In the last five years the Rohingya community has been subject to renewed waves of anti-Muslim propaganda and accompanying violence, killings and systematic marginalization that aim both to permanently disenfranchise and to displace them from their native land. The relaxation of media restrictions alongside the ongoing political liberalization in Myanmar has exacerbated this situation. The brutal “clearance operations” inflicted upon the Rohingya community in 2017 saw more than 750,000 people flee across the border to Bangladesh amidst reports of extrajudicial killings, sexual violence and arson by Myanmar's state military Tatmadaw. While the United Nations has declared this to be a “textbook example of ethnic cleansing” (UNOHCHR 2017a), the attacks on government targets have validated many Myanmar citizens’ long held belief that the Rohingya pose a threat to their nation and an existential threat to Buddhism, the majority religion.

As a result of the attacks on border police posts by the Aarakan Rohingya Salvation Army (ARSA) in October 2016 and August 2017, widespread misinformation and propaganda has inflated the threat of “terrorism”, fuelling Myanmar people's sense of insecurity and mistrust towards the Rohingya people. Part of this attitude is embedded in the colonial experience (1824–1948), and the view that Rohingya people came to Rakhine State under the British from neighbouring Bangladesh to address labour shortages on agricultural plantations. In line with global events, people in Myanmar also see the latest string of attacks from ARSA as part of a wider phenomenon of global terrorism taking root in many parts of the world. However, the situation now facing the Rohingya is located in a much more complex history of violence and the ongoing securitization of their community by Myanmar's successive military dictators.

So why has the Rohingya problem become so intractable? This paper explores how people's attitudes to recent events in Rakhine State builds off decades of systemic persecution and institutionalized discrimination of the Rohingya on the pretext of threats to national sovereignty. This article draws on recent literature which describes the way Muslims, and the Rohingya in particular, have been constructed as “other” in Myanmar (Gravers 2015; Nyi Nyi Kyaw 2016; Schissler et al. 2017). In this article I advance this argument, demonstrating how over time successive governments in Myanmar have securitized the Rohingya community based on a narrative of the Rohingya as a foreign “enemy other” and an existential threat to state and society.

In early February 2016 crowds gathered around televisions in tea shops across Myanmar to watch their new representatives be sworn in to positions in the Pyithu and Amyotha Parliaments, the lower and upper houses, in the capital Naypyitaw. In a country ruled by soldiers for over five decades, many doubted whether the military would hand legislative and executive power to a government led by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi's National League for Democracy, given its refusal to do so when the party won the elections in 1990. Watching NLD representatives take seats in Myanmar's parliament brought tears of cautious optimism to the eyes of many of these self-proclaimed democrats. Their hopeful sentiment was reinforced a few weeks later when U Htin Kyaw, a close aide of long-time democracy campaigner and opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi, was made President. Soon after, Suu Kyi herself assumed the newly-created position of “State Counsellor”, a role she claimed would place her “above the President” (Marshall and Mclaughlin 2015).

Since the heady months of early 2016, the limits of Myanmar's transformation from military junta to alleged beacon of democratization have become tragically clear. Levels of poverty and household debt remain catastrophic for many households. Meanwhile, on-budget funding for the armed forces, or Tatmadaw, in 2017–18 almost exceeded financing for health, education and welfare combined. In contrast to the vibrant political environment and growth in civil society between 2011–15, hopes that the NLD's election would herald a more progressive and inclusive Myanmar have faded rapidly since 2015. Civil liberties have come under repeated attack, with Myanmar declared the “biggest backslider in press freedom” across the globe by the Committee to Protect Journalists as a result of the escalating imprisonment of reporters and social media users during Suu Kyi's tenure. Protests by students in support of education reform have been suppressed, and land disputes remain intractable with little hope for justice or compensation for those dispossessed over decades. Furthermore, the status of religious minorities and progressive activists has become increasingly precarious, as exposed by the blatant assassination of prominent Muslim lawyer and architect of Suu Kyi's “State Counsellor” position U Ko Ni in January 2017.

