Burma Redux: Global Justice and the Quest for Political Reform in Myanmar (22 page)

Despite this, much contemporary debate focuses on a precise historical moment, and a brief historical document running to no more than a single page. The agreement signed by Aung San and a number of ethnic nationality leaders in the Shan town of Panglong in February 1947 established some of the main parameters for Burmese independence in January 1948.
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Its terms were not implemented, however, and have thus become political flash-points. Matthew J. Walton argues that, “Over 60 years later, the promises of the Panglong Agreement remain unfulfilled and ethnic conflict continues to plague the nation, but the elusive ‘spirit’ of Panglong still affects Burmese of every ethnicity.”
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Animating ethnic calls for national reconciliation talks is a plea to return to this “spirit.” Indeed, just as Bamar luminaries stoke the legend of the Thirty Comrades in spearheading independence from imperial powers, so ethnic nationality leaders invest the Panglong agreement with iconic status in pointing the way to a plural modern state. Just before the 2010 general election, 109 ethnic leaders and politicians met in Kalay, Sagaing Division to call for a second Panglong conference. Soon after returning to public life a couple of weeks later, Aung San Suu Kyi endorsed the Kalay Declaration.
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However, as Walton notes, what actually happened in Panglong many decades ago is subject to diverse interpretation. The 1947 conference was in fact the second gathering in the town. In March 1946, leaders of the Shan, Kachin, Karen and Chin peoples, then seen as the key minority groups alongside the always rather special Karenni, had come together to discuss options for the postcolonial order. Ahead of both meetings they already had reassurances through the two-Burma principle enshrined in the May 1945 British White Paper that no decision on the place of ethnic minorities in a future independent state would be taken without their consent. Moving into the 1947 meeting, they were further encouraged by a statement from Aung San: “As for the people of the Frontier Areas, they must decide their own future. If they wish to come in with us we will welcome them on equal terms.”
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However, on neither side were positions entirely clear. The Burmans suspected British skullduggery in promoting minority claims. Distinct ethnic groups took differing positions, and some were not present in Panglong. Only the Shan, Kachin and Chin peoples had formal representation, and notably important absentees were official Karen delegates who preferred to seek a separate deal with the departing colonial power. Walton writes that “A combination of false British promises, sustained Burman hostility toward the Karen, and the refusal of the Karen leadership to compromise when faced with the loss of British support led to the Karen rebellion that broke out immediately following independence and has continued to this day.”
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The result, Walton argues, is that three distinct myths of Panglong have developed over the years since 1947. The dominant myth, institutionalized by successive military regimes, emphasizes Burmese ethnic unity in throwing off imperial shackles imposed first by the British and later by the Japanese, Burmese ethnic harmony in coming together to sign an agreement for a unified state, Aung San’s genius in facilitating ethnic accord, and the essential subsequent role of the military in sustaining national unity and upholding the spirit of Panglong. Conveniently, it overlooks scant ethnic participation and disagreement even among the groups that did attend. The second myth, associated with the democratic opposition, is much the same as the first in its description of what happened in 1947, but different in its analysis of what later transpired. It argues that successive national governments betrayed the spirit of Panglong by limiting the autonomy enjoyed by ethnic minorities and condemning the country to civil war. In looking to recapture a lost unity, however, it too exaggerates the degree to which the people of Burma ever were a single fraternal community. The third myth, associated with ethnic nationality groups, provides a very different account of the events of 1947, finding in them broad-based agreement on a substantial degree of autonomy for non-Burman ethnic peoples, which then fed into constitutional provisions for minority self-government up to and including secession. In common with the second myth, the third holds that the spirit of Panglong has been undermined by state leaders in the period since independence. However, what has been lost is not historic unity, but rather respect for minority claims to self-rule.
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While deep conflict thus surrounds Panglong, Walton’s final point is that it remains central to national reconciliation and political progress. “The myths of the conference, the agreement, and the vague ‘spirit’ of this event are fundamental elements of the identities of all ethnic groups… Any discussion of national unity must acknowledge the effects that Panglong has had, and continues to have, on ethnic politics in Burma.”
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He sketches five ways forward, arguing that more testimony should be gathered, limitations of the agreement should be acknowledged, positions taken in 1947 should be reevaluated, the formation of hegemonic identities among ethnic nationalities should be critically examined, and the notion of national identity should be broadly debated. His closing argument is this: “As a national myth, Panglong is crucial to deciphering the persistent ethnic conflict that has plagued Burma since independence, but it is also necessary to reinterpret this ‘common history’ in a way that recognizes ethnic diversity and even ethnic conflict, particularly if the ‘spirit of Panglong’ is to have any resonance in fostering national unity.”
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This expansive deliberative agenda looks to be a necessary component of national reconciliation.

