malaria mosquitoes, come to mind.) The fables, as with all other printed material referred to in this document, would have to be printed and distributed clandestinely.

 

Perhaps the following is an unnecessary warning to what we are told are the “internet savvy” youth of Rangoon in particular: No documents should be stored on computers, and defaults should be set so that there is no trail left on the computer of documents consulted. Removable storage devices are essential.

 

And, of course, there are songs. Chest-beating, military-regime patriotic songs can be easily parodied. 

 

How to get the pamphlets into the hands of the public:  Perhaps an armload could be dropped, on a windy day, in the middle of the city, or thrown out of the window of a bus, or dropped from the balcony of a tall building. Bundles (not tied!) could be set down on the pavement after dark, and by morning, with any luck, the pamphlets will have spread themselves throughout the city.  This is one advantage of very poor and restricted street lighting. 

 

Does everyone realize how bad the regime is?

 

One of the people interviewed by Emma Larkin for her book “Secret Histories” says something to the effect that, if the people of Burma knew what was being done, they would rise up against the regime.  I found this statement rather surprising, but perhaps they DON’T know – or at least, not all of them know, or they don’t know everything. Given the restriction on information, and the re-writing of history as taught in schools, this is possible, even probable.  The next technique I describe is aimed at these people – not to harm them, but to inform them.  It’s a bit tasteless and over-the-top, and is demanding of materials. It is as follows:

 

A body, apparently that of a monk, is seen lying in a rice paddy, or on the outskirts of a small town. The startled villagers approach.  The “body” is revealed to be a dummy, dressed in monk’s robes.  Pinned to the body is a list of all the known instances of massacres of monks, the number of monks imprisoned, and so on. The message would be along the lines of “This represents the monks killed by the military …” Similarly, the apparent body of a child could be dumped where villagers will find it.  Pinned to its body could be an account of the number of children killed by being shot during demonstrations, or who have died from malnutrition or disease due to poverty engendered by the regime.

It should be sufficiently shocking to come across what appears to be a dead body. There is no need to represent actual injuries, such as resulting from torture, nor depict the “body” in a degrading or humiliating way.  This applies particularly to the next suggestion:

 

The apparent body of a woman in ethnic dress could represent the systematic rape of ethnic-minority women by the military. (See “Unsafe State: state-sanctioned sexual violence against Chin women in Burma”, at www.chinwomen.org  (see publications)

and “State of Terror”, by the Karen Women’s Organisation: www.karenwomen.org )

 

If the crimes of the military are well-known in the area immediately around where they are committed, but not in the rest of the country, it would be a good idea to have these dummies dumped somewhere other than in the area where the crimes were committed. The dummies don’t need to be made of solid material, such as western fashion display dummies.  After all, representing dead bodies as they do, they won’t be required to stand upright. Anyone with a sewing machine (or needle and thread and a lot of time to spare), plus a supply – surreptitiously obtained – of plain cotton material of suitable colour, could make a passable dummy fairly easily.

Stuffing could be straw or chaff or dried grass or reeds.

 

Part three: Possible organizational structure, and financing.

 

My knowledge of the various Burmese pro-democracy groups is very limited. I think it can be left to the Burmese as to how they set up networks, or even if they set them up at all.

 

People who know and trust one another should try to give the impression of not behaving any differently – never meeting as a group, for example, if they have not done so in the past… The utmost caution must be applied when forming a group.

 

I suggest that groups outside Burma appoint a board of trustees to set up a fund, to help pay for equipment or materials. This should be in a country where it is not against the law to set up a fund for such purposes The fund could also help support those who have lost – at the hands of the military – family members on whom they relied for survival.

 

Means of communication (gadgetry): (This section is written on the assumption that the flurry of e-mails, so commonplace in the west, will not be a readily-available method of communication within Burma, given the restrictions on, and surveillance of, internet activity.)

 

Satellite telephones are the safest way of communicating.  Calls are pretty much untraceable, and, if the phones are capable of encryption (can civilians obtain this kind?), cannot be eavesdropped upon.   

The telephones are very expensive, however – probably around $2,500 US – and calls are also expensive.   So satellite phones may be pure fantasy.

CB radios have a range of about 25 miles, are quite cheap, and their location is hard to pin down, especially if the two parties keep moving. Transmissions, however, are not secure.  (Code books needed!)

Mobile phones require a transmission network, and their approximate location can be easily pinned down.  Called number records can also be accessed by the authorities.

Short wave transmitters: Very small short wave radio transmitters are now available, but are very expensive, and need good antennae

 

Burma Regime Transition Strategy, Part Two

By Helen Buchan, January, 2008

 

Preface:  

This “Burma Regime Transition Strategy, part two” discusses how it may be possible to encourage and help the regime begin the transition to democracy.

 

But what if the regime has no intention of giving up power?

Consider the extraordinary lengths the SPDC has gone to create a political wing for itself – the Union Solidarity Development Association (USDA), with SPDC members as patrons. Observers believe the USDA is intended by the SPDC to become a political party to contest any elections resulting from the National Convention process. The USDA is working towards having everyone in Burma a member, and eliminating the NLD or any other opposition party that dares to raise its head. 

 

Thus, if elections were to be held, the USDA could not help but win, and the regime could claim the legitimacy which comes from winning elections. The fact that such an election could not possibly meet the criteria of being “free and fair” (see “Democracy Essentials”) would not bother the regime at all. 

 

Anyone who has seized power is unlikely to want to give it up unless they can see beyond their own individual or group interests to what might be called “the greater good”. The task would therefore be to persuade them to accept the “greater good” above their own, selfish interests.

 

The other way the generals might be persuaded to give up power would be to convince them that what they SAY they are afraid of, were they to loosen their grip – the break-up of the Union of Burma – will not happen.

 

Dealing with the second point first:

 

1. Creating a sense of security that the Union is not going to break up

 

This will depend on demonstrating to the regime that the Union of Burma will not fall apart if the military hands over the functions of government to civilians, drastically reduces its own numbers, and transforms itself into a defence force under the ultimate control of a civilian government.

 

Ethnic groups

 

I think the minority ethnic groups are part, perhaps the major part, of the key to giving the military regime a sense of security that the Union will not fall apart.

 

The history of conflict with ethnic groups – NOT one-sided, it must be said – has given the regime an excuse, and therefore a form of legitimacy, for the extreme militarisation of Burma: protecting the Union from breaking up. (See at the end of this document some quotes from Callahan’s “State Formation in the Shadow of the Raj.”

 

Under the heading “The Unworkable Nature of Federalism” in her article “Democracy in Burma: The Lessons of History”: Callahan says that “no state has even come close to the…ideal of exerting authority throughout the territory” bounded by the British-drawn borders.  This was written in 1998, and maybe the situation is different now – or maybe there are still areas in which a democratic government would be unable to “collect taxes or implement social or economic policy…”

This “Burma Regime Transition Strategy, part two”, rests on the assumption that breaking up into independent states is not a realistic option, and that processes of reconciliation, integration and cooperation can and must be worked out.

Of course, Burma could become a province of China, in which case it would be all over, Red Rover.

 

A new Union of Burma 

 

No, I haven’t read the new constitution. The following is written with the idea of starting from scratch.

 

There needs to be some sort of consultation process between non-regime Burmese, including the main ethnic groups, to develop a policy of remaining in the Union, and co-operating with and participating in a central government – assuming that a federal system is agreed upon.

The idea would be for non-regime groups, including the self-styled National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma, refugees, the NLD, monks, and other indigenous pro-democracy groups to put forward ideas for a structure for the future Union of Burma.  They don’t have to re-invent the wheel – there are many models to choose from, and political scientists and practical politicians as well as ordinary citizens of the various democracies to call upon to discuss the strengths and weaknesses of different systems. They also have their own history – provided it has not been completely re-written – to examine for ideas on what worked or did not work in the past; and, more importantly, why.

 

(See the document: Democracy Essentials, in the folder “Some Ideas for Change,” for a theoretical discussion, and all the Callahan articles.)

 

The details of administration don’t have to be worked out at this stage. There are already States drawn on the map of Burma -presumably those boundaries are not in dispute. The questions really are: who is to govern the states, if they are to become semi-autonomous within a federal system, and if they are, what is to be the relationship of the States to each other, and to the central government?  Even if a federal system is not agreed upon, there needs to be protection of the rights of ethnic groups, and provision made for the protection of the culture and language of the ethnic groups. A common policy of non-discrimination and equal rights needs to be agreed on. (See The Ethnic Nationalities Council website: http://www.encburma.org/

 

I suggest the process go something like this:

 

Initial discussions. It’s not going to be possible to canvass everyone for their ideas. (Even in the sort of democracy that Australia has, consultation is very selective.) NGOs working in Burma and with refugees along Burma’s borders probably already have some information on what people – both Burman and the ethnic minorities want. Do they want semi-autonomous states within a federal system? What is the range of possibilities?

 

State boundaries to remain as at present.  Statehood only considered for the main ethnic groups: Shan, Chin, Karen, Karenni, Rahkine, Kachin, and Mon.  (Does this mean a state for the Bama? [ majority ethnic group] Smaller ethnic groups, within each state protected, but not given their own state. (Do the various “divisions” become states as well?)

 

Following discussions, as above, registration of adult inhabitants of each state onto an electoral roll.

Choice, by state referenda, of an appropriate form of government for the state.

Election of representatives, if a parliamentary system were to be chosen.

Whatever form of government the inhabitants of each state decide is best for them, the relationship between the states and the central government would have to be standardised, I suggest. 

 

A central government, or a federal government, would be responsible for functions considered universal within the whole country: for example, defence, foreign affairs and overseas trade, income tax, customs and excise, banking regulations, air transport regulations and safety, immigration, meteorology, scientific and medical research, business law, communications…probably the funding (if not control?) of higher education … It would probably be a good idea to have the federal government look into the question of road and rail transport, with a plan to link towns and cities with at least one decent highway and a rail line, as well as considering the provision of more regional airports.

 

There is the question as to whether anyone who is not intending ever to return to Burma to live, or who would not be entitled to citizenship, could take part in any vote on the proposals – or is this getting into too much detail?  (For example, the regime probably has stripped exiles and refugees of their citizenship?)

 

The UN could get involved in helping with the consultation process.

 

The role of the military in the new Union of Burma

 

If the main ethnic groups are able to come up with a policy that demonstrates to the military regime that the Union is not going to break up if there is a transition to democracy, the first demands by the ethnic groups should be the cessation of armed conflict, cessation of forced displacement and the forced takeover of land, cessation of recruitment of child soldiers and the use of forced labour.  In its turn, the military should demand the handover – probably to a peace-keeping UN force – of arms still held by present and former ethnic militia. (Yes, easier said than done.)

Any restrictions on the operation of international humanitarian NGOs such as the Red Cross and Medecins sans Frontieres must be lifted.

 

There would need to be a phased reduction in overall numbers of the military, and their replacement by civilian police, where necessary, or temporarily by UN peace-keepers.

 

Those removed from the military to be offered transfers to other employment or training to be funded by the government. (See Burma Regime Transition Strategy Part One.)Jobs to which ex-military could be transferred or trained include the civilian police force, fire brigades, railway repairs and construction, building construction, rural health clinics, building construction, urban road repair, minor urban road construction, regional airport construction. Sewerage works, electricity transmission construction and maintenance, a Burmese Flying Doctor Service (surely needed, in the country with the highest number of deaths from snake bite in the world?), and so on.

 

There is a huge problem of corruption in the military to be dealt with.  How much is this a barrier to the regime agreeing to a transition to democracy?

 

Acceptance that dissent does not mean disintegration

 

I have written in part one of this strategy about the intolerance of dissent, which has been part of Burma’s history, including its colonial history. (For a comment on this aspect of Burma’s colonial history, see Callahan: “State Formation in the Shadow of the Raj.”) Democracies are built on the acceptance of or at least tolerance of a certain amount of dissent. Stable democracies (ones that last a long time without breaking down into civil war or tyranny) have institutions which allow dissent to be expressed.

 

If dissenters can, peacefully, without coercion, persuade enough people to their point of view, they (the dissenters) can take their turn at running the country, by being voted into government. Things may get a bit worse (depending on one’s point of view), or they may get better, after a change of government, but they rarely (never?) get so bad that the whole system falls apart, provided there are “check and balances” built in, to prevent any section of society, but especially the government, going too far. (By “going too far”, I mean, gathering to themselves too much power. I don’t mean, preventing them from making a mess of how they run the country.)  

 

2. Acceptance of “the greater good”

 

It will be difficult to persuade the military regime to stand down for the “greater good.” They won’t want to give up their luxuries, their comforts, many of which are taken for granted by the general population in some of the “developed” countries.

 

It is doubtful the generals can be persuaded on moral grounds, but it may be possible to convince them that a different way of running the country’s government and its economy will lead to greater efficiency and prosperity – enough to share with others in the population. Besides, there is the purely practical argument that people who are sufficiently well fed and well housed make much more efficient workers…

 

At the moment, certain sections of Burmese society – the military, and their families and those who co-operate with the military – are privileged above others. Like the animals in George Orwell’s “Animal Farm”, some Burmese are more equal than others. The irony is that the regime is evidently aiming to create a one-party state, by persuading or coercing everyone to join the USDA, the political wing of the SPDC. 

 

Presumably the thinking behind this is that if nearly everyone belongs – however unwillingly – to the same political party, they will hope to receive some of the benefits those at the top receive, and will not create any opposition.  In other words, there will be no dissent. If by any chance there were to be dissent, it would, under the present system, be forbidden to express it.

 

In this way, it might be possible to pretend that dissent doesn’t exist.  However, any outbreak of what looks like dissent must be “crushed” (always a favourite word of those with totalitarian tendencies), and the protesters treated as criminals.

 

Burma’s own post-colonial history demonstrates that what may start off as a State with ideals of benefits for all (“All animals are equal”), will, if there is no tolerance for dissent, start to fall apart if it is weak, or become more and more tyrannical if it is strong.  Burma has long been in the tyrannical phase. (“Some animals are more equal than others.”) With no correctives on the behaviour of such a regime; it ends up inflicting more suffering on its people than any course of action that the people might have chosen for themselves, if they had been free to do so. 

 

In a democratic system there are checks on extremes of behaviour, especially of government. (But note: the “checks and balances” must be assiduously maintained, now more than ever, during these “war on terror” times, post 9/11/2001.)

 

A distasteful, to put it mildly, development in Burma is the encouragement of thugs to beat people up.

 

In a democracy, people may grumble (and do), but they suffer less than under a dictatorship. (If some in Russia say they miss the old era, it is because they had jobs and certainty. See remarks on “feeding frenzy” below.) Economically, a democracy is likely to prosper more than a dictatorship, because there will be less rigidity and control on what, how, and where goods are produced and traded, and who can carry out these activities; what, where and how crops are sown; what can be written about, what books can be read… As a result, there are incentives for innovation and coming up with better ways of doing things. Such societies are more productive and therefore wealthier.

 

Provided there are systems to ensure fairness, a sharing of wealth, and a universal health and education system, the people are likely to be much happier under a democracy than under a dictatorship.

 

Burma’s transition to democracy need not, and should not, mean a loss of Burmese culture or the acceptance of everything western.  But with the more diversified economy that would be possible if western sanctions were to be lifted, it should be possible to ease off on the exploitation of Burma’s natural resources. Western scholars could combine with Burmese scholars in the setting up of Institutes of Burmese language culture and literature, as well as of Institutes for the study of ethnic languages and culture and literature.  Burma has some extraordinarily skilled weavers and other craftspeople.

 

I have tried to show, by the above arguments, that Burma under a democracy would be better off economically, and the people happier.

 

If the generals were persuaded to agree to a transition to democracy, much would need to be done.  (An understatement, if ever there were one.) The generals will almost certainly need advice, lots of it – and not from economic ideologues, unless they want to unleash a “feeding frenzy” on the country.

 

(It was the International Monetary Fund (IMF) that recommended the withdrawal of subsidies on food, petrol, diesel and gas, in order to reduce Burma’s deficit. But apparently the IMF recommended a gradual withdrawal of subsidies.

 

 

 

Some quotes from the Abstract of Mary P. Callahan’s article, “State Formation in the Shadow of the Raj: Violence, Warfare and Politics in Colonial Burma.”

 

“Early forays into the establishment of law and order increasingly became based on conceptions of the population as enemies to be pacified, rather than subjects to be incorporated into or even ignored by the newly defined political entity…

 

“Bureaucratic and security mechanisms politicized violence along territorial and racial lines, creating “two Burmas” in the administrative and security arms of the state…

 

“As in other societies, war and crisis in colonial Burma created institutions with staying power, and in this case

created relations between state and society that have been and continue to be what Charles Tilly [1990] calls, “coercion-intensive.” Hardly the product of any colonial plot or intention, the coercion-intensive institutions that have dominated governance throughout

the twentieth century …”

 

Democracy Essentials

January 2008

 

In English there is an expression, “Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs.”  A South East Asian equivalent is evidently “Don’t teach your grandmother to peel onions.” These curious expressions are ways of saying, “The advice you are trying to give is not needed; the person (or country – in this case, Burma – knows it all already.”

 

Really?

 

I believe there are general principles for what constitutes a democracy, but that there is more than one way of being a democratic country. Political and social scientists, practical politicians, and ordinary citizens have a lot to offer Burma about how their own democracies work – the advantages and the disadvantages.

 

First, a definition: Simply, democracy is a form of government in which the sovereign (highest) power resides in the people, or their chosen representatives.

 

But there is more to democracy than the ballot box, as Awzar Thi points out in his article “Milking the Cow Dry.”

 

“There is no advantage to be had in trite contrasts between “authoritarian” and “democratic” countries. Many Asian governments with democratic characteristics have strongly authoritarian tendencies. Shifts from naked authoritarianism to formal democracy have not been matched by substantially improved protection of human rights. Excessive attention to the ballot box has been followed by insufficient observance of the need for functioning institutions.”

 

The essential institutions of democracy

 

The word “Institutions” is used here very broadly to mean not only, or even mainly, organisations, but systems and rules of behaviour, things understood and accepted – if not by all, by almost all, in a particular society.

 

Some specifics of democracy

 

Trust: the ethical basis of democracy

 

Trust is being able to rely on people to not deceive us, and to carry out their obligations and duties; both those they have specifically undertaken, and those they have as a moral duty to others, such as to not betray or harm them.

 

We place trust in other people because we must. No society can operate without at least some degree of trust. In Burma under the military regime, trust in others, especially for those who are not members of the regime,  is probably limited to members of one’s own family – even then, sadly, it can prove to be misplaced – and to those one has known for many years and never known to deceive, cheat or betray.

In the BBC Reith Lectures, 2002: “A Question of Trust,” Onora O’Neill argues that trust is basic to human rights and democracy.

 

“Fear and intimidation undermine our ability to place trust…”

 

O’Neill’s analysis of human rights is not the rather “pie-in-the-sky” approach of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. I think it is worthwhile to explain this a little – though reference to O’Neill’s book is recommended.

 

O’Neill says “Rights are not taken seriously unless the duties that underpin them are also taken seriously; those duties are not taken seriously unless there are effective and committed people and institutions that can do what they require… How can rights to freedom of assembly be secure in the face of intimidation?…” O’Neill cites examples from warlord-infested Afghanistan, whereas in Burma it is the state itself, and those it has suborned or intimidated, who do not carry out their duties of protection, truth, and fairness.

 

“Without competent and committed persons and institutions, duties are not met; where they are not met, rights are not respected; where rights are not respected, democracy is unachievable. Democracy can show us what is politically legitimate; it can’t show us what is ethically justified. On the contrary, democracy presupposes rights, and rights presuppose duties. There can be no full democracy where rights and duties are violated…” (p. 31) 

 

If this sounds as though the regime in Burma has to be completely overthrown before any light can begin to shine, O’Neill – who at this point is referring to Czechoslovakia under Soviet rule – puts the case differently: from small refusals to collaborate by refusing to display propaganda, by refusing to lie and by telling more of the truth…“from [such] small refusals larger and bolder actions followed.” (See “Havel essay extracts.”)

 

”Trust is destroyed by deception: destroying deception builds trust, and thereby a basis for rights and democracy.”

 

I would add: trust is also destroyed by betrayal.

 

Some specifics of democracy

 

(Note that neither police nor military forces are essential elements of democracy.  They are essentials for a State – well, police are – but are not a part of what makes a democracy a democracy. Note also that although Athens in ancient Greece gave us the word democracy, the system would not qualify as a full democracy today.)

 

1. An agreed system of decision-making

2, Equal rights in voting and in connection with the law

3, Free and fair elections, held at regular intervals

4. A professional bureaucracy

5. Separation of powers: an Independent Judiciary

6. Independent media

7. Separation of church, or mosque, or temple, from the State.

8. Independence of thought

9. An educated public

 

1. An agreed system for decision making

 

In small groups, decisions can be made “democratically” either by consensus – majority agreement of people in the group – or by unanimous agreement. In something as large as a country, it is impossibly unwieldy to make decisions this way, with the fairly rare exception of a referendum, in which citizens are asked to vote on one or two specific questions.  (And even in a referendum, only those with the right to vote can, well, vote… So children, for example, have no say.)

 

A system of government is called a democracy where the people who make decisions about what the laws of the country will be, and other matters to do with how the country is to be run, have been elected to do so, or chosen to do so by those who have themselves been elected and given the task of choosing. Thus, a relatively small number of people make certain decisions for the rest of the population.

 

In a democracy, the government rules with the freely-given consent of the governed, as determined by regular elections which are free and fair. (See item 3, below.)

 

2, Equal rights in voting and in connection with the law

 

All people in a democracy have equal rights, whether it be the right to vote when a person becomes an adult, and enrols to vote, or equal rights before the law; meaning that wealth or social position do not – or rather, should not -protect a person from prosecution for crime. Minorities are protected against persecution at the hands of the majority. But – as discussed under the heading of “Trust,” above – “rights,” even if proclaimed, do not exist unless there are persons and institutions which protect those rights.

 

3. Free and fair elections, held at regular intervals

 

There are many conditions that must be fulfilled for elections to be free and fair:

 

 

• An agreed system as to who is a citizen and entitled to vote, and to receive whatever benefits citizens receive. Commonly, citizenship of a country is conferred by being born in the particular country, though the right to vote does not come into effect until the person becomes an adult. (See 2, above.) Sometimes citizenship is conferred by marriage. Foreigners may apply for citizenship under certain circumstances. These are matters for a country’s Constitution or some other law.

 

• A system of registering those who are entitled to vote. Generally, this means citizens who have reached adulthood, however defined.  (For example, 18 years or 21 years.)

 

• No discrimination against women being able to vote or to stand for election.

 

• Sufficient polling stations so that everyone who is entitled to vote is fairly easily able to reach a polling station on election day.

 

• No coercion – with one exception, discussed below. If the system of government is corrupt, some people may be prevented from registering to vote, even though by law they are entitled to do so, or they may be prevented from voting, though registered, by not being allowed into the polling station, or by being falsely declared to not be on the electoral roll. Or they may be coerced to voting for one particular person or party. (See “Secrecy”, below.)

 

Citizens must be free to set up political parties, whose members are free to put themselves up for election. It must also be possible for people to stand for election as individuals, who are not members of any particular party.

 

The one exception to the “no coercion” rule that I recommend is that voting in elections be compulsory. It may well be that it is only in long-established democracies that not everyone takes the right to vote as a duty to vote.  Perhaps if they were prevented from voting they would realise what a precious thing the vote is. However, it is unlikely that the Burmese would take the right to vote lightly.

 

• Secrecy as to who a person has voted for. Elections are not free and fair if a person is subject to threats when they turn up to vote, to try to force them to vote for a particular candidate. This is a danger when who one has voted for is not secret.  (It is a curious aspect of parliamentary democracy that how a parliamentarian has voted in parliament is NOT secret. This is part of the process of being ‘accountable’ to the people who have voted for the member of parliament: it makes public whether the person is acting in accordance with the undertakings they made before being elected, and/or it reveals something about the MP that may or may not influence how electors vote in the next election.)

 

In a democracy, no-one has the right to demand who a person has voted for, nor should it be possible to identify whose ballot paper is whose. Ballot papers must not have any marks on them which allow them to be identified as a vote by a particular person. 

 

• Simple, unambiguous rules, agreed to by all political parties and Independents, as to what constitutes a valid vote – that is, one that can be counted.  In the US Presidential election of 2000, faulty voting equipment produced some ambiguous ballot papers. It is ironic that “high tech” systems of registering a vote are not suitable. Simple pencil and paper are best.

 

• Protection of ballot papers against theft or interference. A non-corrupt police force or other form of security service to prevent interference with or theft of ballot boxes is essential. In some countries, ballot boxes are “lost,” or stolen, or they mysteriously materialise, filled with votes for – usually – the governing party. 

[I have been told, during a trip to Burma in early 2008, that in Burma one of two things is likely to happen: those not intending to vote for government proposals are told to go home; or, when the voting is over, ballot papers in the “no” (black) box are simply removed and put in the :yes” (white) box.  In other words, marks are not made on ballot papers to indicate a :for” or “against” vote, and are therefore easily manipulated to favour the government.]

It should be clear from the foregoing that free and fair elections require, in addition to a police force that is not corrupt, an Electoral Commission of the highest integrity, independent of interference, pressure or threats from the government or anyone else.

 

• Elections at regular intervals. It’s not a democracy if, once elected – however democratically – a government stays in power simply by refusing to hold any more elections. It is a matter of debate what the ideal “term” of government should be.  In Australian Federal (whole of nation) elections, the term is not fixed (held on a regular date), but is for a maximum of three years.  In the Australian State of New South Wales, the term is fixed, and is for four years.  The “term” for British general elections is five years, US Presidential elections, four years, and so on.

 

Too short a term means politicians spend too much time trying to make themselves popular so they will be re-elected next time, and not enough time on getting on with the job. Too long a term means that if the electorate has “got it wrong” and elected an incompetent, corrupt or downright disagreeable government, it can seem a very long time before the chance of getting rid of it comes around. Besides, the longer a government with authoritarian or corrupt tendencies remains in power, the more it is likely to try to pass laws that will make it difficult for it to be voted out at the next election. One of Australia’s states was burdened with such a government some years ago.  In such a situation, the remaining institutions of democracy have to work flat out to protect the citizenry.

 

A common fault of elected governments, whether the term is long or short, is that they have a tendency to avoid tackling vital and often difficult issues that will take more than one term to start to show results.  Wanting, above all else, to be re-elected, governments have a tendency to stick to shorter time-frame issues, hoping the electorate will reward them with re-election. This is where “leadership” is needed in government. 

