Introduction

In this day and age, digitally connected young people organize their religious activities and collective responses via new media technologies. As new media become part of our everyday lives, personal matters are widely surfaced and circulated on social media platforms and, to some extent, interlinked with everyday politics. Social media presence is more than just producing and consuming entertaining content and sharing mundane daily activities or personal thoughts; it also contributes to collective thinking and action shifts. Everyday politics and digital civic engagement in Brunei Darussalam cover themes framed around society's experiences and interests (Highfield 2016), such as racism (Black Twitter, Black Lives Matter, Asian Lives Matter) and feminism (women's rights and protections).

The growing online Muslim communities further explicate the digitalization of religious practices and the emergence of new religious landscapes. Examples of this development include the formation of the E-Ummah or Cyber Ummah community (Khamis 2018). Youth use these “alternative” spaces of engagement not only to share personal stories but also to police other Muslim bodies or trigger new religious movements and everyday activism on various concerns. Discourses on halal consumption and shariah-compliant lifestyles have also entered the social mediascapes. The politicization of the halal lifestyle comes from two fronts: the first, at the institutional level (top-bottom), focusing on halal production and consumption, market and trading, and certification and standards (Bergeaud-Blackler, Fischer, and Lever 2015; Yakin and Christians 2021); the second, relating to the more banal everyday politics surrounding halal or shariah-compliant lifestyle of individual Muslims and grassroots organizations. While cognizant of the intertwining state and non-state constructions of halal practices and their shaping of the halal lifestyle in society, this chapter examines Bruneian Malay Muslims’ social media practices and shariah-complaint discourses at the micro-scale, everyday level. Their social media engagements can provide academics and relevant stakeholders with a deeper understanding of how they uphold socio-religious practices in relation to the dominant narratives at the state level.

I elucidate the everyday life, practices and concerns of the Malays and how they contribute to the emerging halal lifestyle in the country. This is done by drawing from several qualitative research projects I conducted between 2016 and 2022 on young people's use and engagement through social media platforms such as Instagram, TikTok and Reddit.

Introduction

In Indonesia, some Islamic groups continue to struggle for the revival of the Jakarta Charter of 1945, “that sought to implement shariah laws” (Endang Saifuddin 1979; Ahmad Syafii 2001). In 2002, some Muslim political parties lobbied to amend Article 29 of the Indonesian Constitution to include the Jakarta Charter provisions (Nadirsyah 2007). Although the formalization of shariah through political and constitutional means has not materialized, some factions in Indonesia continue to have this aspiration through other means. The failure of the Islamist push in 2002 means that Indonesia is unlikely to become an Islamic state in its traditional and legalist form. However, this does not nullify the shariahtization (the inclusion of shariah into state laws) agenda of those who argue that shariah can be implanted and embedded in the Pancasila doctrine. Islamist groups such as the former members of the Hizbut Tahrir Indonesia (HTI) and Islamic Defender Front (Front Pembela Islam, FPI) were not the only organizations championing this course; Islamic organizations such as Indonesian Council of Ulama (Majelis Ulama Indonesia, MUI), Muhammadiyah, and Nahdlatul Ulama (NU)—considered moderate and apolitical movements—are also on the same page. Muhammadiyah and NU members often proclaim their openness and inclusivity, but the two organizations never outrightly reject the implementation of shariah in the public sphere. They only express clear opposition to shariahtization in the realm of politics and law—such as in the case of establishing a shariah state and the legislation of hudud law—but refrain from commenting on the so-called shariah lifestyles that have garnered the interest of many Indonesian Muslims.

This chapter argues that shariahtization in Indonesia implemented through Islamic political conduits is garnering less followership when compared to it being championed through fatwa-making, especially on matters dealing with the Islamic way of life (i.e., lifestyle). Groups aspiring for political Islam are decreasing in numbers and influence, while those who champion a shariah-compliant lifestyle are gaining traction (Burhanuddin, Hui, and Negara 2023). Indonesian Muslims generally approve halal food and beverage regulations, shariah-compliant lifestyles, and Islamic economic practices. By contrast, most Indonesians do not support forming an Islamic state. This project, which I term “shariahtization through lifestyle”, centres on the role of MUI as the primary driver of shariahtization (Syafiq 2022).

