IMAGINE. You are Johura, a 14 year old girl living in the Cox’s Bazaar Kutupalong Refugee Camp in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Today was yet another day in the last eight months when you woke up shivering with nightmares of the evening when you saw your entire family being murdered, when you fell into the river as you were trying to escape, when you climbed up the muddy slope of the riverbank to find your sister’s dead body lying in the shallow grave that you were made to dig before you were shot in the face, and just when you stood over the muddy hole in shock and loosing blood, you collapsed. You only came back to consciousness after a few days had passed, in Bangladesh, where you were carried by other survivors from your village in the Rakhine state, Myanmar. You don’t feel hungry anymore, you do not play with girls your age, perhaps you have forgotten what laughter even sounds like. You still read namaz everyday as your ethno-religious identity of being a Rohingya, which killed your family, is the sole form of recourse you can fall back on.

Now, let’s talk about peace.

One cannot do justice to a discussion on peace without investigating the various layers of the notion. A broad stroke would simply identify the idea of peace with the absence of war, violence and conflict. However, on a minute examination one would discover that this violence and aggression at the national or international level is a reflection of the aggression festering in each one of us – individual insecurities and fear of ‘the other’, flared by the notions of border, division and hatred. It would be a disservice to the discussion if we consider this as another abstract problem leaving the entire agency to factors beyond our control and not affected by ordinary people like you and me. Peace, in real terms, would mean where no one has to live with a memory as scarred as Johura’s, and insecurities or fears as brutal as those that would result in such acts of violence.

The Rohingya crisis is not a spontaneous development in Myanmar. Rohingyas, the Muslim population of Myanmar, primarily residing in Rakhine state, since the 8th century, have been marginalized and ostracized at the hands of the majority Buddhists since the 18th century. The arbitrary deprivation of citizenship by the military in 1982 rendered them stateless and subjected them to incessant economic and social exploitation. Historically, at least two major waves of systematic killings and attacks against Rohingyas can be traced in Myanmar before the most recent and the most deadly ethnic cleansing leaving tens of thousands dead and seven million fleeing to neighbouring countries, including India. Consistent attempts at stirring up religious hatred and intensifying its agenda of presenting Muslims as the common enemy of an otherwise ethnically divided Buddhist population of Myanmar, has led to what has been referred by some as a genocide in 2016-17.

 

On the question of responsibility however, there is only one person who has been in the spotlight around this crisis – State Chancellor of Myanmar (the de facto Head of State), Aung San Suu Kyi. The international media has incessantly criticized her for her silence on the atrocities committed against the Muslim minority. She has been stripped off her awards and honours bestowed on her for her struggle to secure civil and political rights to the citizens of her country. She has also been blamed for preventing impartial and independent investigations in the Rakhine state.

Surprisingly, the mainstream narrative within Myanmar concerning the situation in Rakhine is as redeeming in the country as it is onerous outside the country for Aung San Suu Kyi. They say, ‘if the lady falls, our democracy will fail.’ The story that is woven around the Rohingya crisis reflects not only the political trap she finds herself stuck in, but also the fragility of democracy for which she fought for several decades.

 

In 2015, Daw Suu (how Aung San Suu Kyi is dearly addressed as in Myanmar) led National League of Democracy (NLD) won a democratic election with over 60 per cent of all votes cast and 75 per cent seats, to form the first civilian government of the country in 54 years. Both the common man in Myanmar and the international community constituted by states, international non-governmental organizations, media houses and political analysts, perceived Daw Suu and NLD as the beginning of a new era in Myanmar. It marked a beginning which looked at democracy with hopeful eyes; democracy where different ethnicities of Myanmar will collectively find a voice of reason, and consequently, the path for reconciliation. A regime where civil and political rights of the citizens will be upheld. Finally, a country led by an elected leader who symbolized peace and justice.

The fairytale witnessed a change in tone far too soon for anyone to believe. In less than two years the Nobel Peace Prize winner, who was being hailed as a beacon of democracy, was seen as an apologist for an alleged genocide carried out by the military junta. One must acknowledge our obsession of labelling personalities. Labels, bereft of details, are often far from the truth. For Aung San Suu Kyi, she was first labelled as an immaculate heroine held as a political prisoner leading a national movement and then soon thereafter, was seen as the defiled de facto head of state who abetted the persecution of millions of Rohingya with her silence.

Although, even while she was being awarded and praised for fighting for the good cause, there is little to no evidence reporting her empathy towards the cause of the Rohingya. Knowing that the situation dates back further from her political movement, it is questionable for someone advocating for civil and political rights in a country to be silent on the issue concerning millions of people affiliated to the religious minority.

 

Projecting someone as the untainted flag bearer in a multilayered political struggle or shifting the blame of an entire crisis to the actions of one person, is reflective of our urge to seek short-term solutions. However, while seeking quick-fixes somewhere, the idea of peace gets compromised. It is difficult to believe that Daw Suu was unaware of the largest unregistered stateless community within her own country when she was being idolized and lauded in her fight for democracy. One fails to find evidence to substantiate that she has ever been sympathetic to the community or represented them in any manner whatsoever even before she was elected. For that matter, even in 2015 when the Rohingya could not take part in the electoral process, there was not a shadow of doubt being cast on the legitimacy of the newly elected democratic regime.