In Myanmar, the failure to fulfil the needs and aspirations of the country's ethnic minorities in the wake of independence caused the outbreak of some of the world's longest-running civil wars. The process of democratization in plural societies is often fragile because different political actors who influence the transition may articulate potentially incompatible conceptualizations of national identity (Linz and Stepan 1996, p. 16). This can be particularly challenging when a majority group dominates the political landscape and attempts to impose its vision of the nation on other minority groups. This is the case in Myanmar where since independence ethnic people have aspired to the recognition of their cultural identities and the implementation of self-rule. This view has often clashed with the vision of the Tatmadaw, the military group that took power in 1962. Indeed, the Tatmadaw, which is predominantly comprised of members of the dominant “Bamar” ethnicity, imagines the country as a centralized state with a unified Bamar national identity, as opposed to the Bamar as one ethnic group among many.

The military government's resolve to strengthen the Burmanization or “Myanmafication” of culture and history as described by Gustaaf Houtman (1999, p.142–8) is a main cause of the gradual suppression of Myanmar's distinct cultural identities. The case of the Mon, one of Myanmar's main ethnic groups, illustrates this situation well. The 2017 decision of the NLDdominated parliament to rename a major bridge in Mon State after General Aung San despite strong local opposition is representative of the many ongoing challenges ethnic nationality groups still face (Htet Naing Zaw 2017). The renaming of this major infrastructure link after the “father of independence” was indeed strongly criticized for celebrating a Bamar hero rather than local identity. This controversy illustrates the incompatibility of ethnic aspirations with a particular notion of national identity promoted by the Bamar militarized elite, which is one of the reasons why civil war has been raging for more than half a century. In this light, building an inclusive national identity that respects the multinational character of Myanmar instead of presenting the nation as an expression of the Bamar alone would positively support peace.

Over the past few years, the Republic of the Union of Myanmar has undertaken a three-pronged transition strategy with regard to politics, the economy, and internal security (Farrelly and Gabusi 2015). The first transition is undoubtedly of a political nature. In 2011, following the adoption of a new constitution three years earlier, the military junta, which had long led the country in the form of the SPDC (State Peace and Development Council), orchestrated a top-down power transition towards a new semi-civilian government led by President Thein Sein. In November 2015, Nobel Peace Prize laureate Aung San Suu Kyi and her tightly controlled party, the National League for Democracy (NLD), won the first democratic general elections in two generations. In March 2016, with the election of NLD loyalist Htin Kyaw as president, Aung San Suu Kyi assumed the roles of Minister of Foreign Affairs, Minister of the President's Office, and State Counsellor, de facto becoming the undisputed civilian leader of the country.

The second transition concerns the economy. With new liberalization Measures. by opening up to trade and foreign direct investment (FDI), and following the suspension or end of international sanctions, Myanmar intends to definitively abandon the socialist autarchy of the past, which had been a weighty burden of General Ne Win's 1962 coup. With an average year-on-year growth rate of more than eight per cent between 2013 and 2016, Myanmar now belongs to the World Bank's group of lower-middleincome countries. Between 2011 and 2014, exports, concentrated in the primary sector, grew at an average rate of eleven per cent, and in fiscal year 2015–16 Myanmar received FDI totalling a record-high 9.4 billion US dollars. However, tied with Cambodia, the country still has the lowest level of GDP per capita in the ASEAN countries at 1,275 current US dollars. Poverty is concentrated in the countryside (where seventy-six per cent of the country's poor reside) and in border areas, only one-third of the population has access to electricity, and fifty-seven per cent of the labour force is still employed in the informal economy (Danish Trade Union Council for International Development Cooperation 2016). According to the UNDP Human Development Index, Myanmar ranks 145th, still among the low human development countries.

Myanmar has been experiencing internal armed conflict between successive Bamar-led governments and Ethnic Armed Organizations (EAO) for nearly seven decades. By the time of independence from the British Empire in 1948, ethnicity had become a defining category of political orientation in Burma and years of ethnic tensions led to violence across the country (Smith 1991). Since the outbreak of armed conflict between the Karen National Union (KNU) and the newly independent government of Burma in January 1949 on the outskirts of Yangon and across the country, the country has seen more than six decades of civil conflict.

