Muslim Minority Rohingyas Among Opponents to Burmese Military Regime

By John Gee


	A Rohingya refugee boy living at the Kutapalong refugee camp in Bangladesh washes himself before praying. (AFP Photo/Jewel Samad).

I HOPE I MIGHT be forgiven, at the start of a new year, for recalling a few recent topics that otherwise might be too easily forgotten.

It seems impossible to find any saving grace in the military regime in Burma (redubbed Myanmar by its present rulers). At independence, the country seemed to enjoy good prospects: not very densely populated, and with agricultural produce, teak and precious stones among its export goods, it appeared to have a better future than neighboring India. Instead, it has lived the past 45 years under military rulers who devote a considerable part of the country’s income to keeping the army loyal, while accumulating private fortunes.

The regime’s sordid character and the extent of popular opposition was brought to the world’s attention in 2007 when monks led countrywide protests after the regime raised fuel prices by over 400 percent in August. The move was made after the government had relocated from Yangon, the former capital, to newly built Naypidaw, in the center of the country, where the fearful junta feels more insulated from popular dissent.

The role played by the Buddhist monks and the location of the most publicized protests in the Burman-inhabited areas might easily have led some observers to overlook the other forces in the country opposed to the current regime. They include such different national minorities as Buddhist Shans and Christian Karens, in Burma’s east.

Among those most fervently hoping for an end to the military regime are a Muslim minority known as the Rohingyas, whose home territory is on the western coast of Burma. Their language is similar to that of the people of the neighboring Chittagong area of Bangladesh—which the military regime has used to support its claim that they were Bengali immigrants with no right to Burmese citizenship. In fact, when the British occupied the area in 1825, they found that half the population of the Arakan area were Muslims.

In 1992, the Burmese army combed the Rohingya areas of the Arakan region, driving the alleged “foreigners” from their homes. Some fled to other parts of Burma, but 250,000 crossed the border into Bangladesh. They were officially regarded as “undocumented people” rather than refugees. Poor, densely populated Bangladesh took a helpful attitude at first, but soon wearied of the Rohingyas’ presence. It mounted pressure on Burma to allow their return and on the refugees to leave. The majority were readmitted to Burma, but a smaller wave arrived in Bangladesh in 1996-97.

Those who remained in Burma or returned there are still denied citizenship, refused the right to own property and discriminated against. During military campaigns, they have been forced to labor on projects for the army. Rohingyas are at the bottom of the economic pile in a country that, in 2006, had a per capita GDP of $1,800, compared to $2,300 in Bangladesh. No wonder they supported the movement of protest against the military authorities.

Collateral Damage

After 23 Korean Christians were seized in Afghanistan by the Taliban, it took six weeks to secure the release of the 21 who survived after two of their number were slain by their captors. Upon their return home they came in for strong criticism. Many said that they had exposed themselves to danger needlessly and, by doing so, had presented their captors with the chance to make money and political capital from their release. What seems to have been widely overlooked is the impact activities such as theirs can have upon the work of other foreigners working in similar environments.

Western-based humanitarian organizations often face suspicion when they begin to operate in areas that are very different from their home bases in terms of culture and religion. In many parts of Africa and Asia, there are still bitter memories of the colonial era, when European governments frequently gave free rein to organizations that believed they were doing good work by trying to convert indigenous populations to their own cultural values. Coupled as such efforts often were with the denigration and suppression of local traditional beliefs and customs, they came to be much resented. This hurdle has become easier to overcome with the passing of time and the establishment in recent times of a proven track record by the major international humanitarian relief and development organizations.

Old suspicions can be revived, however. This is particularly true in places where contemporary conflicts pit a potential recipient population’s sympathies against those of a humanitarian organization’s country of origin.

Workers with U.S.-based humanitarian organizations working in the Arab world, such as World Vision, know what it means to encounter the suspicion that they are there to promote their government’s unpopular foreign policy. It can take considerable dedication and patience, sometimes involving personal risk, for them to prove that they are, in fact, on the humanitarian mission that they claim to be.

This difficulty is all the greater when a humanitarian body is associated with Christian beliefs and wishes to operate in Muslim countries, as do the long-established UK-based charities Christian Aid and Catholic Agency for Overseas Development. They are careful to assure their hosts that whatever aid they provide comes to recipients on a humanitarian basis; that it may be the donors’ Christian values that inspire the act of giving, but the assistance is not linked to a program of religious preaching and conversion. Such an attitude tends to win respect and trust, allowing charities such as these to work harmoniously with local people to meet pressing relief and development needs.

This approach, generally adopted by experienced and well-established humanitarian bodies, was essential to the non-governmental organizations’ contribution to relief work in Aceh following the catastrophic tsunami in 2004; it allowed a variety of non-Muslim organizations to provide much-needed assistance with a minimum of friction. Attempts by some Muslim and Christian groups to promote their own narrow agendas were quickly rebuffed.

Most evangelical Christian groups believe that they have a mission to spread their faith across the world, and see the conversion of Muslims to Christianity as the ultimate challenge; they have their mirror image among Muslims. As open preaching of their faith is prohibited or severely restricted in predominantly Muslim countries, they consider themselves justified in using humanitarian work as a cover for proselytizing activities. This was evidently what the Korean Christians of the Saemmul Community Church were doing when taken hostage by the Taliban.

Unfortunately, by adopting this tactic, groups such as these jeopardize the good work done by others. When their real agenda comes to light, every foreign humanitarian body working in the same area comes under renewed scrutiny. Political and religious extremists who are hostile to any institution that does not conform to their own narrow vision of the world leap at the chance to point an accusing finger at them. The lives of those who work with these organizations, as well as years of constructive work, in some cases, are threatened.

It is one thing for people to risk their own lives for a cause in which they believe: that may be seen as admirable, if not necessarily wise. It is quite another to put in jeopardy the lives and welfare of others who do not share a belief in that cause. The greatest harm is often done by people who firmly believe that they are doing what is right. The action of sending a group of foreigners with little understanding of the cultural environment into which they are going on a proselytizing mission in a war zone under the guise of performing humanitarian work is a case in point.

John Gee is a free-lance journalist based in Southeast Asia, and the author of Unequal Enemies: The Palestinians and Israel, available from the AET Book Club.