AT DAWN, YANGON IS A SYMPHONY OF RUSTLES
RANGOON
COCOON STORIES OF BURMESE BUTTERFLIES
B. RICHARD A. MURAT
PHOTOESSAY
AT DAWN, YANGON IS A SYMPHONY OF RUSTLES
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n the platform of the train station, longyis softly swish against each other, baskets scrape from one shoulder to the next, young lovers murmur sweet words yet dare not touch. Behind them, the silhouette of an antediluvian locomotive grows. Perhaps one of the greatest contributions of the British Empire to Burma, the train that circles Yangon carries every morning thousands of passengers to their suburban destination. The wagons are packed, and understandably so: a ticket costs Kh 20, one tenth of the bus fare. To every hour belongs one crowd, one merchandise, one scent. At 4 a.m., the flower sellers open the march, followed at 6 a.m. by the vegetable and fruit vendors. At 9 a.m., when the students take over, the wooden benches are still fragrant with the scent of onions, mangoes and exotic flowers. Soon, it is the potent smell of water buffaloes and rice paddies that infiltrates the hull. Outside, Yangon’s concrete jungle has been replaced by endless fields of water cress. The tracks have disappeared under the tall grass, and the train seems to glide through a wind-swept ocean of green. Merely half an hour after departure, the city is but a memory.
MINETHAWK MARKET Nearing a station, the train slows down, but never stops. Like seasoned paratroopers, the peasants jump out with surreal ease and, carried by the momentum, run a few yards by the wagon. They won’t need to go far: Minethawk market is right there, sprawled on the tracks and the platforms. Only a thin corridor carved between the stalls allows for the train’s passage. “This is Burma” laughs a student as he disappears into the crowd, a delicately choreographed chaos of haulers, children and cattle. Like so many other places in the country, the atmosphere is relaxed and goods are abundant. Yet the smiles belie a harsher reality: “I’m here from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. and I only make Kh 4,000 to Kh 5,000 a day, barely enough to feed my three children, sighs Than Moung Aung, an onion seller. This market is the shadow of what it once was. Nargis destroyed whatever cement buildings we had and nothing has been rebuilt since. We have no choice but to work outside, under the monsoon or in tents. Business is also not as good as it used to be. The economy is bad. Everyone lost money. To survive, we tighten our belts, but I’d like my children to finish high school and study engineering at university.”
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ducation will be no guarantee of social promotion for Than Mong Aung and his sons. Three stalls further, Ma Thini, a tiny woman lost in a sea of mangoes, is a telling example. She graduated with a B.A. in management from the prestigious University of Yangon, yet, like so many others, is trying to make ends meet. “I wanted to be a doctor, she says, but I didn’t score high enough at my exams to make it to med school. I studied economics instead. After I obtained my B.A. in management, I bought back my mum’s business, and I came here.” The shadows of the market supervisor, flanked by two thugs, cut the conversation short. Most
of Minethawk shops are here illegally, and the presence of two foreigners might attract too much attention from of his superiors. Money changes hands, and the goons disappear. A few minutes in Minethawk reveal many of the demons that bedevil Burma’s economy. Rich in resources, endowed with large swathes of arable land, the country was destined to become Asia’s rice basket after the second World War. But decades of central planning, overregulation and nepotism smothered Burma’s agricultural and industrial development, leaving its workforce starved for economic opportunities.
The bulk of the coun squeezed from a few dustries (mining, tim captured by a tiny el majority fends for sc
INFORMAL ECON However, driven by a succeed despite the Burmese people hav at navigating the mu informal economy: “My uncle is a the airport, explains but you can scarcely His main job earns h a month, so he pays h allowed to work part
ntry’s revenue is w extraction inmber, opium) and lite, while the vast craps.
NOMY a profound desire hardships, ve become masters urky waters of the
an engineer at Tao, a student, see him there. him only $200 his boss to be time in a travel
THIS IS BURMA
agency, where he makes an additional $600. And he also trained himself as an air conditioning expert, so he spends his afternoons doing some odd repairs in hotels, which gets him an extra $150.” Not all bets pay off, however. Many small businesses enjoyed a flicker of prosperity as foreign visitors poured in after 1996, christened “Visit Myanmar Year” by the Junta. But the drop in tourism that followed the cyclone and the Saffron revolution left most of these initiatives still-born. MOE THAK & NAY LAT Moe Thak and Nay Lat, two rickshaw drivers living in Mandalay, are now
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‘‘His main job earns him only $200 a month, so he pays his boss to be allowed to work part time in a travel agency’’ forced to reconsider their options. Moe Thak recalls how everything changed: “We left our village to try our luck in Mandalay. At first, money was good: there were a lot of tourists. After three years, Nay Lat had saved enough to buy his own rickshaw. But last year, he had stomach problems and had to sell everything to pay for treatment. He’s been renting a rickshaw from
a friend since, and trying to save enough money to buy his vehicle back. Things have gotten tougher though. After the “events”, fewer tourists have come. Nay Lat stays here because he has a wife and a daughter, but I have no choice: I must go back to my village.” A NIGHT IN BURMA Besides natural and political disasters, small entrepreneurs must manage with more mundane hardships: crumbling infrastructure, collapsed streets, patchy phone networks and recurrent power cuts. “How are we supposed to make a living when our business depends on the caprices of the power grid”, sighs the owner of a small publishing shop, his hand lovingly placed on the lifeless carcass of the printing press. Aung San Thein, who invested in a DVD player and a
TV set to show movies to the neighborhood, agrees. Every power cuts costs him dearly: Kh 1,000 ($1) to rent a generator. Burma’s electricity woes are even more crippling at night. 8 p.m., And Yangon is plunged in darkness. Most of the electricity that used to power the city has been diverted to Naypyidaw, the new capital built from scratch by the Junta. While the cozy parks and gleaming mall of the ville nouvelle enjoy uninterrupted power, Yangon crumbles. Shunned by public investment, the old capital is littered by the hollow shells of abandoned government buildings, condemned to ineluctable dereliction.