Years of counterinsurgency strategies by the Myanmar Army (Tatmadaw), especially through its “four cuts” strategy—Pya Lay Pya— had severe negative consequences on local populations living in conflictaffected areas of Myanmar's ethnic states. Adopted in 1968, the doctrine was to sever insurgents from their key inputs: funding, food, intelligence and recruits (ICG 2000, p. 17). Communities suffered both from brutal repression and severe human rights abuses by the Tatmadaw, and also from systematic structural discrimination and political repression. The military's approach to civilians and ethnic minority people in particular was reflected in minimal spending on social services and development in general during the authoritarian period (see Mangshang & Griffiths, Chapter 3 this volume).

In response to the dire needs of conflict-affected communities, EAOs and their aligned civil society networks established their own structures for community-based primary health care service provision. A coalition of four EAO health departments and three local non-governmental health organizations in southeast Myanmar collectively known as Ethnic Health Organizations (EHOs) emerged parallel to the government health system run by the Myanmar Ministry of Health and Sports (MoHS). A range of basic health services such as for the treatment of common diseases, warinjury management, reproductive and child health care services, community health education, and water and sanitation programmes have developed over time. Due to the shifting zones of armed conflict and governance, rural parts of southeast Myanmar in particular play host to a mosaic of stationary clinics and mobile teams operated by these EHOs, supported by funding from international aid donors (Davis and Jolliffe 2016, p. 10).

2016 was supposed to be the time for change in Myanmar. Swept to power on the strength of that slogan, the National League for Democracy would finally get to form a government and realize a democratic transition decades in the making. Even the most cynical Myanmar observer could find reasons to be excited about this crucial step in the process of transferring power from the military to civilian leaders. Yes, the 2008 Constitution still institutionalized military rule in a variety of ways. Yes, a host of seemingly intractable problems remained, including a lagging peace process with ethnic armed groups and persistent anti-Muslim sentiment—especially toward the Rohingya. And yes, it was worrying that the party that was about to take over governing had virtually no experience in doing so, and hadn't really demonstrated much expertise (or interest) in policy development throughout its single-minded campaign. Even with all of these concerns, to see Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and her colleagues achieve the victory that had been deferred since 1990 gave reason to hope that her widespread support could translate into progress in national reconciliation, economic development, political reform, and a host of other areas.

This political update was originally presented in February 2017, weeks away from the NLD government's first anniversary. At that time, I noted that it was not easy to find the success stories. Indeed, having now passed the second anniversary, in most respects, the situation looks frustratingly not only bleaker than it was a year in, but worse than it did under the previous USDP government. With the international outcry against Myanmar's actions against the Rohingya showing no signs of abating, and the long-term effects of that conflict being added to an already-long list of challenges, the country's prospects for further political or economic development are dimming.

ETHNIC CONFLICT AND THE PEACE PROCESS

Eager to show its commitment to national reconciliation, the NLD sought to prioritize the peace process. When Daw Aung San Suu Kyi re-branded the national political dialogue as the “21st Century Panglong Conference,” it was a chance to establish her government's ownership over the process and inject a new spirit by linking it to the famous conference convened by her father in 1947.

Naypyitaw, the capital of Myanmar since 2005, was carved from scrubland and paddy fields with the founding idea that space is integral to the exercise of power. Its creation in the geographical centre of the country signalled a retreat from the colonial legacies found on almost every street in the old capital, Yangon. The decision to invest so heavily in a new place to govern the country was made by senior military men, isolated from both their own people and much of the rest of the world. It is only natural that the creation of this new and gargantuan city has baffled many observers, some of whom are still unprepared to consider the rationality, determination and imagination encapsulated by the new national monument. Naypyitaw tends to be classified as a “surreal” and even lunatic place, that apparently defies the ordinary laws of geography, society and culture (for instance, see Richmond et al. 2014, p. 156). There has been little serious effort to understand the city beyond its broad boulevards and other infrastructure (for exceptions see Dulyapak 2009, 2011; Seekins 2009b; also Farrelly 2018).