 

Who is there, to make sure regular elections are held? It can be put into legislation, or be a matter of convention, but if a government has become so corrupt that it has to be forced to hold an election, it may not be possible to do so.  This paradox is easily explained: It is respect for the conventions of democracy that makes a government obey the conventions. In rare cases where, in a country with a person in a higher position than the elected government, the government is dismissed by that person, it is a tribute to the respect which all parties hold for the institutions of democracy if such an act does not lead to the outbreak of civil war.

 

It all comes down to trust, as stated at the beginning. A coup is an illegal way of getting rid of a government, and indicates a total breakdown in the conventions of democracy. Of course, if there was no democracy in the first place, a coup might be thought of as a “necessary evil” to get rid of a bad government. But taking part in a coup is not a good foundation on which to build democracy. Violence corrupts even good intentions.

 

Continuing the list of democracy essentials…

 

4. A professional bureaucracy. Few words in English are uttered with more scorn than “bureaucracy” or “bureaucrat.”  But the words are simply derived from the French word for “office.”  The bureaucracy – or “Public Service” or “Civil Service” consists of all the people who do the work of administration that is required as a consequence of having a government at all.  Governments come and go – well, they do in a democracy – but the bureaucracy goes on, as an institution. A professional bureaucracy is one where officials are recruited according to their education and/or experience and capacity. The “Heads of Departments” are people who have either “risen through the ranks,” or been recruited because of their specialist expertise.

Governments appoint Ministers to be “in charge” of various departments of the Civil Service.  It is the job of the Minister to see that the department carries out its work in accordance with the policies of the current government.  This does NOT, or SHOULD NOT mean that Department officials blindly accept the directives of government Ministers without discussion, as circumstances require. If bureaucrats are afraid to offer advice, or to provide information not in line with a government’s ideologically-driven agenda, it is not healthy for a democracy. Democracy is, paradoxically, the frailest, yet strongest of political institutions. It is hard work.

(An ideologically-driven agenda is one where the government – or anyone else – develops a theory (or catches it, like a disease) about the nature of reality or about how things should be run (the economy, for instance), and is not swayed by any argument or evidence to the contrary. Where once the word “bureaucracy” would have implied endless pieces of paper tied up in “red tape” – that is, excessive rules and regulations for how something must be done, it now – to my mind – has the connotation of a closed-off group, convinced that it, and only it, has the knowledge required for whatever is in question.  This is a consequence of the “managerial” revolution in the west, leading to the reign of “experts.”  Everyone else – that is, the public – is shut out, and buried under shovel loads of waffle. This is not good for democracy: it leads to cynicism.)

Public servants must be paid enough so as not to be tempted to demand bribes for doing, without fear or favour, the work they are supposed to do.

 

5. Separation of powers: an Independent Judiciary

 

“Separation of Powers” means that neither the institution which proposes the laws (most of them,) nor the institution which passes the laws (makes the proposals into laws) should be the institution which applies and interprets the laws. The names for these institutions are the Executive (government), the Legislature (parliament), and the Judiciary (the system of solicitors, barristers, and law courts.)

 

Why should laws need interpreting in the first place? Anyway, who better to interpret them than those who made them? Can’t laws be written in such a way that there is absolutely no ambiguity?  The short answer is, “no,” or “rarely.”  Language is not pure mathematics. Words embody all sorts of meanings, derived from history and culture.  Even in an activity involving quantities and measurements, such as engineering, and building construction, quantities and measurements require qualification: how much deviation either way is to be permitted? Two millimetres?  More, less? These deviations are called “tolerances.”  At least the permitted deviations can be described in words. But what about the tools for measuring the deviations?  How precisely accurate do they have to be, or can they be?

 

Little wonder that something described solely in words can be subject to disputation. If the institution which made the laws was also the one to interpret them, it is conceivable, even probable, that laws would be interpreted in such a way that certain defendants – those who do not support the government – would be found guilty, and that others – those who do support the government – would be found not guilty. (This will sound familiar to anyone with knowledge of the Burmese legal system.) In fact, those who do support the government may not even be charged with breaking the law in the first place. The same goes for the application of laws. The Judiciary must be independent from the Executive (the government)

 

Probably the most important law of all concerns proof. What constitutes proof that a particular person has committed the crime with which they have been charged? There is more than one system of law, as between, say, the United  Kingdom and France.

 

An independent judiciary or legal system is one in which lawyers and judges apply the law without interference from a government telling them how they should do so.  Usually there is also a system of “appeal” to a higher court, if either the defence in a case, or the prosecution, does not accept the decision of the lower court – that is, does not accept that justice has been done – providing there are legal grounds which permit such an appeal. But note: having a system of higher courts does not itself ensure that justice will be done – not if “justice” has any meaning of “fairness” attached to it.  For example, Muslim judges may decide against a Christian defendant, simply because the person is not – or does not want to be – Muslim. (Such a case occurred recently in Indonesia.)

 

(See two articles on the Rule of Law, in the folder, “Legal system and issues”)

 

6. An Independent Media

 

If the only news outlets allowed in a country are those run by the government or which unfailingly support the government, the truth about government mistakes or misdeeds will not be able to be made widely known.  If nothing bad about a government is ever published, the government can claim that people have no reason to protest about anything. (It also helps if such a government has passed laws which prohibit protest.)

 

Not only will nothing unfavourable about the country’s government be allowed to be published; it is also probable that nothing good will be will be published or broadcast about foreign countries. If news about foreign countries is allowed to be published or broadcast at all, it is likely to be about something trivial, bizarre, grotesque, or a natural disaster.

 

7. Separation of pagoda, church, mosque, or temple, from the State

 

This means that the government, which is elected by the citizens of a country, is not under the direction or control of any particular religious institution.  It does not mean that members of the government are not allowed to be “religious”.  The religious “establishment” is not elected or chosen by the people, and so can’t be voted either in or out by them.

 

A second point is that the “separation of church and state” means that religious minorities are less likely to be persecuted by religious majorities.  There are enough examples of countries where there is not a separation of church and state, or where there is a constant struggle to impose the spiritual directives of one particular religion on the citizens, to not have to go into detail. 

 

Superstition

 

Burma’s generals are said to be extremely superstitious. In the private lives of individuals not holding positions of power and responsibility, a little superstition may not do any harm – to the rest of the population, at any rate – but in the interests of public safety, good health, prosperity, equity, etc., decisions should be made on the basis of evidence, experience, common sense, knowledge, and ethics, not superstition.  We are entitled to ask deities or the Deity for help or guidance from time to time, primarily as a means of comfort, but that’s all. In World War II the Americans had a saying, “Praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition,” indicating a sound grasp of what was effective, under the circumstances. We are here on earth, God or the Gods are not. (Well, if they are, they are keeping quiet about it.) It’s up to us. (Where does this leave the Nats? They are part of the culture of Burma, and therefore are not to be mocked.  But, presumably, the Nats do not require human suffering in order to be kept in a good mood.)

 

8.Independence of thought, defined thus: An ability and willingness to challenge the statements, decisions and actions of authority; not with a view to overthrowing authority or creating social chaos, but in order to measure the statements, decisions and actions against a moral and philosophical code of “right thought, right conduct,” etc., or against reality as experienced, or by the standards of scientific proof.  Independence of thought also entails an openness to challenging one’s own beliefs, or to changing one’s mind, in the light of observation, experience, or discussion with others or consideration of what others have written about a subject.

 

“Developed” or “advanced” countries are not immune to a peculiar and very dangerous form of superstition: that which is known in French as the “idée fixe,” and in English as “a bee in one’s bonnet;” in other words, ideology. The western world has endured since the 1980s something called “economic rationalism,” meaning, briefly, the belief (superstition) that something called “the Market” will take care of every human need according to human demand, and that all government has to do is make things easier for “the market” to operate.  This ideology is responsible for the dismantling and “privatisation” of many public institutions and services.

 

Fear or unwillingness to question authority, an acceptance of its right to rule, and others’ duty to obey, is one of the props that maintains the rule of the military regime in Burma. 

 

Yet the regime has demonstrated, again and again, that it is not worthy of such respect.  It has defiled the most respected elements of Burmese society – the monkhood, and has no regard for the well-being of the people of Burma, other than its own members, cronies, and stooges – to use a word of which the regime is fond.

 

In the west, questioning of authority becomes more and more difficult with the culture of “the expert,” referred to earlier. I argue that, ideally, an educated, informed, and involved public can and should keep a critical eye on government.  However, the culture of “the expert” and the ideology that only “stakeholders” or “players” have any right to question or be involved in discussion, closes out citizens from participation. (See item 4, above: A Professional Bureaucracy.)

 

In different cultures, respect may be accorded certain persons because of age, gender, occupation, wealth, social class or ancestry. These “traditional” forms of respect, if I can call them that, are not the same in every case, and can be restrictive from the point of view of some recipients.  (For example, women may be “respected” only if they dress and behave in certain ways, and do not go out alone or in the company of a man who is not a relative or their husband.) On the other hand, respect for wealth or social position can lead to injustice against the lowly or the poor.

 

I argue for a sort of general respect for all people, as manifested by kindly and compassionate behaviour towards them; politeness, consideration and honest treatment. It’s just another form of trust.

 

In summary

 

Democracy requires that the government of a country rule the country for the benefit of all its citizens, and, where there are conflicts, as there always will be, managing the conflicts so that no side feels so aggrieved that they take matters into their own hands.

 

Regular elections are a necessary but not sufficient part of what constitutes democracy. If only certain parties are allowed to form and to put up their members for election, this does not constitute a democracy but a “one party state” – that is, without the possibility of change at an election.   

 

A system of “checks and balances” is necessary to prevent democracies sliding into dictatorships or oligarchies. Part of this system of checks and balances is the “Separation of powers”: an Executive, Legislature and Judiciary that are independent of one another. All three must be separate from and independent of the religious establishment.

 

A professional civil service, whose members continue to serve under successive governments, regardless of what party or coalition of parties wins elections, and whose members are not “politicised” is essential.  A civil service (public service bureaucracy) is “politicised” when its members, from juniors to the top bureaucrats, are afraid to freely express opinions and give advice based on the facts as they see them, to their superiors or their political “masters,” (i.e., the government).

 

Conclusion

 

As mentioned in “Burma Regime Transition Strategy, Part Two,”  Burma doesn’t have to re-invent the wheel, when it comes to democracy.

What the rest of the world’s democracies can do is point out the advantages and disadvantages of their own systems.

 

Burma can choose what looks as though it would work best for Burma.

 

There will be drawbacks in any system. This is to be expected, rather than feared. No system is perfect. Democracy, parliaments, etc., are human institutions. One thing is essential, though, and I rather fancifully express it by saying that democracy needs “deep soil.”

 

ANALYSIS

Volume 9, Number 3

THE NATIONAL BUREAU OF ASIAN RESEARCH

(Note: see separate document “footnotes”)

 

DEMOCRACY IN BURMA:

 

THE LESSONS OF HISTORY

 

Mary P. Callahan

 

This essay offers a historical analysis of political and socioeconomic developments in Burma over the past fifty years and delineates the obstacles to democratic development in the country. The author argues that the failure of democracy in Burma should be attributed not only to the actions of the military regime, but also to decades-old political and socio-economic conditions, which include: (1) an inadequate basis for federalism in a multi-ethnic society; (2) a crisis in state capacity to govern, rooted in the fragmented nature of society; and (3) an institutional intolerance for dissent on the part of pro-democracy and authoritarian organizations. Under British rule, Burma was never fully integrated nor adequately controlled by a central government. As a result, political leaders after independence have found it difficult to govern regions with large ethnic minorities. The military emerged as the sole institution that was capable of consolidating widespread authority, as the army had been repeatedly deployed to enforce martial law or establish military administration during times of domestic crisis. The United States has sought to punish the current military regime in Burma by suspending economic aid, activating an arms embargo, and blocking international assistance. U.S. policy has been supported by a bipartisan coalition of human rights organizations, members

of Congress, allies in the European Union, and expatriate Burmese. The author argues, however, that U.S. policy must address the obstacles to sustainable democratic rule in the country instead of focusing exclusively on deposing the military regime. A careful reading of events in Burma since 1948 generates sobering warnings about the complicated and deep historical roots of Burma’s contemporary troubles. The author asserts that these warnings must be heeded if U.S. pro-democracy policies are to be effective.

 

Introduction

 

In keeping with a national commitment to the promotion of democracy worldwide, contemporary U.S. policy punishes the military regime in Burma for its unrepentantly authoritarian practices that have continued since its brutal crackdown on a nationwide pro-democracy movement in 1988. In May 1997 President Clinton banned new investment in Burma by U.S. citizens, and renewed the ban in December. These moves complemented earlier American measures, which included the suspension of economic aid, the imposition of an arms embargo, a blockade against international humanitarian and financial aid, and a ban on U.S. visas for senior government leaders and their families. The results? Satisfaction from a broad, bipartisan coalition of expatriate Burmese, human rights groups, members of the U.S. Congress, and allies in the European Union. All agree the Burmese junta has to go. Within Burma, these moves have drawn praise from Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, daughter of the martyred national hero, Aung San, and leader of the present opposition party, the National League for Democracy (NLD). Suu Kyi hoped that the ban on U.S. investment would produce economic hardship that would force junta leaders to begin negotiating with the NLD for a transition to democratic rule. The regime, however, has neither faced such hardship nor capitulated, mainly because Asian investors have filled the void where U.S. investors might have competed. Instead, the junta appears unconcerned in its recharged, reorganized structure, the State Peace and Development Committee (SPDC), established in mid-November 1997.

 

Since the establishment of the SPDC’s predecessor, the State Law and Order Restoration Committee (SLORC) in 1988, U.S. policies toward Burma have failed to promote dialogue and democratic reform. This failure is not due to inappropriate intentions, but to an inadequate understanding of the barriers to reform that exist in Burma. To date, U.S. policy has held the military junta solely responsible for bottling up a transition to a more responsive, representative form of governance. The weakness of this position is that the junta is only part of the problem, albeit a big part. The real problem undermining U.S. and Burmese opposition party attempts to promote a transition to democracy in Burma lies in the decades-old political and socioeconomic structures that not only block meaningful political reform, but also undermine the authoritarian regime’s capacity to achieve its own goals.

This essay argues that the policymaking and scholarly community that is united in its commitment to democratize Burma and to dethrone the repressive military junta needs to rethink its assumptions about the obstacles to reform in Burma and to devise strategies based on realistic assessments of these barriers. Beyond the obvious anti-democratic measures taken by the military junta, three significant political and socioeconomic conditions stand in the way of establishing democratic governance in Burma: (1) an inadequate political basis for federalism in this multi-ethnic society; (2) a century-old crisis of state capacity rooted in the fragmented nature of society; and (3) an institutional intolerance for dissent that is found in authoritarian as well as democratic organizations.

In order to understand these three barriers, it is worth looking carefully at the ways in which they eroded the political institutions of Burma’s “democratic” era—the period of constitutionalism, civilian rule, and contested elections that lasted from 1948 until 1958, and from 1960 to 1962. In the 1950s, Burma’s political system was considered to be one of the most promising young democracies in the postcolonial world. However, a decade of constitutionalism and electoralism gave way to the first military coup d’etat in 1958 and then to the more enduring military takeover in 1962. Thereafter, military rule was enforced by the Burma Socialist Program Party (BSPP) until the party’s demise in 1988, and was reinvigorated by the military junta established in September of that year.

This essay does not argue that democracy was or is doomed in Burma, either in its 1950s incarnation or in the vision for the future advanced by reformers today. Instead, an analysis of the 1950s reveals systemic sources of instability for democratic governance that still exist today.

 

A careful reading of the 1950s generates sobering warnings about the complicated and deep historical roots of Burma’s contemporary troubles. These warnings must be heeded if U.S. prodemocracy policies are to have a more significant impact than they have had to date.

 

Historical Background

 

It is important to understand the historical and cultural conditions that led to the first democratic experiment and its failure in the 1950s. Burma shares land borders with Thailand, Laos,China, India, and Bangladesh and is the largest country in mainland Southeast Asia. Three north/south chains of mountains make east-west travel and communications difficult, although north/south travel is more accessible via river, road, or railroad. The inhabitants of this country, called the “Burmese,” include dozens of minority groups that are estimated to make up at least one third of the total population of 45 million. Burmans, who reside mainly in the central agricultural valleys and in the southern coastal and delta regions, are the largest ethnic group. Although an accurate census of the minority regions has not been attempted since 1931, most government and scholarly sources estimate that the ethnic makeup is as follows: 65 percent Burman,10 percent Shan, 7 percent Karen, 4 percent Rakhine, 3 percent Chinese, 2 percent Mon, 2 percent

Indian, along with small numbers of Assamese and Chin minority peoples. The official language of the state is Burmese (the language of the majority ethnic group), although otherlanguages such as Karen, Chin, Shan, and Kachin are spoken in ethnic minority regions.

Before the advent of British rule, the territory that came to be known as “Burma” had never been fully integrated or controlled by a single, central state. In the nineteenth century, Britainbegan a gradual, three-stage take-over of all territory that is now considered to be part of Burma.

The conquest was completed in 1886 when the last Burman king was deposed and Burma became a province of British India. The colonial regime divided the country into two administrative zones: the central area, called “Ministerial Burma,” was home to most of the ethnic Burmans, while the “Frontier Areas” (later known juridically as the “Excluded Areas”) were located along the newly drawn borders and were populated by other ethnic groups. The Frontier Areas were left largely untouched by the British rulers. In Ministerial Burma, the more intrusive, direct colonial rule sparked the emergence of a nationalist movement dominated by ethnic Burmans (the Dobama Asiayone) in the 1920s and 1930s that demanded independence from Britain. The agitation by nationalist leaders, including Aung San, along with the wartime collapse of the

British regime, eventually led to the granting of independence on January 4, 1948.

From independence until 1958, and again from 1960 to 1962, the Union of Burma experienced civilian rule with a parliamentary form of government. Former nationalist leader U Nu served as prime minister during most of this period. Political life was dominated by one party — the Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL). The early years of independence were characterized by a number of serious threats to the government’s survival. Domestically, the

government faced communist and separatist ethnic rebellions as well as army mutinies. External threats included incursions by the U.S.-backed Kuomintang into Burma, where they prepared to stage an assault to retake mainland China from the Chinese Communists. Due to AFPFL infighting that threatened to aggravate the insurgency and due to poor economic performance, the military (in Burmese, the tatmadaw) stepped in to govern as a caretaker government from 1958 to 1960, and then again more permanently in March 1962. Under the leadership of Commander- in-Chief General Ne Win, a Revolutionary Council of military officers was formed to replace the cabinet and parliament. The army-dominated Council suspended the 1947 constitution, established the Leninist-style Burma Socialist Program Party, and outlawed all other political parties. Under its Burmese Way to Socialism, the BSPP attempted to impose a central, command economy and to eliminate foreign control over business in Burma. In 1974 a new constitution was promulgated that provided for a highly centralized, civilian, single-party form of government. At the national, state, township, and village levels, government administration was greatly influenced by the BSPP, which stepped up its efforts to build a mass following across the country. Most leadership positions in the party and government came to be occupied by the same military officers who had held them before 1974, although they shed their ranks and their uniforms. As chairman of the State Council and party chairman,

General Ne Win continued his hold on power into the 1980s.

In September 1987, following a series of demonetization measures that devastated the economy and wiped out the savings of most Burmese people, student demonstrations erupted in Rangoon and continued sporadically into the following year. The police used harsh tactics to put down the demonstrations: in one incident 41 students suffocated to death in a police van.

Public outcry over the incident led to further demonstrations, some of which began attracting participants from other walks of life. This led to the convening of an extraordinary BSPP Congress in July, during which Ne Win and other officials resigned from the party leadership.

Nationwide demonstrations continued until September 18, when the army leadership cracked down on the demonstrations, took power directly, and established the State Law and Order Restoration Council under the chairmanship of an army commander and Ne Win follower, Senior General Saw Maung. As many as 10,000 were killed in the army crackdown.

SLORC suspended the 1974 constitution and abolished the presidency, State Council, Council of Ministers, and People’s Assembly. Under SLORC’s orders, the crack troops of the armed forces put an abrupt end to the popular pro-democracy demonstrations, killing thousands of unarmed civilians in the process. The SLORC distributed cabinet portfolios to senior military

officers, with Senior General Saw Maung assuming the responsibility of prime minister and defense minister. Saw Maung, who was replaced in an April 1992 palace coup by the SLORC vice-chair, General Than Shwe, had little education and no real power within the regime.

In its nine years of existence, SLORC made some progress toward reforming the autarkic, state-planned system into an internationally integrated, market-based economy. However, while SLORC’s economy posted better growth rates than the socialist economy of a decade earlier, there were few signs of market reforms. Among the results were the lining of relatively autonomous cabinet ministers’ coffers, the laundering of drug money into huge (but empty) real estate and tourism ventures, and the continuation of inflation rates that averaged between 20 and 30 percent annually.

It was probably this disastrous economic performance that led SLORC to reorganize its dysfunctional, bloated junta into the State Preservation and Development Council in November 1997. This move forced the most corrupt cabinet ministers out of office and replaced them with more junior military officers who will be less autonomous in their pursuit of market reforms and more subject

to control by the junta leadership. Most observers consider that Brigadier General Khin Nyunt, Secretary-1 of the SLORC/SPDC1 and head of the Directorate of Defense Services Intelligence, has been in charge of the regime; yet many are convinced that his long-time mentor—the aging General Ne Win—is in fact responsible for major policy decisions from his home along Inya Lake.

 

A Closer Look at Burma’s Democratic Era

 

From 1948 until 1962, the Burmese political system looked on paper like a model of democratic governance. The 1947 constitution provided, for example, that sovereignty resided “in the people”; ostensibly, all citizens were guaranteed equality of rights and opportunity, and freedom of expression, assembly, and association, as long as the exercise of these rights did not interfere with public order. Moreover, the constitution established a judiciary independent of the executive branch of government: this included a Supreme Court that would “issue directions in the nature of habeas corpus.”

The 1947 constitution established a federal framework to provide for minority rights in a majority-rule parliamentary system. A bicameral national legislature was inaugurated, guaranteeing

representation to minority ethnic groups in the Chamber of Nationalities.4 The constitution set forth a variety of solutions to the problem of local and regional authority in areas dominated by ethnic minorities. In the eastern regions where Shan peoples (10 percent of the national population) lived, all the traditional Shan principalities were amalgamated into one state, which was constitutionally guaranteed a right of secession after ten years. The elected fifty-member State Council was the chief executive authority under the 1974 constitution and constituted legislative authority in the Shan State, while in local areas, the hereditary Shan aristocracy — the sawbwas—were allowed to retain their traditional powers and authority. Likewise, the Kayah (also known as Karenni) principalities were reconstituted as a single state with

a similar secession guarantee. The Kachins were amalgamated into a state that was provided no secession rights: A nineteen-member state legislative council ran affairs at the state level,while local duwas (Kachin princes) and traditional headmen were reinstated as local administrators.

The Chin people, representing less than one percent of the Burmese population, were granted fewer rights and privileges, and their territory was labeled a “Special Division.” The status of the territorial authority over three other major ethnic groups—the Mons, Karens, and Arakanese, representing 2, 7, and 4 percent of the national population, respectively—was left open in the constitution to be decided after independence in January 1948.

In the early years of independence, these constitutional arrangements appeared to be establishing strong democratic roots in society. National-level parliamentary elections were held in

1947, 1951, 1956, and 1960. The Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League, the former wartime resistance organization that evolved into a political party, was victorious in the first three elections and accordingly formed AFPFL-dominated governments. In the 1960 election, former prime minister U Nu led his new Pyidaungsu (Union) Party to a decisive victory over the military-supported

Stable Faction of the collapsed AFPFL. Turnouts in these elections were often higher than 70 percent, and in accordance with Western expectations of electoral systems, losers vacated their offices and winners took over.

Furthermore, by the early 1950s another crucial element of democratic rule emerged in the form of a “loyal opposition.” Growing out of a faction that broke off from the AFPFL in 1950, the

National United Front (NUF) developed into a viable opposition party. In the 1956 election, it gained forty-seven seats to the Chamber of Deputies, including numerous seats previously considered “safe” by the AFPFL. In that election, the NUF polled more than 30 percent of the popular vote, as compared to 48 percent for the AFPFL.5 Beyond its electoral strength, the NUF also commanded extensive media attention and succeeded in organizing trade unions and peasant organizations outside of the AFPFL’s reach. Later, the two successor parties to the AFPFL that competed in the 1960 elections continued in the tradition of a loyal opposition as they worked within the provisions of the 1947 constitution. In many ways, the success of the NUF in the 1956 election and the election of U Nu over the military-backed candidate in 1960 represented clear steps forward on the paths toward institutionalizing a truly competitive parliamentary system.

 

Nationalists’ Intentions and Democratic Tensions

 

While these developments represented progress toward sustainable liberal democratic institutions and processes, the legacies of the colonial and wartime period gave a very different meaning to these constitutional provisions. For Burma’s young constitution-writers and political leaders in 1947, the overriding objective was not to establish a democracy but to get the colonial regime out of Burma once and for all. In fact, democracy advocates of the 1990s may be surprised that the word “democracy” does not appear anywhere in the 1947 constitution.

This was not an oversight by the first-time constitution writers who came together in 1947.

Although the constitution—written by U Chan Htoon and other lawyers trained in the colonial British system—had some provisions that were based on liberal democratic principles, the resulting document also reflected the influence of nationalist leader Aung San in its more socialist and anti-liberal provisions for the construction of a strong state. In actuality, the leaders of Burma

at independence had no interest in the promotion of liberal democracy.

It is helpful to remember that those who led Burma throughout the “democratic” 1950s came of age in student union politics associated with the nationalist movement in the 1930s. Their political program embraced the anti-imperialist, utopian socialist project, which they studied in the writings of Karl Marx, Vladimir Ilych Lenin, Joseph Stalin, George Bernard Shaw, and Sidney and Beatrice Webb. For the anti-colonial nationalists, democracy was the system of the colonizer, and as such represented that which Burma’s young leaders would fight to expel. The identification of democracy with imperialism grew particularly troublesome as the AFPFL united front began to splinter in the postwar period. In reaching a compromise with the British that prevented a violent anti-colonial revolution in 1947, Aung San and AFPFL leaders came under heavy pressure for giving too many concessions to the British imperialists and for writing what were perceived to be western-style institutions of governance into the 1947 constitution.