Nowadays, on Yangon still re power, diplom buildings, for From a would remain the glowing do Shwe Dagon t regime cut the prevent fires, with a thousan neon lights th statue highlig pervasiveness
THIS IS BURMA
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nly certain sections of eceive uninterrupted matic and religious the most part. a plane at night, the city n invisible were it not for omes of the Sule and the temples. Even when the e power after Nargis, to the pagodas kept shining nd spotlights. The hat adorn each Buddha ghts the importance and s of Buddhism in Burma.
Mandalay slums use pirate connections to obtain a bit of electricity at night
Street soccer by the Sule pagoda
For those who – neither Gods nor cronies – depend on the good will of the public lighting system, most nights are spent in darkness. Not that Burma lacks electricity, but the Junta exports most of it to neighboring countries. While China and India are powered with Burmese watts, Yangon experiences regular blackouts, some lasting more than seven days. When electricity runs out, it is not only the bulbs that refuse to work. The water stops flowing as well. To drink, cook or take a meager shower, there is no choice but to go several times a day to the well of the nearest monastery.
RENEWABLE ENERGY And yet, even deprived of light and water, Yangon is powered by the energy of its people. Around the Sule Pagoda, lit by the golden glow of the stupa, two teams of teenage boys improvise a soccer match. Soon, the entire square is filled with laughter, yelps and the clap of bare feet on the monsoon-wet pavement. Many players are waiters from the surrounding tea shops. As soon as the last clients have deserted their seats, they turn the streets into soccer fields.
THIS IS BURMA
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“How are we supposed to make a living when our business depends on the caprices of the power grid ?”
When they don’t play between the stalls, children are an integral part of the market’s workforce
An old woman picks up the trash on the tracks of Yangon’s train station
Other players are from Sekhantha, Yangon’s only night market. It never closes. Even at the crux of the Saffron Revolution, when the city was kept under lid by a curfew, the market’s doors remained open. LIVING IN SEKHANTHA You don’t work in Sekhantha. You live in it. You work in shifts, all day, all week. While some unload the truck or watch the shop, others wash at the outside well. The luckiest ones take a nap on a bunk bed, hardly bothered by the fist-sized rainbow spiders crawling from stall to stall. Work is hard, but good spirits prevail. Even when lifting 80 pound crates, the haulers laugh, sing and bellow “Pawci! Pawci!”, the name of a heady mixture of beer and whiskey that all will share to conclude the night’s shift. Getting your own space at Sekhantha comes at a price, though. Only those with cash and connection can ever hope to set up shop there.
But the return is worth the investment. After working in Sekhantha for three years, a betel seller can make enough to afford a small jeep and a cell-phone, both luxuries in Burma. Outside Sekhantha, everything – train station included – is about to close. On the tracks, an old woman picks up the trash dropped on the tracks by the last travelers. The Sule pagoda has become silent. The players have put the soccer ball away, and collect the last plastic chairs on the deserted terraces of the tea shops. Not one rickshaw left on the street. Not one moresilhouette. Yangon is closing its eyes.
THIS IS BURMA
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BURMA IS MORE WELL KNOWN FOR THE MURMURS OF BUDDHIST MANTRAS THAN FOR THE VOICE OF ITS POP STARS
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mile away – a world away, it seems – a quiet neighborhood is about to receive a loud wakeup call. First Aid Box, an amateur rock band, is plugging its instruments onto massive loudspeakers, with every intention of breaking the sound barrier. Spread on a lawn, the audience brims with anticipation, quiet like the sea before a storm. Then Lin Lin touches the cords of his guitar, and the crowd explodes. Burma is more well known for the soft murmurs of Buddhist mantras than for the broken voice of its pop stars. Yet, Yangon’s rock scene is more than 30 years old. It started as a tiny underground phenomenon, a handful of musicians worshipped by the children of the country’s elite. Then computers arrived, piracy took over, and Burmese rock left its cocoon to reach a wider audience. For one dollar, even the most modest households can now afford a copy of the latest album. As the success of rock n’roll reached cruising altitude, Burmese pop and hip hop took off, and in their wake a myriad of amateur bands dream of adding their name to the growing list of Burma’s music legends: Iron Cross, Emperor, Big Bag…
“A few years ago, there were only 4 or 5 pop singers in Burma. There’s now more than a hundred, explains Fireboy, a hip hop producer. The overall quality of musicians is improving, and Yangon counts more and more recording studios.” BURMA’S TRUE VOICE Fireboy’s praises might be far fetched. The vast majority of Yangon’s rock bands are content with plagiarizing Western hits, affixing Burmese words over melodies by Bryan Adams, Celine Dion or Van Hallen. While Japanese J-Pop, Chinese punk and Bollywood hymns have successfully digested – and contributed to – the major trends of international pop, Burmese musicians have been caught in a time/space continuum endlessly looping through the eighties. Many are the artists and producers who deplore the absence of a true Burmese musical voice: “Few bands are really creative, laments Myint Naing, the owner of live music bar in downtown Yangon. Most musicians parrot Western hits because they want to make money. That’s what music is here: a business.”