The infrastructure still tends to get the attention. When visitors arrive in Naypyitaw they are immediately struck by the distances between facilities and the vast network of roadways that are designed to tie the city together. Happy snaps taken on the ceremonial motorway leading to the legislative complex and presidential palace fill the Facebook pages and Twitter feeds of visitors. They often gush about how few cars use the roads and how the over-sized avenues take up too much space. The same astonishment tends to follow a visit to any of the official buildings. The legislative compound, a place that many Myanmar and foreign visitors get to see up close, is a good example. Encompassing thirty-one large buildings, a symbolic nod to the thirty-one Theravada Buddhist planes of existence, the legislature is so spread out that people tend to take a buggy, car or bus between the different parts of the complex. Only a few of the buildings are linked together by covered walkways. On a hot day it is impossible to get between the other buildings without breaking a sweat. The conclusion of most of those who work at the site is that the complex is probably not optimized for legislative activity.

The Myanmar government announced in January 2012 that, due to environmental concerns, they had cancelled plans for the construction of a coal-fired power plant in Dawei, in the south of the country. The proposed power plant was to produce 4,000 MW, making it one of the largest coal-fired power plants in the region. It was also part of larger plans for a deep-sea port and Special Economic Zone (SEZ) in Dawei—a project led by Thailand's largest building contractor, Italian-Thai Development. In the lead-up to the cancellation of the coal-fired power plant, there had been significant mobilization of local citizens in Dawei in opposition to it, involving distribution of information about the power plant, use of local media, and protests. Local activist groups had also established transnational links including with advocacy organizations in Thailand and in Europe.

This incident, which was early in the period of the Thein Sein government, highlighted the unique place of Special Economic Zones at the intersection between, on one hand, economic liberalization, and on the other hand, political liberalization in Myanmar. The shift away from authoritarian military governance to the Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP) government under U Thein Sein, and then to the National League for Democracy (NLD) government after the 2015 elections, facilitated increased flows of investment into development projects such as the planned Dawei development project. Yet on the other hand, the end of direct rule by the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC) also ushered in greater freedoms and opportunities for citizens to network, mobilize and oppose development projects when the projects diverged from their hopes or visions.

The SPDC government under General Than Shwe sought to control citizens and local organizations largely through coercion and the threat of crackdown. The operation of social or political organizations during these periods thus depended often on avoidance of, rather than engagement with, the state (Fink 2001). This legacy of military rule remains, to some degree, in the relations between communities, government and companies in SEZs. Yet there have also been striking changes since 2011 in the forms of contentious politics in Myanmar. Many advocacy organizations are seeking to engage the state and businesses through formal institutions and through forging new direct relationships with policymakers.

The year 2016 was a milestone in the political history of Myanmar as it gave birth to a popularly elected civilian government for the first time since the military takeover of the state in March 1962. In the elections held on 8 November 2015, it was clear within a few hours that the National League for Democracy (NLD) had won a landslide victory. When the result was finalized, the NLD won 57.20 per cent of valid votes (12.79 million) for the Pyithu Hluttaw (House of Representatives) and 78.95 per cent of contested seats (323 seats). Similarly, for the Amyotha Hluttaw (House of Nationalities), the party won 57.68 per cent (13.10 million) of the valid votes and 80.36 per cent of contested seats (168 seats). The 2008 Constitution is essentially designed by the military to require partnership with civilian politicians, allocating twenty-five per cent of the seats in both houses to military members and allowing the military to nominate a vicepresidential candidate along with ministers for Defence, Home Affairs and Border Affairs. In a mix of parliamentary and presidential systems, the NLD's nominee Htin Kyaw became the president and the Tatmadaw's nominees, ex-general Myint Swe, and the other NLD nominee, Henry Van Thio, became vice-presidents. In this constitutional setting and with the results of the 2015 election, the NLD has become a ruling partner for the Tatmadaw.