Hence, while the constitution appeared to guarantee equal rights and freedom of expression, in actuality it embodied a distrust of democracy. It placed far greater emphasis on the empowerment of the state to reduce the great economic disparities wrought by imperialism than on limiting state intrusions in individuals’ lives. To the degree that there was any support for democratic institutions such as elections, it was hoped that these processes could ensure the most equitable distribution of resources. In Aung San’s writings, for example, there is ambivalence regarding the global convergence in support of the democratic political institutions that emerged at the end of World War II. In one of his last public speeches, Aung San laid out his “Basis of Burmese Democracy,” which included the nationalization of the means of production, the provision of workers’ rights and social insurance, the establishment of the judicial system based “on popular conception,” and other components. For Aung San and many of his colleagues, regaining control over Burma’s wealth on behalf of the people of Burma—not the array of legal provisions that protect individuals in a Western-style democracy—was of paramount importance. “Only by building our economic system in such a way as to enable our country to get over capitalism in the quickest possible time can we attain a true democracy.”6

 

This anti-imperialist, anti-capitalist focus can be seen in Prime Minister U Nu’s introduction of the motion to adopt the 1947 constitution. He began his speech to the Constituent Assembly

by explaining “what Burma . . . will be”:

I might say, at once, that it will be Leftist. And a Leftist country is one in which the people working together to the best of their power and ability strive to convert the natural resources and the produce of the land . . . into consumer commodities to which everybody will be entitled according to his need. . . . [I]n such a country the aim of production is not profit for the few but comfort and the happiness of a full life for the many.7

Even earlier, the emphasis on the need to build a strong state and the disregard for the establishment of liberal democratic institutions was made particularly clear by Aung San, never a “liberal democrat.” He wrote: “What we want is a strong state administration as exemplified in Germany and Italy. There shall be only one nation, one state, one party, one leader. There shall be no parliamentary opposition, no nonsense of individualism.”8

In “democratic” Burma, the government routinely imprisoned critics . . . , suspended habeas corpus, shut down newspapers

and arrested their editors and publishers, banned novels . . . ,

and closed down fractious student unions.

 

Institutionalizing Unity and Uniformity

 

Throughout the early years following independence, concerns that individualism would undermine the nationalist project resulted in an emphasis not on the liberal democratic pursuit of difference and competition but instead on unity and uniformity. This emphasis had already led to the near collapse of the AFPFL and its government in 1947 and 1948 and later would spark widespread government and party repression of the free expression of dissenting opinions throughout the “democratic” era. Immediately after World War II, Aung San and the leadership of the AFPFL—which in 1945 was a united front of rather incompatible political parties, including Fabian socialists, communists, and conservative elements—were able to command uniformity and unity in the struggle to gain independence from the British regime. But in January 1947, when the British agreed to grant Burma independence the following year, each of the constituent parties in the united front began to press for its own vision of the future, and the AFPFL and the government

it had created unraveled. Having grown out of a highly decentralized resistance organization, where no dialogue and consensual processes were possible under wartime conditions, the AFPFL never developed any mechanisms to accommodate and resolve conflicting political views, visions, and objectives.

As the exigencies of rule led to the rightward drift of AFPFL leadership, the more left-leaning spokesmen of the rank-and-file majority of the League led their followers into rebellion against

the government.9 At least one-third of the army joined the Communist Party insurrection in 1948, as did the majority of the nationwide People’s Volunteer Organization, ostensibly a veterans’ affairs group but in reality the paramilitary wing of the AFPFL. In 1949, the Karen National Defense Organization revolted, prompting the defection of the Karen-dominated artillery units from the government’s army. By this time, important cities such as Mandalay, Maymyo, Prome, and even Insein (a suburb of Rangoon) had fallen to insurgent control. By the time Ne Win assumed his position as Supreme Commander in 1949, he commanded fewer than two thousand troops. At the time, most observers referred to the Government of the Union of Burma as “the Rangoon

Government,” reflecting the actual extent of territory that Prime Minister U Nu controlled.10

While what remained of the AFPFL and army leadership was able by 1952 to regain the upper hand in this civil war against their former colleagues, the experience institutionalized certain mechanisms that squashed public expressions of dissent. From the days leading up to independence, the leadership of the national front made its emphasis on unity and uniformity unconditional. For example, in his address to the AFPFL Convention in May 1947, Aung San ranked as top priority the purge of dissenters from the national front: “[The] AFPFL and affiliated people’s organizations should carry out a thorough cleansing process right through in order to be purged of rottenness in the blood.”11

 

As the civil war escalated, what little tolerance that existed for dissenting points of view soon evaporated. Throughout the first decade of independence, the U Nu government and the tatmadaw clamped down on any and all criticism of the shaky government by invoking emergency provisions and other legal devices. In “democratic” Burma, the government routinely imprisoned critics (at times for years before they were even brought to trial), suspended habeas corpus, shut down newspapers and arrested their editors and publishers, banned novels that “were deemed likely to cause disaffection against the Government,” and closed down fractious student unions.12 One of the more repressive tools, Section 5 of the 1947 Public Order (Preservation) Act, or PO(P)A, was strengthened soon after the outbreak of the civil war in order to allow local police to arrest possible rebels and detain them indefinitely, even without any significant evidence of criminal or treasonous acts. Over the next decade, PO(P)A was used by both national and local politicians and their followers to detain many opposition politicians. In fact, during the 1950s nearly every major opposition politician—including U Ba Pe, Thakin Ba Sein, and Thakin Lwin — was detained under Section 5 of the PO(P)A, some for more than two years without ever coming to trial. It is not surprising that many of the thousands of PO(P)A arrests occurred in the months leading up to the national elections of 1951, 1956, and 1960. As one newspaper editorial noted: “[P]olitical rivals, or just any cantankerous person who exercised his freedom to speak out against the AFPFL, have been arrested and held without trial.”13

 

This characterization of the use of Section 5 PO(P)A should not be taken to imply that the law was not used for its original purpose of containing the rebellion. However, even in that regard it was greatly abused. For example, a number of Karens were detained under Section 5 in January 1949 when the Karen insurrection broke out; all were held without trial, until June 1951, when the Supreme Court finally approved their habeas corpus application. [The Nation, July 10, 1951.] Additionally, newspapers also reported incidents in which police officers made arrests under Section 5 PO(P)A of individuals suspected of certain non-PO(P)A crimes when there was not enough evidence to arrest them for the crimes of which they were suspected. See, for example, the case of the Rangoon trishaw union leaders who were suspected of murdering the vice president of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce; there was not much evidence to link the trishaw union leaders to the murder, so the Rangoon police arrested them under Section 5. [The Nation, October 2, 1951.]

 

This is not to argue that the era of parliamentary rule in Burma was a total facade. Rather, because the particular unity-conscious focus of Burma’s young leaders came within the exigencies of a collapsing state, harsh methods of ensuring unity became normal practices of governance.

Over the long term, the obsession with unity and uniformity would impede the development of party and government institutions that could tolerate and process competition and difference in political ideas.

 

Governing Independent Burma

 

To pacify the countryside at the escalation of the insurrection, U Nu’s government revived the village and town militia that had fought in the anti-Japanese resistance during World War

II. Organized under local politicians loosely connected to the Socialist Party in the AFPFL, these units were armed with either homemade weapons or weapons abandoned by retreating British

and Japanese soldiers during the war. Called by various names (People’s Peace Guerrillas, Sitwundan, Pyusawhti), these units were not tied to a centrally based chain of command. They were formed in their home villages and rarely moved or saw action beyondvillage and town limits. Discipline was weak among many of these militia groups, and throughout the 1950s there were frequent reports of robbery, banditry, bribery, and murder committed by their members. Moreover, once formed to fight against the insurgents, these militias also became electoral tools of local political bosses, who deployed them during election campaigns to ensure victories for themselves or their followers.14 Consequently, throughout the 1950s, elections often were characterized by coercion and violence, with politically motivated murders not uncommon.

15 Although the government tried several times during the decade to disarm and demobilize these militia groups, as well as to bring the local political bosses under more central party control, its efforts never succeeded.

Already crippled by the flight of most of the senior civil servants in 1947 and 1948, the government unwittingly destroyed any possibility of building the strong central state of Aung San’s dreams by launching this highly decentralized campaign to salvage the AFPFL government in the first few years after independence.16 By relying on the decentralized forces of local politicians to fight off the very real threat to the government during 1948–1952, the Nu government revived and strengthened local power bases. Those bases continued throughout the 1950s to block central government efforts to obtain the economic resources and the cooperation from outside of Rangoon that were needed to finance the League’s ambitious socialist economic program.

Moreover, the areas near the British-drawn borders of Burma were even further beyond the “reach of the state.”17 Under British rule, for the first time ever these regions officially were delineated as parts of a territory called Burma. The British initially called these regions “frontier areas,” then later, “excluded” areas, and they were left largely untouched by the British rulers.

Authority rested in the hands of indigenous leaders of the Shans, Chins, Arakanese, and Kachins.

In February 1947, a complicated set of agreements was reached at the second Panglong Conference, which promised substantial local autonomy to the Shans and Kachins, while providing some constitutional measure of autonomy to the Chins. At the time, Aung San and AFPFL leaders were confident that the peoples of the minority regions would develop loyalty to the Union of Burma as the socialist economic development programs brought wealth, progress, and comfort. However, as the civil war derailed the AFPFL’s economic and social programs, the weakened government was too busy fighting off threats to Rangoon to worry about these regions, some of which launched separatist insurgencies.

 

State-building throughout Burma

 

The territory that comprises Burma has never been integrated in any politically or economically meaningful way. During the colonial period, residents of central Burma, including Burmans and Karens, had no reason or opportunity to visit the ethnic-minority, frontier areas. Those Burmans and Karens in government service or the military police were posted only in Burma proper; only British or Indian civil servants were deployed to the frontier, and even they were sent only on the rarest occasions. Ethnic minority residents of the frontier areas likewise made few journeys into central Burma. Unlike in central Burma, the British established no government schools in the frontier regions, and graduates of indigenous schools from these regions were not admitted to college or university in Burma proper (although the sons of some Shan princes were educated in England). As Martin Smith argues, throughout most of the colonial period, “the Frontier Areas remained largely forgotten” by the British and largely unknown for the Burmans.18

 

Although the 1947 constitution established institutions such as the Chamber of Nationalities in Rangoon that brought minority leaders into the capital on a regular basis, the only significant reverse traffic came under the auspices of the army. In the early years of independence, the military ordered its ethnic Burman troops out to distant minority-dominated regions to fight against communist insurgents. In 1952, U Nu also sent the army to the Shan state to displace some of the princes and set up an army administration when the U.S.-backed Kuomintang (KMT)—fleeing from the communists in China and also gearing up to retake China in the future — began moving deeper into Burma.19 Some Shan leaders perceived the tatmadaw intervention as an attack on their local power and later led armed, anti-Rangoon, separatist movements

that fought the government until the mid-1990s.

This move of army field and staff commanders into the administration of the frontier of Burma represented the first real—albeit unconscious—attempt at building state institutions that stretched beyond the central region. No state institution in either pre-colonial or colonial Burmese history had ever established centralized control throughout the territory enclosed by the borders drawn by the British in the nineteenth century. The construction of the loosely integrated federal system in the 1947 constitution was based on a dream that participation of national minorities in legislative politics in Rangoon would forge an overarching national identity.

In fact, since minority participation in the 1950s legislature was concentrated in the weaker of the two chambers, it probably did more to reinforce ethnic identification than it did to create a sense of shared purpose, identity, and future.

The significance of the tatmadaw being at the helm of this first-ever effort to extend authority to minority frontier areas cannot be overstated. When the AFPFL assumed power in 1948, there was little in the way of administrative personnel or resources left from the collapsed colonial regime.

After the insurrections in 1948 and 1949, there was even less. However, as the 1950s wore on, the army emerged among the three major national institutions as the only one capable of building nationwide structures of authority throughout the territory. In the early 1950s, the army became significantly more centralized and more institutionally capable of exerting influence over regions beyond the greater Rangoon area than either of the other two major national institutions — the ruling AFPFL and the bureaucracy. This point can be illustrated by the fact that by around 1954, the army was able to order locally recruited members of its field units to move to other parts of Burma and the War Office orders were followed with some degree of consistency. Neither the AFPFL nor the bureaucracy were able to do the same thing at any point from 1948 to 1962.

 

Evaluating the “Democratic” 1950s

 

Was the collapse of the “democratic,” parliamentary system inescapable? Although the parliamentary collapse was never preordained, it was, however, inevitable that the parliamentary structure of governance—as established by the hastily-written 1947 constitution—would have to be modified in the early years of independence. From the beginning there were incompatible tensions that could be glossed over in the somewhat rushed production of constitutional arrangements in 1947, but these problems could not be resolved in an enduring way without innovation, accommodation, and change. Most importantly, the patched-together constitutional “solutions” for the minority-dominated areas aggravated existing ethnic tensions by delaying any serious dialogue about how to harmonize never-before integrated portions of this territory into a functional nation-state. This was not a new problem: in fact, the more powerful colonial regime had never tried to do so, recognizing that Burma was not governable in the reaches of territory that stretched beyond the limited systems of roads, telegraph wires, and railroads.

Burma was even less governable in the early post-independence years, characterized as they were by civil war, economic decay, and political instability.

In assessing the 1950s, it is clear that democratic, parliamentary politics was not the problem that crashed the system. The problem was governability, and this problem was found not only in minority-dominated frontier areas but also in the regions where railroads and telegraphs could transport policies. Tax records indicate that the AFPFL regime never attained the level of collections of taxes on land, customs, and income that the British had obtained under laissez-faire, minimalist, colonial rule. What little in the way of state institutional capacity was bequeathed by the British to the AFPFL disintegrated in the chaotic early years of independence.

From 1947 to 1948, most senior civil servants resigned from office because of political differences with the incoming AFPFL leadership. The bureaucracy was decimated at all levels. Additionally, the government’s desperate devolution of power to local pocket armies at the outbreak of the civil war left all upcountry administration in the hands of political bosses, who frequently ignored and undermined requests from the Union government. In other words, there were very few skilled administrators, tools, or resources left for the Nu government to deploy to implement policy, collect taxes, or even just maintain the status quo.

Beyond Rangoon—and even within Rangoon—the state was decrepit. Set against the centuries- old centrifugal aspirations of the frontier area peoples, the Nu regime was in no position to start the state-building processes that would have been necessary to fulfill Aung San’s dream of winning the loyalty of the national minorities by distributing social resources fairly and justly to minorities and Burmans alike. In the throes of these turbulent conditions, Aung San’s oftquoted promise to the frontier people at the 1947 Panglong Conference, “If [central] Burma receives one kyat, you will also get one kyat,” was soon forgotten.

 

 

 

 

The Advent of Military Rule

 

The fact that the 1947 constitution needed revision did not make inevitable the arrival of strong, authoritarian rule under military leadership in postwar Burma. At independence, no one could have predicted that the tatmadaw would emerge from the chaos of mutinies, defections, and materiel losses in 1948 and 1949 as the powerful force that would dominate state and society for nearly four decades. In the throes of that chaos, there were few signs that the military leadership or anyone else could even envision such a future. The tatmadaw was but one of numerous armies that emerged at independence in 1948; many were illegal, anti-state armies, but there also were quasi-legal paramilitary squads maintained by cabinet members and other politicians in the Socialist party and the AFPFL. The “democratic era” was replete with challenges both to and within the tatmadaw and the state. Most challenges were backed by arms and violence.

In part, the tatmadaw developed the governing capabilities that made military rule possible at the request of its civilian rulers when the army was deployed to remote parts of Burma to fight communists and KMTs, to enforce martial law, or to establish military administration during internal crises. The military was alone among the state’s three major institutions—the others being the bureaucracy and the AFPFL—in consolidating some kind of authority that stretched to the borders. But the development of the Cold War also privileged the tatmadaw among these three institutions. Responding to the insecurity of Burma’s geographical and ideological position in the Cold War, the War Office, General Ne Win, and some field commanders bought arms on the world market and negotiated programs of military assistance with virtually no oversight by civilian politicians.20

In fact, the tatmadaw took a leading role in managing the impact of the world economy and of the Cold War confrontation in the 1950s. By the end of the decade, the army fully managed the impact of the world economy on the national economy through the import-export operations established under the Defense Services Institute.21 Its effectiveness and autonomy in doing so contrasted with the position of the ruling AFPFL, and suggests yet another early source of the army’s growing strength vis-à-vis other institutions within the postcolonial state. As weak civilian institutions came apart under the domestic and global pressures of the 1950s, the tatmadaw

was busy with what can only be seen in hindsight as state-building activities. During this period, the army extended the geographical “reach of the state” by creating a bureaucracy that ensured the implementation of central government policies in territory beyond the seat of government. 22 It must be noted, however, that there is no evidence that Ne Win or any other army leaders conspired from the outset to build an army capable of running the Burmese polity over the next several decades. That this happened was simply an unintended consequence of the turbulent 1950s.

 

Democracy: Past, Present, and Future

 

A careful analysis of postwar history demonstrates that the “democratic” 1950s does not hold the solutions for Burma in the 1990s and beyond. In fact, if anything, the decade provides some sobering warnings for pro-democratic forces inside and outside the country. In many ways, major political problems of the 1990s are the same ones faced by the parliamentary AFPFL government

in the 1950s (and arguably by the colonial regime prior to World War II). The most serious dilemmas today are the unworkable nature of federalism in this multi-ethnic society, the continued crisis of state capacity in a highly fragmented society, and the institutional intolerance for any form of dissent.

 

The Unworkable Nature of Federalism

 

There is a degree to which the assumptions that underlie the concept of Burma—that is, the delineation of a nation-state stretching across the territory bounded by the British-drawn borders— are impossible propositions. Given the financial and topographical barriers to integration, no state has ever even come close to the Weberian ideal of exerting authority throughout the territory. But beyond the non-integration of this territory, there are clear and recent historical barriers to the realization of this “Burma.” In the colonial period, frontier areas were deliberately kept separate from central administrative operations. Additionally, after Burman nationalists initially cooperated with the Japanese during World War II, British and U.S. special forces operating in border areas encouraged minority peoples to kill ethnic Burmans, and promised the minorities political independence from the Burmans in the postwar period.23 These two historical barriers contributed directly to the start of separatist movements in these regions in the 1950s and 1960s and reinforced the difficulties of developing any basis for establishing an integrated polity. As Martin Smith has observed: “Over the years, there have been few moments

of lasting reconciliation or compromise.”24

 

Some might argue that the recent cease-fire movement in ethnic war zones represents a step toward enduring reconciliation and compromise.25 However, these arrangements are nothing

more than temporary, ad hoc answers to complex, centuries-old structural problems. As many observers have noted, the cease-fires have broken down in a number of regions. Most importantly,

the agreements have provided ethnic groups with the authority to hold on to their arms, to police their own territory, and to use their former rebel armies as private security forces to protect both legal and illegal business operations. This authority, however, is due to run out when the junta’s hand-picked National Convention completes a new constitution. At that point, it is difficult to imagine that the SLORC/SPDC will be able to convince ethnic warlords to turn in their weapons peacefully.

 

 

In some respects, the junta’s ad hoc attempt at a kind of federal system that provides extensive local autonomy for minority groups along the border areas represents the most extreme concession of central control over Burmese territory in modern history, even more extreme than U Nu’s plans in 1962 to grant statehood to the Mons and Arakanese and to consider seriously Shan and Kayah efforts to exercise their secession rights.26 Moreover, former SLORC chairman

Senior General Saw Maung’s ill-conceived ethnic policy—that of dividing the dozen or so major national ethnic groups into what he claimed were 135 races—has apparently derailed preparation

of a constitution by the National Convention. According to one member of a Convention committee assigned to deal with the ethnic problem, “We have to accept the 135 races theory,

but now all 135 want their own states.”27

The difficulty of ensuring minority rights within a sovereign national state would not go away if a democratically-elected government were to take over the regime. It would be virtually impossible for a democratic government be able to collect taxes or implement social or economic policy in, for example, the Kokang region, where local elites are profiting greatly from being left alone by the Rangoon government. Without access to revenues generated by the extraction of resources such as gems and teak in the border areas, how would a democratic regime finance programs to alleviate the suffering of local populations throughout the frontier regions who are trying to find their way out of two generations of war? Some minority leaders currently question whether democratic leaders from central Burma would really commit national resources to development programs for the border areas. As one ethnic Pao leader told Martin Smith: “The issue of democracy is often put before ethnic nationality questions, but in our view it [the ethnic question] needs to come first.” 28 With the world focusing on Aung San Suu Kyi and her party, some minority leaders are justified in their worry that the needs of their people are not being considered, either by the National League for Democracy or by well-meaning

democratizers around the world.

 

The Dilemma of Ethnicity and Democracy in Comparative Perspective

 

From a comparative perspective, there are very few instances in which a postcolonial, multiethnic state has been able to democratize its political system at the same time that it builds

administrative, economic, and cultural linkages between geographically dispersed ethnic communities.

Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru may have engineered the most successful case of this combined project when he led India to significant progress in assuaging ethnic tensions.

However, that process also led to the Pakistan solution, which may still prove to have been the wrong answer for India. In fact, if Hindu nationalists seeking to convert India into a Hindu nation-state win power in the near future, India’s 110 million Muslims will no doubt react badly — with grave consequences for democracy.

Furthermore, as recent history in the former Soviet Union, Eastern Europe, and some African nations (such as Somalia) has shown, federal systems in which the state components are constitutionally defined largely by ethnicity, and in which the institutional, economic, and cultural linkages between ethnic majority and minority populations are minimal, frequently have not proven to be viable solutions to the problems of multi-ethnicity in a modern society. A federal constitution—such as the one envisioned by the NLD that would revisit the 1947 constitutional provisions or the SLORC/SPDC’s plan that would maintain the current range of ethnic

states while establishing new “self-administered areas” for smaller minorities (such as the Pao, Palaung, and Kokang in the Shan state) is not likely to produce a sustainable, integrated Burma.

For this kind of integration to take place, a future regime might need to try some of the tactics of consociationalism.29 It could, for example, provide for mutual veto in decision-making; education and mass media in minority languages; and army, university, and bureaucracy recruitment and promotion practices that favor previously excluded minorities.30 However, these kinds of policies face a major obstacle in Burma. Elsewhere, they have generally been successful in countries where there is either a ruling ethnic group (of either majority or minority status) that for some reason has been pressured to give up its privileged position and to commit

itself to proportionally fewer demands on national resources in the future (e.g., contemporary South Africa), or in societies where there is no clear single majority group (e.g., Lebanon from

1943–1975). Although it is difficult to measure, in the current environment it seems unlikely that ethnic Burmans—most of whom have never had access to reliable information about the plight of Karen, Kokang, Shan, or other minority groups and have developed little in the way of cross-ethnic empathy—will be content to give up university places, officer commissions, or other opportunities to members of other nationality groups.

 

Fragmentation and State Capacity

 

In terms of the second dilemma—state capacity—the SLORC/SPDC regime has developed to perhaps their highest form the tools of coercion and repression to maintain its hold over the government. However, the apparently unthreatened monopoly over guns and prisons that the regime needs to hold on to power does not translate into any kind of significant capacity or capability for what the SPDC considers its most pressing task: transforming Burma into a more modern, market-oriented, and productive society. In fact, many overseas investors have pulled their capital out of Burma because the junta’s nine-year track record has shown little real progress toward restructuring the agrarian economy into one that could support export-driven production.

Will a democratically-elected regime have any greater success in this arena?

From the experiences of other transitional societies that have attempted to concurrently liberalize their markets and democratize, it seems clear that these two processes often work at

odds with each other. Market reforms frequently produce economic losers who become constituents for anti-democratic politicians. Not every member of society will be better off under a democratic or market system. Hence, the dislocations created in society can lead to a backlash that may be serious to a democratic regime at the helm of a weak state such as Burma.31

 

If the SLORC/SPDC does give way to a more open, representative kind of government, Burma will become what political scientist Atul Kohli calls a “low-income democracy.”32 Like India—the subject of Kohli’s analysis—Burma represents a “highly fragmented political society.”

In the Burmese case, this social fragmentation has been overcome in only two instances in history, during which charismatic leaders have built powerful, cross-class, cross-ethnicity coalitions.

This occurred first during the anti-Japanese resistance, when Aung San was able to bring together leftists, rightists, Burmans, Karens, peasants, and entrepreneurs to end the Japanese occupation. This united front was strong enough to end the occupation, but disintegrated upon taking office in 1948. Aung San’s dreams of building an integrated, prosperous, socialist Burma disappeared with the resignations of bureaucrats, the ascension of local political bosses to power, and the increasing alienation of ethnic minority peoples. The AFPFL leaders in the 1950s—like India’s Indira Gandhi in the 1970s and Rajiv Gandhi in the 1980s—never built territorially expansive party organizations or state institutions that could restructure social relations and implement the reforms necessary to build an integrated nation-state. Only the army managed to do

so in the 1950s.

The second instance in which social fragmentation was overcome by a united political organization came from 1988 to 1990, when Aung San Suu Kyi attracted a broad-ranging political following that crossed ethnic, class, and—at times—even military lines. Her vision, charisma, and leadership carried her party, the NLD, to an overwhelming victory in the 1990 parliamentary elections, despite attempts by the military regime to hamper party-building and campaign activities. The junta’s subsequent refusal to honor the election results, the arrests and flight of many successful opposition candidates, the five-year house arrest of Suu Kyi, and the numerous

restrictions on party activities over the last eight years have all but decimated the loosely organized, populist party that carried the electoral victory in 1990. Any transition of authority to the NLD at this point would place the party in the difficult position of having to run a “low income democracy” with little party organization to rely on.