PREAMBLE

Tropical peatland ecosystems in Southeast Asia are globally important as carbon sinks. They are also diversely rich in terrestrial and aquatic fauna and flora, and are significant sources of livelihood for local communities. However, agribusiness-driven land-use change and drainage cause a great amount of peatland degradation and ignite underground peat fires; these in turn generate air pollution known as “haze” and lead to significant economic losses and affected public health. Haze and climate change are connected, with peat burning emitting substantial amounts of greenhouse gases (GHG) and pollutants—which are projected to increase with climate change due to rising intensity and frequency of droughts. However, these issues are largely treated separately in policy and governance, which offers a big challenge for management and a lost opportunity for sustainability.

This article provides an overview of state-of-the-art research on peatlands and their governance in Southeast Asia, mainly focusing on Indonesia and Malaysia, home to the largest tropical peat deposits in the region. It first outlines and maps key developments over recent, along with associated environmental issues. Next, it details the connection between haze and carbon emissions in the region's peatlands and how peatlands represent a large proportion of national GHG emissions in both countries. It then traces the evolution of peatland policies at the national and regional levels, from conservation to addressing fire and haze issues, reflecting their complex relationship with national development and the corporate sector. The following section focuses on opportunities to integrate and improve peatland governance; while regulatory approaches are already largely in place, there are untapped opportunities related to financial and market instruments, as well as the ability to create enabling governance environments through community participation. The authors then highlight the remaining challenges in this endeavour, namely data uncertainties and the complexity of integrating policies across multiple scales and issues.

PEATLANDS IN SOUTHEAST ASIA

Pristine peatlands are usually waterlogged all year round. The carbon-rich material from aboveground biomass and roots that fill them decompose very slowly, making these areas globally important stocks of carbon. They also provide many other essential ecosystem services beyond carbon sequestration, such as regulating the water cycle and maintaining water quality in catchment areas, acting as coastal buffers and sources of timber and non-timber forest products for adjacent communities. The UNEP's Global Peatland Assessment estimates that peatlands cover 3–4 per cent of the planet's land surface, with tropical peatlands making up ∼11 per cent of the global peatland area.

Introduction

A 2021 report by the Straits Times on economic expansion and the growth of the middle class in Southeast Asia suggests that “the percentage of people in the region categorized as middle-class is expected to more than double from 24 per cent today [2021] to 51 per cent in 2030—or from 135 million people to 334 million people”. It further said that “by 2022, the ASEAN middle class is expected to wield over US$300 billion in disposable income (Michalak and Mealy 2021). Muslim communities in individual Southeast Asian countries have not been excluded from this growth, and there is also a growing Muslim middle class in the region. They can be found in countries with a Muslim majority, such as Malaysia and Indonesia, but also in countries with a Muslim minority, such as Thailand and Singapore.

Singapore's Muslims constitute 15.6 per cent of the population, most of whom are Malay (Department of Statistics Singapore 2020). Over the years, there have been discussions about the socio-economic growth of the Malay/Muslim community and how Singapore's Malays/Muslims have become more affluent and wealthier. In 2002, then Minister-in-charge of Muslim Affairs, Yaacob Ibrahim, remarked that “there is an emerging Malay/Muslim middle class with the resources to do things for themselves” (Ministry of Information, Communications and the Arts 2002). In 2019, he expressed concerns that there could be a class divide within the community and warned that “we can't afford for the middle class to peel apart from the entire Malay/Muslim community” (Lai 2019). From these statements, it is clear that the Malay/Muslim middle class has lain firmly within Singapore's growing middle class.