Rock concert in Yangon
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ART, JUNTA & ROCK N’ ROLL
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“Since we can’t create freely, we ven U Aung Than, a famous use detours, explains Aung Lin – violinist and Burmese music’s a cartoonist – with a wink. We’re most fervent advocate, fails to proud of our inspiration. That’s disagree. “A few years ago, he recalls, what pushes us forward”. Kyaw Zay his long braided beard trembling Yar Oo, journalist and editor of with indignation, I crossed paths Myanmar Horizon magazine, adds: with a German guitarists who had “In Myanmar, journalism is an art. We performed all around the world: USA, have to find the right way to say what Japan, Australia…He mentioned we want to say. Of course, there are being disappointed in Burmese certain boundaries we just can’t cross, musicians, who merely repeated things such as asking for regime change. But that had been composed in the past. within these limits, there are many Even Thailand, he told me, is trying things that we can do.” to develop its own style. I was so embarrassed.” WORKING WITHIN LIMITS Modern music in Burma is not merely WHO WANTS TO KILLS gasping for freedom, it is gasping for BURMESE ROCK? money. In a country still grappling Who wants to kill Burma’s musical with the first steps of inspiration? Is it the development, rock n’roll Ministry of Culture, “Of course, there are doesn’t top the list of inwho supervises every certain boundaries vestment priorities, public single cultural event? we just can’t cross, or private, nor can it rely The official censors such as asking for on Burma’s feeble middle prowling backstage, regime change. But class to fill the gap. Wiready to pounce at the thout financial support, first sign of subversive within these limits, clients, sound equipment, comment? Undeniably, there are many instruments, even the but not only, answers things that we can most famous rock stars Burma’s artistic comdo.” struggle to finance their munity. Censorship Kyaw Zay Yar Oo concerts. does limit many an Journaliste “We all work within artist’s freedom of excertain limits, agrees pression, witness be Myow Aung, a young hip hop singer the fate shared by singers with too and founder of the band Green Plant. much of a political conscience. Zayar Since we can’t say everything we Thaw, founder of the band Acid and want to say, we use very ‘Burmese’ pioneer of the hip hop movement in modes of expressions. But we face Burma, is currently serving a 6 year other difficulties. It’s very hard to find jail sentence for its criticism of the instruments in Yangon, and we can regime. only rehearse when there’s electricity. Yet, loading all of Burma’s sins To tell you the truth, we only work with onto one single scapegoat would be half of what we need.” too easy. Censorship, artists agree, is in large part a formal hurdle, with rules easy to identify and internalize.
Rock concert in Yangon
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reen Plant is not an isolated case. According to Fireboy, the hip hop producer, even the most famous singers have a hard time organizing concerts. There is simply not enough money. COPIES AND COPYCATS Although a blessing for a penniless audience, piracy has made matters worse for Burma’s music industry. In the absence of intellectual property rights laws, anyone with a personal computer can start his own home production business and sell illegal copies of CDs and DVDs in the black market. Less than an hour after a new album is released, the pirated version is already on the stalls, bemoans May Myo Kyaw Swar, the owner of Galaxy, a recording studio in Yangon. “When I started, in 1993, the biggest names in the industry were banging at my door. Even Iron Cross came to record here. We had a waiting list of more than a year! But this business is no longer profitable. Piracy has completely destroyed the music industry. We depend now on small clients with small projects, people who want to make a CD for their family or their church…” Burmese musicians have learned to readjust their expectations. If there is no Khyat to be made on stage or in studios, so be it! They hunt the money where it hides, deep in the pockets of expats, bigwigs and anyone willing to pay for a few cover songs. In their quest for gold, many musicians end up doing up a few gigs at the Drum Drum Thanaka, the musical epicenter of the old capital.
Owned and managed by Myint Naing, a guitarist turned painter, the Drum Drum is one of the few cafes that offer live music daily and – rarity of rarities – regularly holds art exhibitions. Like the attic of an explorer, the bar resembles a bric-à-brac of East and West. Under the poster gaze of Kurt Cobain and Bob Marley, an army of waiters dressed like bellboys at the Peninsula pour glass after glass of Absolut Vodka and Chinese beer. The red brick walls bear the scars of previous lovers, loners and friends: “I think I love you – Angela”, “Happy Birth Han Lwin – 10.02.06”, “生活总 是今人的失望”. Like his bar, Myint Naing is a bridge between worlds: “My mother was a writer and my father a technology professor. I’ve always been caught between science and art. Unsurprisingly, I spent the larger part of the decade from 1984 to 1994 between the benches of med school and the music world, writing songs. Then I graduated, and art finally won. I gave up the idea of becoming a doctor and opened a live music bar instead. That’s how Drum Drum Thanaka was born.