While the NLD’s weakness may not lessen Suu Kyi’s popular appeal in future elections, it will certainly affect the ability of the resulting regime to govern. Suu Kyi’s visionary reform proposals, which echo her father’s concerns for providing for the welfare of all individuals in Burma, will require fairly major socioeconomic restructuring. However, as Kohli notes, in other cases where extremely popular leaders or parties take power with populist reform plans but with few established linkages to social forces, the governments never succeed in any significant way to bring about change. Such reforms require those prospering under the old system to commit resources to reforms that may undermine their future prosperity in favor of improving the lot of weaker groups in society. The dilemma for the low income democracy, according to Kohli, is that if the polity is organized as a democracy, coercion definitely cannot be the main currency that leaders utilize to influence socioeconomic change. Instead, positive and negative incentives,

persuasion, and selective use of laws backed by the threat of coercion—legitimate domination — take on an increased significance. Within a democracy, therefore, the capacity to initiate

major developmental changes from above comes to rest on a prior capacity of leaders to institutionalize ‘blocs of consensus,’ or to build majority coalitions to support a specific path of change. . . . [This] requires that the link between rulers and supporters, or between the political center and the social periphery, be durable. This durability is likely to exist if the relationship of leaders and supporters is institutionalized through such mechanisms as political parties.33

 

Institutionalizing Dissent

 

Finally, regarding the third dilemma—institutional intolerance for dissent—the four decades since the 1950s have not given Burma any real experience with political institutions that allow, accommodate, and incorporate dissent, dialogue, and difference. The current regime clearly is unwilling to risk reforms in this regard. Moreover, the opposition also exhibits characteristics that seem rather intolerant of and inimical to the development of democratic processes. For example, in January 1997, the opposition National League for Democracy expelled Than Tun and Thein Kyi, two elected members of the never-convened parliament, for insubordination when they refused to sign a mandate giving the NLD’s Central Executive Committee full power to act on behalf of the party. Than Tun and Thein Kyi claimed after the expulsion that their differences with party leaders were over whether to compromise in the process of bringing SLORC to the negotiating table. According to Than Tun: “We are trying to put up these different ideas and ways for the NLD to survive through these difficult times. . . . We must get dialogue first . . . the SLORC is ignoring us all the time. They [NLD leaders] want to stick to principles. To get compromise you must not always stick to principles.”34 Given the censorship of political information, it is difficult to know whether such actions are justified (i.e., if the NLD

had evidence that the two members were SLORC plants, as some diplomats have suggested), representative, or taken out of context. However, anti-government student groups and political parties over the last nine years have shown a distinct tendency either to expel purveyors of minority views (who then form their own party or group) or to fragment around leaders of uncompromising positions.35

Some might argue that intolerance for dissent suggests an immutable cultural flaw in the Burmese personality. Yet the 1950s were not a completely lost cause for democratic practices, institutions, and dissent. While in practice the elections, constitutionalism, and civilian rule had their flaws and proved untenable in the crises of the 1950s, Burmese culture did not impede the emergence of such promising developments as loyal opposition (even under great repression), an independent judiciary, and a mobilized electorate.

Instead, I would argue that there may be a more historically discrete factor that accounts for institutionalized intolerance across the generations of “democratic,” “socialist,” and the SPDC’s

Burma. Under colonial, parliamentary, socialist, and post-1988 military rule, conflicts over views, visions, and policies have always been framed as winner-take-all battles. As most national-level

leaders (including the NLD executive committee in early 1997) have conceived of themselves as fighters against an old regime or imperialism or authoritarianism, they have behaved as though

the only answer to conflict was to eliminate it. Accordingly, the only way to eliminate conflict was to enforce unity and solidarity. The future of Burma will continue to look bleak until its leaders develop organizational frameworks that manage and moderate conflict.

. . . the four decades since the 1950s have not given

Burma any real experience with political institutions that allow,

accommodate, and incorporate dissent, dialogue, and difference.

This last dilemma appears to paralyze leaders of contemporary Burma within and outside the government and to make the prospects of sustaining any kind of democratic reform very

doubtful. As political theorist Bonnie Honig recently noted, democracy cannot exist without contest and contestation and without differences in opinions, outlooks, dreams, and demands.

To take difference . . . seriously in democratic theory is to affirm the inescapability of conflict and the ineradicability of resistance to the political and moral projects of ordering subjects, institutions and values. Moreover, it requires that we recast the task of democratic theory, and move it beyond that of simply orchestrating multiple and conflicting group needs and toward a new responsiveness to that first task’s propensity to involve democratic cultures and institutions in violent and resentful dynamics of identity/difference. It is to give up on the dream of a place called home, a place free of power, conflict, and struggle, a place—an

identity, a form of life, a group vision—unmarked or unriven by difference . . . 36

Common to both the SLORC and the NLD is an overarching emphasis on unity and solidarity that is simply inimical to the development of institutional mechanisms that can accommodate the needs and demands of the broad range of social forces that exist throughout the country. This political debate could come right out of the debates of 1946 and 1947, during which Aung San was attempting to rally disunited forces to stand up to the British one more time for

the cause of independence: “We must take care that ‘United we stand’ not ‘United we fall.’[sic] . . . Unity is the foundation. Let this fact be engraved in your memory, ye who hearken to

me, and go ye to your appointed tasks with diligence.”37 As a means to independence, this unified show of force was probably critical in moving the British to grant independence. However,

unity became an end in itself, and in many ways, by virtue of historical habit, politics has never grown out of this phase.

 

Rethinking U.S Policy

 

If pro-democracy policies must be tailored “to the specific circumstances of each country,” as John Shattuck, U.S. Assistant Secretary of State for Democracy, Human Rights, and Labor, recently told Congress, then the historical legacies that have shaped Burma’s political system since independence must be addressed in any assessment of U.S. policy.38 The review of Burma’s experiment in democracy—from 1948 to 1958, and again from 1960 to 1962—has pointed to three systemic barriers to the development of democratic governance. These barriers weakened and ultimately contributed to the end of democracy in the 1950s, and would do the same again unless careful reforms are crafted to eliminate the structural problems. Some of those policies can only

come from Burmese government and opposition leaders. But in its single-minded focus on eliminating military rule and in its tendency to ignore long-term barriers to reform, U.S. policy probably impedes progress toward the establishment of sustainable democratic political institutions.

The first structural weakness identified was that of establishing a federal political system that could serve as the basis of an integrated “Burma” by granting concrete concessions and

rights to minority populations. This study suggests that ethnic Burman and minority leaders inside the country should look into consociational approaches to this kind of reform. Where the

United States might play a bigger role is through a more judicious allocation of pro-democracy assistance by the National Endowment for Democracy. Most of the more than $2 million in democracy assistance funds allocated to Burmese groups has gone to single-ethnicity, minority groups fighting the SLORC/SPDC; the NLD exiles who fled Burma after the 1988–1990 interlude; and the National Coalition for the Government of the Union of Burma, the government-in-exile formed by Dr. Sein Win and others who were elected to parliament in 1990 but forced to flee the country.39 To the degree that the United States has supported coalition-building across ethnic boundaries, it has been based purely on an anti-junta appeal. While each of these groups is doing important work, the NED grants show little emphasis on developing the kind of cross-ethnic empathy that will be necessary to forging a multi-ethnic, democratic state. Such programs should not be geared toward “Burmanizing” the minorities, but instead should attempt to raise

the level of understanding among majority Burmans and all the minorities about their fellow citizens’ respective plights. For example, it is significant that no grants have ever been requested

or awarded to establish a program to teach ethnic-majority Burmans to speak the languages of their fellow citizens of minority ethnicity, although a significant number of grants support the

publication of anti-SLORC/SPDC literature in the Burmese language. Without establishing concrete cross-ethnic linkages between minorities and between minority and majority ethnicities,

“Burma” remains and will remain in the future a fantasy, unrealizable by democratic and authoritarian rulers alike.

The second dilemma, that of the weakness of national-level institutions across a socially fragmented society, requires far more prudent policies on the part of the United States in the fostering of horizontal linkages among different fragments of the population of Burma. Certainly, there should be no attempt to do this by strengthening state capacity vis-à-vis society under the current regime. Hence, pro-democracy advocates should turn to the strengthening of civil society as a means to overcome the centuries-old cellurization of Burmese society.40 However, the diplomatic and economic repudiation of SLORC/SPDC has cost the United States the

opportunity to support the development of the kind of autonomous, associational life that has played a role in the transitions from authoritarian rule in other countries. Currently, U.S. democratic

assistance programs can finance the efforts only of expatriate and overseas groups, many of which have weak links to individuals or nascent associations inside Burma. These overseas groups may play a role in a future transition, but there is no guarantee that an expatriate movement’s overseas mobilization techniques and organizations will address the fragmentation inside Burma that has long made all varieties of governance difficult, and democratic governance— in particular—unsustainable.

Finally, in regard to the third dilemma, current U.S. policy reinforces historical intolerance toward dissenting opinions. U.S. policy aims primarily at dethroning SLORC/SPDC and in doing

so frames the debate over Burma around an unrealistic and politically dangerous dualism. This dualism pits the forces of good (Suu Kyi, the NLD, and the United States) against the forces of evil (the SLORC/SPDC and the military). This mirrors the SLORC/SPDC world view which simply reverses the line-up of forces. As in the 1950s, politics in this framework remains an all-or-nothing struggle. In comparative historical perspective, the problem with this formulation is that such a rigid structuring of politics is unlikely to facilitate reform, either in the case of the government or the opposition. If we examine the actual experiences that have led to the establishment of sustainable, responsive, representative systems of governance in other repressive political systems, transitions from authoritarian rule have occurred in two ways. In a few instances, a national catastrophe destroyed the existing political system, creating a historical rupture that allowed populist, democratic forces to rebuild the system in a more open, transparent, responsive way. An example of this route would be Argentina’s political liberalization following the military regime’s debacle in the Falklands-Malvinas war in 1982.41 Most successful transitions, however, have been “pacted” ones in which reform-minded leaders of the authoritarian system separated themselves from the hard-line authoritarians in the governing elite and began

cooperating with moderate pro-democratic reformers, who in turn abandoned earlier alliances with anti-regime radicals demanding the outright destruction of every leader and institution of the old regime.42

Unless democracy advocates are counting on a national catastrophe in Burma, the pro-democracy movement appears aimed not at democratization, but only at unseating SLORC/SPDC.

Demonization of the regime raises the costs of conciliation for all parties involved, as compromise can be interpreted only as capitulation in such an all-or-nothing environment. Upon Suu

Kyi’s release from house arrest, it was apparent that she realized the inefficacy of the good-vs.- evil framework when she preached conciliation and negotiation with the SLORC. At the time, she hoped to bring about reform without repeating the bloodshed of 1988’s national catastrophe.

However, the regime’s refusal to meet with her weakened her position within the opposition, as the more radically anti-junta members of the NLD leadership held up the failure at conciliation as evidence that the NLD would never be able to work with SLORC/SPDC.

SLORC’s closure of that window of opportunity for a peaceful transition appears to have led pro-reform forces to conclude that there is no hope for the junta to ever “pact” a transition or tolerate dissent, unless the United States and the international community forces it to do so.

However, there may be other ways to take a longer-term approach to lowering the costs of negotiation for the regime. If democracy advocates would abandon the good-vs.-evil framework

for interpreting the present situation, it might be possible to approach transition issues based on a better, more realistic understanding of the complexity of Burma’s barriers to democracy.

For example, democracy advocates need to recognize that the destruction of the apparently evil military may not be in the best interests of the Burmese population, a view concealed by the pro-democracy movement’s conflation of the politically oppressive junta with the 400,000- strong military. Reform advocates need to keep in mind that although there is no reason to maintain such bloated force levels in the future tatmadaw, no prospective Burmese regime — democratic or authoritarian—can forego reliance on a security force of some magnitude given the piracy, drug problems, and Chinese threat in the region. Moreover, the polarized nature of the debate has concealed the fact that the outright dissolution or massive demobilization of the tatmadaw is frankly not in the interests of most Burmese families. It is difficult to find a family in Burma today that does not rely on some member, distant or immediate, whose service in the armed forces provides the family with access to higher-quality rice, cheaper cooking oil, and

other necessities that they cannot afford on the inflationary market. The United States must keep these realities in mind and should take a longer term view toward the development of

democratic institutions that will improve the capacity to govern the country over the long term.

In this respect, the United States might support programs to educate Burmese opposition leaders and citizens about the role of militaries in other transitions to democracies, covering such

basic issues as demobilization and reintegration into society of former soldiers; the establishment of civilian control of the military; and rule of law. An opposition that shows a nuanced

understanding of these issues—rather than one that simply denounces the military en masse — can lower the costs of compromise for members of the junta who may be leaning toward reform.

 

Conclusion

At this point, U.S. policy sanctions the military regime for its anti-democratic behavior. To date, Congress has allocated more than $2 million to assist anti-junta groups outside of Burma in their efforts to fight the regime. Very little can be done with groups inside Burma because of the junta’s restrictions on opposition collaboration with foreigners and because of the very minimal

U.S. government presence in Burma. As currently configured, U.S. policy may help to bring down the SLORC/SPDC, but because it does not address the other decades-old obstacles to democratization, it is unlikely to advance the cause of sustainable, long-term democracy in the very difficult conditions that characterize Burma today.

While it is difficult to assess the effects of the ban on U.S. investment because of its relative recency and the unavailability of accurate economic data, it is possible to look back over the last

decade to determine whether the punitive policies of the United States in general have resulted in any major concessions by the junta. In fact, if we look at the major political concession that the

regime has made over the last nine years of military rule, the linkages to U.S. policy are tenuous.

It is possible that the decision to release Aung San Suu Kyi from house arrest in July 1995 may have been influenced by international diplomatic pressure; her release came three days before a hearing was scheduled in the U.S. Congress to debate economic sanctions against SLORC. However, this linkage cannot be overstated since the junta paid no attention when the United States demanded that SLORC begin meeting with NLD leaders to discuss reform, and upon its refusal, retaliated with the investment ban in 1997. This suggests that other factors were at work in 1995.

SLORC would never have heeded U.S. pressure to release Suu Kyi if it had not resolved a dangerous internal split the month before. In the first five years of junta rule, tensions mounted between

powerful regional commanders and the Rangoon-based leadership. Throughout the first half of 1995, SLORC struggled to curb the incipient warlordism of upcountry regional commanders. It finally managed in June 1995 to lure the most powerful commanders to Rangoon where they took on lucrative portfolios and where SLORC could tighten its control over them. Confidence in its hold on power—not fear of retaliation by foreign countries—led the junta to release Suu Kyi.

This is not to suggest that international pressure has not weakened the junta or moved it toward important changes. Disgruntled hotel operators boasting very high vacancy rates report that Aung San Suu Kyi’s call on the world to boycott Burma’s Year of the Tourist, which ran from late 1996 through 1997, accounts for the utter failure of the regime’s attempt to promote tourism as a first step toward generating capital for its market reforms. During one mid-evening journey around Rangoon in September 1997, I counted fewer than two dozen lights on in the hundreds of guest rooms at the Sedona and Traders’ hotels. It was no coincidence that the cabinet minister responsible for tourism was one of the first to go in the November 1997 cabinet reshuffle.

However, U.S. sanctions against SLORC/SPDC had nothing to do with this campaign and subsequent junta reform. In fact, the U.S. government’s pro-democracy, anti-junta policy failed to get any results in Burma. More importantly, because of its disregard for the lessons learned in other transitions from repressive regimes to sustainable, responsive, representative systems of governance, U.S. policy is probably counterproductive in its single-minded focus on destroying the junta. Unless the United States is counting on a national catastrophe, U.S. policy is very likely to result not in democratization, but only in the unseating of SLORC/SPDC. The latter may happen, but, unfortunately, only at the cost of the former. Policymakers should take a longer-term view and help to facilitate the development of democratic institutions that will have

the capacity to govern the country.

 

 

 

State Formation in the Shadow of the Raj:

Violence, Warfare and Politics in Colonial Burma

Mary P. CALLAHAN

Southeast Asian Studies, Vol. 39, No. 4, March 2002

“Normally, society is organized for life; the object

of Leviathan was to organise it for production.”

J.S. Furnivall [1939: 124]

 

[Compiler’s note: Material in this article was later used in Callahan’s “Making Enemies: War and state building in Burma” (2004). Callahan’s acknowledgements have been omitted here.]

 

Abstract

 

This article examines the construction of the colonial security apparatus in Burma, within the broader British colonial project in eastern Asia. During the colonial period, the state in Burma was built by default, as no one in London or India ever mapped out a strategy for establishing governance in this outpost. Instead of sending in legal, commercial or police experts to establish law and order—the preconditions of the all-important commerce— Britain sent the Indian Army, which faced an intensity and landscape of guerilla resistance never anticipated. Early forays into the establishment of law and order increasingly became based on conceptions of the population as enemies to be pacified, rather than subjects to be incorporated into or even ignored by the newly defined political entity. The character of armed administration in colonial Burma had a disproportionate impact on how that population came to be regarded, treated, legalized and made into subjects of the Raj. Administrative simplifications along territorial and racial lines resulted in political, economic, and social boundaries that continue to divide the country today. Bureaucratic and security mechanisms politicized violence along territorial and racial lines, creating “two Burmas” in the administrative and security arms of the state. Despite the “laissez-faire” proclamations of colonial state officials in Burma, this geographically and functionally limited state nonetheless established durable administrative structures that precluded any significant integration throughout the territory for a century to come.

This article explores the relationship among violence, warfare and politics in the colonial outpost of Burma, located geographically, administratively and politically deep in the shadow of Britain’s flagship colony, India. I argue that the process by which Britain built a modern state in Burma enshrined violence as the currency of politics. As in other societies, war and crisis in colonial Burma created institutions with staying power, and in this case

created relations between state and society that have been and continue to be what Charles Tilly [1990] calls, “coercion-intensive.” Hardly the product of any colonial plot or intention, the coercion-intensive institutions that have dominated governance throughout

the twentieth century were, as Florencia Mallon [1994: 69] suggests, “the products of previous conflicts and confrontations,” and were imbedded with “the sediments of earlier struggles.”

The exigencies of colonial warfare in Burma deposited the sediments of a coercion-intensive political relationship between state and society. In this article, I show how ad hoc colonial political arrangements hardened into durable institutions and practices. The process of adding Burma to colonial India in the nineteenth century was far from smooth, and engaged first the East India Company and then a succession of unimaginative governors- general in a particular variant of state-building that never paid for itself, never accommodated any local interests, and never hesitated to call in firepower when the profits of European firms were threatened. From the nineteenth century on, Burma was a territorial and administrative appendage to India, serving as a buffer zone between French Indo-China and India. As such, Burma was never a priority in British imperial policy. At best, the British built a “skinny” or minimalist state, aimed at letting commerce flourish (which it did) and paying for itself (which it never did) by taxation of land and some commerce.

Paying for itself required pacifying the Burmese population following the three Anglo-Burmese wars. The pacifiers—Indian Army soldiers—had no way to communicate with locals and little information about the terrain or the unexpectedly dangerous enemy, and soon came to see little distinction between new subjects of the Crown and new enemies of the Crown. To a large degree, pacification was never entirely accomplished, and

the skinny state was filled out with the coercive muscles of British and Indian army units.

The power and modernity of this unprecedentedly organized force was not lost on individuals and groups resisting the skinny state. Resisters created anti-state martial organizations that became the core of every major political movement and party in the waning

years of colonialism and the early years after independence.

This coercion-intensive state relationship with Burmese society did not remain static throughout the colonial period. However, changes in the missions, character and make-up of the colonial armed forces—as well as reforms of every other aspect of colonial governance— came out of negotiations and compromises between colonial officials and Indian nationalists in India proper, and not out of any attempts to create channels of input from significant social forces in the colonial province of Burma. In fact, colonial officials increasingly identified most political and social forces in Burma as criminal, even as the same colonial officials began to recognize the difficulty and futility of ruling the province in such a singlemindedly coercive manner. As state-society relations in post World War I India

became more inclusive and more open to conflict and compromise, the colonial regime began a 15-year process of severing Burma administratively from India because this was the one part of the colony where political reforms were unthinkable. The separation

process led to a reorganization of the security forces, which politicized violence along ethnic lines.

At no point in the colonial era did the British state-building enterprise in Burma carry out any of the negotiation and bargaining with social constituencies that proved crucial to the development of responsive, representative governing institutions in Europe, India and other parts of the world. When local populations threatened the order necessary for successful colonial commerce and authority, the state’s response rarely entailed any attempt to win the support of political allies or resource-providers within the populace. Instead, the British repressed, coerced, arrested, exiled and executed murderers and nationalists, robbers and monks, and cattle thieves and student strikers. The formation of modern, bureaucratic states in Burma, as in much of the colonial world, thus established what Crawford Young [1988: 5] calls “a command relationship [between state and] civil society, reflected in its laws, its routine, its mentalities, even its imagery.”

 

Transplanting the British-Indian Colonial State

 

In the nineteenth century, diplomatic tensions and commercial competition between France and Britain over the natural resources available in Southeast Asia and over the security of Britain’s flagship colony in India led to Britain’s three-stage, gradual takeover of all territory now considered part of “Burma.” In the three Anglo-Burmese wars of 1825–26, 1852, and 1885–86, British-Indian troops dispatched from Madras and Bengal defeated the armies of the increasingly weak Burmese kings of the Konbaung dynasty. None of these wars were waged with a coherent, expansionist vision of a future “British Burma,” and the state that was established by default in post-1886 Burma was simply an

appendage to the colonial regime in India. The Government of India paid the bills for the expensive battles in Burma, and its model of administration and the bureaucrats to run it were assembled in India and transported to Burma following the proclaimed victory of the Indian Army in 1886. The colonial state was never “built” per se; it was transported from India.

Unlike British colonies in Africa, state-building was never explicitly a military enterprise in Burma. There was never a Military Governor. Colonial administrators sailed over from the other three provinces of India, bringing along English-speaking, mostly civilian,

Indian clerks to staff the state. Unlike in Africa, there were no significant armed European competitors for control over Burmese territory; the British and Indian Army garrisons established after the final annexation were strictly instruments of internal security, rather than of foreign policy. In a sense, the British-Indian state hit Burmese territory running. It was comprised of a relatively professional, modern, tested bureaucracy, developed over a century of experience in India and well-suited to the needs of the

Bombay-Burma Trading Corporation and other powerful commercial interests seeking a rapid establishment of law and order and an expansion of business opportunities in resource-rich Burma.

After 1886, colonial rule brought to Burmese society unprecedented changes, most of which benefited British and other foreign commercial interests at the expense of the majority of indigenous peoples. Many historians point to Chief Commissioner Charles

Crosthwaite’s implantation of the Indian system of local administration in Burma as one of the most important causes of the destruction of the social and cultural fabric of late nineteenth

century Burma [Crosthwaite 1968 [1912]; Cady 1958; Furnivall 1956 [1948]; Hall 1968; Mya Sein 1938]. Crosthwaite’s Village Act was passed as an instrument of martial law during the pacification campaign (1886–90) in villages throughout Upper and Lower Burma. The Act broke up traditional local-level administrative organizations, which Crosthwaite saw as giving rise to banditry and organized resistance to British rule. The traditional, non-territorial ties of the indigenous social unit (called the myo) of central Burma were replaced by the Indian administrative and territorial unit of the village. The new village system led to a gradual but steady increase in centralization and government involvement in the daily lives of the indigenous people. As Furnivall [1956 [1948]: 40]

wrote, Even up to 1900 the people saw little of any Government officials, and very few ever caught more than a passing glimpse of a European official. By 1923 the Government was no longer remote

from the people but, through various departmental subordinates, touched on almost every aspect of private life.

If Furnivall is right, by the 1920s, the British had constructed a modern bureaucratic state in Burma. Along the way, a whole class of traditional local officials were eliminated, destroying centuries-old social ties at the myo level. In the process, state-building via the Village Act actually paved the way for a longer-term trend of lawlessness and disorder.

From the turn of the century onward, Burma became the most dangerous place in the empire, with Rangoon boasting the highest murder rates for any colonial city [Harvey 1946: 40]. While the destruction of local authority did not cause these increases in violent crime—which more probably resulted from the dislocations experienced with the intrusions of the modern capitalist economy in precapitalist, agrarian Burma—it nonetheless eliminated traditional social controls and curbs on lawlessness, which was the absolute

opposite of Crosthwaite’s intention.

 

 

Coercion and the State in British Burma

 

Reorganizing Burmese society “for production,” in Furnivall’s words, required from 1885 (and arguably, from 1826) all the way through to 1942 a form of governance that one historian likens to “martial law” [Trocki 1992: 120]. The political and combat roles played by units of the British Indian Army in the early years after the 1885–86 war institutionalized an unequal relationship between military and civil authorities—in favor of military authority—that would greatly influence the development of future military and civil institutions in Burma.

 

Resistance and Rebellion

 

This military-dominated set-up did not come out of any coherent British or British-Indian plans to build a state around coercion. In fact, the post-conquest role of British-Indian troops was never much considered by the civilian or military authorities plotting the conquest from India. While British-Indian forces faced little effective resistance from the Burmese king’s army in the final annexation, the British occupation of Upper Burma in late 1885 sparked disturbances throughout the region and triggered a new round of resistance, dacoity, brigandage and rebellion in Lower Burma. By mid-1886, “a truly formidable rebellion had enveloped the country,” and the Government of India deployed upwards

of 16,000 reinforcement troops to back up the original expeditionary force [Cady 1958:

129–130; see also Hailes 1967; Ni Ni Myint 1983; Woodman 1962; Wylly 1927]. Ten military outposts were set up throughout Upper Burma to attempt to control local resistance.

Although the resistance lacked any centralized leadership and was comprised largely of small rebel groups and a handful of locally-popular “pretender-kings” hoping to re-establish indigenous rule, the violence nonetheless spread through every district of Upper

Burma and most of Lower Burma. Historian Cady [1958: 133] notes, “In many plains villages of Burma practically every household had some male member fighting with a rebel gang.” A regimental history of the Third Gurkha Rifles, which served in the campaign,

blamed the expedition commander’s “error of judgment” in allowing “the disbandment of King Thebaw’s [sic] army. . . . [H]undreds of Burmese soldiery were allowed to disperse,

with their arms, all over the country” [Woodyatt n.d.: 50, italics mine].

At the outbreak of violence in December 1885, British-Indian troops shot anyone caught possessing arms or engaging in pillage; they also burned villages where they encountered any resistance and conducted public floggings of alleged rebels. Another Indian Army regimental history [Hennell 1985: 134] defended these harsh tactics, given the Indian Army’s lack of expertise in guerrilla warfare: In practically all engagements with the enemy we had to fight an invisible foe. The dacoits waylaid our troops as they came up the river in boats or by road marches, poured forth a heavy fire upon the advancing forces as they got within range. Not only was it difficult to locate the enemy in their hidden lairs, but our men laboured under the vast disadvantage of having to force their way through the close undergrowth of an unknown forest, whilst the enemy knew all the ins and outs of their tangled labyrinths and were able to keep concealed. . . . Our only means of punishment

was to burn these villages.

 

These ruthless tactics backfired on the British. Villagers responded to the repressive measures by banding together to attack military posts. Eventually, Gen. Prendergrast, commander of the British-Indian expeditionary force ordered an end to summary executions

and village burning. Later, the 10 military posts were expanded to 25; detachments patrolled actively between posts, breaking up larger bands of rebels into smaller units. By February 1887, 40,500 British and Indian troops were fighting in Burma, and in some

areas of Upper Burma, armed garrisons were established every 10 to 15 miles [Cady 1958: 125–137].

