Guarding Against a Communal Narrative

By Moyukh Mahtab Reprint | | Print |

A large plume of smoke is seen on the Myanmar side of the border from Teknaf, September 15, 2017. Photo: REUTERS/Mohammad Ponir Hossain

Sep 20 2017 - The outpouring of help for Rohingya refugees who have fled to Bangladesh has been heart-warming. For a country itself plagued by scarcity, people from all walks have come forward to help them in whatever capacity they have. Buddhists in this country have set up camps to donate blood to Rohingyas who need it and Muslims here have come out to help both Muslims and Hindu refugees from Rakhaine. Now, Sikh volunteers from India have arrived in Teknaf to set up a community kitchen for the refugees. And, as befits a nation that constitutionally guarantees the rights of every citizen, irrespective of race and religion, some Muslim alems have come out saying that now, it is the duty of Islamic leaders here to ensure that no one harasses minorities in this country through misappropriation of the plight of the Rohingyas.

This is timely. There have already been reports of a few isolated incidents. Last week, a woman studying in university, was forced out of a bus she was travelling in as she was a Buddhist from the Chakma community, and by some twisted logic to some people, responsible for the atrocities in Myanmar. Prothom Alo reported on September 14 how a Buddhist monk who had just arrived in Bangladesh was picked up by three youths from a shop when he went there to buy water, and threatened. On September 15, Sammilito Bouddho Somaj held a press conference, denouncing the atrocities on the Rohingya in Myanmar, but also pointed out how a certain group was engaged in inciting communal hatred within Bangladesh. As precaution—and the state deserves praise for this—to ensure security of Buddhists here, police has increased vigilance around monasteries in Chittagong.

We have seen before how simplistic narratives of persecution of minorities can give rise to further communal tensions.

A little history of Myanmar, and how communalism works in general, is relevant. The religious nationalism that fuels the ethnic cleansing that is happening today in the Rakhine State is not something that suddenly flared up. Communalism is the use of a supposed religious identity as the basis of a political and social ideology. It seeks to categorise human beings as distinct communities along religious lines. It’s the expression of political and economic power through the use of religion. As Saskia Sassen recently highlighted in her article, the persecution of Rohingyas “might be partly generated by military-economic interests”—land grabbing and the greed for natural resources in Rakhine. (Is Rohingya persecution caused by business interests rather than religion?, Guardian, 2017) As for politics, the use of religion to consolidate support against some “other” is not new to this subcontinent. In this context, how we explain and generate public and international opinion on the Rohingya issue matters. The Rohingya issue cannot be described as an either/or: it is an entangled mess of religion, race, ultra-nationalism and business interests—to name only a few dimensions.

Myanmar is home to at least six distinct groups of Muslims including the Indian-descended Muslim community of Rangoon, the Panthay who are Burmese Chinese Muslims and Zerbadi Muslims, descended from inter-ethnic marriages between Muslim men and Burmese women. Rohingyas are one such, although they are not recognised by the Myanmarese government. The official country puts the total Muslim population at around 4.3 percent, but as a 2006 US State Department report pointed out, the census may have underestimated the country’s Muslim population. The Rohingya population, which is not enumerated, consists of about half of the total Muslim population of Myanmar. Myanmar on the other hand claims that the Rohingyas are ethinically Bangalees, who crossed over and so not deserving of citizenship.

To say that religion is not a factor is wrong. As it is wrong to claim that religion solely drives the hate. There is a recent historical basis for Muslim–Buddhist conflict in Myanmar, but the case of the Rohingyas is distinct. And their plight is worse, because unlike other Muslim communities, they are not officially “citizens” of the country. Ethnicity is a crucial factor which drive the Myanmarese narrative—that of refusing to acknowledge Rohingyas as an ethnic group and claiming they are Bangalee immigrants.