ART, JUNTA & BURMA
Myow Aung, singer and founder of the hip hop band «Green Plant»
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ART, JUNTA & ROCK N’ ROLL
The first Drum Drum was a little 400-square feet room in downtown Yangon. There were very few bars back in the days – the first time I entered one was during a trip abroad – so our little place quickly became very popular. In 1997, we opened another Drum Drum, a bigger one, then a third one in the middle of Kandawgyi park. However, with the growing success of pop and rock, music haveYANGON IS A SYMPHONY OF RUSTLES AT bars DAWN, mushroomed everywhere in Yangon. It’s been very hard to find good musicians since. When I opened my first bar, the city was filled with passionate amateurs with their own style. But nowadays, musicians play more for money and fame than for themselves.” It is tempting to blame money for all of Burma’s music ills. Yet even international music powerhouses – the US, the UK, Japan – have their fair share of penniless musicians trying to make ends meet. So what tolls the knell of the country’s musical creativity? Soe Khaing, a music school headmaster, ultimately blames Burma’s decades of cultural isolation, as well as the weakness of the country’s art education. And with reasons. The only two universities that offer music curriculums focus on emulating the works of the old masters, showing nothing but contempt for composition and improvisation. This passive approach to teaching art has produced generation after generation of “people reluctant to try new things”, thundered Ko Du, founder of the Yangon Music Art Academy, in an interview with the Myanmar Times in 2005. THE MUSIC SCHOOL Thanlwin music school, founded in 2003 by Soe Khaing and Joyce Mill, stands out as an exception. Lost in the middle of a muddy slum in the suburbs of Yangon, Thanlwin’s curriculum includes guitar, piano,
“Our countrie close yet so d Bangkok, I w away by the f and facilities musicians en libraries were books and mu
Soe Hea Lwi
es are so different. In was blown freedom s that Thai njoyed. Their e so full of usic !
e Khaing admaster of Than in music school
Than Lwin’s choir
singing and – surprisingly – music writing classes. Several times a year, students organize concerts mixing jazz, classical music and A Capella songs. The last one, held at the luxurious Strand hotel, attracted more than a thousand people. With his timid smile and oversized glasses, Soe Khaing seems rather self-effacing. But his voice and hands, composed yet trembling with contained passion, betray the seasoned conductor hidden inside. Unphased by the cacophony of students rehearsing in the next room, he recalls the time he spent in Thailand studying music: “This trip opened my eyes. Our two countries are so close yet so different. In Bangkok, I was blown away by the facilities that Thai musicians enjoyed. Their libraries were so full of books and music! In Myanmar, when you have a book, you don’t share. Not that we’re bad people, but it is just that precious. I was also surprised by how different our teaching methods were. In Yangon, students are supposed to take notes and memorize. In Thailand, everyone wants to participate! That’s why I decided to come back to Myanmar and teach music…” Soe Khaing is aware that teaching the technique is only half the battle. Students need to be more exposed to international music, still banned in Burma but a few years ago. That is why the school regularly invites foreign guest speakers to hold workshops in situ, and sends its most promising recruits to pursue their studies at Mahidol University, in Thailand. In 2007 and 2009, Than Lwin’s choir even performed in San Francisco (California), where they received an enthusiastic welcome.
AT DAWN, YANGON IS A SYMPHONY OF RUSTLES
Kin Zaw Latt, painter
Other art forms a Burma. New pain performers emer to a growing com Burmese artists. however. Since t class is neither a invest in contem on a foreign clien pocketed as it m disappear at the instability. And e Burma only attra foreigners, one fo That hasn artists from crea themselves. Exh to emerging Burm flourished in Sin York, launching rising stars: Mau Thank Kiaw Tha Moe, Aye Ko, Ch Anderson, the ow art gallery in dow witnessed their r
are taking hold in nters, sculptors and rge every day, adding mmunity of young . The odds are steep, the country’s middle able nor willing to mporary art, artists rely ntele which – as deep might be – tends to first sign of political even in good years, acts only 300,000 ourth of Thailand’s. n’t stopped local ating and marketing hibitions dedicated mese artists have ngapore, Tokyo, New the careers of a dozen ung Win, Aung Aung, ay, Nunn Nunn, U Soe haw Ei Thein…Susan wner of a luxurious wntown Yangon, has rise to fame:
some more low-key. Every Sunday, a dozen or so artists gather at Kyi Pya, a photographer – to share ideas and play music: “The previous generation of artists tended to work on their own, explains Kyi Pya. But we (the young generation) have grown closer. We’re more open-minded. We like sharing. Everyone has a different knowledge. By talking, we enrich each other.”