By 1890, British-Indian troops had extinguished much of the rebellion, breaking up most large bands of rebels and forcing pretender-kings into hiding. In Upper Burma, order was maintained by 30,000 troops and Indian police; another 5,300 were assigned to Lower Burma. The cost of the annexation and subsequent pacification campaign increased from the original estimate of 􀋊300,000 to 􀋊635,000 in 1885–86, to more than twice that

amount in 1888 [ibid.: 135–137].

As order was restored to most of Burma, the majority of Indian Army troops were sent back to India, martial law was lifted and a civilian administration took over in local and national affairs. However, both British and Indian Army troops were garrisoned in Burma throughout the first half of the twentieth century. In 1938, there were 10,365 army troops in Burma; of these 4,713 were British (led by 358 British officers), in addition to roughly 3,000 Indians and nearly 3,000 indigenous Karens, Chins and Kachins [Notes on the Land Forces].

 

Pacification and Internal Security

 

What did these soldiers do in Burma? Beginning with the pacification campaigns described above and continuing throughout the colonial period with the armed forces’ deployment to put down threats to commerce and order, the function of Indian and British army units was primarily internal security. As in other British colonies where early interaction between the populace and the military was coercive and repressive in nature, colonial security policies “left a deep rift in army-society interaction” [Frazer 1994: 59]. From the very beginning of the pacification campaigns, the first contact much of the population of rural central Burma had with the colonial state was with the 40,000 British-Indian Army troops in Burma. In those first years following annexation, Indian Army units also pressed Burmese villagers into service for public works projects, including building roads and railways.

Following the third pacification period in the 1890s, the reduced, peacetime contingent of the armed forces served in two roles: first, as territorial forces, defending the frontier areas which were considered the major strategic threat in the territory; and second, as a back-up to civil and military police charged with maintaining law and order in both the frontier and the central regions.

In terms of territorial defense of the frontier areas of Burma, the British Indian Army arrived in these regions as a pacification force, just as it had in the central regions. After the third Anglo-Burmese war, some Shan sawbwas (traditional leaders) acquiesced to British

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plans to establish indirect rule in the hilly northeastern regions. In exchange for retaining their local authority over law and order within their domains, the cooperating sawbwas granted British concerns free trade and commerce in their regions. However, local leaders in the Chin and Kachin hills organized fairly extensive resistance to British overtures in the aftermath of the 1885–86 war. Most local leaders in these regions had been nearly autonomous under the Konbaung state, aside from occasional demands for tribute; hence British intrusions were not appreciated. Eventually, the British were able to convince most Chin and Kachin leaders to accept British authority in return for a promise not to interfere with local politics and customs and not to undermine the local chiefs’ taxation powers with their subjects. When a few local leaders refused to grant British demands, the British Indian Army conducted punitive raids on those areas.

The army’s ongoing role in the internal affairs of the frontier regions was fairly minimal from the conclusion of the pacification period through the 1930s. As Taylor [1987: 160] argued:

During much of the British period, the central state’s authority in more remote areas amounted to little more than periodic “flag marches” in which the symbol of state supremacy was displayed and the promise of punishment for unruly behavior was made.

Occasionally, the British representative in a Shan state called upon British-Indian troops to put down a popular rebellion sparked by a tax increase or other repressive measure undertaken by one of the sawbwas. However, most of the colonial period was characterized by relative peace in the hill regions, and whatever conflicts arose between villages and tribes usually were resolved peacefully, given the threat of punishment by British-Indian troops. With the approach of World War II, the Shan states, in particular, emerged as a region of strategic threat in the colony. For centuries, these regions had been vulnerable to or even been the bases of invading armies that attacked the Irrawaddy basin. In the buildup of forces preceding the war, Britain developed a more extensive territorial defence of the hill regions, allowing Shan sawbwas to recruit their own military forces and deploying more than 10,000 other Frontier Force troops in the frontier areas.

Nonetheless, the significance of this expansion should not be overstated. It is important to note that throughout the colonial period and right up until the Japanese invasion, British officials did not perceive any imminent threat to the borders of Burma. Hence,

according to a 1938 Colonial Office assessment of the armed forces in Burma, “the primary role of the Army in Burma” throughout the colonial era was not border defense but instead “Internal Security” [Notes on the Land Forces]. As far as the British-Indian Army was concerned, Burma was never a strategic concern, and as such received little consideration in army policy reviews even after World War II had begun in Europe.

Responsibility for internal security in the central plains region was the main occupation of the military. Formally this responsibility was divided between police and military units, but the British were never able to establish a functional police force in Burma.

During the pacification campaign that followed the second Anglo-Burmese war, the British raised indigenous local police forces to maintain law and order in the villages and towns.

At first, British officials tried to identify a traditional village leader who could take over police duties and chose the kyedangyi, the largest taxpayer who traditionally assisted the thu-gyi (headman) with revenue collection and police responsibilities. In a typical British colonial practice, the kyedangyi was appointed as an unarmed and initially unpaid constable.

By the 1880s, the anti-British rebellions had undermined the legitimacy and authority that the kyedangyis had long held, and the British had great difficulties recruiting local police officers, despite their offers of attractive salaries. Nonetheless, the British managed

to reorganize local administrative units under Crosthwaite’s Village Act, and from about 1890 on, made the new state-appointed headmen of the amalgamated village units responsible for maintaining order. In fact, the annual reports of the colonial provincial government in Burma placed the summary of “village affairs” in the section headed, “police administration” [Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 75].

Later, the British gave up this police conscription system at the local level and tried to centralize law enforcement administration. The Deputy Commissioner of each district was assigned a District Superintendent of Police (DSP), about half of whom were British or

Indian, while the other half were mostly Anglo-Burmans and Karens from Lower Burma.

Under the DSP were locally-recruited town and village constables, most of whom were unarmed until the late 1930s when the administration authorized each village to hold two or three firearms to ward off bandits.

The Village Act and the increasing destruction of the rural agrarian economy created the conditions that led to Burma being “consistently the most criminal province in the empire” throughout the twentieth century colonial period [Christian 1942: 152]. The

British-Indian Government responded to this problem by authorizing frequent enlargements and reorganizations of the more centralized civilian police force. As Donnison [1953:42] noted: “The accepted treatment was to strengthen that part of the administration whose task it was to combat the criminal, but this cure proved to be no cure for the disease— it was scarcely a palliative.” Observed another former civil servant:

According to Harvey [1946: 38], “England and Wales, with 40 million people, have 140 murders a year; Burma, with only 15 million, had 900.

The population was growing rapidly, but crime grew more rapidly. Between 1900 and the outbreak of war in 1914 the population increased by about 15 percent, the number of police rose

from one for every 789 people to one for every 744, but crime increased by 26 percent. [Furnivall1956 [1948]: 139] In areas with higher-than-average crime rates, the civilian police were reinforced by “punitive police.” Under the Police Act, collective penalties were imposed over localities by quartering a unit of this Indian-dominated, armed police force, paid for by fees added to the land taxes of the local community. Still, crime rates continued to increase. From 1911 to 1921, the population increased by about 9 percent, but the increase of major crimes “ranged from 31 percent in the case of murder to 109 percent in the case of robbery and

dacoity” [Government of India 1920–21, quoted in Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 139].

The corruption of the “ill-educated, ill-paid policemen” became a favorite target for Burmese nationalist politicians in the early 1920s, in part because of the sorry state of the civilian police forces, but also because “of the political control exercised by the police” [Moscotti 1974: 37]. One of the first acts of the Legislative Council established under the new 1923 constitution was an attempt to clean up the civilian police force by increasing pay to qualified officers and terminating the contracts of corrupt, unqualified ones.

However, the attempt failed miserably when a subsequent increase in robbery and dacoity forced the reinstatement of the fired officers and the re-lowering of standards.

These failures to establish any kind of effective local policing established the pattern of order maintenance that exists to today: when local affairs get unruly, the state sends in the military. The ineffectiveness of the civilian police led to the deployment of units of the Indian and British army and the expansion of the Military Police in times of trouble. The Military Police were established in 1886 for use in the final pacification campaign and grew to nine battalions by 1935 [Prasad 1963: 42]. Unlike the civilian police with its indigenous recruits, the Military Police consisted of almost entirely of Indians, with British officers in command positions usually on secondment from the British or Indian armies. They were the only police force to carry firearms regularly in Burma. Christian

[1942: 161] describes these units as constituting something of a strike force, “serving as mobile, well-armed police for duty in case of racial disturbances, riots, disasters, and similar emergencies that cannot be dealt with by local authorities.” From about 1920 onward, every year there was at least one instance in which the armed forces and the military police were called out to put down communal, nationalist or labor uprisings. The most prominent of these disturbances—the Hsaya San peasant rebellion of 1930–32—led to the immediate deployment of military, supported by administrative units operated by civilian police. Reinforcement troops came from India, and by June 1931, the British governor had

sent in roughly 8,100 Indian and British army troops to fight the small, dispersed groups of unarmed peasants. [Furnivall derived his statistics from Government of India [1877–78; 1910–11; 1914–15].

Three months later, six more Indian battalions and one more British battalion arrived from India, bringing British military strength to more than 10,000.

[Compiler’s note: In converting this article from an Adobe PDF file, a “floating” piece of text was found. An appropriate point to insert it seems to be here: The official history of the tatmadaw [Sitthamàin pyádaik (War History Museum) 1994: 44] has somewhat higher numbers: “In the fighting against Burmese rebels, the British used its infantry, cavalry, navy, artillery and other forces, bringing their strength to 50,000.” However, no primary sources are cited.]

 

Additionally, levies of Karens were raised and armed to fight against Burman rebel bands in the Delta [Cady 1958: 316].

Hence, beginning with the pacification campaign of 1885–90 onward, the coercive organizations of the colonial state played a significant role in reorganizing Burmese society for production for the world market. British colonial definitions of “crime” and “internal security” brought charged murderers, cattle thieves, robbers, rebels, Buddhist monks, labor organizers and starving, scavenging peasants into a legal system that treated them all similarly, and for the first time ever as enemies of the state. Facing these enemies, the colonial state relied extensively on the armed forces and police to control nearly all forms of criminal and political behavior throughout the colonial period. Even though widespread

nationalist-oriented political mobilization did not occur until the 1920s, the population of Burma had had extensive experience with the military arm of the colonial state beginning in 1886, with the frequent deployment of armed force in combating colonially defined crime. One of the “residues of the colonial state” [Young 1988: 28] which shaped postcolonial state-society relations is this prominent role of the military—vis-a-vis other state institutions—in controlling individual and social behavior.

Clearly, armed force played a significant role in the governance of colonial Burma.

The British state, which has long been characterized as “laissez-faire” in its organization of Burmese society for production, did not hesitate to employ coercion when there was any perception of a threat to British commerce and authority.􀌐􀊣The “laissez-faire” response of the colonial state to the enormous social and economic dislocations that came with the intrusion of the world economy and the commercialization of agriculture in Burma was to attempt to arrest and coerce the victims of these processes. This was undoubtedly a skinny state, barely capable of keeping the trains running and collecting enough land revenue to pay its police. Beyond the main lines of communication in the central region, this state barely existed. But where it did, it had big muscles. The slightest challenge to tenuous colonial order provoked automatic deployments of armed force, establishing a coercion-intensive

relationship between armed force and the state, and between the state and society, that carried over into the postcolonial period.

Furnivall’s [1956 [1948]] characterization of the “laissez-faire” nature of the British colonial state in Burma has never really been challenged. It is beyond the scope of this article to analyze the full nature of state-society relations in the colonial era, but simply looking at the state’s lack of welfare policy—as Furnivall does—misses the more “hands-on” approach taken to issues of social and crime control. It is hard to understand how a state that destroys a centuries-old traditional social system, imports more than 300,000 coolies from India to serve as laborers, and maintains law and order by resort to armed force in most situations can be characterized

as “laissez-faire.”

 

The Armed Forces in British Burma: Indigenous Participation

 

There were variations in the nature of this command relationship between the state and the population over time and territory, most notably in the regions where the British accommodated some of the demands of traditional rulers in the frontier regions. State-building

in colonial Burma, however, never followed the European-style state-building pattern of contestation, negotiation, accommodation and compromise between state officials and social forces. Nonetheless, the most enduring changes in state-building and the deployment of coercion in Burma came as a result of contestation and accommodation carried out by colonial officials and nationalists in India. The colonial organization of Burmese society for production, extraction and trade underwent two major institutional modifications under British rule that were outcomes of changes in governance in India.

From 1885 until 1923, Burma was designated a province of India, added to the existing three provinces, Madras, Bengal and Bombay. Notably, prior to the arrival of the British, most of the territory of modern Burma had never come under the rule of any sovereign based in India. After the three Anglo-Burmese wars, all major decisions about the new province were made or had to be approved by the Governor-General of India [Taylor 1974: 94].

The first change in this administrative set-up came after World War I, when Britain began planning for India’s eventual transition to self-government. London’s shift in policy came at least partially out of wartime pledges for greater political autonomy by British officials eager to entice India to provide more troops for the British war effort. However, the impossibility of Burma’s membership in a future independent Indian federation loomed large in the minds of colonial officials and Indian nationalists. Britain began formulating plans to treat Burma differently from the more “advanced” India.

Accordingly, on January 1, 1923, Burma became a full Governor’s Province under a new dyarchy constitution. The Governor of Burma was given a Legislative Council with a majority of seats to be filled by election; additionally, local administrative bodies were to

be partially democratized. Most importantly, as Robert Taylor [ibid.: 90] points out, Burma became a distinct entity in British policy from this time forward:

 All of the major decisions regarding Burma from the 1820’s to 1920 were made in Calcutta or New Delhi, not London. It was the decision in 1918 [implemented in 1923] not to extend . . . reforms [granted India] to the province of Burma that first caused His Majesty’s Government in London to take an active part in shaping Burma. After this event it is possible to write about “British policy” toward Burma.

The separation of Burma from India was aimed at freeing up India from the “Burma problem”

British interests tried to do whatever it took to move their flagship colony, India, toward Dominion status within the Commonwealth [Taylor 1974: 90–94].

The separation of Burma from India was completed in 1935, when another new constitution was enacted (effective in 1937) providing for a distinct, separate colony of Burma for the first time ever. It survived only four years.

What was significant about the two sets of reforms emanating from India was that the character of the armed forces gradually became a political issue in Burma just as Burma emerged as a distinct juridical and administrative entity in British policy. As Burma was

extricated and eventually separated from India, British officials and Burmese nationalist politicians realized that the government would not be able to depend forever on the troops of the Indian Army to keep order. By the early 1920s, leaders of the Indian National

Congress were agitating to bring all overseas units of the Indian Army back to India proper, where they would be used only for defense of Indian territory rather than in the service of the British Empire.

It is important to note that the availability of the Indian Army for internal and external security purposes in Burma first came into question at the same time Burmese nationalists began criticizing British policies that excluded ethnic majority Burmans from the

Indian Army. Although some piecemeal reforms were put into place to modify this exclusion at the time of the 1923 constitutional changes, colonial officials never seriously addressed the issue until separation was declared in 1935. According to former civil servant,

F.S.V. Donnison [1953: 96–97]:

It was not until after the separation of Burma from India [in 1937] had actually taken place that serious consideration was given to the problems of building up a separate Burmese army. . . . A self governing Burma would be overwhelmingly Burman, with 12 million true Burmans as against 4 million minority peoples. The majority race would be unrepresented in the military forces of the new state.

This issue of non-enrollment of indigenous Burmese in the armed forces in Burma actually needs to be broken down into two considerations. First, relative to British practices in the other administrative units of India—which was the reference point for indigenous peoples in Burma—participation by all indigenous groups in the armed forces in Burma was extremely low. Second, an examination of the development of British policy on non-recruitment of ethnic-majority Burmans throughout the colonial period will show that this practice was something of a historical accident—rather than a coherently thought-out policy—resulting from the timing of the annexation of Burma and the particular stage of development of the Indian armed forces. In existing historical analyses, the practice of excluding ethnic majority Burmans has long been characterized as a classic example of British divide et impera. [“divide and rule.”]

This is basically the argument of all postcolonial “official histories.” See Sitthamàin pyádaik (War History Museum) [1994] and Myanmà thamain (Myanmar Historical Commission) [1990]; and Ba Than [1962: 2]. It is true that most of the British-recruited indigenous levies were members of ethnic minorities with some basis for hostility toward the ethnic-majority Burman race, and in fact they dominated the armed forces on the eve of World War II.

However, the recruitment of ethnic minorities did not begin in earnest until World War I, and the absence of any significant numbers of indigenous troops of any ethnicity before 1914 is at least as important in the development of military institutions as the absence of ethnic-majority Burman troops from 1914–42. At various points in the nineteenth century, British Army and civilian officials considered recruiting indigenous peoples to fight alongside the Indian troops. In 1824, the Government of India authorized British-Indian troops to raise a levy of Arakanese to fight the Burmese king’s forces in the first Anglo-Burmese War. As early as 1833, Mons were recruited as soldiers to defend Tenasserim, although the British policy that the Mons be paid less than members of Indian units posted there made recruitment nearly impossible, and the unit languished, being formally disbanded in 1849. When the second Anglo- Burmese War broke out in 1852, the question of recruiting local troops was reopened.

Commissioner Arthur Phayre was authorized to raise a light infantry regiment in Pegu comprised at least in part of Burmans; but in 1861, when the threat of war with the Burmese king had diminished, the Pegu Light Infantry and the Arakan Levy were converted into unarmed civilian police [Sitthamàin pyádaik (War History Museum) 1994:

20–22; Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 178–184]. Over the next three decades, further attempts were made to enlist Karens, perhaps because of the increasing success of the American Baptist missionaries in converting Karens to Christianity and teaching them English. By 1880, the Karen contingent of the levies had grown, accounting for about three-quarters of the two indigenous companies. At the outbreak of widespread violence throughout Upper and Lower Burma after the third Anglo-Burmese War, the American Baptist missionaries successfully lobbied British officials to recruit more Karens as auxiliaries to put down the rebellion; they were disbanded at the end of martial law. In 1891, a Karen Military Police battalion was formed, but problems of discipline led to the dissolution of the unit. The few Karens who were allowed to continue service were distributed among the remaining battalions, which were predominantly Indian [Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 180–181].

By the outbreak of World War I, the number of indigenous members of the army and military police in Burma was probably no more than 300; the indigenous population in 1911 was 12 million [Government of India 1911]. While most observers looked back on the early exclusion of ethnic majority Burmans as the source of great political tensions in the later colonial period, these data suggest that what is more significant about colonial army recruitment is the absence of any appreciable indigenous representation whatsoever in the armed forces. Recruitment policy and practices were not functioning on the basis of a divide-and-rule principle; instead there was no recruitment of indigenous Burmese of any ethnicity.

Because this non-recruitment of any indigenous peoples was especially stark in comparison with the British recruitment of local men into the army in India, one must look for an explanation of why the British did not consider this to be an important issue until the

World War I era. The explanation is rather obvious when one considers the make-up of the forces garrisoned in Burma. After more than a century of development from the earliest guards of the East India Company to battalions “of sepoys, drilled, disciplined and clothed on western lines,” the Indian Army was “accustomed to European officers, under European officers accustomed to Indian ways” [Furnivall 1956 [1948]: 178–181]. Each time the Government of India decided to raise indigenous forces in Burma, it was because a Burma-based British official had made an appeal to do so based on the projected cost savings of not having to send Indian troops to Burma once indigenous troops could be trained to take over external and internal security functions. In most of the cases, the units were disbanded due to higher-than-expected costs vis-a-vis the availability of cheaper, English-speaking, already-trained Indian forces.

 

 

 

 

The Armed Forces in British Burma: Divide-and-Rule

 

Recruiting for the new, World-War-I-era units followed the 20-year-old Indian Army practice of establishing single-race or single-“class” units.􀌓􀊣When the end of the war came, the Government of India reduced its armed forces throughout all its provinces to a peacetime skeleton. Hence, in Burma, as in the rest of India, recruitment was halted for all army and military police units and many of the units formed during the war were disbanded. In Burma, top on the list of units to go were the various Burman-only companies and battalions, easily identifiable given the practice of establishing “class”-specific units.

Furnivall argues that this policy to exclude Burmans came out of British concerns about arming and training Burmans who someday might be swept up in the growing anti-colonial nationalist movement [ibid.: 178–184]. The Indian Army policy of raising class-specific battalions and companies had been established in the wake of the devastating mutiny in 1857, and was similarly designed to contain political and racial tensions; in India, this recruiting policy enabled the British to keep the “politically conscious classes” out of the army [Prasad 1956: 84]. The British had been surprised by the nationwide show of strength in the 1920 Students’ Strike in Burma, and there is no doubt that concerns about Burman nationalism led to the policy of formally banning Burmans from the armed

forces.

By the time of the 1931 census, the impact of the non-recruitment policy was clear

Table 1

Ethnic Composition of the Armed Forces in Burma, 1931

Ethnic Group	No. in Army	Proportion of Army	Proportion of Population
Burman	472	12.30 %	75.11%
Karen	1,448	37.74 %	9.34
Chin	868	22.62	2.38%
Kachin	881	22.96	1.05%
Others	168	4.38	12.12
Total                  3,837                  100                     100

 

Cohen [1990: 35–45] details the policy debate that went on in the aftermath of the 1857 Mutiny over the shift from territorially-based recruitment to the new system based on race and caste, adopted in 1892. The British used the term “class” to refer to one particular ethnic group or caste recruited into the army; hence this system came to be known as “class” recruitment, and the resulting units were called “class” regiments and “class” battalions. Representing roughly 13 percent of the population, the Karen, Kachin and Chin ethnic groups accounted for 83 percent of the indigenous portion of the armed forces in Burma in 1931. Clearly the policy to exclude Burmans—who comprised 75 percent of the population, but only about 12 percent of the indigenous armed forces—was successful. The indigenous contingent of the armed forces in Burma was 10 times larger than it was on the eve of World War I, but the 3,000 new spaces created in the interim provided little access to the ethnic-majority Burmans.

The 1920s policy to dismiss and effectively to ban Burmans from the army came along just as the second generation of the nationalist movement was coming of age. Although nationalist politicians were more concerned with expanding higher education opportunities

and indigenous (and especially ethnic Burman) representation on the Legislative Council, “[t]he belief was in the minds of Burmans that British policy to dismiss Burmans from the armed forces [deliberately] segregated the races” [Myanmà thamàin 1990: 46].

Ethnic tensions had been on the rise since the early part of the century, and increasing Burman resentment of Indian moneylenders, landlords, tenants and laborers led to bloody explosions of anti-Indian emotion during the 1920 strike, as well as later in 1924 and

1931. Although various factions of the nationalist movement competed with each other for popular support and disagreed over a number of contentious issues, all were united in their opposition to the occupation of Burmese territory by foreign “mercenary” (i.e., Indian) troops.

Additionally, the Dobama Asiayone (usually translated “Our Burma Association” or “Our Burmese Association”),􀌔􀊣founded in 1930 in the aftermath of four days of Indo- Burman rioting in Rangoon and moving gradually to the forefront of the nationalist campaign,

developed a new target of anti-colonial, nationalist fervor: the indigenous (non- Indian and non-Chinese) ethnic groups that collaborated with the British imperialists. The dobama’s early successes in popular mobilization came in its campaign aimed at repudiating foreign influences in language, clothing and literature and at affirming the traditions of indigenous Burmese language and clothing.􀌕􀊣This campaign was not aimed against the British colonial officials or Indian mercenaries, but instead targeted the indigenous people who collaborated with the British, took English names, wore English clothes, ate English food, and served the interests of the British. Kei Nemoto argues that the Dobama Asiayone began defining “Our Burma” in opposition to thudo-bama (their Burma) and the thudo were these collaborators who did not love their own country, cherish their own literature or respect their own language [Nemoto 2000]. Dobama writers criticized Karen troops for their participation in putting down the Hsaya San peasant rebellion of 1930–32, the 1936 student strike and the 1938 general strike. These deployments were considered evidence of collaboration on the part of Karen and other minority troops and of British attempts to divide and rule Burma.

 

Political Pocket Armies

 

With no opportunity to obtain military training in the armed forces, the Burman-majority nationalist political organizations began considering how to prepare for the possible use of armed force in their efforts to attain independence from Britain. By the mid-1930s, every major nationalist or religious organization had established its own tat or “army.”

According to U Maung Maung, the idea for this kind of organization was initially discussed in the Young Men’s Buddhist Association (one of the early nationalist organizations) a decade earlier, “but usually the promoters became ambitious and made requests to the government to open Burman military units to serve in the defence of Burma” [Maung Maung 1980: 76]. The first “tat” was founded in 1930 by U Maung Gyee, a conservative politician who was a former Legislative Council member for education and later (1940)

 

 

The dobama’s song became—in slightly different versions—the national anthem during the Japanese Occupation and at independence in 1948. The following are the original lyrics of the

song:

[Burmese script not downloaded]

Burma is our country,

Burmese literature is our literature,

Burmese language is our language,

Love our country,

Award [or praise] our literature,

Respect our language.

From Daw Khin Kyi [1988b: 1]. The above is my translation of the song.

“Tat” is translated as “armed forces,” “troops,” “military,” or “group of people assembled for collective action.” These groups are often referred to in English-language histories as “volunteer

corps,” which was the translation proffered by some of the 1930s politicians in order to camouflage their activities. I prefer to use “tat” throughout because none of the concepts in English translation carry the same range of ambiguity between “a group assembled for collective action” (with no connotation of violence) and “armed forces.”

 

became the first indigenous Defence Councillor. U Maung Gyee’s “Ye-tat” (“Brave” or “Daring” tat) was established to organize and give youths basic military and physical training for the nationalist movement, and units were formed both in major urban areas

and in small towns upcountry. In 1935 and 1936, two prominent groups of young, university- affiliated nationalists also formed cadet corps to provide paramilitary training: first, the Dobama Asiayone established the Burma Letyone (Strength) Tat, and then the university students’ union established the Thanmani (Steel) Tat. Additionally, older politicians like U Saw and Dr. Ba Maw established their own armies, called the Galon Tat and the Dahma (hewing knife) Tat, respectively. Religious organizations also established tats. Prominent Hindus in Rangoon founded the Aryan Veer Dal to coordinate efforts of Hindu Volunteer Corps. In Mandalay, the Thathana Alingyaung (Light of Religion) Tat was formed in June

1940 by followers of Premier U Pu [Taylor 1974: 188–189].