However, entry into the middle class does not just result in a change in one's consumption habits or socio-economic position. It could also mean a change in one's approach to religion. As Abdur Rozaki et al. put it, the interaction between religion and socio-economic class means that “Islam is not merely a set of values but also a set of principles legitimating the way to socialize, image branding, self-marketing either for personal needs, or the needs of communities in projecting religious identities in the public sphere” (Abdur Rozaki et al. 2019, p. 7).

Introduction

In 2017, Nike introduced the Pro Hijab, its first hijab designed for Muslim female athletes, which has been met with mixed views. While some have lauded the brand for moving towards greater inclusion that accordingly dismantles practical and cultural barriers to empower the agency of Muslim women, the move has also triggered varying degrees of suspicion, claiming it to be a part of the growing trend of the global fashion industry that views Muslim women to be its latest consumer niche. Large retailers have positioned themselves as socially conscious havens for Muslims. However, operating on a profit motive rather than a moral imperative, they attempt to legitimize their aims to tap into the multibillion-dollar potential of the Muslim consumer market (Moore 2018). This conundrum highlights the classic struggle between agency and structure in which there is a need to empower the agency of Muslim women in the face of hegemonic structures such as patriarchy and Islamophobia that target and regulate the expressions of Muslim women. However, the alternative structures afforded to them equally impede emancipatory efforts by selling an imagined feeling of inclusivity that often does more harm than good (Karakavak and Ozboluk 2022). This is because it imagines Muslim women as a homogeneous oppressed mass that requires saving. Moreover, this tokenistic inclusion distracts us from engaging in more profound and demanding conversations about meaningful social reform to create an inclusive society centred on ethical imperatives.

Against this backdrop, this chapter explores two key factors contributing to the commodification of piety: neoliberalism and Islamophobia. These phenomena serve as a broader conceptual background to understand the trends discussed in the latter sections of the chapter. It is essential to note that this chapter does not intend to project a normative discourse evaluating the attitudes of religious actors using a legal barometer. Rather it focuses on an exploratory study of how market actors have capitalized on Muslim piety to serve their respective interests rather than benefiting the Muslim community. Interestingly, this phenomenon is not unique to Muslim majority societies but also operates within spaces where Muslims are the minority, such as in Singapore.

The economic, political, strategic and cultural dynamism in Southeast Asia has gained added relevance in recent years with the spectacular rise of giant economies in East and South Asia. This has drawn greater attention to the region and to the enhanced role it now plays in international relations and global economics.

The sustained effort made by Southeast Asian nations since 1967 towards a peaceful and gradual integration of their economies has had indubitable success, and perhaps as a consequence of this, most of these countries are undergoing deep political and social changes domestically and are constructing innovative solutions to meet new international challenges. Big Power tensions continue to be played out in the neighbourhood despite the tradition of neutrality exercised by the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN).

The Trends in Southeast Asia series acts as a platform for serious analyses by selected authors who are experts in their fields. It is aimed at encouraging policymakers and scholars to contemplate the diversity and dynamism of this exciting region.

Introduction

Most Indonesian Muslim youth are interested in finding their marriage partner through the practice of ta’aruf, traditionally viewed as an Islamic approach to selecting a spouse, a substitute for the secular practice of pacaran (dating). With digitalization permeating everyday Indonesian life, the emergence of multiple smartphone applications has transformed ta’aruf into an online activity. However, this transition to halal online dating extends beyond Indonesia and Southeast Asia, representing a phenomenon observed in Muslim societies globally. Examples of popular halal online dating services include Muzmatch, prevalent in the UK and Bangladesh, and Salam Swipe from Canada. These platforms, with their varied features, are reshaping Muslim identity vis-a-vis the evolving dynamics of balancing inherited familial Islamic traditions with the need for adapting new values through the reinterpretation of Islamic sources. These digital platforms allow young Muslims to navigate the delicate balance of adhering to Islamic orthodoxy while engaging with the realities of contemporary life, especially in the area of Islamic courtship which occasionally generates tensions.

