Yangon Dispatches
A Social Media Revolution in Myanmar?
As the monsoon recedes, election fever has engulfed Myanmar. Caravans of trucks bearing the fierce red and gold fighting peacock of Aung Sun Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy (NLD), the main opposition party, careen around the streets of Yangon. Young activists dangle dangerously from the trucks’ metal frames, chanting in tune with campaign slogans blaring from industrial-sized amplifiers. The ubiquitous teashops — long the haunts of hushed political discussions — hum with public, impassioned debate.
On November 8th, Myanmar will hold its first general election since the ushering in of a quasi-civilian government in 2011, marking a major transition after over 50 years of absolute military rule. The logistics alone are titanic: a staggering 93 parties and 6,189 candidates will contest 1,171 constituencies in national and regional parliaments. For the first time in 25 years, Suu Kyi’s NLD will not boycott the elections and are expected to take a sizable share of the votes.
Tin Aye, Chairman of the Union Election Commission (UEC) — the body responsible for orchestrating nationwide voting — promises “free and fair elections,” but most citizens retain a sense of cautious skepticism. A sham referendum adopted by the military government in 2008 reserves 25% of all parliamentary seats for MPs selected by the armed forces, and because the votes of more than 75% of the MPs are needed to amend the constitution, the army is virtually guaranteed full reign to operate as a “state within a state.” The jarring removal of reform-minded speaker of the incumbent Union and Solidarity Development Party (USDP), General U Shwe Man, in August, the wiping of Muslim candidates from the voter rolls and a surprise election-postponement controversy earlier this month, highlight the messy turbulence inherent in any democratic transition. Myanmar can either have a somewhat free and fair election or an on-time election, but not both.
Despite this uncertainty, the national mood remains electric, in more ways than one. Myanmar has defiantly discarded its dated stereotype of a hermit kingdom left behind by the modern world. After the military ceded power in 2011, state-owned companies began privatizing and Myanmar began seriously flirting with the free-market. Foreign direct investment (FDI) has boomed to USD$8.1 billion this fiscal year, a remarkable 25 times the USD$329.6 million invested in the country a mere five years ago. As the dollars flood in, a technological renaissance is sweeping the nation: in a country where a SIM card cost USD$2,500 a few years ago, a SIM now costs no more than USD$1.50. A pulsing economy has facilitated an astonishing 300% growth in mobile subscriptions in the last 12 months. Nearly 80% of Myanmar’s 29 million mobile subscribers own 3g-enabled smartphones: sharing and disseminating information online like never before.
The trifecta of an explosion in mobile literacy, a population with a voracious appetite for political change and an election outcome obscured by the mists of uncertainty, portend a potentially explosive situation. One can’t help but notice the parallels of a restive Arab world on the eve of the 2011 Arab Spring. If the Tatmadaw — Myanmar’s military junta — annuls the election or refuses to relinquish power, can the activism and #hashtag revolutions that swept the Middle East be replicated in Myanmar?
The answer is a cautious no. Whereas the young activists marching in Cairo’s Tahir Square or Sana’a’s Pearl Roundabout had surprise on their side, their Burmese counterparts are facing a shrewd regime poised to crack down at the slightest sight of trouble. The junta’s brutal crackdown during the student protests of 1988 and blatant harassment of non-violent dissidents during the 2007 Saffron Revolution are still fresh in Myanmar’s collective memory. The Tatmadaw knows how to deal with unrest: quickly, and with the force of violent action.
Two weeks ago, Yangon hosted a massive NLD rally. The streets were swollen with vociferous red-shirted NLD supporters, but lurking on the fringes were armed police officers, equipped with truncheons and riot helmets. The rally was peaceful, but the mood was tense.
Imagine a similar scene, but fast forward three weeks: the UEC has just announced the election results and the outcome is decidedly suspicious. Thousands take to the streets in protest; the demonstrations turn violent. The internet is inundated with images uploaded by citizen activists. Scenes of discord: saffron-robed monks being beaten, young men and women roughly arrested, police firing on unarmed citizens. Abuses run rampant — the bamboo telegraph is overwhelmed with tales of government abuse.
Unsettled, the Tatmadaw does what it knows best: shuts down and plunges the country back into isolation. Since all telecommunications are funneled through a tightly controlled series of government owned choke-points, it can unilaterally terminate all internet connections, (like they did during student protests in August, masquerading behind ridiculous fiction that a thick fiber cable was mysteriously cut in the jungle).
Dissidents must turn to laboriously smuggling footage out of the country. Global interest in the the Arab Spring was sustained by its instantaneous nature. If a shot was fired on non-violent protesters in Rabat, the entire world would know about it before the gun stopped smoking. With a finger hovering on the kill switch, the Myanmar government can easily take away the activists’ most powerful weapon before they have a chance to even use it. Without a portal to Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or Viber, Myanmar protesters cannot maintain the interest of a global population addicted to instant information. World attentiveness wanes, fiery liberal rhetoric drifts off and the Tatmadaw settles in for another few years of autocratic rule.
Will Myanmar be plunged back into a static purgatory? The Tatmadaw’s stranglehold on communications and macabre experience of dealing with dissent play to their favor. However, Myanmar’s rampant rise in mobile literacy — with an increasing ability to bypass government firewalls and blocking measures — the rapid entry of privately-owned telecommunications companies into a formerly government-monopolized market and a simple unbridled desire to disrupt the political status quo, funnel into the cautious optimism enveloping the country.