It would be interesting to also investigate how this regime’s international legitimization might have led to further institutionalization of discrimination against the Rohingya in Myanmar. One may discount the short-sightedness of an activist; however, ignorance of a politician comes at a greater cost because what was once a peaceful idea of a national movement has now turned into a draconian nation state.

In the interest of fairness one must admit that the monotone narrative of the situation does absolute injustice to her and to the situation by not acknowledging the nuances of her character in particular and the crisis in general.

On the other hand, ever since she assumed power as the State Chancellor, she finds formidable constraints placed against her to take any concrete action in the situation. She is currently holding the position of State Chancellor and not the President. She could not be appointed as the President of the country because of a constitutional amendment that was specifically enacted by the former military regime to keep her out of that office, prescribing that no one whose family members hold a foreign passport can be appointed as President. (Her late husband was a British citizen and her two sons continue to live in the UK.)

After the elections, she assumed the position of State Chancellor, especially carved out for her, thus serving as the de facto leader of the state. She still functions in a structure where heavy concentration of constitutional power rests in the hands of the military. The basic law, also designed by the former ruling junta, gives the armed forces a continued leading role in politics by way of military veto on constitutional amendments, control over major portfolios such as internal affairs, the border and national defence.

 

To add to the legal constraints, she is also limited by the popular anti-Rohingya sentiment that runs in the majority Buddhist community who see the Rohingya people as an existential threat to their society. This deep-seated hatred against the minority community is further stirred up by the Buddhist monks who yield immense political and popular support in the country. Therefore, if she were to defend the Rohingya or condemn the atrocities committed against them, she stands losing the support of the majoritarian Buddhists of Myanmar who firmly believe that Rohingya are not citizens of the country and hence, do not belong there. If she loses majority support, she will strengthen the support of the army, eventually giving way to a military coup. Hence, the narrative that if she fails democracy will fall.

Therefore, she was neither the sanctimonious icon of democracy when she was being bestowed with awards and recognition and nor is the criticism against her silence in the current situation rightly placed. She might have been the stubborn, fearless, uncompromising leader but her consistent omission on addressing the issues of Rohingyas in all these years of public life, might also hint at something deeply problematic.

 

This attempt to bring her out of the swinging angelic and demonic portrayals would not be complete without an examination of her ideological stance or perhaps, a shift thereof. Several works written by and about Daw Suu reflect how her ‘peaceful’ pro-democracy movement was heavily influenced by the principles and philosophy of Mahatma Gandhi. Just like Gandhi, she did not choose politics but ended up fighting for her nation by circumstance. She inherited the cause from her Burmese nationalist father, Aung San, who was assassinated in 1947. She performed the role with an immaculate sense of responsibility emboldened by extraordinary personal sacrifice.

Since the very beginning her political struggle had been non-violent and peaceful. Multiple speeches and writings suggest an emphasis on overcoming fear. Observing her as an epitome of non-violence and a Gandhian agitator during her struggle, Perry O’Brien described one of her greatest contributions as ‘the recognition of fear and the role that it plays in her politics, the role that it plays in her day-to-day life, and the way it influences her decisions, the way it may prevent us from participating in the kind of movements, in the kind of struggles that can really lead to change for all of us.’

 

It is not the first time that a fearless and courageous political activist might have resorted to a politics of power when stepping into the shoes of a politician. Ironically, her reaction to the Rohingya crisis is primarily driven by fear – the fear of failure, the fear of losing this tussle with the military. Personal fear of losing power and perhaps, a collective fear of fallen democracy. The values which made her an icon of peace and non-violence, their absolute reversal, unravelled the tragedy making her the subject of unprecedented condemnation. If Gandhi’s philosophy of internalized non-violence and moral leadership was to be carried forward from activism to politics, the head of state would be doing more to restore normalcy in Rakhine and in establishing the culpability of military generals by allowing independent investigations. The desired state would be working towards a more just society for all beings regardless of their religious or ethnic identity.

This dichotomy raises multiple questions on personality driven movements and governments: Is ethical and moral leadership only a domain for the activists and not for political leaders? Is it not possible to envision political leaders taking decisions driven by ethics, even when they have stood by these principles for decades before assuming positions of power? If she gained confidence and popularity on the basis of the principles she stood for, then on what basis can she continue to be the leader of the people in the absence of those principles?

On a more structural level, the Rohingya situation owes its gravity to other social, economic and political reasons as well. Besides the abject failure in crisis management on the part of the head of state and her government, the Rohingya crisis also points towards a number of failures of the modern state which stand as barriers to the imagination of a peaceful civilization.