There are two key factors that have driven the emergence of halal online dating. The first is the rise of global capitalism, resulting in the changing global economic landscape and the growth of digital technology. The global interconnectedness between international corporations, national corporations, and state adaptation policy prompts practices like ta’aruf to align with global economic trends (Castells 2007, 2010). The impact on developing countries is particularly significant. As international and national corporations expand their capital, economically marginalized people find themselves facing increasing uncertainty (Standing 2011). In response, many individuals turn towards religious knowledge as a form of escape and a guidepost for life's journey. Simultaneously, they view religion as a source of solidarity, a mobilizing force referred to by some scholars as Islamic populism that rallies individuals against perceived enemies in the name of Islam (Hadiz 2016; Hikmawan 2022). Digital technology and media platforms connect individuals with shared beliefs and anxieties, connecting them across global, societal, communal and personal domains (Lim 2017). Responding to the demand for match-making applications, various religious traditions have proposed similar platforms that incorporate religious teachings for users (Nisa 2021, p. 233; Pasha 2015).

No investigation into Myanmar's role in popular Western culture could ignore the country's place in the world of comics. To a surprising extent, Burma (as it was once known) has featured in many such publications. Many familiar tropes were given a fresh life in the minds of their readership, usually made up of impressionable children. A two-part article on the subject initially appeared on the New Mandala website, and was later picked up and republished by Yangon's English language daily newspaper The Myanmar Times.

In his 2011 study, British Comics, James Chapman wrote that comic books were “a valuable but neglected source of social history that provided insights into the societies and cultures in which they were produced and consumed”. Like other forms of popular visual culture, such as movies, comics are not only a reflection of the tastes and social values of consumers, but they also play an important role in influencing their attitudes and behaviours. Chapman went on to state; “The fact that the main consumers of comics have been children make them an even more potent form of popular culture”.

In this regard, George Orwell's views remain pertinent. In an essay on “Boys’ Weeklies”, first published in 1940, he wrote that:

Orwell was writing about children's story papers like Gem (1907–39) and Magnet (1908–40), but his comments could apply equally to comics.

With these thoughts in mind, it might be instructive to survey the development of comic books in key English-speaking countries and to look at the way in which Burma (formally known after 1989 as Myanmar) has been depicted in them.

After Aung San Suu Kyi and the NLD formed government in 2016, some members of the activist community and sundry conspiracy theorists expressed fears that the generals were setting up the new administration to fail, so that they had an excuse to take back direct power. This defied logic, given the fact that it was the armed forces leadership that had permitted the transition to a more democratic form of government in the first place, and stood to gain considerably from its success.

Myanmar has always encouraged conspiracy theories. Most have proven fanciful, but there is one currently circulating that, given its potential implications, is worth examining. It argues that the leaders of the country's armed forces, or Tatmadaw, have a secret plan to bring down Aung San Suu Kyi's National League for Democracy (NLD) government and install a new military regime.

This theory was given fresh life recently by media coverage of the first anniversary of the NLD taking office in March 2016 and the appointment shortly afterwards of Suu Kyi as Myanmar's State Counsellor and de facto leader. Both milestones prompted a spate of reviews which, almost without exception, expressed disappointment with the NLD's first year in power. Suu Kyi herself came in for strong criticism, particularly from foreign observers upset by her refusal to intervene on behalf of the mostly stateless Muslim Rohingya population based mainly in the country's western Rakhine State.

Following such reviews, Suu Kyi's supporters and apologists for her government leapt to their defence, arguing that it was too early to judge the new administration. They pointed to the complex problems the NLD inherited last year, some of which date back to colonial days. Some commentators sought to deflect criticism from Suu Kyi to the armed forces, which they saw as the root cause of all her problems.

A few went even further, claiming that in various ways the Tatmadaw had deliberately sabotaged Suu Kyi's government. They suggested that this was always the generals’ plan. In the view of these pundits, ever since the NLD took office the armed forces had played a spoiling role, both to deny the civilian government a chance to establish itself, and to persuade Myanmar's people that only a strong military regime could deliver the sweeping changes they desired.