What is strange about the tats is that the British allowed them to exist at all. The British colonial government not only allowed these tats to function, but the Governor of Burma actually reviewed Ye-Tat parades on two different occasions. According to British law, none of these tats could carry firearms, but they nonetheless carried out extensive military drills and war exercises with bamboo staffs. Often wearing uniforms and strutting publicly in formation, these tats provided “protection” at nationalist political demonstrations, workers’ and peasant strikes and elections. Some modeled themselves explicitly and proudly after Hitler’s Brown Shirts, and while their numbers as a proportion of the general population were probably not very large, they nonetheless became a prominent feature of public life. They were particularly visible at National Day celebrations (held on the anniversary of the 1920 students’ strike), leading parades in Rangoon and Mandalay, as well as in towns like Pakkoku, Shwebo, Myingyan, and Yenangyaung.

Although they carried no firearms in public, their military nature should not have been difficult for the British to discern. Nonetheless, at no point in the prewar period were

Burmese nationalists ever arrested for their participation in these tats even though the

 

The galon is a mythical bird; the “Galons” was the name of Hsaya San’s forces during the peasant uprising of 1931–32. U Saw was one of the attorneys who defended Hsaya San, and was trying to remind the Burmese population of his association with the martyred hero.

Robert Taylor’s [1974: 189] analyses of British “Monthly Intelligence Summaries” on Burma in 1940–41 reveals that there were 743 “total live units” of “volunteer corps” operating in Burma in June 1941. Taylor notes that some of these “never got beyond the ‘paper’ stage” and many units were not active.

It is important to note that the fascination with the Hitler’s fascist ideology and practice was based on a fairly superficial understanding of it. These nationalists were trying to figure out how to fight an extremely powerful imperial apparatus, and the idea of mobilizing the masses in the cause of independence—as Hitler had done in the cause of national socialism—was quite appealing. Maung Maung [1980: 256] reports that the Galon Tat of U Saw was particularly inflammatory. He cites an article in U Saw’s newspaper, The Sun, on 28 May 1938, in which U Saw proclaimed he would build his army to a strength of 100,000, and it would be made available to Britain in the coming war in return for a promise of independence. He also published a column in The Sun throughout the month of July 1938 listing the names of youths who had joined the Galons in different towns throughout Burma. Taylor [1974: 189–191] reports that U Saw called himself “commander-in-chief” and publicly announced his plans in 1938 to establish a Cadet Officers’ Training Institution; he tried unsuccessfully to purchase an airplane and seaplane for instructional purposes.

 

 

British Defence of Burma law and public order laws would have authorized such arrests.

In the immediate postwar period, Aung San defended the absorption of his anti-Japanese guerrillas into a political army called the People’s Volunteer Organization (PVO) against British criticisms by pointing out that “volunteer corps [like the PVO] existed in this country before the war and they had been allowed to exist without being a danger to established government or law and order” [Aung San 1993 [1972]: 121].

One possible explanation is that British tolerance of these tats probably arose from the characteristically imperial optimism that the tats would never turn against the British. To wit, British civil servant Leslie Glass discussed the formation of these tats in

his memoirs. Even with the benefit of 40 postcolonial years of hindsight, Glass still maintains the tats were no real threat: “anti-British feeling was not widespread,” he writes [Glass 1985: 131]. More significantly, the timing of the organization of the tats came during a window of opportunity for such anti-state forces to emerge under an otherwise repressive regime. After the Hsaya San rebellion, British policy makers began exploring in earnest the necessity for a full separation of Burma from India, and as Donnison [1953:99] noted, this was the point at which it became clear that Burmans eventually would have to be recruited for the armed forces of a separated Burma. Additionally, growing concerns about the threat of coming war in Europe were accompanied by concerns about the practical issues of how to recruit soldiers from throughout the empire for the war effort, as in World War I. Perhaps this was a time when the Burman-dominated nationalist tats could be tolerated, with the objective that they might be incorporated into the war effort in the long run. Taylor [1974: 188] argues that the British saw the tats “as a means of developing Burma’s capacity of self-defense at a time when the British felt that Burmans were

not fit for military service.” The incorporation of U Maung Gyee’s Ye-Tat into the British-organized Rangoon Defence Volunteer Force supports this proposition.

Regardless of the reasons the colonial state tolerated the tats, what is clear is that the organization of non- or anti-state tats—armed to varying degrees—had at least three important implications for the development of state institutions in Burma. First, these

party-affiliated tats found a space to operate under the powerful colonial regime. The space afforded to these nationalist party tats did not disappear in the early postcolonial era. The proclivity of party politicians throughout the twentieth century to form “private,” “pocket” or “party” armies are a direct result of the lessons learned by the tats of the 1930s. In fact, 1930s tats were active in the anti-Japanese underground in 1944–45 and in early postwar politics, since surviving intact well into the postwar era and led by the same prewar politicians.

Second, the tats further institutionalized the ethnically-demarcated boundaries between “collaborators” and “nationalists.” The colonial state had itself rejected most tat members for enrollment in any state armed force on ethnic grounds. By the late 1930s, after more than a decade of outright rejection of Burman recruitment and several years of operation of non-state armies (the tats), the identification of membership in the government’s armed forces with “collaboration” or thudo-bama yielded little chance that these

tats could be persuaded to cooperate with anyone comprising thudo-bama in the increasingly threatened security environment of Southeast Asia.

Third, it was in the organization of these tats that military terminology, institutions and symbols were Burmanized. Ranks, words of command, and marching songs were all translated into Burmese by leaders of the Ye-Tat and Letyone Tat. The 1936 constitution of the Letyone Tat—called “The Constitution of the Most Dependable Army of Burma”— included the first extensive consideration of military affairs written in Burmese during the

colonial period. One-hundred-fifty items spelled out regulations in Burmese regarding membership in the Letyone Tat, as well as discipline, ranks, officers’ perquisites, training, communication, and the relationship between the tat and the Dobama Asiayone [Khin Kyi 1988b: 113–147].

 

 

 

 

 

Too Little, Too Late

 

When the British finally implemented the full separation from India in 1937 and established for the first time ever the “Burma Command,” it was too late to try to build any kind of numerically significant, integrated army. By the time the ban against enrollment

of Burmans was lifted in 1935, there were few Burmans who could view military service as anything but “collaboration.” And the existence of the various tats which provided military training for a possible anti-colonial revolution meant that the Burmese and Burman nationalists—unlike their counterparts in India in the same years—did not seriously entertain schemes for infiltrating existing units of the British armed forces in Burma for later subversion or simply for the development of tactical and technical skills.

Hence, the creation of the British Burma Army on April 1, 1937, was anti-climactic.

Units of the Indian Army serving in Burma (including the four battalions of the 20^th Burma Rifles and detachments of Administrative Corps and Departments) and the Military Police were renamed and placed under the command of the Governor of Burma,

who served as Commander-in-Chief. The latter authorized a Burma Army strength of about 6,000 soldiers to serve under 500 officers, but most of the soldiers and officers came from renamed Indian Army units and few were recruited from the Burmese population. If

we break down this authorization and look at what Taylor [1974: 31] calls the “core” of the army—the regular forces—we see a minimal role for ethnic Burmans in the all-important infantry forces, which became the dominant service in the postwar army. Of the 22 officers and 715 indigenous other ranks in the Burma Rifles infantry battalion, 50 percent were Karen, 25 percent Chin and 25 percent Kachin; only 4 officers were Burmans (Table 2).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Table 2 Regulars of the Burma Army 1938

	British Officers	British Other Ranks	Burma Army Officers (indigenous)	Burma Army Others
Burma Company, sappers and miners	6	3	6	380
Battalion of the Burma Rifles	13	0	22	715
Animal Transport Coy., BASC	1	0	2	123 (tentative only)

 

Source: (Taylor, 1974: 31-32)

 

 

There was a plan to add a fifth company of Burma Rifles that would be all Burman, but the British never got around to raising it. Nearly all of the Sappers and Miners were Burman. In addition to this “core,” irregular units included an Auxiliary Force with a total of 81 officers and 1,784 other ranks active, and 1,353 other ranks in reserve; auxiliaries were all volunteers of European descent, including British, Anglo-Burmans or Anglo- Indians. There was also a Territorial Battalion with 4 British grade officers and 694 other

ranks; personnel consisted of indigenous volunteers, mostly Karens, though some Burmans were admitted [Maung Maung 1954: 90; Taylor 1987: 100–101]. The only anti-aircraft battalion in prewar Burma was comprised mainly of Anglo-Burmans.

At separation in 1937, the Military Police was divided into two forces. One was deployed primarily in central Burma and the other—renamed the Burma Frontier Force— was for use mainly in the excluded areas. The former group, still called the Military Police,

consisted of 4,294 men in 1941. Nearly all were Indians, and command was exercised by British and Indian officers seconded from the Indian Army. The strength of the Frontier Force was 10,073, including 7,376 Indians with the remainder coming from the hill regions of Burma [Taylor 1987: 101].

Therefore, although the creation of the Burma Army in 1937 opened up the possibility of access for indigenous people, there was still no serious attempt to involve ethnic Burmans in what British officials considered the core of an army of a future independent Burma. This probably can be attributed to the colonial regime’s preoccupation with internal security, which narrowed the vision of army reformers so that considerations of how to establish a “national army”—in which indigenous minorities and the majority-Burmans could cooperate in defense matters—were never really entertained. Scholar-bureaucrat Furnivall [1956 [1948]: 183] summed up the British position: If the problem of responsible [colonial] government had been conceived in terms of creating a united people to which the Government might [eventually] be made responsible, the question of building up an army would have been recognized as a matter of primary importance, but it was

conceived in terms of . . . constructing machinery that, if it could not do much good, could do no serious damage; the military aspect of the problem was disregarded. . . .

Furnivall noted that the outbreak of war in 1939 led to a new emphasis by the British to recruit any and all potential troops, regardless of ethnicity. Although some progress was made toward including larger numbers of Burmans, the numbers in no way reflected the proportion of Burmans in the colony. Taylor [1987: 100–101] reports the breakdown of troops in Burma in 1941 (Table 3). Referring back to Table 1, “Ethnic Composition of the

Armed Forces in Burma, 1931,” we can see that the number of troops designated “Burmans” rose from 472 in 1931 to 1,893 in 1941, increasing their numbers by a factor of 2.5. At the same time, the number of Karens nearly doubled, rising from 1,448 in 1931 to

2,797 in 1941. The continued higher recruitment of Karens per head of Karen population (vis-a-vis Burman recruitment per head of Burman population) suggests that the colonial regime had not made any significant changes in recruiting priorities and practices.

 

 

Conclusion

 

The transportation of British-Indian rule to nineteenth-century Burma produced a matrix of state institutions that gave primacy to order, coercion and armed force. In sharp contrast to the earlier mercantilist age of imperialism—during which India was brought into

the British Empire—the imperialism of the late nineteenth century produced colonial states throughout Asia and Africa that were able to reorder society for production and commerce at unprecedented speed. In this process, the transportation of a two-century-old

colonial system of governance from India to Burma wreaked havoc with traditional, non-state forms of social control and created the need for internal security forces which would come to control many aspects of indigenous people’s lives.

 

Table 3:Ethnic Composition of the Armed Forces om Burma, 1941

Ethnic Group	No. in Army	Proportion of Army	Proportion of Population
Burman	1,893	23.71	75.11
Karen	2,797	35.03	9.34
Chin	1,258	15.76	2.38
Kachin	852	10.61	1.05
Yunnanese	32	0.04	n/a
Chinese	330	4.13
Indians	2,578	32.29
Others	168	2.10
Total	7,984	100	100

 

Population statistics for 1941 are from the 1831 census because the data from the 1941 census was lost in World War II.

 

 

The imposition of Indian administrators and administrative practices in Burma destroyed any indigenous social mechanisms that could have cushioned the impact of the rapid insertion into the world economy. The resulting increase in landlessness, tenancy, and indebtedness was responsible for the highest crime rates in the empire, and the Government of India’s response to this rising lawlessness—which was to send in more armed soldiers and police officers—was in part responsible for institutionalizing the primacy

of armed coercion in Burmese political affairs.

It should not be surprising that the British-Indian state relied on its relatively modern, professional Indian and British Armies to combat threats to colonial interests in Burma. The British officials who occupied top administrative positions in the colonial state were nearly all appointed from India never having previously set foot on Burmese territory [Piness 1983]. Their visions and plans about Asian colonies were probably derived from their Indian experiences, which included communal riots in which armed troops were deployed to restore order. These officials never really considered arming substantial numbers of indigenous Burmese. The imperatives of turning a profit in Burma gave these short-term civil servants no incentive to screen, equip and train the locals, especially when

the Indian Army was ready, and—most importantly—cheap to deploy.

Throughout the colonial period, the range of activities that placed indigenous Burmese in the line of fire underwent a series of expansions. During the three conquests and the subsequent pacification campaigns, colonial conceptions of “internal security” required British and Indian troops, along with a tiny handful of indigenous minority levies, to eliminate resistance to British-Indian rule. By the early twentieth century, “internal security” gradually became equated with crime control as rising rates of violent property crimes, in particular, threatened the interests of British capital. “Internal security” again was maintained by foreigners. The only significant numbers of indigenous people in uniform were unarmed local civilian police, and stories of their ineptitude reached legendary status even before World War I. With the emergence of the second wave of the nationalist movement after World War I came a new state conception of “internal security,” which gave the armed forces responsibility for fighting crime, quashing criticism and preventing potentially seditious acts. The threats to the colonial state were rarely from outside the British-drawn boundaries. More commonly the threats came from local populations in the form of such wide-ranging activities as cattle-thievery, highway banditry, trade unionization, peasant rebellions, student protests and hunger strikes. This meant that murderers and nationalists, dacoits and the Buddhist sangha, and petty thieves and

student strikers, all met the state at the barrels of foreigner-held rifles. Hence, from the first arrival of a prefabricated, relatively rationalized bureaucracy in Burma in the late nineteenth century, the state has been continuously at war with the population mapped

into its territorial claims.

 

Eleven of the first 14 chief commissioners or lieutenant governors of Burma were appointed from India no prior experience of the province. That the struggles of colonial politics and governance played out this way did not necessarily over-determine the rise of a militaristic postcolonial state. However, the indigenous elites who took over the national state at independence in 1948 started not with a tabula rasa but with the rickety yet repressive architecture of colonial states that was at odds with their anti-colonial ideological programs. With the immediate eruption of anti-state

civil warfare, Burmese Military and civilian leaders had few choices but to reinvigorate and redeploy the colonial security apparatus to hold together a disintegrating country during the formative period of postcolonial state transformation. For more than five decades now, intra-elite struggles—whether in the legal, political arena or in the arena of insurgent warfare—continued to be framed by and settled by violence or the threat of violence.

 

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Myanmá thamàin hpyityap ahman-myà yèithàpyúzú ahpwé [Myanmar Historical Commission]. 1990. Tàin’yìnthà lumyò-myà ayèi hnín 1947 acheigan úpadei [The Indigenous Races and the 1947

Constitution, Vol. 1]. Yangoun-myó: Tekkatho-myà pounhneiptaik [Rangoon: Universities Press].

 

Nemoto, Kei. 2000. The Concepts of Dobama (Our Burma) and Thudo-Bama (Their Burma) in Burmese Nationalism, 1930–1948. Journal of Burma Studies 5: 1–16.

 

Ni Ni Myint. 1983. Burma’s Struggle against British Imperialism. Rangoon: Universities Press.

 

Notes on the Land Forces of Burma, India Office Records Locator: L/WS/1/276.

 

Piness, Edith. 1983. The British Administrator in Burma: A New View. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 14 (2): 372–378.

Prasad, Bisheshwar. 1956. Official History of the Indian Armed Forces in the Second World War, 1939–45: Expansion of the Armed Forces and Defence Organisation, 1939–45. Bombay: Combined

Inter-Services Historical Section, India and Pakistan.

1963. Official History: Defence of India, Policy and Plans. Bombay: Combined Inter-Services Historical Section, India and Pakistan.

Sitthàmain pyádaik hnín tapmadaw kùndaik’hmù-yòun [War History Museum and Defence Services Archive]. 1994. Tapmadaw thamàin: 1824–1945 [Tatmadaw History, 1824–1945]. Yangoun-myó:

Sit’thamàin pyádaik hníntapmadaw. [Rangoon: War Museum and Defence Services Archive].

 

Smith Dun. 1980. Memoirs of the Four-Foot Colonel. Ithaca: Cornell University Southeast Asia Program Publications.

 

Taylor, Robert H. 1974. The Relationship between Burmese Social Classes and British-Indian Policy on the Behavior of the Burmese Political Elite, 1937–1942. Ph.D. Dissertation, Cornell University.

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Cambridge University Press.

 

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The Military Way

Building An Army: The Early Years Of The Tatmadaw
The Early Years: Indepence And Chaos
The First Transformation
The Second Transformation
Another Piece Of The Durability Puzzle

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Building An Army: The Early Years of the Tatmadaw

By Mary P. Callahan

From a comparative perspective, the last three-and-a-half decades of military rule in Burma represent a unique and puzzling phenomenon along several dimensions. For one, military officers are typically conservative and represent unlikely candidates to implement the kind of radical social and economic restructuring that the Burmese military (the Tatmadaw) first adopted in the 1960s. For another, entrenched military governments rarely conduct free elections, as the Tatmadaw did in both 1960 and in 1990. But perhaps the most remarkable aspect of this uniqueness lies in the sheer durability of military rule in Burma. Elsewhere, military regimes seldom last ten years, much less 35. Once in power, the factional struggles within the military over the spoils of office and over the inevitable incompatibilities between ruling and warring usually lead to a return to the barracks.

In explaining this last puzzle, scholars and other observers have focused on General Ne Win as a kind of glue that has held the Burmese armed forces and the post-1962 regime together. Throughout the civil wars, economic collapses and political debacles of the entire postwar period, observers have attributed the unusual endurance, unity and power of the Tatmadaw to Ne Win’s charisma, his formative experiences as a student politician, his ruthlessness, his awza (a kind of awe-inspiring power), and his ability to tempt fate (yeh-ti-ya). According to this view, from his youth onward, there has been a sense of destiny to Ne Win’ s path to power; taken as a whole package, Ne Win is considered to have engineered the fate of postwar Burma.

While no one could possibly dispute the central role that General Ne Win has played in modern Burmese politics, the problem with this characterization is that it reads back into history the prominence that Ne Win came to assume only as a result of activities and developments that occurred within the army and the Burmese polity in the 1950s over which Ne Win had very little control or influence. This article suggests that General Ne Win is only one piece of the puzzle at the heart of modern Burmese politics. Another piece lies in the emergence of the Tatmadaw in the 1950s as the powerful institution that came to dominate state and society for the next four decades.

The Early Years: Independence and Chaos

For the young Burman nationalists who would come to dominate the upper ranks of the armed forces in the 1950s, the early period of independence was one in which individual improvisation and creativity in solving the crisis-of-the-day led to the unintended — though nonetheless consequential — crafting of mechanisms that became institutionalized in the form of a modern, standing army. Following the transfer of power from Britain to Bogyoke Aung San and his successors, the army underwent at least two transformations that created the institutional basis for the enduring military rule that followed the 1962 coup.

Before examining the first transformation, it is important to note the context in which these transformations materialized. The postwar period began in chaos: In 1945, nationalist leader General Aung San and his nationalist forces turned against their Japanese allies by forming a shaky alliance with communists and the British Special Operations Executive. The result was a tenuous coalition of mostly ethnic-majority Burman nationalists fighting alongside the Anglo-Burman and Karen troops whom they had fought against in 1942 and whom they considered “mercenaries.” Upon defeating the Japanese, these British-led forces were reorganized under conditions of considerable division both between and among British officials, indigenous loyalists, Burmese socialists, communists and rightists. Tension was rife and within two months of independence in 1948 the Burma Communist Party revolted; the Karen National Defense Organization rebelled in 1949. By this time, one half of the government troops had mutinied and nearly that proportion of the army’s equipment was gone; important cities like Mandalay, Maymyo, Prome and even Insein (a suburb of the capital, Rangoon) fell to insurgent control. At the same time, private “pocket armies” were rallying under competing politicians all around the country. Hence, by the time Ne Win assumed the position of Commander-in-Chief in 1949, he commanded only two thousand remaining troops.

That the Burmese army emerged from this chaos as the powerful force that after 1962 would dominate state and society for more than 30 years is indeed remarkable. In the throes of this confusion, there were few signs that the military leadership (or anyone else) could even envision such a future. The Tatmadaw was but one of numerous armies that emerged at independence in 1948; many were illegal, anti-state armies but there were also quasi-legal paramilitary squads maintained by Cabinet members and other politicians in the Socialist party, which dominated the ruling Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL).1 The period was replete with challenges both to and within the Tatmadaw and the state, challenges often backed by arms and violence. For example, in the first decade of independence, the Tatmadaw faced a civil war waged by former classmates and comrades, a foreign aggressor backed by a superpower, and an ex-colonizer and later the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) trying to shape the army in its own fashion and for its own purposes. There was a lack of training facilities, a void of military doctrine, and a War Office administrative system ill-suited to the exigencies of internal security functions and counterinsurgency operations. At independence, the government was nearly bankrupt, and foreign assistance in supplying ammunition and other supplies had early Cold War strings tied to it that further threatened Burma’s borders and sovereignty.

The First Transformation

Moreover, the former Burman nationalist officers who stayed in the postwar Tatmadaw found themselves shut out of control over the armed forces in the years between the end of World War II and independence in January 1948. During this time, the returned British regime reorganized the Tatmadaw from a massive, unwieldy, guerrilla-style resistance force into a much smaller standing army. Not surprisingly, by 1948, the leadership roles in this army were monopolized by officers sympathetic to the British — mainly Karens and Anglo-Burmans.2 By contrast, the ethnic Burman nationalists who had served in the wartime Patriotic Burmese Forces (PBF) had very little institutional clout within the Tatmadaw, and spent much of the 1945-1949 period consulting with AFPFL politicians on ways to counter their institutional weakness and create “a Burma Army worthwhile having.”3 Their memories of mobilizing twice to fight the British for independence were fresh and foremost in their minds; therefore, “rightist” British collaborators running the army, and potentially the government, represented a failure of those mobilizations. Additionally, as groups formerly associated with the AFPFL went into rebellion — including the 3rd and 5th Burma Rifles — the Karen army leadership’s harsh and ruthless counterinsurgency tactics against their former nationalist comrades-in-arms further enraged the PBF officers.

As the civil war intensified, the PBF contingent began laying the basis for the first transformation of the Tatmadaw. Initially, their strategy was to sidestep existing army institutions and to build a second army outside the Tatmadaw in the form of levees or irregular forces; organized under upcountry AFPFL politicians, these “Sitwundan” units were tied loosely into a chain-of-command emanating from the one PBF-controlled portion of the War Office under Major Aung Gyi. While these units were under formation, Karen leaders outside the army who had been pressing for political autonomy launched their anti-government rebellion in January 1949. This ultimately gave the former PBF contingent in the Tatmadaw the legal basis to place most of the Karen in army leadership positions on “indefinite” leave. None of them ever returned to prominence as active-duty officers in the army.

However, this purge did not end the difficulties of the Tatmadaw. In overseeing the anti-Karen and anti-insurgent operations in the early years of independence, the post-Karen War Office had little in the way of the resources or skills necessary to take the helm of the highly-centralized, British-designed military bureaucracy. Furthermore, the continued presence of a civilian permanent secretary (U Ba Tint) and his staff duties officer (Lieutenant Colonel Hla Aung) who were both perceived as “rightists” sympathetic to expanded British influence in the army led former PBF field commanders and General Ne Win to simply disregard the British bureaucracy in the conduct of all these operations. In fact, a former field commander noted that Ne Win told him to ignore the chain-of-command to the War Office and instead come straight to him when he needed anything.4

The Second Transformation

This set-up was workable when the Tatmadaw was fighting weaker, disunited internal rebels. However, against the danger of the U.S.-backed KMT [Kuomintang] aggression and the related threat of Communist Chinese intervention in Burma,5 Tatmadaw leaders embarked on the second transformation of the armed forces: a program of institution-building in the mid-1950s with the objective of imposing a “modern,” bureaucratized, European-style, standing-army structure on to the array of personal networks that constituted the Burma army.

This transformation did not materialize with the 1949 arrival in the Shan State of the first 2,000 KMT stragglers from the Yunnan Province; at that point, they did not pose much of a threat, particularly in comparison with the communist and Karen threats to the Rangoon government. However, as more disciplined, better-organized and better-armed KMT units began entering Kengtung state in 1950 and receiving air-drops with U.S.-supplied arms and other supplies over the next few years, the 13,000-strong force became the major concern of Burmese political and army leaders. From the Union Government’s perspective, the Shan States grew increasingly dangerous in the early 1950s, with a perplexing array of anti-Rangoon forces — including the Burmese communists, the Karen rebels and the KMT — traversing this territory, forming ad hoc alliances, fighting against one another, and competing against both each other and the Rangoon government for resources and opium. This led Prime Minister U Nu to proclaim martial law in some of the Shan regions in 1950, and military administration spread to 22 of the 33 Shan subdivisions by 1952.

The imposition of martial law meant that the army was severely overcommitted. In addition to these administrative duties, the Tatmadaw was fighting against Karen, communist and other insurgents in central Burma and in the frontier areas. Early Tatmadaw operations against the KMT were weak and easily defeated. In 1953, the military waged its first-ever full-scale, combined forces counteroffensive against the KMT, which was repulsed within three weeks by superior KMT firepower. According to one Burmese air force pilot who flew air support during the operation: “It was a complete disaster.”6These disasters led to calls for reform from field commanders and staff officers alike. In the first step toward reform, Lieutenant Colonel Aung Gyi formed a “Military Planning Staff” (MPS). The MPS was to provide immediate advice in “charting a clear-cut course of military activities and in advising the Government to map the road to peace within the State and readiness for national emergency covering all aspects, military, political, social, economic, etc.”7 According to an August 1951 memorandum of authorization, the rationale for the planning staff’s formation was that: [w]e have been working mostly on an ad hoc or impromptu basis without giving much thought to coordination and correlation of different Departments of State… We are virtually at war and what is worse a more devastating one as any civil war is [sic]…. I cannot afford to wait for changes in organization and I am immediately in need of a nucleus Planning Staff…8

Once established under Lieutenant Colonels Aung Gyi and Maung Maung, the MPS sent study missions to Britain, the United States, Australia and the Soviet Union. In their views, what separated the early postcolonial Tatmadaw from these “progressive” armies around the world was the Tatmadaw’s organizational weakness at the center and the lack of institutional clout and autonomy for army leadership to plan, evaluate and carry out strategy and tactics.9 At that point the Burma army was still a disorganized army of guerrillas. What it needed to become was an army capable of standing up to the KMT and potentially the CIA and the People’s Republic of China. To do so, the MPS completely restructured the division of labor between civilian and military leaders over defense policy, notably shrinking the civilian secretary’s sphere of control over internal army affairs. Furthermore, the MPS also terminated the contract for the British advisors to the Tatmadaw, wrote Burma’s first draft of military doctrine, and undertook the creation of educational and training institutions (such as the Defense Services Academy at Maymyo) that remain in place to today. MPS also created other organizations — such as the psychological warfare and counterintelligence directorates — that would become important tools of the post-1962 military regime. Additionally, through the work of the MPS, the army made its first foray into economic affairs. In 1951, Aung Gyi set up a NAAFI- or P.X.-style concern to replace inefficient, unworkable unit-run canteens. Called the Defense Services Institute [DSI], this operation expanded quickly into the sale of bulk and consumer goods to soldiers; by 1960, Aung Gyi and his colleagues at DSI were running banks, international shipping lines and the largest import-export operation in the country.10

Another Piece of the Durability Puzzle

What is significant about the institutional innovations that emerged from this second transformation is that they were in stark contrast to the concurrent institutional decay of the other two major national institutions in Burma, the bureaucracy and the AFPFL. Similarly, by virtue of the operational demands on the army during the 1950s, the Tatmadaw was alone among national-level institutions in consolidating authority throughout territory that stretched beyond central Burma. A simple illustration of this point can be seen in the fact that by around 1954, the War Office could order locally-recruited members of its field units to move to other parts of Burma and expect that the order would probably be carried out. Neither the AFPFL nor the bureaucracy were able to do the same thing at any point during the 1948-1962 period.

