Most human rights activists agree that tourism in Burma is “a difficult question.”

By Patricia W. Elliot
Briarpatch Magazine
November 2006

When I travelled around Burma in 1995, I was mostly immersed in research work. I’d be lying, though, if I didn’t mention there were times of simple enjoyment. Burma is a special land, blessed with abundant natural beauty, tantalizing cuisine, beautiful art and architecture, and a highly diverse mix of cultures and traditions. In any other country of the world, it would be a tourist’s dream. This fact hasn’t escaped the attention of the country’s ruling junta, which has ruled Burma’s people with an iron fist since 1962. During my sojourn, the entire country was being made ready for “Visit Myanmar 1996.” After 40 years of self-imposed isolation, the regime planned to make over the country with a new name and a new image of openness to the world. Tourism was their vehicle. And “Visit Myanmar” was the coming-out party.

It worked. Between 1995 and 2003, the number of tourists entering Burma rose from 170,000 visitors to 365,000, the majority on package tours. The number of Canadian visitors arriving by air more than doubled, from 818 to 1,973. Tourist numbers have continued to rise exponentially, topping 660,000 in 2005, as word of pristine beaches, misty mountain trails and bargain-filled markets spread. Doubtless, each and every one of the travellers enjoyed a memorable, enriching experience. But what about the people of Burma? Did they benefit economically or socially from the influx of visitors?

“Burma is one of the most difficult and contested subjects in tourism,” says Justin Francis, co-founder of responsibletravel.com, an Internet travel agency based in the UK. On the one hand, tourism brings income and international exposure to Burma’s struggling citizens. On the other hand, tourists risk normalizing and strengthening one of the world’s most brutal military regimes, especially as many tourist services, like hotels and museums, are directly owned by the military. Forced labour and the relocation of whole villages to make places look more pristine are parts of the picture that tourists don’t see, Francis cautions.

I can attest to that. I witnessed the “Visit Myanmar” preparations, including the widening of the Rangoon-Mandalay highway in 1995. Each family along the road was expected to provide one conscript. Women, children, and the elderly formed an unbroken chain that stretched the entire 696 kilometres. Their job was to crush rocks with tiny picks, under the watch of guards. I also witnessed the anguish of small business owners who had been ordered to build a second storey on their shop-house, at their own expense, to make the main street in their small town look more “modern” for foreign visitors. I saw prisoners hand-dredging and cleaning the moat around King Thibaw’s palace, their ankles shackled together. They passed little tin pails of mud up the line endlessly, all day, in blazing heat. Inside the palace’s impressive red walls was one of Burma’s most infamous prisons. To me it seemed a perfect analogy for the country: nice on the outside, hell on the inside. The thought of tourists admiring those walls left a bitter taste in my mouth.

That same year, democratic leader Aung San Suu Kyi, held under house arrest, asked tourists to stay away until democracy is restored. In 1999 she reiterated her request, saying the generals “seem to look on the influx of tourism as proof that their actions are accepted by the world.” Justin Francis takes her at her word: “I’ve no doubt Burma is stunning. I would love to go. But human rights would need to improve significantly.”

“Responsible travel is to tourism what organic is to food,” he explains, outlining the thinking behind his travel agency. All travel has both negative and positive impacts; even the most eco-friendly backpack trek has a negative side, if airplane travel is used to arrive at the destination. The trick, says Francis, is to offer tours that are pre-screened to ensure visits produce local economic benefits with minimal negative impact.

Francis became interested in responsible travel after a year of wandering in Africa. “I saw how local people depended on tourism. I saw the need,” he says. His first investor was Anita Roddick, the founder of the Body Shop. Today his company offers tours in 140 countries. But not Burma.

“We offer [tours to] countries that are at best dubious in their human rights records. But after much thought, we decided that Burma was a special case,” Francis says. Aung San Suu Kyi’s request is just one reason. Both the British government and the EU have urged people not to go. Similar policies were enacted against South Africa to help end Apartheid, Francis points out. Respecting the boycott helps tourism become an agent of change.

“I’ve no doubt that if we marketed Burma to tourists it would be incredibly popular. People crave authenticity and unspoiled places. I’ve no doubt there’s money to be made. But the majority of tourism agencies in Britain have chosen not to market Burma,” he says. This includes not just eco-friendly, alternative-type agencies, but mainstream travel companies. According to Francis, the main reason the boycott is widely upheld in Britain is because of lobbying efforts by the Free Burma Coalition, and a blacklist published by Burma Campaign UK that names agencies dealing in Burma tours.