The article on Myanmar's Mergui (now Myeik) Archipelago published in the Nikkei Asian Review in 2016 reminded readers that this obscure collection of islands was not entirely unfamiliar, having been featured in several popular children's adventure books. Indeed, on reflection, that seemed a worthwhile subject to research in its own right. This led in turn to the following piece, published in the online edition of the quarterly journal the Griffith Review.

When British Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson quoted the poem “Mandalay” during a visit to Myanmar in early 2017, to the obvious discomfort of the British ambassador, it was a stark reminder that popular culture can sometimes intrude on worldly affairs. Johnson's reference to Kipling's well-known but rather patronising colonial-era ballad may have simply been a diplomatic gaffe, with no lasting consequences. However, there has long been a lively debate in academic circles about the possible subliminal effects of movies, television programs, songs and books. It has been argued, for example, that young children exposed to certain kinds of public entertainment can form indelible impressions of people and places that will affect their attitudes in later life.

In this regard, George Orwell's views are pertinent. In his essay “Boys’ Weeklies”, first published in 1940, he wrote that:

Orwell was writing about children's story papers like Gem (1907–39) and Magnet (1908–40). However, his comments could apply equally to juvenile literature of the kind that was read by Boris Johnson and his generation. With regard to Myanmar—still commonly known as Burma—one example stands out above all others.

After Aung San Suu Kyi took power in 2016, one perennial topic of discussion in articles and blogs was the extent to which the armed forces were making it difficult for the NLD to govern. The question was of particular interest because the new quasi-civilian government was not meeting expectations and its supporters were looking for someone to blame. The shortcomings of Aung San Suu Kyi and the NLD administration tended to be overlooked as the finger was pointed (sometimes rightly so) at the old enemy.

The National League for Democracy (NLD) has been in power in Myanmar for over a year now, following its landslide victory in the November 2015 elections. In March 2016, a new president and government were sworn in; and the next month Nobel Peace Laureate Aung San Suu Kyi became the country's de facto leader, under the newly-minted title of state counsellor.

Hopes were high that the new administration would introduce sweeping changes to the country, which had endured more than 50 years of inept and self-serving military rule. It was a mood encouraged by promises made by Aung San Suu Kyi during the election campaign—to reduce the power of the armed forces (known as the Tatmadaw), change the 2008 pro-military constitution and end corruption. However, the verdict on the NLD's first year in office, by international commentators at least, has been almost uniformly negative.

When it took office, the NLD inherited a wide range of complex problems, some of which had defied resolution ever since the British colonial era (1824–1948). President Thein Sein's government (2011–2015) had taken tentative steps toward reform, but it had only picked the low-hanging fruit. Critical political, economic and social problems had been largely ignored. In 2016, every portfolio of government apart from Defence was begging for greater attention and more resources.

There has been modest progress in some areas, but the NLD government and Aung San Suu Kyi herself have been criticised for failing to keep their election promises and deliver long-awaited reforms. Peace negotiations with ethnic armed groups have stalled. “Area clearance operations” by the security forces against the Muslim Rohingyas have been condemned by the United Nations and others as “genocide” and “ethnic cleansing”. Aung San Suu Kyi's refusal to address this issue has attracted widespread condemnation.

The English language weekly news magazine Nikkei Asian Review (2013 to 2020) had a regular section called “Tea Leaves”, which posted short comments by a wide range of observers on different aspects of the regional scene. In 2016, it offered an opportunity to raise, once again, my concerns about the lack of intellectual rigour and objectivity in much of the reporting found on Myanmar.

There is something about Myanmar that encourages conspiracy theories and wild rumours. Not only does the country create them in abundance, but they tend to be picked up by the international news media and otherwise draw attention. If cited in academic works, they gain a credibility that most do not deserve.

