MYANMAR: UNKNOWN PARADISE, TIMELESS TREASURE OR FORGOTTEN LAND?

Three years into its latest crisis Myanmar risks falling back into isolation and neglect unless there is greater international urgency.

Myanmar seems to lie at the outer edge of the public consciousness, demanding close attention from time to time but destined always to slip back into the shadow of global events. The February 2021 military coup, for example, thrust the country into prominence, but it has since been relegated to the sidelines, crowded out by natural disasters and developments in places like Eastern Europe and the Middle East.

This has been a consistent pattern for centuries, encouraging a plethora of myths and misconceptions about the country. As countless coffee table books and travel brochures testify, some of the more romantic notions have been exploited to Myanmar’s advantage. However, a general lack of awareness has also meant that many of Myanmar’s challenges have been misunderstood, and its people denied the help they have badly needed.

Part of the problem has stemmed from a lack of first-hand knowledge. As Martin Michalon has noted, Myanmar’s fortunes, and more specifically its political environment, have been closely related to the number and frequency of foreign visitors to the country. When it has been relatively peaceful and prosperous, Myanmar has attracted waves of tourists. When it has been repressed and struggling economically, they have been thin on the ground.

As a brief survey can illustrate, this observation is as true today as it has been throughout Myanmar’s modern history. Such a survey highlights not only its relative isolation over the years but also its failure – at times, steadfast refusal – to interact with the wider world.

Before it was conquered by the British in three wars between 1824 and 1885, Burma (as Myanmar was then called) was largely unknown in the West. Despite intermittent trade contacts, missionary ventures and diplomatic missions, the country was in many ways an intelligence black hole. There were precious few reliable maps and the occasional travellers’ accounts only shed light on the main cities and major waterways.

Towards the end of the 1800s and into the early 1900s, Burma attracted a trickle of foreign tourists, who revelled in its exotic atmosphere, but their writings tended to reinforce popular myths and strengthen existing stereotypes back in Europe, rather than change them. Even after it became a separate colony in 1937, Burma was still seen as part of British India, or confused with somewhere else, like Bermuda.

Between 1941 and 1945, the Allied military campaign against the Japanese in the China, Burma, India theatre was the longest of any in the Second World War, but it was still considered secondary in importance to those being waged in Europe and the Pacific. Not without reason, General Slim’s forces in Burma became widely known as the “forgotten army on the forgotten front".

This reputation persisted after the war. Travel writers like Norman Lewis noted the widespread ignorance of Burma in the West. He went there in 1951 to experience “the traditional Burma, with its archaic and charming way of life” before it vanished. He did not foresee General Ne Win’s coup in 1962, which effectively preserved Burma in aspic and gave a new meaning to descriptions of the country as a “timeless treasure”.

Following the coup, and the installation of an autarkic socialist regime, foreign contacts were actively discouraged. Tourist visas were restricted to 24 hours. They were extended to 72 hours in 1969 and seven days in 1971, but the lack of modern facilities kept most visitors away. As Lonely Planet founder Tony Wheeler wrote, it was “far from the easiest or most comfortable country in Asia to visit”.

Indeed, Burma became increasingly invisible to the outside world, prompting the tourist tag “the unknown paradise”. In the 1970s, the few guide books which covered Burma warned visitors that it was “still a virtual unknown”. Few academics studied the country, as they could not conduct any field work. The only foreigners permitted to live there were members of the small diplomatic community.

This situation changed after the abortive 1988 pro-democracy uprising, and the advent of a new military regime calling itself the State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC). Visa restrictions and trade regulations were eased, and Myanmar began to receive more foreign visitors. Tourist visas were granted for two weeks, extended to four weeks in 1992. Longer stays were permitted for those conducting business.

The SLORC still worried that “tourists can instigate trouble and spread misinformation” but, in an attempt to obtain more foreign currency, 1996 was officially designated Visit Myanmar Year. Despite a vigorous public relations campaign, only 490,000 foreign visitors accepted the regime’s invitation, but it was more than double the previous year’s total.

The number of tourists gradually increased, many from China, but the total remained less than one million per year. Some areas of the country remained off-limits to foreigners. These included those around Myanmar’s periphery affected by insurgencies, as well as the “forbidden islands” of the Mergui (now Myeik) Archipelago.

After Myanmar’s armed forces stepped back from direct government and permitted the creation of a “disciplined democracy” in 2011, the internal situation changed dramatically. Opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi stopped telling foreigners to stay away and the economy began to grow. Tourist numbers ballooned from 816,000 that year to 4.7 million in 2015.

Myanmar became much better known. Increasingly, publications about Myanmar began to appear in foreign bookshops. Many were memoirs or first-hand accounts. As late as 2020, however, travel writers were still calling Myanmar a “hidden paradise” and asking, “is it ready for the world?”.

True to form, the tourist industry crashed after the 2021 coup. That year, there were only 130,947 recorded international arrivals. The junta now claims that these numbers have begun to rise again. Even if its statistics can be believed, however, there is little chance that Myanmar will be an attractive holiday destination for the foreseeable future.

Australia’s Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade has recommended that all travel to Myanmar be avoided, stating: “Violence, including explosions and attacks, can occur anywhere and anytime.” The US and UK governments have issued similar warnings. Also, there is no incentive for expatriate Burmese to return home, given the ever-present threat of arrest, torture and imprisonment.

Despite a string of military victories by the anti-junta forces in recent months, and growing signs of the regime’s structural weaknesses, the civil war shows no sign of ending soon. Both sides have ruled out a negotiated outcome. Also, there is no clear picture of what the country might look like in the unlikely event that one side will eventually achieve the total victory it is aiming for.

In some ways, history seems to be repeating itself. Political conditions in Myanmar effectively preclude foreign visitors, trade and other such contacts. Humanitarian agencies are finding it difficult to deliver aid inside the country. The current conflict is having dire consequences for the civil population, nearly two million of whom have been displaced since 2020.

On 1 February, the third anniversary of the coup, several members of the international community issued a joint statement calling for greater attention to be paid to Myanmar’s plight. However, without immediate and more direct action the country seems likely once again to slip off the front pages of the world’s press, to await the next crisis.

These days, the most appropriate publications about Myanmar may be those that once described it as “the forgotten land”.

Andrew Selth is an Adjunct Professor at the Griffith Asia Institute. His latest book is “A Myanmar Miscellany” (Singapore: ISEAS Publishing, in press).