But even among pro-democracy organizations, there isn’t a consensus on the question. Voices for Burma, for example, encourages low-key, independent exploration of Burma as a way to engage and support ordinary citizens. “We propose tourists spend their days on local transport, visiting teashops, talking and eating with the local people. This has far more wide-reaching consequences of cultural exchange and open dialogue, than snap-happy tourists doing the mainstream tour of monuments,” says Cherie McCosker, Voices for Burma co-director.

McCosker, who lives in Australia, joined Voices in 2004 after a volunteer stint with refugees on the Thai-Burma border. “Up until that point, I hadn’t really thought about the tourism debate and generally bought the ‘don’t go’ line,” she recalls. “When I started exploring the debate further, I realized that tourism in Burma isn’t black and white, and instead there is a lot of potential for improving the welfare and rights of Burmese through ethical tourism.”

“I feel that if tourists go to Burma, understand first-hand the plight and problems, and can personalize the cause with real people, then perhaps the tourist will be more likely to go home and tell their friends, or write to their government.”

It is a compelling argument, supported by many backpackers who frequent Lonely Planet’s Thorn Tree on-line discussion group. “The Burmese are very interested in talking to foreigners and are very curious about what things are like in other countries. While I was in Myanmar I met students who wanted to talk about such things as freedom of expression and freedom of the press. They wanted to know how these things are in my country and of course I was happy to tell them about it,” writes “Timoluege.”

My own sense is that Burma’s people already know quite a lot about these things. They built a democratic government before the coup, and have since developed and defended an incredibly strong pro-democracy movement in the face of vicious oppression. I’m reminded of Aung San Suu Kyi’s 1999 statement: “To suggest that there’s anything new that tourists can teach the people of Burma about their own situation is not simply patronizing­—it’s also racist.” But, Burma being what it is, this is the last opportunity we’ve had to hear her speak on the subject of tourism.

And democracy being what it is, we shouldn’t just wait in limbo for another pronouncement, says Sao Harn Yawnghwe, director of the EuroBurma office, an organization that channels support to the pro-democracy movement. Yawnghwe’s hometown, nestled on the shore of placid Inle Lake, is one of Burma’s biggest tourist draws. Yet while thousands of happy tourists boat about the lake, trailing their fingers in the silken waters, Yawnghwe can only imagine how his homeland looks today. He’s been living in exile since 1963.

Speaking for himself, he finds tourism “a difficult question.” He knows people inside Burma are desperate for outside contact and the money tourists spend. Nowadays, individuals are allowed to own guesthouses and tour companies, so not all the money goes directly to the military, as it did in the past, he says. Speaking as EuroBurma director, however, it’s more difficult to stake a clear position.

“In 1995, the military was trying to use tourism to raise money. At that time, Aung San Suu Kyi said to tourists, don’t come now, come later. In 1995 the boycott made sense, but conditions are changing. And because of lack of access to Aung San Suu Kyi, we can’t get her take on it today. Tourism might not be a bad thing today, but I can’t say because I don’t know what she thinks.”

Without guidance from above, people need to develop their own forms of resistance and survival, Yawnghwe says. “Through low-level resistance, people can feel they can do something about their own situation. I encourage self-help activities, not just waiting for Aung San Suu Kyi and the National League for Democracy to tell them what to do.”

This low-level resistance may include making contact with foreign visitors. Yawnghwe notes that the pro-democracy movement has at times been able to tap into independent travellers as supporters and helpers. “A lot of activists became active because they went. We’d be cutting ourselves off from this if no one went,” he says. “So I’m of two minds: not mass tourism, but backpackers and eco-tourists. The Military Intelligence Service can’t keep track of them all, so I would say they should go. Students and young people can make a difference.”

I wonder if backpackers always make a positive difference, though. Some years ago I met a charming Burmese fellow in a remote village. The village had once been a cosmopolitan, bustling crossroads, but since the coup the only outside visitors had been myself and some French Buddhists who’d studied at the local monastery a few years earlier. Above all, my acquaintance was dying for something new to read. After I returned to Thailand I bought him a book he wanted, went down to Khao San Road, and gave the book and a hand-drawn map to a Belgian backpacker. He returned not only with a report of a successful delivery, but also with tales of the beauty and hospitality of the village. He wrote about it on the Internet, and many more have followed his steps since then. As a result, the whole village has doubtless enjoyed plenty more books, foreign dollars, outside news and jobs. But the story has a sad ending: last year, my charming friend was arrested and sentenced to 13 years in prison for two counts of “denigrating the tourism act.” The first count was for giving tours to backpackers for $1 USD. The second count related to some incautious words a tourist wrote in the guest book at the monastery. So it’s not always the case that backpacker-style tourism unleashes more good than harm. When I tell this story to Yawnghwe, however, he points out that if the fellow was outspoken, he must have known the risks, and the authorities would have found a reason to jail him. “The words of a tourist are just an excuse to arrest him.”