Muslims have lived in what is Myanmar today for centuries now—and at times, the Buddhists, the majority, have coexisted peacefully with the minority population of Muslims who had started settling Myanmar from at least the ninth century. There are confirmed reports of Muslim colonies—which grew up over time from the Muslim sailors who settled in Myanmar, children of Muslim men who married Burmese women, mercenaries and migration—between the 13th to the 16th century. (Moshe Yegar, The Muslims of Burma)

At times Indian Muslims were very important to the administrative apparatus of Myanmar and held key positions in the ports and the court. Of course, there was tension at times, but there was harmony and coexistence for longer. Just take two examples which Moshe Yegar writes of in his book. Firstly, that of King Mindon who built a hostel in “Mecca for the comfort of Burmese Muslim pilgrims and at his own expense sent Burmese Muslims with money to erect the building …” in the second-half of the 19th century. In 1937, we find the Muslim Free Hospital and Medical Relief Society. A significant portion of its financing came from Zakat contributions for specific care of Muslims patients. In order to cater to all religions, the hospital started levying a fee, “a symbolic sum, upon the Muslim patients for the treatment they receive, for a Lillah (to God) Fund earmarked for the treatment of non-Muslim patients.” When it comes to the history of Myanmar, Moshe Yegar notes that Muslim persecution during the rule of one king in the 18th century was an aberration in the “background of tolerance.”

Of course, by the time Myanmar gained independence in 1948, the usual suspects of colonialism’s divide and rule policy had set in. Historically, tensions existed between those who lived in Rakhine, which was once independent from Myanmar, and the Burmese, but not along religious lines. World War II added to the discord when the two made different alliances. After Ne Win’s military take-over of the country in 1962, this hardened further. The pre-coup government of U Nu had recognised the ethnic identity of the Rohingyas, but since 1962, their claim to citizenship has been systematically denied. If one looks beyond the official Myanmarese narrative, one finds that in 1974, the government used the issues of “race and religion to consolidate its declining support.” (Imtiaz Ahmed, The Rohingyas: From Stateless to Refugee) Imtiaz Ahmed further writes, “Although in the entire matter, the government was selectively targeting the Arakanese Muslims or Rohingyas, it was not long before that the Arakanese as a whole (both Buddhists and Muslims) realised that such activities were intended to create a wedge between the majority Arakanese Buddhists … and the minority Rohingyas.”

The infamous Operation Naga Min of 1978¬–79 is reported to have been directed against both the Muslims and Buddhists of Rakhine. The Rohingya sought refuge in Bangladesh, hoping for shelter from their co-religionists. Between 1978-1983, military atrocities like those of today resulted in the deaths of 1,725 and the rapes of 2,715 Rakhine Buddhists. During the time 437 Rohingyas were killed and 1681 Rohgingya women were raped.

In 1990, the military government refused to hand over power to a democratically elected government, and had killed a few monks who were protesting. As Imtiaz Ahmed puts it: “The targeting of the Rohingyas in November 1991, therefore, fulfilled the double-task of consolidating the Buddhist majority and, at the same time, wrecking the unity of the Arakanese.” This time, pandering to populist sentiments, the main targets were the Rohingya Muslims, who were made targets for being of a different religion and ethnicity. Like right-wing populist leaders we see today, demonising an “other”, the military government wanted the support of Buddhists throughout Myanmar. Placating of hard-line monks meant increased tension between Buddhists and Muslims. The spectre of an “Islamisation” of the country and constant state propaganda created a narrative of the Myanmarese community as distinct groups. Tun Khin, a human rights activist and president of Burmese Rohingya Organisation UK, summarised to Newsweek recently: “Rohingyas are a different ethnic group, they have a different appearance and religion.” They were easy targets.

The point of this short and incomplete summary is to show how communalism appropriates religion. The state-military promoted this until the doctrine of hate against “outsiders” had become normalised.

Hearing of the horrors the Rohingya faced from those who survived, it is easy to fall prey to that same sentiment. Worse still, are those who intentionally use the horrors against the Rohingya to strengthen their brand of hate. The Buddhists of Bangladesh are not complicit to the crimes of Myanmar, as all Muslims should not be targeted for the crimes of those who intentionally misrepresent Islam. After all, the same Buddhists from Bangladesh have decided to refrain from their Prabarna Purnima festivities this year protesting the atrocities in Myanmar and have decided to distribute the money for the refugees.

The background to the ethno-religious violence against the Rohingyas and the combined effort of all communities in helping the refugees should be an antidote to the hate Myanmar preaches. We must remember that what we are doing to help the Rohingyas and speak up for them stems from a shared humanity, it rises above the communal politics of Myanmar.

Moyukh Mahtab is a member of the editorial team, The Daily Star.

This story was originally published by The Daily Star, Bangladesh