In his inaugural address, President Htin Kyaw pledged that his government would “implement four policies: national reconciliation; internal peace; the emergence of a constitution that will produce a democratic, federal union; and the improvement of the quality of life of the majority of the people”. At the same time, he cautiously stated: “I am responsible for the emergence of a constitution that will be in accord with the democratic norms suited to our country. I am also aware that I need to be patient in realizing this political objective, for which the people have long aspired” (GNLM 2016, p. 1).

In order to streamline the cabinet size, the NLD government initially reduced the numbers in the ministry from twenty-eight to twenty-one, yet it created the Ministry of Ethnic Affairs, and the number of ministers was reduced from thirty-two to eighteen with no deputy ministers. At that point in time, Aung San Suu Kyi herself held four ministerial portfolios.

Development economists see structural transformation—the process by which labour leaves the rural agricultural sector for the more productive urban industrial and service sectors—as fundamental to economic development. As progressively more labour relocates from rural to urban zones the former are transformed from labour surplus to labour deficit areas, and a “turning point” is reached when rural wages begin to catch up with urban ones (Lewis 1954). Recent evidence of this pattern can be found in many Asian countries such as Bangladesh and China (Zhang et al. 2011; Zhang et al. 2014). Agricultural mechanization, the process by which capital in the form of machinery is substituted for labour in agriculture, is viewed by agricultural economists as a labour-saving response to labour scarcity and rising rural wages (Binswanger 1986; Takahashi and Otsuka 2009). Binswanger (1986, p. 32) notes that “mechanization is profitable and contributes most to growth where land is abundant, where labor is scarce relative to land and where labor is moving rapidly off the land”. As such, agricultural mechanization can be read as a symptom of structural transformation that helps to maintain the viability of farming in the face of labour shortages and rising production costs (Zhang et al. 2017).

In contrast to this model of development, in which economic and social transformation along the rural-urban axis is predictable and linear in form, recent work by development geographers highlights processes of agrarian transition that are far more complex, partial and varied than the mainstream economics literature would suggest (e.g. Rigg & Vandergeest 2012). For instance, Rigg et al. (2016, p. 118) observe that—contrary to the expectations of most commentators—smallholders in East and Southeast Asia “have persisted in the face of rapid and profound social and economic transformation”. But they do so in a variety of new hybrid forms that reflect the conjuncture of variations in physical geography, mobility, markets, and government policies.

These debates have particular resonance for Myanmar as it emerges from five decades of isolation and becomes more deeply integrated into the regional and global economy. Three processes central to structural transformation have emerged post-2011. First, the economy is growing rapidly.

Lieutenant Colonel Dalley returned to Singapore after the war on 5 February 1947 by the Empress of Australia from England. He was met at the wharf by some former members of Dalforce who had served under him in the battle for Singapore. Dalley asked them to gather around him and he told them:

Many observers believed he was referring to the beginning of the Cold War (1945–90) and the rise of Communism after WWII as a result of the fundamentally different ideologies and interests between the Soviet Union and the West, which eventually spread to every part of the world. Thus, “Cold War”, as opposed to an “atomic hot war”, became a term used to indicate the struggle for the hearts and minds of the people between the competing political systems of Communism and Democracy. Essentially, in the Malayan archipelago and Indonesia in particular, this was emphasized to some extent by the power vacuum left by the sudden surrender of the Japanese at the end of WWII after the dropping of the two atomic bombs, but whether this is what Dalley had in mind when he spoke is unclear.

The long PIJ Supplements that Dalley wrote after his return to Malaya on “Malay and Indonesian Communists” and the “Indonesian Situation and Malaya” attached to the MSS Political Intelligence Journals nos. 5 and 10, which will be referred to later in this study, nevertheless confirm Dalley's growing awareness of the problems which MSS would have to face in dealing with the post-war security situation, including the long-standing threat posed to Malaya's security by Indonesian left-wing parties stirring up trouble with Malay left-wing parties to rise up against British colonialism in Malaya as the Indonesians had done against the Dutch in Indonesia.