Equally important is a supporting process of interethnic accommodation embracing not only questions of political and cultural autonomy, but also issues of economic and social development. Only when ethnic nationality people feel they are no longer targets of exploitation and violence, but rather partners in broad-based national renewal, will nation-building efforts gain traction. In this domain, activist reports commonly emphasize the urgent need for ethnic nationalities to gain release from the heavy hand of the military-state, expressed not only through straightforward repression, but also through insensitive development programs. These matters certainly need to be addressed, possibly through an enhanced role for territorial assemblies in development planning and oversight. However, there is also a need ultimately to consider the role of ethnic militias in nation-building programs. Currently most controversial is the
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attempt to incorporate insurgent forces into its hierarchy, captured in BGF clauses in the 2008 constitution. Such a move is anathema to several ethnic nationalities, for it will leave them defenseless against the might of the military machine. For true nation building to take place, though, it will eventually have to be addressed as part of a larger military restructuring designed to subordinate the
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to civilian control. Elsewhere, parallel efforts have not always been effective in building peace, though often poor implementation has been the problem.
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In the wider society, reintegration of individuals for whom insurgency has become a way of life is also a key challenge.
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Experience from Sierra Leone indicates that it is notably difficult to deal with combatants who are abusive, wealthy, educated, ideological, male and young.
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So great is the deprivation in Myanmar’s peripheral zones that some of these characteristics are rarely found. Wealthy and educated are not common descriptors of foot soldiers in many ragtag ethnic militias. Nevertheless, there is clearly a sizable task here. As in other spheres, creating the right incentives is essential if individuals are to renounce a life of war and take up peaceful pursuits.
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Finally, complementing and reinforcing elite talks will need to be programs launched at many levels to resolve and transform conflict, and build peace. In this regard, counseling and mediation are likely to be essential elements of a successful nation-building project. Many initiatives will clearly have to focus squarely on ethnic conflict, for decades central to social fragmentation across the nation. Additionally, however, it will be necessary to consider how to bridge deep divisions not merely between government leaders and opposition figures, but also between officials of an oppressive state and the citizens they have long commanded. At this point, analysis moves to the level of discrete individuals, where there is little choice but to examine issues of responsibility for half a century of oppression, and means by which transgressors might be dealt with.

Transitional justice

The umbrella term generally used to capture such matters is transitional justice. Quite how such a big and important topic might be handled in the Myanmar case will depend to a large extent on the nature of any future reform process. If democratization plays out seamlessly and slowly, then questions of transitional justice may never arise. Clearly this is what military leaders are hoping for: if the country really does have to embrace democracy without adjectives, then let it come in a gradualist way that never creates an opening for analysis of past injustice. To be on the safe side, impunity clauses were also written into the 2008 constitution. Nevertheless, if at some stage in the process there is a break point where authoritarianism is visibly left behind and democracy embraced, then such questions will emerge with some force. Indeed, it seems likely that as soon as a genuine move away from decades of military control is made, local people will have little option but to deliberate the terms on which officials tainted by involvement in gross human rights abuse are to be dealt with under the new political dispensation. Again they can turn for inspiration and guidance to vibrant global debate, for as democratization gathered pace in the closing decades of the twentieth century new mechanisms of transitional justice emerged in parallel.
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In a very basic sense, analysis of how to deal with abusive former officials boils down to a single issue: punish or pardon. At one extreme, individuals complicit in serious human rights violations can be indicted and, if found guilty, punished. In the mid-1940s, international military tribunals at Nuremberg and Tokyo prosecuted prominent members of the Axis powers defeated in the Second World War. At the other extreme, officials from a prior authoritarian regime can be given an amnesty and allowed to participate in the new order on the same terms as everybody else. In the mid-1970s, Spain’s transition after the death of General Francisco Franco delivered transitional justice of this kind, and other third-wave democratizations also pardoned members of outgoing authoritarian regimes in order to generate a smooth reform process. On one side are then ethical imperatives and the demands of justice. On the other are practical attempts to build a functioning democracy. Kantian just desserts confront instrumental concerns.

At the same time, however, there are further issues beyond deciding how far to press complicity and guilt. Luc Huyse argues that “All policy choices involve answers to two key questions: whether to remember or forget the abuses—the issue of acknowledgement—and whether to impose sanctions on the individuals who are co-responsible for these abuses—the issue of accountability.”
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Filling things out, Stanley Cohen holds that five linked debates focus on knowledge, accountability, impunity, expiation, and reconciliation and reconstruction.
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Many want past crimes to be recorded. Indeed, as Thomas Nagel notes, core demands often focus less on knowledge and more on acknowledgement, for fresh historical data may not be as important as official recognition that abuses long denied really did take place. Issues of both accountability and impunity are almost certain to arise once a break with authoritarianism is made. Additionally, a measure of symbolic purification is often sought. Arthur Stinchcombe notes that in antiquity Roman legions were ceremonially cleansed through lustration. “Whatever the troops had done, after the lustration they were a clean troop of the Republic or Empire.” Today, some transitional practices can also be seen as “drawing a ritual boundary between a new clean democratic regime and a bad old warlike, terrorist, totalitarian, and corrupt regime.”
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Finally, in addressing past crimes there is always a linked desire to look to the future and safeguard reconciliation and reconstruction efforts. This promotes expedience and pragmatism, though Cohen notes that “the consensus is that such discretion and prudence should never be extended to genocide and crimes against humanity.”
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In the late twentieth century, one key institution developed to address some of these many issues was the truth and reconciliation commission. Designed to document abuse under an outgoing dictatorship, such commissions also aim to foster national renewal and may offer qualified amnesty to complicit officials. By the end of the 1980s six such bodies had been created, in the 1990s a further 14 were added, and more followed in the 2000s.
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Among the most significant were the pioneering
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(Never Again) truth commission on disappeared persons in Argentina (1983), and commissions in Chile (1990), El Salvador (1991) and above all South Africa (1996). A second important institution was the lustration system, seeking to deal with officials from the repressive apparatus of a prior authoritarian state and impose non-criminal sanctions on perpetrators of injustice. These systems were implemented chiefly after the collapse of communism in East-Central Europe, as many countries examined politicians, public officials, judges and others to gauge their degree of involvement with the secret police of the former regime.
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