To give two examples:

When a misguided American tourist swam, uninvited, across a lake in Yangon to the home of opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi in 2009, activist groups suggested that he had been put up to it by Myanmar's military intelligence service, to justify an extension of her house arrest beyond the 2010 elections.

And when President Thein Sein acknowledged Myanmar's myriad social and economic problems in 2011 and announced an ambitious reform program, some journalists and activists claimed it was merely a ploy to neutralize Suu Kyi and hoodwink foreign governments into believing the country was taking serious steps to change.

Both theories have been dismissed—rightly—by serious Myanmar watchers.

Myanmar also seems to encourage dramatic claims about broader strategic developments, despite a lack of evidence. For 15 years, Indian officials and Western analysts claimed that China was operating a large intelligence collection station on Myanmar's Great Coco Island. In 2005, India acknowledged that the story was, and always had been, completely baseless.

In 2009, it was claimed that Myanmar was developing a nuclear weapon, and by 2014 would be producing one bomb a year. There was a low-level nuclear research program but a weapon, particularly in that time frame, was a fantasy.

There are some genuine mysteries, however, that have long intrigued those with an interest in the country.

One is that, despite being the most powerful institution in Myanmar for half a century, the size, order of battle and combat capabilities of the country's armed forces remain largely unknown.

As the civil war in Myanmar ground on, a critical question that arose was whether any foreign government would formally recognise the shadow National Unity Government (NUG), and provide more than humanitarian aid. There was a wide consensus that lethal aid to the NUG's armed wing, the People's Defence Force, and to allied ethnic armed organisations, could tip the strategic balance in Myanmar and give the resistance forces a much better chance of winning the war against the junta.

Over the past year, governments and international organisations have imposed sanctions against Myanmar's military regime and taken various other steps to support the country's embattled opposition movement. Most of these measures have been largely symbolic, however, and none have had a direct impact on the balance of forces inside the country. The junta has continued its repressive policies, in what has become a nationwide civil war.

Requests by the shadow National Unity Government (NUG) for direct military intervention, under the UN's Responsibility to Protect principles, have fallen on deaf ears. More recent calls by members of the People's Defence Force (PDF), for the imposition of a no-fly zone over Myanmar, have been equally unsuccessful. Expatriate groups and private donors have provided a trickle of funds and weapons, but to date no lethal aid has been forthcoming.

Despite intensive lobbying in the US and elsewhere, the NUG has been unable to persuade any foreign government to recognise its credentials, or to assist the armed groups fighting the junta in its name. This lack of official response seems to reflect a combination of international conventions, geostrategic circumstances and perceived national interests.

One argument heard is that governments usually recognise states, not other governments, so the question of formally disavowing the military regime and acknowledging the NUG does not arise. After all, Myanmar already exists. This approach permits governments to avoid taking any positions that might harm their tenuous communications links with the junta, upset China or complicate relations with international organisations like ASEAN.

No one knows exactly how many people have been in Myanmar's armed forces, despite the different figures that have been published from time to time, and are thrown around in the news media and in the literature. Even well-informed academic and official observers, some with access to privileged information, have confessed their ignorance on this matter. In Donald Rumsfeldt's memorable terms, it was a classic “known unknown”. In any case, as this article attempted to make clear, numbers alone cannot give analysts a true understanding of the Tatmadaw's operational capabilities.

With nationwide elections due to be held in Burma on 7 November, observers are looking more closely at the military government's coercive apparatus, in particular the strength of its armed forces (or Tatmadaw). For they are likely to be crucial factors in the planned transition to what the regime is calling a “genuine multi-party discipline-flourishing democracy”.

Studying these matters is not easy. Almost all statistics cited in connection with Burma are suspect, few more so than those claiming to give the size of the country's armed forces.

Ever since the generals took back direct political power in 1988, and launched an ambitious military expansion and modernisation program, strategic analysts and other observers have been trying to determine how many Burmese men and women are in uniform. Numerous estimates have been put forward, but none can be considered definitive.