The institutional innovations that led to the transformation of the army into a powerful force came out of the day-to-day decisions, whims and fantasies of field and staff officers throughout the army. Many of the projects developed in the second transformation were the ideas of then Major Aung Gyi (later to become Brigadier General), Colonel Maung Maung (considered by many to have been the architect of the modern Tatmadaw), Lieutenant Colonel Ba Than (who was the champion of the psychological warfare plans) and others; these were staff officers who were responding to particular crises and quite unintentionally created institutions.

To conclude, an analysis of intra-military affairs in the 1950s suggests that Ne Win’s involvement in the transformation of the Tatmadaw into a powerful, durable institution has been considerably overestimated. Within the chain of command, all of the above innovators worked for General Ne Win, who was Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces throughout the decade. However, while Ne Win was certainly involved in some of the first transformation to eliminate “rightist” influence in the army, his role in the more significant second transformation was minimal. At the time, he may have been Commander-in-Chief, but between scandals over his romantic affairs, foreign travel and visits to army units throughout the country, Ne Win had very little to do with the reorganization of the army. For example, in the case of what became the most consequential institutional development — the creation of the MPS — Ne Win’s signature on the order to form the MPS is misleading. In the months surrounding the issuance of that authorization, Ne Win had been distracted by personal scandals and their fall-out on the pages of Rangoon daily newspapers; in fact, officially he was on leave when this order was signed. Likewise, throughout the first decade of independence, the Commander-in-Chief’s name appears on many of the orders authorizing the creation of these institutional innovations, which may account for the tendency to attribute the transformation to his scheming.

Notes

1. The AFPFL was formed in 1945 out of a national front comprised of the various organizations that had banded together to fight the Japanese. Prior to independence, the bulk of its membership came from organizations allied with the Communist Party; however, after the two factions of the Communist Party rebelled against the AFPFL government, the national front was dominated throughout the 1950s by the Socialist Party.

2. British advisors had appointed Karens as commander of the armed forces (General Smith Dun) and the chief of the air force (Saw Shi Sho); the chief of operations was the Sandhurst-trained Karen, Brig. Saw Kya Doe. The Quartermaster General, who controlled three-quarters of the military budget, was a Karen, Saw Donny. Although Brig. Bo Let Ya, army chief of staff and later minister of Defence, was an ethnic Burman with solid nationalist experiences, his politics had shifted rightward during the postwar years and he publicly supported continued British influence if not control over the Tatmadaw. Karen officers and other ranks dominated nearly all the supporting services, including the staff, supply and ammunition depots, artillery and signals corps.

3. Diary (personal) of Capt. Maung Maung, 1947; 25 May 1947 entry describing an informal meeting at the home of Socialist Party leader U Kyaw Nyein attended by politicians Ba Swe, Ba Swe Lay, Bo Khin Maung Gale, Ko Ko Gyi and U Kyaw Nyein; and army officers Maung Maung, Aung Gyi and Tin Pe. Diary is on deposit in Defence Services Historical Research Institute (hereafter, DSHRI): CD 875.

4. Interview, February 1993. Former Brig. Maung Maung confirmed that this was the modus operandi from 1949-1952; interview 12 May 1992.

5. The real threat to Burma was not the KMT themselves, but the consolidating Chinese Communist regime. Throughout the early 1950s, Burmese leaders worried that in the course of trying to stabilize their position in mainland China, the Chinese Communists would find it necessary to eliminate the remaining KMT located on the fringes of China, in particular in Burma.

6. Interview, former Colonel Tin Maung Aye, 2 April 1992.

7. Government of the Union of Burma, General Staff Department, War Office, Secret Memorandum, “Formation of a Military Planning Staff at the War Office,” 28 August 1951, No. 102/E1/SD; in DSHRI: DR 4768.

8. Ibid.

9. Government of the Union of Burma, General Staff Department, War Office, Memorandum, “Organization of the War Office and Formation of an Army Council,” 23 September 1951, No.88/ E1/SD, Rangoon; in DSHRI: DR 4768.

10. From Maj. Kyaw Soe (second name in unreadable type), “The Defence Services Institute,” (n.d., probably 1956-1958); in DSHRI: DR 8117; also interview with U Aung Gyi, 4 May 1992. Mary P. Callahan is an assistant professor in the National Security Affairs Department at the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey, California. She teaches classes on Southeast Asian studies, civil-military relations and transitions to democracy. She completed her Ph.D. in political science at Cornell University in 1996. She is currently at work on a manuscript tentatively entitled, “The Origins of Military Rule in Burma.”

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Burma’s Struggle for Democracy: The Army Against the People

Josef Silverstein

Abstract

Since 1948 Burma has struggled, both to establish a modern democratic political system, and to unite the people under its rule. So far, it has failed on both counts.

The author outlines democracy and its roots in Burma before moving on to describe the military’s roots and to give an overview of the three phases of military rule: from 1962 to 1974; from 1974 to 1988, and from 1988 to 1993. Also covered are the opposition to military rule between 1962 and 1988, and the unity of the army from 1948 to 1988.

The author concludes that finally military rule has convinced even the most sceptical that a true democracy is the only way to domestic peace, freedom and personal safety.

The decade of the 1990s opened with the people cautiously hoping for change in the future of Burma. After twenty-eight years of military rule, in one guise or another, many were optimistic that the 1990 scheduled elections would begin a process by which they would recover power and restore democracy.

Almost from the day they regained their independence from British rule in 1948, their nation has been torn by civil war, which persists to this day, foreign invasion and slow economic recovery from the devastation wrought by World War II. The people were sorely tested in 1988 when they demonstrated for freedom and change but were met with the guns and bullets of the army as it suppressed their peaceful revolution. And even though they complied with martial law, and participated in the election of May 1990 to vote for members of a national assembly as a first step toward the restoration of democracy, their patience went unrewarded as the military found one excuse after another to delay change. All real hopes for peaceful change were dashed in September 1991, when Major-General Tin U said, ‘We cannot say how long we will be in charge of the state administration. It might be five or ten years’ (South China Morning Mail 11 September 1991).

On 23 April 1992 the State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC) began a series of actions which were intended to signal that political change was beginning. Under a new leader, SLORC started to release political prisoners and took the first steps toward writing a new constitution. These and other changes provide a preview of the future political system which the military rulers in Burma are trying to establish, a system where the military will play the leading role and the people will be the approving chorus. The model the soldiers-in-power have in mind derives from the present Indonesian system (The New Light of Myanmar 24, 25 June 1993). This is the political burden the people carry as they continue to struggle to free themselves from tyranny and dictatorship.

Democracy and its Roots

Before Burma regained independence on 4 January 1948, an uneven leadership struggle developed between the older leaders of the prewar period and the young men who had formed and led the wartime Burma army and the coalition nationalist party, the Anti Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL). While the former were prepared to work within the framework of change offered by the British, the latter were not. The people backed the AFPFL from the outset, and its legal right to lead was confirmed in the 1947 election and in the constituent assembly.

Before the authors of the 1947 constitution took up their task they had, at least, three traditions to draw upon. They could have returned to some form of monarchy, such as existed before British rule (Koenig 1990:65-97). But that idea had been rejected during the war period when the Japanese granted Burma independence (Cady 1958:4-5) and again by Aung San, the nationalist leader, when he addressed the AFPFL on the eve of the constitutent assembly (Silverstein 1972: 92-100). They could have created a bureaucratic-authoritarian system, after the model the British instituted at the end of the nineteenth century or that of the constitutional dictatorship fashioned by Dr Ba Maw, under Japanese tutelage, during World War II (Christian 1945:60-76; Maung 1959: 54-62). This, too, was rejected. They had a third model, parliamentary democracy, which the British introduced as early as 1921 to put the nation on a course to self-rule (Christian 1945:77-105).

Most amongst the young elite were Buddhists and were influenced, to various degrees, by Buddhism’s values and traditions. Many, however, like their leader Aung San, were Western-educated, holders of university degrees and believers in liberal democracy with its emphasis upon separation of church and state. They came to maturity in a period when democracy was evolving in Burma and they were able to study and debate the political ideas of their day – democracy, fascism, communism – and the meaning and content of Burmese nationalism. Overwhelmingly, they were drawn to socialism, secularism and democracy (Khin Yi 1988; Silverstein 1980:134-161). These ideas were foremost in the thinking of Aung San when he addressed the preconstituent assembly meeting of the AFPFL and committed the party to their support (Silverstein 1972).

But there were divisions within the AFPFL. In a barely disguised struggle between communists and socialists rival leaders and member parties fought for control of the AFPFL and influence in shaping the future constitution. In 1946 the communists were expelled from the AFPFL and the ideas of the socialists, together with those of Aung San, were influential in the writing of the basic law.

The constitution of 1947 created a parliamentary system with two legislative chambers. It included a renunciation of war as an instrument of policy, a set of socialist-influenced unenforceable goals – called directive principles, a definition of relations of the state to peasants and workers, and fundamental human rights for all.

The AFPFL leaders had a special problem in that nearly 40 per cent of the population were members of various minority groups who lived either amongst the Burman (the Karens and Mons) or in the hill areas which surrounded the heartland (the Shans, Kachins, Chins and others). Because the minorities either had been given special treatment under British rule (the Karens formed a separate electorate and were given a specific number of seats in the legislature) or had been excluded from the evolving political process during the same period (the various hill peoples), the question of uniting everyone in the territory of Burma proved vexing. Discussions leading to promises made by the Burman leaders to the minorities resulted in the creation of a unique federal union, which was more unitary than federal, and led to most Karens and Karennis rejecting it. It also promised the right of secession to the populations of two areas but denied it to all others. Failure to solve the problems of national unity at the outset was a major cause of minority revolts after independence (Silverstein 1980).

Internal wars tested the nation. Between 1948 and 1952 the government nearly collapsed as it fought to recover control first of the heartland and then of the hill areas. Yet even as it faced the threat of being overthrown and the union destroyed, the legislature met and acted, a national election was held, the High Court and Supreme Court upheld civil and political rights against the effort of the government to ignore them in its determination to restore control and domestic peace, education expanded at all levels, and the press flourished as one of the freest in all of Asia.

Religion and politics were never far apart. The 1947 constitution established religious freedom, but in the same chapter it declared that Buddhism enjoyed a ‘special position’. As early as 1949, a Ministry of Religious Affairs was created and ecclesiastical courts were established. The state also conducted religious examinations and sponsored an international Buddhist celebration to commemorate the Buddha’s 2500th birthday (Mendelson 1975:112).

Although the state was declared to be the ultimate owner of all the land, in fact agricultural lands were in private hands and the farmers were free to buy and sell and to make all farming and marketing decisions. While some economic enterprises, such as transportation and power generation, became government monopolies, there was a private economic sector which flourished alongside government businesses and cooperatives.

Despite a non-aligned foreign policy and the illegal invasion and occupation of some of its territory by remnants of the Chinese Nationalist Army – causing the government to divert resources from economic recovery and development to the expansion of the army and the purchase of weapons – the economy slowly recov-ered to near prewar levels in all areas; many of the groups in revolt either ended their war and returned home or, if they continued to fight, were driven into the hills and the delta area. In 1956 the nation held a second national election which generally was free and fair and produced an opposition party in parliament which generated lively debates and moved the nation from a one-dominant-party to a multi-party system (Silverstein 1956). The institutions of democracy began to grow in an atmosphere of peace and stability.

But unity and stability in the AFPFL leadership did not last. In 1958 the leaders split and, in their struggle to win control of the party and government, the rivals provoked a constitutional crisis. Prime Minister Nu tried to resolve it through a vote in the parliament; but even though he won, his margin was small and his backing came mainly from the minorities rather than the Burman members. Having no dependable majority in parliament, on 26 October Nu stepped down as prime minister and recommended General Ne Win, the military commander, to form a caretaker government and restore political conditions under which new elections could be held to resolve the political crisis.

This was not the first time that Ne Win was brought into government. In 1949, at the height of the rebellions, Nu asked him to serve as deputy prime minister and take charge of several ministries following the mass resignation of the socialists from his cabinet. Ne Win held those posts for nearly seventeen months.

The multiple internal wars in the decade of the 1950s gave Ne Win’s army the opportunity to exercise political authority under martial law. In 1952 martial law was proclaimed in parts of the Shan state; it lasted for two years. The army abused the people and acted corruptly, giving rise to its reputation of ruthless and autocratic behaviour. Whatever popularity it had in the hill areas at the outset of its rule vanished as it exercised power.

Ne Win’s caretaker government of 1958-60 ruled without party support. It drew upon senior military officers and respected civil servants to serve in the cabinet and administer government offices. Ne Win scrupulously adhered to the letter of the constitution, even demanding its amendment to allow him to serve beyond six months as a nonelected member. But his strict enforcement of the law, insensitivity to the people, and impatience with the democratic process, turned the public against his rule even though his administration brought law and order to a good portion of the country and improved the economy.

Like the government before his, Ne Win’s had no compunctions against using religion for political ends. In 1959 it published a booklet entitled Dhammantaraya (Dhamma in Danger), which declared that the Burmese communists posed a threat to Buddhism, and mobilised 80800 monks to hold meetings and denounce the local communist movement (Ba Than 1962:71). It also continued the practice of mixing religion and politics by placing religious affairs under the deputy prime minister and enforcing all laws pertaining to religion.

When elections were held in 1960, the party favoured by the military suffered an overwhelming defeat while its opponent, led by U Nu, returned to power (Director of Information 1960; Silverstein 1977). A major issue was U Nu’s promise, if elected, to make Buddhism the state religion.

Between that election and the military coup on 2 March 1962, Nu worked hard to strengthen democracy and address the causes of national disunity (Silverstein 1964). But before he could accomplish his goals the military struck, seized power, and replaced democracy and the constitution with a military dictatorship.

Although the democratic experiment lasted only fourteen years, it established an important watershed for Burmese political thought and action. Three national elections had been held and a multiparty system proved workable; leaders coped with major economic and political problems and adopted pragmatic solutions. Human and civil rights generally were honoured, and when questions arose the courts acted independently in defence of the constitution.

Divisions in the ruling party were a major cause of criticism of the democratic process; however, it must be remembered that the AFPFL started life as a broad coalition of conflicting leaders and ideas. In the face of multiple rebellions which threatened to destroy the union as well as the democratic system, the leaders generally remained united. In 1958, when the nation began to enjoy real peace and thousands of people in revolt began to put away their weapons and drift toward a peaceful way of life, Nu tried to convert the AFPFL into a coherent and unified party; but divisions amongst its leaders already were evident and barely concealed in the party congress of that year. Three months later, AFPFL unity was shattered. A similar phenomenon occurred in U Nu’s party during his last administration and reinforced the idea that personal rivalries outweighed commitment to democratic rule. If the people did not rise up to defend democracy against the military in 1962 it was because most of those who thought about it recognised the reality of a totally successful lightning coup and because many of them believed that a new caretaker government was going to be established.

The Military and its Roots

The modern military in Burma began as part of the independence struggle in the 1930s. In 1940 the Thakins, the political movement of the students and young intelligentsia, secretly sent one of their leaders, Aung San, to China to seek aid for their revolt. Picked up by the Japanese in Amoy, he was taken to Tokyo. There he met leaders of the Japanese Army command who were aware of the independence aspirations of the Thakins; Aung San entered into an agreement with them: ‘Japan would help Burma to gain her independence by supplying her with necessary arms’ (Ba Than 1962:15; Yoon 1973). At the same time, an underground revolutionary movement began to form inside Burma in preparation for the anticipated uprising against the British.

Aung San returned in 1941 and recruited twenty-nine Burmans to go secretly with him to Hainan Island where they would be given military training by the Japanese. These ‘Thirty Heroes’ formed the nucleus of the present Burma army. When the Pacific War broke out, they returned to Thailand, recruited the first members of the Burma Independence Army and followed the Japanese into Burma. Some of their units fought the British and the experience gave them pride and confidence. During the war the army’s name was changed, first to the Burma Defence Army, then the Burma National Army and at war’s end, to the Patriotic Burmese Forces. On 27 March 1945 it revolted against the Japanese and joined with the Allies in their final phase of the war against the Japanese in Burma.

There was a second strand to the modern Burma military: the ethnic minorities who were recruited and served in the pre-war Burma Defence Forces. During peacetime the colonial rulers recruited very few Burmans. Only in times of emergency – World War I and at the beginning of World War II – were the armed forces open to Burman recruits.

Following the defeat of British forces in Burma in 1942, minority recruits who did not escape to India returned to their villages in the hill areas and, there, were regrouped by British officers who stayed behind or were dropped by parachute to prepare for the return of the British army (Morrison 1947; Mountbatten 1960).

Shortly after the British were driven out of Burma in 1942, there were serious clashes between the Burma Independence Army and Karens living in the delta region. To overcome racial tensions, Aung San and other Burman leaders convinced some Karen leaders of their determination to build racial harmony by recruiting Karens into the new indigenous army and commissioning a few Karen officers. Following independence, a British-trained Karen officer, Smith Dun, was named the first head of the Burma army.

After the war, the Supreme Allied Commander, Admiral Mountbatten, met with Aung San and other Burman leaders in Kandy, Ceylon, where they agreed that the new Burma army would be created out of the two different military groups. It would contain approximately equal numbers from both and would be organised along racial lines on the model of the Indian Army. At the outset, it would employ British officers while Burmese officers were being trained to British standards. The armed force would be limited to approximately 10 000 officers and men.

The two elements brought different values and attitudes to the new army. The Burmans drew upon the ideas of the Thakins – opposition to colonial rule, independence and socialism. From their wartime experiences, they adopted the Japanese military ideas of loyalty, instant obedience to commands from above or punishment for their failures. They also learned to respond unquestioningly to authority and not to act independently in battle, no matter what the conditions. Their experiencelabourbattle against the British and the Japanese gave them a sense of self-confidence, a belief in themselves as the leaders who played an important role in bringing the AFPFL into being, and pride in their patriotism for having fought for the political freedom of Burma.

The minorities brought a different tradition: loyalty to the British monarch, military professionalism, separation between politics and military affairs, and fear of Burman domination.

There was also a third element of the military – private armies. Such forces existed in the 1930s and were nothing new for Burma. Aung San formed the Peoples Volunteer Organisation (PVO) from the Burman soldiers who were not taken into the new army, as a home guard to help maintain law and order in the countryside. But its real mission was political: to give the AFPFL a vehicle by which to intimidate the colonial rulers in the growing struggle for independence. Because PVO members shared the ideas and values of and had close personal ties to the leaders and men in the new army and the rival political parties in and out of the AFPFL – the socialists and communists – doubts were raised in many minds as to whether there was a real separation between the professional army, the political army and the parties. So long as Aung San lived, the PVO remained united and loyal to him and the AFPFL. Aung San’s assassination in 1947 left the PVO leaderless and subject to the persuasions of rival political groups seeking to lead the nation.

The communist uprising in 1948 split the PVO, with members divided between the government and its opposition. The PVO eventually faded as a military and political force, but not before its involvement in the civil war nearly tipped the scale on the side of those in revolt.

During this same period the minorities, too, were torn between loyalty to the new state and loyalty to their ethnic groups. The Karens, in particular, experienced a sense of abandonment by the British to their historic oppressors, the Burmans. This helped raise their ethnic consciousness at the expense of full identity with the new national army. In 1947 the Karens formed a paramilitary group, the Karen National Defence Organisation (KNDO) to defend their villages. At the same time, the other large minorities, the Shans, Kachins and Chins, gave their full loyalty to independent Burma. In the early phases of the rebellions their loyalty to the Union of Burma and their unwillingness to join the Karens and others in revolt was a major factor in saving the union.

The Kandy Agreement, which emphasised federation rather than full integration, had a second defect. It took no account of the political divisions and competing ideologies amongst the member groups in the AFPFL and their reflection in the new army. Thus, when the Communist Party went into revolt on 28 March 1948, less than three months after independence, the army began to come apart. The 1st and 3rd Burma Rifles – two Burman battalions – deserted with their weapons and joined forces with the revolutionaries. Two months later the PVO split, one part joining the communists in revolt and the other remaining loyal to the government.

Following independence and the failure of the constituent assembly to solve the problem of the Karens’ place in the new union, communal violence erupted be- tween Burmans and Karens. As the violence increased, in January 1949 the KNDO went into revolt. Three battalions of Karen Rifles deserted and joined the KNDO.

These events brought a change in military command; Smith Dun was placed on indefinite leave and Ne Win was placed in charge of the army. The government authorised the recruitment of PVOs loyal to the state, and other former World War II soldiers to form territorial units (Sitwundans) to buttress the depleted army (Tinker 1961:38). Under Ne Win’s leadership, a process of Burman domination in the army began. Despite the loyal support given by Kachin, Chin and Shan battalions, their units gradually were reformed with Burman officers in command and Burman soldiers in their ranks. Aung San’s federated army gave way to Ne Win’s Burman-dominated and integrated army. The new army became more professional with the establishment of a military academy in 1954, and later a National Defence College. As its size grew, so too did its strength in arms.

In the midst of the political turmoil caused by the 1958 split in the AFPFL, the military feared that the primary loyalty of the Union Military Police (UMP) and paramilitary forces was to political parties rather than the state and that UMP units might take sides and even displace the army as the nation’s defender. It also was alarmed at the divisions in the ranks of the nation’s leaders. In this deteriorating environment the army saw itself as the only national institution ready to sacrifice itself to preserve the union and protect the constitution.

On the eve of the formation of the caretaker government the military leaders held a conference at which they defined the national ideology, as they understood it, and their role in upholding it (Director of Information 1960: Appendix I), declaring that so long as their strength remained, ‘the Constitution shall remain inviolate’. They held that the nation’s goal was to build a political-economic system on the principles of justice, liberty and equality. To gain that end, they set three priorities: first, to restore peace and the rule of law; second, to construct a democratic society, and third, to create a socialist economy. They pledged to pursue the aims of national politics as distinct from party politics. When Ne Win presented himself to parliament as candidate for the office of prime minister on 3 October 1958, he said:

I wish deeply that all Members of Parliament would hold as much belief in the Constitution and democracy as I do. I wish deeply that all Members of Parliament would sacrifice their lives to defend the constitution as I would do in my capacity of Prime Minister, as a citizen and as a soldier (Director of Information 1960:547).

The caretaker government gave Ne Win a chance to put the army’s ideology and theories into practice; and as discussed earlier, while he followed the letter of the constitution, he violated its spirit.

Military Rule: First Phase, 1962–1974

The military justified the coup of 2 March 1962 on three grounds: to preserve the union, to restore order and harmony in the society, and to solve the economic problems facing the nation (Silverstein:1977:80). The men who made the coup were not the same as those who stood close to Ne Win in the caretaker period. Several had been sent abroad as ambassadors a year earlier. And those who remained were divided in their view of what the military should do with power. Brigadier Aung Gyi wanted to continue along the lines of the caretaker government, while his rival, Brigadier Tin Pe, wanted to turn the nation immediately down the road to socialism. A year later Aung Gyi was dismissed and Ne Win adopted Tin Pe’s position.

If the coup leaders were divided on their immediate course, they were agreed on abandoning their earlier commitment to the constitution and democracy in favour of dictatorship with no limits on their right to make rules and exercise power.

A month after the coup the leaders promulgated a new ideological statement, The Burmese Way to Socialism. In their new analysis they argued that Burma’s problems were the result of the economic system, which not only deformed society and the personal values and attitudes of the people, but contributed to disunity and social unrest (Silverstein 1964:716). Parliamentary democracy also contributed by failing to produce political stability and lent itself to misuse and personal profit by those in power. Thus, the priorities were altered: economic change and the creation of a socialist democracy – on the lines of the Eastern European states – must come before all else. Gone were all pretences of upholding constitutionalism and the liberal democracy of the past.

From the outset, the military displaced the institutions created at independence, replaced the civilian leadership with members of their own organisation, and substituted their thought for that of their political predecessors. The constitution was suspended and became inoperative in areas where the Revolutionary Council, the military governing body, issued decrees and promulgated orders. The courts were changed. The old parties were outlawed and replaced by the military’s own new party, the Burma Socialist Program Party (BSPP), the only political party allowed after 1964. The free press eventually was outlawed and replaced by an official publication, the Working Peoples Daily. Most of all, the federal system, while remaining in name, in fact became a centralised administrative system. Security Administration Councils, composed of representatives from the army, civil service and police, replaced state political and administrative organs. The new system was organised hierarchically with control located in Rangoon.

The changes were more than institutional. The people were cut off from contact with foreigners as the military’s propagandists and educators sought to change people’s beliefs, values and attitudes to those expressed in the new ideological documents. A police state emerged; people were required to inform on one another while a national network of domestic spies reported the activities and statements of ordinary citizens.

To bring an end to the various revolutions still in progress, the military rulers used both ‘carrot’ and ‘stick’, holding peace negotiations in 1963 and, following their failure, resuming their military campaigns.

The Burmese way to socialism failed both to improve the economy and to gain real support amongst the people. By the end of the decade Ne Win and his co-leaders gradually shifted to a new direction.

In 1971 the BSPP was converted from a cadre to a mass party and Ne Win gave it responsibility for writing a new constitution. Despite changes in structure, the party remained a political vehicle for the military with General Ne Win as its head and senior military officers monopolising all subleadership posts.