 

The biggest failure is of the concept of citizenship. The Rohingya crisis is a textbook example of the arbitrariness that the idea of citizenship entails. In 1982, they were deprived of their citizenship as arbitrarily as one may become entitled to it. The state divided the people of Arakan, now Rakhine, into three categories: ‘native’ or ‘indigenous’ citizens who are issued pink (full citizenship) cards; non-indigenous citizens who are given blue (associate citizenship) cards; and naturalized citizens who are issued green cards. Rohingya Muslims, who have been living in the state since the 8th century, were given none of these cards. Later, with the intervention of UNHCR, they were given a Temporary Registration Card (TRC) which would then be converted to a citizen’s card after going through a complex process of verification designed in a manner that would qualify only a few.

The principle of granting citizenship and its incidental rights to some, and to the exclusion of all others on superficial grounds of their identity, may be rationally right but is certainly ethically wrong and has rendered millions of people stateless in the last couple of decades. Consequently, it is not just a matter of nationality, but rather a parameter for fundamental rights, livelihood, health care and most of all, of dignity.

This problem of arbitrary deprivation of rights from people in the name of citizenship is not exclusive to Myanmar. The National Register of Citizens might also lead to a similar fate for the Muslims in Assam, who would be floating in a state of limbo after the nation state where they have resided for generations, deprives them of citizenship and therefore, their lineage, culture and identity. One must not mistake the idea of citizenship as the cause of the problem when it is nothing but a mere symptom of our urge to divide and identify in the name of claiming limited resources. Citizenship, in most cases, becomes a sophisticated tool to inflict violence on the minorities and the oppressed – a fundamental attack against the idea of peace.

 

The second failure that situations like these highlight is that of majoritarian democracies. Admittedly, the case at hand in Myanmar is a hybrid democracy. It is evident that the sentiment of a popular community is manipulated and played upon to dispense with a minority which no longer suits the political interest of the elite. The force of this popular sentiment on consequent state policy is undeniable. One would not have to look too far to see how popular sentiment governs the cost-benefit analysis of numbers where inevitably the minority (regardless of the basis) becomes the collateral damage.

Majoritarian democracies in a multicultural and plural context have continued to fail the minority communities, be it the Tamils in Sri Lanka, Sikhs, Muslims, Dalits in India or Rohingya Muslims in Myanmar. In every situation, the people who belong to the minority community are stripped off their humanness and merely reduced to numbers. Numbers do not have identity, rights, or agency. Numbers can be easily dispensed with, because democracies are for people and not numbers.

This idea that a greater common good is determined solely on the basis of numbers is absurd, more so when the number of minorities runs into millions. Not every time does this determination of greater common good result in international displacement. On multiple occasions, the minorities end up being victimized and uprooted within their own countries at the hands of structures which have a binary understanding of democracies and representation. Is it really possible to strive for peace where lives are priced and that too, differentially? The idea of majoritarian democracies needs an urgent reconsideration, especially in pluralistic societies.

Third, our approach towards the Rohingya crisis and other such similar situations in India or South Asia exhibits an absolute failure of imagination. Placing overwhelming responsibility on one personality hero-worshipping the overarching saviour, harbours a lack of imagination and thoughtfulness for alternative approaches. The conflicting psychological layers in these personalities leave us ill-equipped to address the problems which require institutional and structural responses. One, or a selected few human beings, cannot be sustainable solutions to issues that outlast them. We need to invest more in the institutions that form the foundational support of democracy – institutions that exemplify representation and justice for all.

 

It will be interesting to see how the situation unfolds in the realm of international criminal justice. The International Criminal Court (ICC) is currently in its preliminary examination phase on the crime of deportation against the Rohingya community. The ICC is exercising jurisdiction on the situation through Bangladesh (a state party) and not through Myanmar, which has not signed the statute for the court.

In view of the multiple factors and tensions that led to the situation, it would be naive to expect that the repatriation of Rohingya Muslims, and accountability of the perpetrators for the atrocities committed against them, will ensure a peaceful life for them in Myanmar. This does not undermine the importance of criminal accountability which remains one of the main pillars of securing justice for the egregious crimes that shocked the conscience of humanity. Even if rehabilitation and restoration is necessary, this must mean more than mere relocation. The pursuit of peace in any society has to be coupled with a long-term reconstruction of values, beliefs and a clear perspective. Normalcy can only be restored with an improved and psychologically secure everyday engagement with the Rohingya by the state and the Buddhist people.

The idea of peace will not remain an ideal pursuit if we were to resort to innovative ways to use the existing tools at hand to rework the individual and the state with collective grit and willingness. There is nothing preventing us from bringing the shared values of religious faith to counteract a politics that stands on the shoulders of organized religion. Pluralistic societies run on free and open discourse. Public spaces are engaged to understand the other and not outweigh the enemy. Increased exposure could result in empathy and a shift in narrative.

It is not unimaginable to shift the discussion with the Buddhists in the case of Myanmar, calling them to revisit the basic tenets of their religion – inclusiveness, empathy and peace. A psychological and social revolution may pave the path for keeping morality, ethics and ideas of peace and justice at the forefront, to address the problem of violence and divisive politics in a sustained manner. Our actions cannot wait for the wind to change its direction and when we find ourselves as the other, at the mercy of the majority voice. We will be able to talk about peace only with a strong individual will and immediate action to ensure that no young child is ever subjected to the fate of Johura again.