Most Burma watchers acknowledge that over the past 20 years the Tatmadaw has grown dramatically, from a baseline of around 200,000. According to one Burmese academic, who appears to have had access to official records, in 1988 the army numbered 184,029, the navy 8,065 and the air force 6,587.

In 1995, the military government announced a “war establishment” of 500,000. This formal goal was later revised to 600,000. This reportedly includes 23,000 in the air force and 22,000 in the navy. But these figures are purely notional, and are clearly well above the Tatmadaw's current “implemented strength”—although in 1999 one Thai newspaper claimed that there were 620,000 in Burma's armed forces.

By 2002, it was widely accepted that the Tatmadaw had at least doubled in size, to around 400,000. This figure was thought to consist of about 370,000 in the army, 16,000 in the navy and 15,000 in the air force.

Since the abortive 1988 pro-democracy uprising, when Myanmar was thrust into the world’s headlines, both scholars and the general public have paid greater attention to the country’s history and culture. There had been occasional forays into Myanmar’s past and its unique customs before then, but outside Myanmar (then known as Burma) these fields were relatively unknown to all but a small number of dedicated researchers. As David Steinberg wrote in 1981, it was terra incognita. Due largely to a xenophobic government, and a quarter of a century of isolation, Myanmar was not attractive to postgraduate students intent on establishing an academic career. After 1988, this changed, but even then foreign attention was focused mainly on Myanmar’s traditional culture and the country’s more recent political convulsions.

Over the past 30 or so years, there has been what the French author and philosopher Michel Foucault once described (albeit in a different context) as a “veritable discursive explosion”. A flood of new books has been published on different aspects of Myanmar, notably its politics, history and culture. The quality and value of these books have been highly variable, with travelogues and memoirs perhaps the most open to criticism. There have also been some dreadful novels set in Myanmar. However, this was probably inevitable given the kind of over-correction in the literature that was taking place. There were some notable exceptions, but relatively little serious attention was given to the pre-colonial and colonial period. Even then, the focus of books and articles tended to be on the impact of the West on Myanmar and its people, rather than the impact on Western populations of contacts with Myanmar.

In order to publish updates of the Griffith Asia Institute's (GAI) Burma (Myanmar) bibliography, it was necessary to keep a close eye on announcements and reviews of newly-published books about the country. It was also useful to monitor the lists posted online by Myanmar watchers and others, intended to guide the reading of those less familiar with the field. This was useful in part because the GAI's bibliographies themselves included an essay on the best books to read before visiting Myanmar for the first time.

Many Myanmar watchers tap into the websites of major booksellers from time to time, to see what is being written about the country and to find out what titles are finding favour among both the scholarly community and general public. Some also like to keep an eye on those lists, compiled mostly by travel writers and journalists, of books recommended to people who wish to learn more about Myanmar, or who plan to make a visit there.

By monitoring such websites over the years, it has been possible to identify some staple choices and discern a number of interesting trends.

Early Lists

Back in the 1960s and 1970s, both kinds of lists were rather short. This reflected the low level of public interest in the country (then known as Burma) and the limited number of works available. Most compilations included overviews like Hugh Tinker's The Union of Burma (first published in 1961) and F.S.V. Donnison's Burma (1970), or histories such as Dorothy Woodman's The Making of Burma (1962) and Frank Trager's Burma: From Kingdom to Republic (1966). More specialised information could be found in the US Defence Department's Area Handbook for Burma (1968).

For lighter fare, there were travel books like Somerset Maugham, The Gentleman in the Parlour (1930) and Norman Lewis's Golden Earth (1952). Myanmar-related fiction was usually represented by Tennyson Jesse's The Lacquer Lady (1930) and George Orwell's Burmese Days (1934). Curiously, despite their popularity, few lists included Maurice Collis's histories, or his four volumes of autobiography, namely Trials in Burma (1938), The Journey Outward (1952), Into Hidden Burma (1953) and The Journey Up (1970).