In April 1972, while the party pursued its tasks, Ne Win and nineteen senior military officers retired from the Defence Services. At the same time the government changed its name from the Revolutionary Council to the Government of Burma. U Ne Win remained prime minister and most of the same senior military leaders, now retired, continued as government heads; four civilian cabinet officers were added to their ranks. During this period Ne Win abolished the secretariat inherited from the British colonial system, and transferred its responsibilities to the ministers. In terms of who led the nation, these changes were more nominal than real as the military retained its near exclusive control of power. A new constitution was approved by the people in a referendum in December 1973, and in elections held the following month candidates for seats in the national assemby and the three sublevels of government were elected. On 2 March 1974 the second phase of military rule began.

Military Rule: Second Phase, 1974–1988

Despite the fanfare, the military did not return power to the people. The constitution institutionalised the power of the BSPP. It was directed to lead the nation; no other parties were allowed. It selected all candidates for seats in the national assembly, the Pyithu Hluttaw, and the deliberative bodies at the three lower levels; and it was empowered to give advice and suggestions to government. If there was any doubt that the new system was a continuation of its predecessor, Article 200 declared that when the People’s Assembly interpreted the constitution, it had to do so in accordance with the General Clauses Law promulgated by the preceding government.

Like the army, government was centralised and hierarchical. The various levels of administration were tied together by the principle of democratic centralism. The people were given rights and duties. They had the right to stand for election and to recall their representative; they had the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; the right to freedom of speech, expression and publication ‘to the extent that the enjoyment of such freedom is not contrary to the interests of the working people and of socialism’ (author’s emphasis). In carrying out one’s rights, the constitution declared that persons ‘shall be under a duty … to abstain from undermining any of the following: (l) sovereignty and security of the State; (2) the essence of the socialist system; (3) unity and solidarity of the national races; (4) public peace and tranquility; (5) public morality’.

With no right to organise a political party to express legal opposition to the ruling party and the government it controlled, with the requirement to report the speech of others as well as one’s own conversations with outsiders, with police informers everywhere, the rights were nominal, at best, and meaningless in this constitutional dictatorship.

The system remained intact, with relatively little change until 1988. At the Fourth Party Congress (August 1981) Ne Win announced his intention to give up the office of president of the nation, but to continue to serve as head of the party. As this was where real power was located, it did not represent any real change. His potential successor, U San Yu, was a former subordinate officer from the time he served under Ne Win in the 4th Burma Rifles. Other nominal changes were made but, as always, power remained in the hands of serving or retired military officers under Ne Win’s leadership (Silverstein 1982).

The first sign of real change came in August 1987, when Ne Win startled the nation by admitting ‘failure and faults’ in the management of the economy and called for open discussion about the past and change. Within weeks the heavy hand of socialist economic control was partially lifted as the government removed restrictions on the sale, purchase, transport, and storage of foodstuffs. This was followed by demonitisation of three units of currency, which was intended to disrupt the black market but in fact had a devastating effect upon the general population because most did their business in cash and kept their reserves at home instead of in a bank.

Developments came to a climax in July 1988 while the nation was in turmoil and an emergency party congress was in session. Ne Win announced his resignation as party head and urged the leaders to consider the creation of a multiparty system, among other changes. He also warned the nation not to demonstrate, for if they did, the army would not shoot over their heads.

Although the party permitted Ne Win to resign, it did not adopt his recommendations. Instead, it appointed as its new leader General Sein Lwin, another protégé of Ne Win. He had the reputation of having led his military unit in suppressing dissent on the university campus in 1962, and again in 1974 where hundreds of students were killed or wounded. To put down the growing national unrest, which had been building up during the year and was about to culminate in a national strike on 8 August, Sein Lwin ordered the military to suppress the strike of unarmed civilians; it resulted in the death of thousands.

The resignation of Sein Lwin brought the first true civilian to leadership. Dr Maung Maung, a legal scholar and strong supporter of Ne Win, became head of state and sought to end popular unrest by promising elections for a multi-party system and other reforms. But his offer came too late as dissent grew and threatened to topple his government; more important, defections from the air force and the navy to the side of the people were a prelude to defections from the army. During this period, the government released criminals from jail and crime rose; at the same time, it spread rumors that the water was poisoned and the city was unsafe. Instead of drawing the people back to BSPP rule, this only hardened their resolve to continue peaceful demonstrations for immediate change to a democratic multiparty system.

At this critical stage, when the people felt that they were on the verge of victory, General Saw Maung, the head of the army, organised a coup and on 18 September seized power and ordered the armed forces to suppress all dissent. Again, the number killed and wounded is unknown, but is reported to have reached 3000 or more.

Thus, within a year, from Ne Win’s 1987 announcement to the Saw Maung coup, the military’s carefully constructed constitutional dictatorship crumbled and the army found it necessary to abandon the façade of constitutional government in favour of naked power to restore its leadership. As in 1962, it abandoned all pretences of legality and democracy to create a new dictatorship based on martial law and backed by soldiers and guns.

Opposition to Military Rule: 1962–1988

Despite having complete political power and the backing of the armed forces, military rule in its various guises was never free of opposition. The civil war between the minorities and the government persisted even though the armed forces increased in both size and strength. In the heartland, Buddhist monks and university students resisted openly at various times. As the military was fashioning its dictatorship in 1962, the monks refused to register and carry identification cards; and in the Mandalay area some monasteries resisted with force. Eventually, in 1980 Ne Win was successful in bringing the monks and the various sects under government control and marked the event by holding a national celebration, granting amnesty to dissidents and imprisoned felons.

The opposition of the university students lasted longer and was more influential in bringing the constitutional dictatorship to an end. It began in June 1962, with resistance to harsh new university regulations and the killing of an unknown number of students as the army dislodged them from their barricades on the campus and blew up the Student Union Building – the historic centre of student resistance during the British period. Skirmishes between the military and students erupted over the next several years, with the most serious occurring in 1974. When the remains of U Thant, the third secretary-general of the United Nations, were returned to Burma, students and monks seized the coffin because the government did not intend to properly honour his remains. They took them to the university where, after a few days, the army used force, and killed more than a hundred students and monks in recovering the coffin (Selth 1989).

In 1987 the students, most of whom lived on the cash in their pockets, demonstrated against the demonitisation. A few months later, a minor fight between students and townfolk grew into large-scale student-army clashes and a major demonstration in Rangoon, which was suppressed by force, with forty-one students known to have died of suffocation in a police van; others were killed or jailed in the conflict.

The demonstrations of March did not end, despite the closing of the universities. When the universities were reopened in June, the students demanded an accounting of the missing and the arrest of those who inflicted injury upon them; this provoked new demonstrations. At the time, there were rice shortages and skyrocketing prices of basic goods in the cities; there also was large-scale unemployment. These and other issues finally brought the people onto the streets to join the student-led demonstrations. Martial law had been declared in several urban areas outside Rangoon. With the students at the head of the demonstrations and demanding real change in the political system – a return to democracy and constitutional government – the situation slipped out of the control of the military and threatened to bring down the nearly three-decade-old dictatorship (Lintner 1989).

On the Unity of the Army, 1948–1988

It often has been noted that throughout the period of military rule the army remained united and intact. Ne Win could appoint and dismiss leaders with no fear of army resistance. He could call upon it to carry out the most brutal suppression of the people without fear that it would reject his command.

The officers in the Burma army have come from three sources: from the ranks; from students and graduates of the universities of Rangoon and Mandalay, who were given ROTC training and after entering the armed forces completed the Officers Training School (OTS) course. Under Ne Win, the first category were the most trusted, especially if they had served under him in his first postwar command, the 4th Burma Rifles. They formed a close camaraderie, and such men as Aung Gyi, Tin Pe, San Yu and Sein Lwin rose to leadership this way. The academy graduates were intended to be the army elite; they were carefully selected and given an education comparable to that offered at the universities. The ROTC produced engineers and doctors mainly; however, some, upon entering the armed forces, became line officers and they represent the best educated amongst the senior command. Enlisted men have been drawn almost exclusively from amongst the rural population. They have had less education generally than urban youth and the military has offered an opportunity to live better and earn more than if they remained peasants. They have proven to be very loyal soldiers who respond faithfully to command. The army has also recruited soldiers from amongst some of the minorities who were thought to be less political and most loyal to the national government. The Chins are believed to be the most numerous at the present time.

The persistent unity within the army can be traced to three sources: training, ideology, and its self-declared special position in society. As noted earlier, the initial Burman component of the army was trained by the Japanese and absorbed its traditions of absolute authority, brutalisation of the troops and officers who delayed or questioned orders, and centralisation of command. This was the glue that held the units together and punishment for individual initiative ensured that no deviation occurred.

The special position in society was a by-product of the army’s central ideology. It saw itself as the most patriotic and loyal body in the nation. It had fought for independence and was in the front line of defence against both external and internal enemies. Because of its willingness to sacrifice everything for the people and the state, it saw itself as entitled to good housing, pay and benefits. During the democratic period, a two-class society emerged, with the army bases better built and cared for than the housing of the ordinary people. Through the Defence Services Institute the army expanded into the economic realm, where eventually, during the caretaker government, it organised and ran several large economic enterprises. From this period, the army argued that it not only defended the nation from its enemies but was the friend and helpmate of the farmer and worker, sharing in the harvesting and in building roads and dams. Throughout the period of the constitutional dictatorship this theme of friendship and partnership dominated in the press and at public events.

For all the apparent internal unity in the army, there was dissent in its officer ranks. In 1976, a coup against Ne Win was launched by more than a dozen junior officers. They were intent upon returning civilian leaders to power and the military to professional tasks. In court, the accused argued that they were dissatisfied with the political and economic system imposed on Burma by their leaders and with the corrupting influence of politics in the army. The failure of the coup and the conviction of the accused placed Academy graduates under suspicion, and many were diverted to administrative and party duties. Until 1988, military leadership remained in the hands of officers who rose from the ranks, from the OTS and from close association with Ne Win (Silverstein 1977); since then, Academy graduates have risen to leadership in SLORC, and General Maung Aye, a member of the first class at the Academy, is the second-highest ranking officer in the army.

Military Rule: Third Phase, 1988–1993

On the day before the 1988 coup, the minister of Defence ordered all members of the armed forces to resign from the BSPP and resume performing their ‘original duties’, working for the perpetuation of the state, for national unity and for the consolidation and strengthening of sovereignty. This was the first step towards ending party control, dismantling the constitutional dictatorship and reasserting the army’s determination to rule directly. Immediately following their seizure of power, the coup leaders explained their action as halting the deteriorating conditions in the country and announced three immediate goals: (1) restoring law, order, peace and tranquility; (2) easing the people’s food, clothing and shelter needs; and (3) holding democratic multi-party elections, once the first two goals were established. It also declared that all parties and organisations willing to accept and practise genuine democracy could make preparations and form parties. It abolished the state institutions and, in their place, created a State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC) comprising nineteen senior military officers under the leadership of General Saw Maung, the former minister of Defence and army chief of staff.

Also following the coup, the army dropped the original ethnic names of its military units. This was the last step in erasing its original federal structure.

Under martial law and arbitrary decrees, parties were able to form, but they were limited in their access to the media, and in their ability to hold rallies and communicate with their constituents. During the period of registration, 234 parties formed and all but one went onto the electoral rolls. Only a few were genuinely national, with leaders who attracted a wide following and offered some sort of program if they came to power.

The electoral law was highly restrictive and limited the ability of the parties to campaign and get their messages to potential supporters. Yet, despite the impediments to free and open campaigning established in the electoral law, the people took full advantage of the free election and voted overwhelmingly for the party which was recognised by all as being anti-military and pro-democracy. The National League for Democracy, led by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and former General Tin U gained 392 of the 485 seats in the new People’s Assembly, even though its leaders were either under house or direct arrest and the party was harassed in its efforts to reach its supporters.

Despite the coup leaders’ promises to return power to the people and permit the People’s Assembly to convene, the military had no real intention of doing that if the party and leaders it favoured did not win.

On 27 July 1990 they tore away their democratic mask and revealed their true authoritarian character. In their Announcement 1/90 they declared that SLORC was not bound by any constitution; it ruled by martial law and gained legitimacy from international recognition both by the United Nations and individual states. It declared that while it continued to rule, the elected members were responsible only for drafting ‘a constitution for the future democratic state’. Nearly a month later, General Saw Maung said in a press conference that all previous constitutions ceased to be effective after the coup leaders seized power in 1988 (International Human Rights Law Group 1990:26-27).

While the elected members of the People’s Assembly wait to assemble, SLORC continues its abuse of human rights by arbitrary arrest and imprisonment of the electees as well as citizens at large. Under Martial Law Order 1/89, military courts were established with power to severely punish, including issuing the death penalty for violators of SLORC decrees and pre-existing laws. In November 1989 Amnesty International reported that thousands of people had been arrested and convicted; other sources reported that more than 100 had received the death penalty (Amnesty International 1990a:1).

In the hill areas, the military pursues a dual policy to bring the civil wars to an end. Since 1989, it has offered individual ceasefire agreements that allow ethnic insurgents to retain their weapons and control local administration and economy in exchange for halting their wars against the state. All political issues remain unresolved until a new constitution and elected government are in place. For those who refuse the offer, war continues. By 1996, fourteen opposition groups had signed. Only the Karens have refused; the Karenni resumed warfare after the Burma army broke the agreement.

A key tactic of the military to force acceptance of an agreement is the persecution, torture, rape and murder of non-combatant old men, women and children of the minorities. By using innocent villagers as forced labour both in warfare and behind the lines, the army violates the human rights of civilians. These abuses are widely documented and reported by government agencies and non-governmental organisations.

Since 1989 the UN Commission on Human Rights in Geneva has pursued the issue of human rights violations in Burma. After listening to the reports of its special rapporteur and the testimony of representatives from various countries and non-governmental organisations, beginning in 1991 and continuing through its 1996 sessions the Commission adopted strong resolutions. Initially the Commission acted under a rule of secrecy, but the failure of Burma’s military rulers to give full cooperation to its special rapporteurs and to make appreciable progress in correcting identified abuses led the Commission, in 1993, to make public its proceedings and reports.

SLORC’s rule in Burma has drawn the continuous attention of the UN General Assembly since 1992. Following discussions in its Third Committee, it unanimously adopted strong resolutions calling on Burma’s military regime to release Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, the Nobel laureate, and other political prisoners, to halt human rights violations, and to restore democracy.

Faced with growing hostility from the world community, and in need of foreign aid, investment and technical assistance, on 23 April 1992 SLORC began a series of steps it hoped would indicate that political change was in progress and that the military’s iron grip was relaxing. Change began at the top, with General Than Shwe, the minister of Defence and commander-in-chief of the armed forces, replacing General Saw Maung as leader of SLORC. At the same time, SLORC announced that political prisoners who no longer were a threat to the regime would begin to be released. It also announced that Daw Aung San Suu Kyi could receive visits from her immediate family, and that if she promised to end her involvement in national politics she was free to leave the country.

Earlier in the same year, Muslims of Indian origin living in Arakan, many of whom are citizens of Burma, harassed and under pressure from the Burma army, began fleeing the country and seeking refuge in Bangladesh. The outflow led to a border incident between the two states and the mobilisation of tens of thousands of troops on both sides of the border. But tensions began to relax following the change in SLORC leadership and on 28 April the two countries agreed to an orderly return of the refugees if they could prove their citizenship or right to be in Burma.

Also, about the same time, General Than Shwe announced a halt to the military campaigns against the Karen, although he did not declare a ceasefire or take steps to halt fighting against other minorities.

But the change that attracted most attention was SLORC’s announcement that it would shortly begin a protracted process of writing a new constitution as the first step towards transfer of political power. On 23 June 1992 it convened a preconvention assembly of forty-three selected individuals, including candidates elected in 1990 to the parliament which they were never allowed to form, and fifteen representatives of the military. Their assignment was to decide who should be invited to the next stage of constitution-making, the drafting of principles and agreeing on chapter headings (Silverstein 1992).

To prepare for this second stage, SLORC promulgated Order 13/92 which set forth the six principles which the military rulers wanted the delegates to adopt as the basis of the new constitution: the unity of the territory, the people and the state; a multi-party democratic system; the incorporation of the principles of justice, liberty and equality, and ‘the participation of the Tatmadaw [army] in the leading role of national politics of the State in future’.

With these and other instructions, the national convention of SLORC-selected delegates assembled in January 1993. From the start it did not go as planned. The military managers were forced to adjourn after two days when some of the delegates wanted to talk against the sixth principle and about other topics. The meeting reassembled but adjourned four times during the first six months of the year. By 1994, the national convention had adopted more than 100 principles. On the future rule of the military in government, it agreed that one-quarter of the representatives in parliament would come from the military. They would be named by and responsible to the Commander-in-Chief; he would also name the ministers of defence, interior and border affairs, as well as have absolute power in times of emergency (New Light of Myanmar, 9 April 1994). The president must have long military experience. The armed forces budget would not be reviewed by the parliament.

More than four years have passed since SLORC announced its intention to oversee the writing of a new constitution. The people have yet to have a say. Their elected representatives were screened by SLORC, and when any of them refused to go along with the military representatives and spoke out they were disqualified; some left of their own accord, fearing that their outspokenness might land them in jail. On the basis of progress made thus far, General Tin U’s prediction about the length of time that might pass before the SLORC gives way to some other ruling body may not be too far from the mark. And when the soldiers-in-power get the signatures of their hand-picked delegates on the document they are readying for them, and have the document ratified by the public, they will have the legal basis for a new constitutional dictatorship under which they can rule indefinitely.

Conclusion

The five-decade-long history of independent Burma is one of struggle both to establish a modern democratic political system and to unite the people under its rule. Thus far, it has failed on both counts. But the struggle has not been in vain. Military rule has convinced even the most sceptical that a true democracy is the only way domestic peace, freedom and personal safety can be restored. If democracy failed in its first trial, most people in Burma are more than ready to give it a second trial.

Military dictatorship and human rights violations have destroyed the myth of the unity between the soldiers and the people; today, the army is the most hated and feared organisation in the country. And while the military has fashioned a jail out of the once free country, the people, as demonstrated in the 1990 election, will do what they can to recover the freedom they thought they achieved when Burma became independent in 1948.

The minorities, too, have concluded that their future lies in a union with the Burmans and not outside. They are willing to lay down their weapons and join the Burmans in forming a viable federal state, based on equality, autonomy and self-determination. They want modernisation and development to come to their areas and people, but on terms they can accept and live with.

Six years ago a handful of elected representatives fled to Manerplaw, the Karen headquarters on the Burma-Thai border, and with the backing of the Democratic Alliance of Burma – a political front of minority and Burman groups – established the National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma (NCGUB) as a rival to SLORC. The leader, Dr Sien Win, is the cousin of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. Although it has not received formal international recognition, its members travel widely and speak often to parliaments, political leaders and the press; they have a headquarters in the US and lobby at the UN, keeping the issue of Burma before them. Both the Burmans and the minorities want to see the military return to the barracks, leaving politics to civilian elected representatives. Until democracy is re-established, there will be disunity, warfare and economic decline in Burma.

From: The Military and Democracy in Asia and the Pacific

Edited by

R.J. May

Viberto Selochan, 1998,2004

Preface to the ANU E Press Publication

We are fortunate to be able to produce this title six years after the initial publication of The Military and Democracy in Asia and the Pacific. It forms part of an ANU E Press series that is intended to make critical research done at The Australian National University available to a wider readership.

The original edition of The Military and Democracy in Asia and the Pacific was undertaken within the context of the Regime Change and Regime Maintenance in Asia and the Pacific project of The Australian National University’s Department of Political and Social Change, Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, bringing together a number of prominent regional specialists to look at the military’s changing role in selected countries of Asia and the Pacific.

As the original edition sold out, we hope that this new publication will reach an even wider audience who can reflect on the issues raised in this volume and watch with interest the developments within the region.

Nov 2007

BURMA: State, not citizens, the cause of fear & alarm

 

As Burma’s military regime sets about concocting court cases against those whom it has labelled as the ringleaders of protests around the country in August and September, it is increasingly falling back upon a tried and tested provision of its antiquated Penal Code, section 505, according to which,

 

“Whoever makes, publishes or circulates any statement, rumour or report… (b) with intent to cause, or which is likely to cause, fear or alarm to the public or to any section of the public whereby any person may be induced to commit an offence against the State or against the public tranquility… shall be punished with imprisonment which may extend to two years, or with fine, or with both.”

 

It has been a characteristic of the criminal injustice system in Burma under the current administration that virtually anything can be found to fall within the parameters of section 505(b), from the making of complaints about forced labour to the watching of a wedding video of a general’s daughter. But in the aftermath of the recent uprising this section is being overused to the point of absurdity, suggesting a policy dictate rather than any kind of legal process, no matter how feigned. 

 

Here are some among many new 505(b) cases that have come to the notice of the Asian Human Rights Commission www.ahrchk.net (email: listmaster@ahrchk.net) in recent weeks.

 

On October 19, the township court in Katha, Sagaing Division, sentenced National League for Democracy (NLD) members U Myint Kyi (son of U Ba Zaw) and U Zaw Lin (a.k.a. U Maung Maung) to two years with hard labour for their alleged part in the protests. According to Police Superintendent Myint Zaw, the two men held a meeting with others at Myint Kyi’s house on September 25 to plan for a protest in the town the next day. The court heard that the march lasted for a half an hour and involved around 50 monks and over 400 residents who apparently went not in order to press for changes in their society but rather in order “to cause alarm to the public”. The accused maintained that they were not organisers of the protest and anyway Zaw Lin did not even attend it, but Judge Ne Aung does not appear to have considered their testimony as like other such judgments in Burma’s courts, his lacks evidence of any specific reasoning behind the verdict. 

 

In a related case, on October 18, the court in nearby Indaw sentenced Shwe Pein (a.k.a. Htay Naing Lin) and Chan Aung (a.k.a. Nyi Htay) also to two years with hard labour for allegedly having had contact with the defendants in Katha and having communicated to short wave radio stations abroad about goings on there. Interestingly, Deputy Police Chief Kyaw Htay used telephone records and called an official from the government communications department to testify against the two–who are members of the Human Rights Defenders and Promoters (HRDP) group. Others in that group have been targetted in similar legal actions thoughout the year. Judge Daw Khin Myat Tar concluded that the defendants had “sent news to foreign broadcasters with intent to injure State tranquility and the rule of law by causing alarm to the public” and passed her sentence accordingly.

 

U Min Aung, a father of three small children, was brought into the district court of Thandwe (upon the western seaboard) facing the same charge on October 17. Min Aung–who was apparently targetted for having worked on a number of forced labour cases in Arakan State and having had contact with the International Labour Organisation’s office in Rangoon–was sentenced for his alleged involvement in protests in his hometown of Taunggut on September 26 and 27, although in his defence he maintained that he had been away from the area until October 12, the day before he was arrested. When Min Aung complained that he had been denied a lawyer, in violation of his human rights, Judge Daw Hsaung Tin added another two years to his sentence for contempt of court, making it nine-and-a-half years in total. Later, it seems that a lawyer was able to get the case reviewed and the sentence brought back down to two-and-a-half years, despite having been refused permission to get copies of the court’s judgment. 

 

Reports of identikit charges, investigations and convictions are coming from all over the country. For instance, the Yoma 3 news service (Thailand) says that on November 7 Judge Maung Maung at a court in Pyi, lower Burma, sentenced two other HRDP members–Ko Zaw Htun and Ko Thet Oo–to two years each under 505(b), along with a disrobed monk, U Pandita. Similarly, according to the Burmese service of Radio Free Asia, courts in Kachin State, on the border with China, sentenced NLD members U Ba Myint of Banmaw and U Ne Win of Myitkyina (the state deputy chairman) to–yet again–two years apiece on November 9. Ba Myint was reportedly tried in a closed court, without the knowledge of his family, while Ne Win’s wife only learnt of the charge against him when she went to the court on the afternoon of November 8; the next morning he was given 15 minutes to hire a lawyer (without success), after which the judge tried the case and passed the judgment that evening.

Meanwhile, analogous cases were proceeding against two more party members in Monyin, U Kyaw Maung and U Hpe Sein, who are aged 60 and 74 respectively. And according to a human rights lawyer, others facing or having been sentenced in 505(b) cases include U Myint Oo, the NLD secretary in Magwe; U Thar Cho in Yenanchaung, Htun Htun Nyein in Chauk, and schoolteacher U Htay Win in Natmauk, all also in Magwe; and Ko Saw Win, an NLD organiser in Hinthada (Irrawaddy delta) and Maung Khaing Win, who offered water to protestors in the same township. The lawyer only came to learn of the last two by accident, when he was there following up on the case of the Hinthada Six, on whose case the AHRC has conducted an special campaign since April.

 

Clearly, it is not the persons who have been forced to defend themselves in these shabby show trials who have “intent to cause fear or alarm to the public” but rather, the persons behind the policy of 505(b) convictions and two-year sentences for anyone who might have been getting up the authorities’ collective nose, without regard to the legality of how they came to be in custody, how they came to be in the courts or how they came to be convicted.

 

It is Burma‘s authorities, not its citizens, who are responsible for the fear and alarm that persists in their country.

 

The fantastic irony of all of these cases is that while the military regime rails against neocolonialists and the supposed interference of others in its internal affairs, it is using a colonial-era law in its desperate attempts to crush opponents to its unsavoury rule in exactly the same manner as did the British officials who devised and implemented the law over a century ago. The provision is the same one that exists until today in the Indian Penal Code (1860), which can be found in one form or another throughout the Commonwealth; however, despite its persistence on the statute books, nowhere is the section so shamelessly and blatantly manipulated for purposes entirely contrary to notions of justice than in Burma today.

 

The use of section 505(b), police and conventional courts in handling virtually all of the cases arising out of the recent protests reinforces a point that the Asian Human Rights Commission has been making as a result of its close study of the situation in Burma over the last few years: it is in the case-based study of ordinary institutions, laws and procedures, not in the privileging of special security regulations and secret tribunals, that understanding about the management of Burma’s authoritarian state and mismanagement of its society is to be obtained. At this time that the UN Special Rapporteur on human rights in Myanmar, Professor Paulo Sergio Pinheiro, has again at last been able to visit the country, the AHRC calls for him and all other persons examining the situation of human rights there to pay special attention to this aspect of ongoing systemic violations in Burma.

 

The role of human rights organisations and defenders at this critical time in the country’s history must consist not only of documenting and describing events but understanding and interpreting them for the benefit of both ourselves and others. In the case of Burma especially we may not always be able to say why something happened, but we should at least be able to say how, and not just what.

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