“In 2002, there were a handful of Burmese artists who were making money and exhibited their work abroad. Now, you have two or three handfuls. Art collectors start looking at Burma, and local artists have learned how to get in contact with agents and infiltrate art symposiums. More and more artists find opportunities to go and work abroad. From an island cut from the outside world, Burma has become a peninsula. Burma’s relative isolation is both an advantage and an inconvenient, I think. On one hand, Burmese artists know little about the latest art trends, but on the other, it has allowed them to remain very pure. They find their inspiration in what’s around them, in their tradition and this Buddhist religion that they’re so proud of. For many Burmese artists, creating is a true act of devotion.” A NEW GENERATION Burmese artists owe part of their success to a growing sense of solidarity. Many have realized that – in a country where art is at best difficult and at worst life-threatening – unity is strength. Some art collectives have surfaced, some quite ambitious, like the New Zero project, a gallery owned and run by a group of 30 artists
This young generation is far more aware of the possibilities that Internet opens for artistic creation and promotion. Listening to Latt Zaw Nay, a young 24 year old prodigy that sells paintings for $5,000 a piece, one can’t help to feel that the days of Burma’s isolation are counted: “In art school, we merely focused on copying the work of great masters. Then internet arrived…On the web, I was able to analyze the work of foreign artists and realized that there were many more styles than I could dream of. I used that to develop my inspiration and create my own style. Internet has also changes the way people perceive art in Burma. Before, people were only able to admire a painting passively. But now, they ask, they engage, they try to determine what’s new about this or that. It’s a very positive evolution. You see less and less realist art and more and more conceptual art out there.”
Young pupil at one of Yangon’s numerous English schools
BURMESE STUDENTS BURN WITH AN UNQUENCHABLE THIRST FOR KNOWLEDGE
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t dawn, they squat in the gutter, glue their nose to an antiquated English book, and start mouthing off incomprehensible sentences. At dusk, they cram on the benches of the private tutoring institutes that have flourished in the capital. At night, they do their homework at candlelight, apparently unbothered by mosquitoes, exhaustion, and the racket of the generators near-by. They know all too well that, like every rare commodity, education is precious in Burma. EDUCATION IS REPETITION Universities, historically the epicenters of social unrest, have the unfortunate habit of closing at the first time of social unrest: their doors stayed shut from 1988 to 1990 and from 1996 to 1999. Even opened, the education they provide is subpar. In a society still heavily hierarchical and patriarchal, learning by heart, rather than interact or participate, remains the modus operandi of Burmese classrooms. As a result, few students manage to develop a critical mind, explains Min Thein Kha, a teacher: “Here, teachers do not tolerate any mistake. So students tend to be shy. They don’t express themselves for fear of saying something wrong.” If most of Asia shares a similar love for authority and repetitive learning,
students in most countries have the opportunity to develop their analytical and creative skills outside school, via the media, Internet and other extra-curricular activities. Such opportunities are scarce in Burma. The web, one of the few windows opened to the outside world, falls regularly victim of power cuts and censorship. Even self-improvement manuals on software, arts and languages are very difficult to find, deplores Soe Khaing: “When my university had to close because of the 1988 events, I found myself with a lot of free time on my hands. I played guitar at the time, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to improve my skills. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find any book I could use to teach myself. Tapes and music sheets were very rare and expensive as well. I stagnated, burning with the desire to study in a real music school.” Despite the regime’s “no child left behind” policy, Burma’s education is by and large two-tiered. Most public schools – heart-wrenching symbols of a country which the state spends seven times more on the military than on education according to the UNESCO – are under-equipped and over-crowded. To eke out a living, underpaid teachers neglect their usual classes and dedicate most of their
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ON THE BENCH
‘‘When I opened my school in 1992, after I came back from India, I had only 3 students. Today, I have more than 500. I need more space, but I don’t own the land, and charges have doubled recently.’’
Their headmasters are often young teachers eager to contribute positively to the future of their country. Ye Thue, the owner of a little language school, is a man with a mission: “Most of the other schools charge Kh 25,000 ($23) per month, when students make at most Kh 30,000 or 40,000. I never charge more than Kh 10,000 ($9). All I want is to help the young generation improve its language skills.”
OLD IS SCHOOL, NEW SCHOOL AT DAWN, YANGON A SYMPHONY OF RUSTLES Coiled up against a crumbling highrise of downtown Yangon, the Get Up time to private tutoring classes. Pupils English School attracts every weekwho cannot afford these extra classes end several hundred students, workers are doomed to lag behind those who and monks. Under the school’s tent, the can. heat is unbearable. A squadron of fans Quality schools do exist: Dagon, tries in vain to cool down the panting Latha, ILBC and the Horizon, to name crowd. a few. However, these establishments Standing on a stage, Mya teach mostly to the children of Nyaing, the school founder, repeats influential and wealthy families, those tirelessly the same dialogue in front of who can afford the tuitions fees and other a hypnotized audience. Even amplified “generous donations” that the schools by a microphone, his voice barely covers impose. The same children spend a the noise of the electric generator. fortune on private evening classes to get ahead. Better prepared, and better “When I opened my school in 1992, after connected, the sons and daughters of I came back from India, I had only 3 the elite stand a much better chance of students. Today, I have more than 500. making it to the best university and – I need space, but I don’t own the land, in a country where the private sector is and charges have doubled recently.’’ strictly regulated, opportunities scarce and nepotism rampant – to capture the few profitable jobs available. LEARNING AT ALL COST Less fortunate students must work twice as hard to reach similar results. Many of them combine multiple small jobs while attending night and weekend classes to learn accounting, a language, a software…To these young Burmese, mastering English or French means having a shot at a job in a multinational, or becoming a travel guide. Though most of the private tutoring institutes charge outrageous fees, a handful of them lowered their prices to tap into this fast-growing clientele.
Despite the challenge, Mya Nyaing’s resolution is unwavering: ‘‘Since I only charge $3 a day to each student, I have no choice: I must find something cheaper. Many of my students are too poor to even pay $3, but I’d rather move than force them to pay. It’s just the way I am.” Min Thein Kha, founder of the Ayeyarwady English School, prefers smaller classes, which allow him to build a special bond with each of his students. “Even if it pays less, I prefer to keep my classes under 10 students. It is the only way I can get to know them, and
and understand why this one is angry or this one improves faster than the others. This way, I maximize the potential of each one. Even if there is a common theoretical base to teaching, it is really is a case by case exercise. That’s why I first observe my class, learn about it, then think about what is the best way to go. It’s a real philosophy. I call it ‘Classology’”. What mostly distinguishes Ayeyarwady English School is its pedagogy. When most other establishments force students to learn by heart, Min Thein Kha focuses on participation and critical thinking.
3:30 p.m. Pupils leave St Patrick school
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ON THE BENCH
“Thanks to Min Thein Kha, I’m very good at school. It’s important because I want to go to San Francisco become a doctor, like in the movies. And there, they s English.’’
Michelle, pupil at Ayeyarwady English sch
“If a student spends his time listening, WEAVING THE WEB he will forget. But if he participates, Another revolution is underway, both he will never forget. That’s why I in classrooms and in the minds IS A SYMPHONY OF of RUSTLES used magazines like “Times” AT andDAWN, YANGON Burma’s young generation. Internet “Newsweek” to initiate debates in has appeared in the country a few class. The children do not understand years ago, and has spread through everything, but they recognize movies Yangon and Mandalay at a rapid pace. stars, or an ad…then we talk about it.” Nowhere to be seen but a few years ago, cybercafes and videogame More than a teacher, Min Thein Kha centers can now be found at every is a mentor, a big brother, whose corner in Yangon and Mandalay. teachings extend far beyond English. The cost of connection may be quite Classes are held in his apartment. high (30 cents per hour) and the web During recess, the children play content tightly controlled by the junta, in his living room. Inspirational Burma boasts more and more regular message are hung on the wall: “take users, around 40,000 according to the your responsibilities, make your own latest statistics. A little window to the choices, become a decent person…” outside has opened. That being said, cell phone remain an unaffordable “A language is a living breathing luxury. It can cost several thousand entity, he explains. It can change dollars to open and use a line, and the perception of students, and make communication is patchy at best. them more independent. Some parents Influenced by TV, internet and do not like my methods, and ask me magazines, Burma’s urban youth has why I make students to learn by heart. started to emulate Western fashion Participation is not really part of their codes. In a country that cherishes learning culture.” uniforms – at school or at home, where the traditional “longyi” remains The results are indeed impressive. the norm – teenagers have learned Isabelle, a 12 year old girl with a to diversify their wardrobe. They lightning quick wit, already speaks now wear jeans, T-shirt and trendy better English than many language jewelry, bought at a local market for teachers in Burma. far less than they used to : thank you China! Although limited, access to “My teachers at school do not explain the media is transforming the way the very well, so I ask Min Thein Kha.If I new generation dresses, consumes… don’t understand, he always explains and learns. Min Thei Kha witnesses it one more time. I also like when we write every day: paragraphs. It makes us more clever. I’m very good at school. It’s important “It’s far easier to teach today than 20 because I want to go to San Francisco years ago. Nowadays, students ask to become a doctor, like in the movies. more questions, express their opinion. And there, they speak English.” It’s thanks to the media and Internet.”
A cl Ayeyarwady Engli
to speak
hool
lass at the ish school
When there’s electricity, the whole country is in front of the TV. Korean TV shows, which appeared around 5 years ago, are followed by so many people that every night the power grid systematically overloads.
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ON THE BENCH For the many Burmese families that cannot even afford a public education, monasteries are the only alternative. Monastery schools provide children with basic skills in reading, writing, calculus, history, geography and Buddhism, for free. Since the 11th century, these schools have educated generations of princes and beggars, until the mid-20th century, when a formal public school system was established. Today, they mostly educate destitute children, 93,000 of them according to the UNICEF. Though authorized by the Ministry of Religious Affairs to teach primary school curriculums, only two monasteries in the whole country – one in Yangon and one in Mandalay – are allowed to teach after 5th grade. THE MONASTERY SCHOOL Lost in the middle of a palm tree forest between Yangon and Bago, the Khyaketwine monastery is little more than a rudimentary collection of humid planks and corrugated iron. Of the prayer room blown away by the Nargis cyclone, not much remains except a couple buddhas battered by the monsoon rains. However, Khyaketwine houses a vibrant monastery school, which welcomes every day hundreds of orphans and poor children, from every ethnicity and religion. “I founded this school a few years ago with some friends, explains San San Yi, a volunteer. Most of the children here are sent to us by underfunded public schools that lack the means to take care of them. Many of them have never learned anything substantial. Some 10 year olds here do not even know their alphabet. Their parents could probably not afford the private tutoring classes that they needed to be able to follow in class.”
Even in this remote little school, modernity is seeping in. The monastery boasts three computers, stashed under the prayer room. Once a week, monks offer computer lessons to locals for Kh10,000, enough to pay for electricity consumption. On the walls are plastered posters of the British soccer league, whose players rub shoulders with golden Buddhas. Under a picture of the Arsenal soccer team, San San Yi describes the school’s most recent evolution: “Khyaketwine was officially recognized by the Ministry of Education last summer. I was finally able to enrol in a workshop organized by the Japanese government. I learned there how to use new teaching methods, how to interact with students rather than rely on repetition. The little ones still need a lot of help and support, but the older ones have started to enjoy selflearning. When they master a lesson on their own, it makes them so proud and eager to learn more !”
IN BURMA, HUMAN CONNECTION AND SOLIDARITY IS EVERYTHING
I
n Burma, where pensions and welfare programs hardly exist, family ties and social networks play a crucial role. The Burmese family, structured by a series of duty codes, is the core provider of care and support. At the center of it: children. Parents make significant sacrifice for the happiness and future of their offspring. Not only because, in the Bamar tradition, children are seen as “Yadana”, or “treasures”. But also because they represent a long term investment. The professional success of a son can overnight improve the living standards of an entire family. And when the time comes to retire, parents can safely rely on the support of the younger members of the family. GENERATION GAP In the cities, these connections are slowly disaggregating. The young generation does not obey the old code as blindly as it used it. Unthinkable a few years ago, some elderly have been left fencing for themselves. In the absence of a solid pension system, they are particularly vulnerable to poverty and loneliness.
“25 years ago, people would take care of their parents in their old age. But nowadays, many children do not want to take their responsibility” sneers New New Thwe, a nurse in charge of a sanatorium in the greater Mandalay. The hospital accommodates those who family is no longer able – or willing to – take care of. The sanatorium’s board of trustees has recently built some new rooms, but patients still lack the essentials: medication, sheets, clothes, staff…
Only one nurse is in charge of 85 patients, some above ninety years old. “These old people, back in the days, they had money, prestige, friends, adds Nwe Nwe Thwe. Now, they have nothing, nobody. They need a family. I, on my end, lost my mother and my father when I was young. I need them as much as they need me.”
It’s lunch time for the patients at Myoma sanatorium.
As families cannot heal all ills, Buddhism fills the gap. Burma counts 400,000 monks, excluding those who join monasteries temporarily. Their role is primarily religious, but not only: many monasteries act as local NGOs providing education and food to their young novices, as well as funding and healthcare to the local communities. Some of them even shelter stray dogs and cats. “We feed and clothes children from poor families, and give them some fundamental skills they can use to survive: Burmese, Maths, English… We try to inculcate them with some moral values, so that they become good people. I don’t discriminate. I help Indian and Chinese people, Muslims and Christians” explains U Zawtika, chief monk of a monastery school in Bago. THE MONK DOCTORS Buddhist solidarity is a key component of Burma’s healthcare. Monastery hospitals fill the gap left by Burma’s dysfunctional public health system, on which the regime only spends 0.4% of GDP. Hospitals are underfunded and understaffed. For those who either live too far from the nearest health center, or cannot afford treatment, monastery hospitals is the only option. Known across Burma for the excellence of its eye surgery clinic, the Sitagu hospital is free for the monks and open to all. Located next to a massive Buddhist university, the center boasts laboratories, MRIs, surgery facilities, a library and even a computer room.
Thanks to the dedication of dozens of volunteer doctors, who come each year from the four corners of the world, Sitagu treats more than 300 patients a day, living by its founding principle, a quote from Buddha: “the one who would care for me will care for the sick.” To be sure, the social role of monks is limited in scope. Monasteries focus on the communities under their supervision, and do not attempt to harmonize their action at the national level. The best programs such as Sitagu are the product of one leader, one personality, with enough political clout to obtain the tacit acceptance and non-interference of the junta. Albeit laudable, these uncoordinated initiatives cannot alone alleviate sickness and poverty. Alongside familes and monasteries, a third social actor is emerging that can hopefully address Burma’s many plights.
OPEN HEART
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“I don’t discriminate. I help Indian people as much as Chinese ones, Christians as much as Muslims”
Monastery schools and hospitals provide a much needed support to a population in need
After the Nargis through the Sou hundreds of tho homeless, a win opened for inter NGOs to increa Burma. On top already active i 2007, the junta undertake relie region. Since the number, size an increased dram confined to the cyclone, many o projects on othe The sudden infl NGOs and orga the emergence o organizations. B benefit from the grassroot NGOs from the experie organizations. I explains Thin Z
“We learn a lot international N team, how to org to apply for gra acting locally, w impact of our lim
LIVING ON T Two factors coo First, most of th are not officially to avoid excessi regime. Operatin is a double-edg allow local NGO and effectively, necessity to obt licenses and ap makes such org to the many mo
A Karen farmer a helped by Tha Na
A patient of the Myoma sanatorium
OPEN HEART
s cyclone swept uthern coast, leaving ousand dead or ndow of opportunity rnational and local ase their presence in of the 50 organizations in the country in a allowed 30 more to ef projects in the Delta
e cyclone, their nd scope of action matically. Initially areas hit by the organizations initiated er parts of the country. flux of international anizations has fostered of smaller Burmese Bigger structures thus e local expertise of s, who in return learn ence of international It’s a win win situation, Zan, a local volunteer:
working with these big NGOs: how to work as a ganize meetings, how ants, how to focus on while optimizing the mited resources.”
THE EDGE ol down the optimists. hese local organizations y registered, in order ive scrutiny from the
ng outside the law ged sword. It does Os to work quickly unburdened by the tain time-consuming pprovals. But it also ganizations vulnerable ood swings of the junta.
and his son, at Pe
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Regularly targeted by the regime, Karens have proven quite able at mobilizing and creating advocacy and support groups.
Although the regime currently sees an interest in letting social workers do their job, there is no guarantee that the situation will not change. At any moment, volunteers run the risk of being harassed or jailed. Second, Burma’s burgeoning civil society is more personal than institutional, explains David Steiner, senior advisor at a major Yangonbased international NGO. Local organizations still provide support according to religious or ethnic considerations. Christian groups are notably quite active: “When I was young, I used to sing in a gospel group from my church, remembers Nay Myow Kyaw Swan, director of the NGO “God and Music”. Then I joined this group. We organize regular fundraising events in churches, and play for free in cancer wards and hospitals. We’re especially busy at Christmas time.” Minority-focused NGOs have also flourished inside and outside Myanmar. Mya Mya Toe, founder of Tha Nat Pe, provide scholarships to Karen children and training to Karen women.
“After the 1988 revolution, I decided to stay in Myanmar, even though I was an activist. I felt that the country needed me. With the help of my friends, I started this NGO to educate and train Karen children and women, but we’ve expanded since. Last year, after the Nargis cyclone, we went to the Delta region to burn the bodies and build shelters. I also sent three of my staff to Thailand for a training, and two others received a scholarship from the British council to learn English. I hope that the 2010 election will create even more space for NGOs to operate.” Like many others, Tha Nat Pe is not registered. A mixed blessing, according to Mya Mya Toe: “We don’t have the necessary authority to develop large scale projects, since we don’t work with ministries. We focus instead on local projects in villages, districts, anywhere we can have a concrete impact.” BEYOND COMMUNITIES Lines have recently started to shift, however. Some programs emerge that transcend religious and ethnic lines. A country-wide solidarity is slowly taking shape. “The cyclone has created an unprecedented opportunity, David Steiner points out. It allowed community chiefs, elders and NGO leaders to help communities that were not theirs, without having to pay a political price for it. Were it not for the cyclone, they would have been seen as traitors.”
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OPEN HEART
In addition, the government is relaxing its grip. NGOs are now allowed to address issues formerly taboo with the tacit support – and even the proactive cooperation – of the regime. “We cannot speak of a revolution as yet, but there is clearly a gradual inflexion, analyzes David Steinberg. The government is now involved in several programs, against against human trafficking, notably. Long term perspectives are I think quite encouraging.” THE GOOD FIGHT After years of denegation, the junta has finally admitted the existence of AIDS. Anti Retroviral treatments are now available in hospitals. The cost remains prohibitive: $30 a month, the salary of an average Burmese worker, out of the reach of those who would mostly benefit from it, homosexuals and prostitutes. But condoms are getting increasingly accessible, sold either over the counter in pharmacies for Kh 200, or distributed for free by NGOs. Organizations fighting for gay rights are also becoming increasingly vocal. “In 2005, after 16 operations in Bangkok, I became a woman’’, recalls Sein Sein, the coquette manager of Rainbow, a gay-rights NGO.
“In 2005, after sixteen operations in Bangkok, I became a woman.” Sein Sein, transexual Kin Zaw Latt, painter
Sein Sein, transsexual and executive for ‘‘Rainbow’’, an NGO focused on AIDS awareness
‘‘We organize AIDS awareness programs and try to improve the image of homosexuals in Burma. Burmese homosexuals are discriminated against and tend to be less educated and wealthy than the average. That’s why we organize information campaigns to teach them about AIDS and STDs, about how they should protect themselves, get tested, get treatment…so that they feel a bit less isolated. The situation has improved I the last 10 years. Our action has born fruits. HIV patients are feeling more empowered. Mentalities are evolving.” Less pressing issues are also making their way to the forefront of the country’s public debate. Young local artists have emerged as opinion shapers on issues such as climate change and deforestation, holding a series of art exhibitions in Yangon to sensitize the public: “My pictures will maybe inspire people to protect nature, so that it stays as pure and eternal as in my pictures” dreams Soe Maung, a photographer and organizer of the latest event. Ko Min Kyaw, a graphic designer, concludes: “Yesterday, we helped Nargis victims. Tomorrow, we’d like to launch a reforestation program in the Delta region.”