He relates the story to the larger picture. While tourists agonize over which guesthouse is “okay” to spend their money at, a much deeper struggle for survival is going on all around them. The junta is tough, says Yawnghwe, and tourism is only on their radar when it’s convenient.

“The military can survive with or without a tourism ban. The question is how to keep the people going,” he says, speaking of Burma’s beleaguered, impoverished population. A few tourist dollars and some outside contact may help keep a person strong and confident enough to defy the regime in other ways. Yawnghwe’s words remind me that in the Burmese struggle for freedom there are bigger battles being fought, in which tourists’ ethical dilemmas play just one small role.

As for myself, I doubt I’ll return to Burma anytime soon, unless it’s to report on the celebration of a democratic victory. And at the very least, I hope people who do go to Burma go with good hearts, good intentions, and good sense.

Patricia W. Elliott is a former news reporter for the Bangkok Post and the author of The White Umbrella: A Woman’s Struggle for Freedom in Burma (Friends Books, 2006). She teaches journalism at the University of Regina.

I'd appreciate you who visited my blog.But it seems i was lazy to do the update since then end of last year.I was a bit busy to do that too.ButI don't what I am busy doing some times.
Time flies fast,it is Feb.of 2007.Anyway,life is still keep moving on,I need to work hard,to reach my 2007 goal...
Wish you all have a great year at the same time
Cheers!!!

Have you seen a different activites along the the small river?I wouldn't believe that without i saw for myself.Even the naughty kid get pee there sometimes...

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They are washing the dog(poor dog)

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Then chicken in the middle

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Ofcuz duckes wouldn't care abt that,they are still happy in th river..

Aung Naing Oo Dec 24, 2006 (DVB)桰t was December 1988, three months after our unexpected, life-changing exodus from the cities to the jungle after the September military coup. Ideas of regrouping and fighting back against the army following the failed democracy uprising remained pipe dreams. The Karen rebels, who had fought the military for decades, did not trust the new arrivals in their area. Contrary to rumours we had in the city, weapons were hard to come by. There were only a few homemade guns the group from Mudon brought to the jungle and a few old rifles Major Robertson, a sympathetic Karen officer, had given us. So military training for the thousand plus residents of Camp Thay Baw Boe was conducted with wooden sticks. Meanwhile, malaria was extracting a heavy toll on the city-dwellers turned freedom-fighters, who were battling the mosquito-borne disease before they even realised the army had driven them into the jungle. The hospital was full of patients, medicine was scarce and fights often broke out between staff and disgruntled sufferers. It was utter chaos. There were no rules or regulations. People were fed up with their elected camp committees, so there were fresh elections all the time. But camp residents were proud to have introduced 揹irect democracy?by choosing the camp leader or the committee by vocal vote. There was not much to do except fell trees for charcoal. Camp residents sold the charcoal to the Thais across the border and used the money to supplement their meat intake or buy 慾ungle juice挆Karen villagers?home-made booze. Our favourite pastime was to spend hours at the camp teashop. Then in mid-December, with Christmas about two weeks away, someone in our group came up with the idea of carol singing. We were in the mostly Christian Karens?territory, but we were Buddhists. I did not know a single song about Jesus, although I could play a few songs on a guitar. Despite being bored, I was against the idea as it would be inappropriate to pretend to be Christians. But my friend was adamant, saying one among us was in fact a Christian. 揜ubbish,?I said. I knew the guy. His name was Htay Oo and he was from Pegu. The guy was a farce梐 pure Buddhist梩hough I had to admit I did not know whether he had converted to Christianity or not. I could not resist after Htay Oo, the new convert or would-be Christian, showed up with a bible in his hand. It was written in Karen, so clearly he could not understand it. Apparently, he had borrowed it from a Karen house in a nearby village. What was important was that he seemed to know what he was doing. None of us knew any Christmas songs; we had not heard of 揓ingle bells? 揙 Christmas tree?or 揓esus was born on Christmas Day.?My own exposure to Christianity had only been a few prayer meetings that I had attended with my Karen classmates back in Rangoon. Nonetheless, I was asked to figure out what to sing based on one single criterion梩hat I studied English literature at the university. Somehow, my friends associated the English language with Christianity. Min Naing, a jack-of-all-trades, also from Pegu, helped me. We thought of a few songs that we knew, rewrote the lyrics and tried them with the guitar. One of our favourites was Playboy Than Naing抯 揑 have seen the most beautiful girl.?It became, 揥e have seen God.? The idea was original and the lyrics were refreshing. All of a sudden, we were convinced of our potential as songwriters. Of course, my experience with prayer meetings helped. We also learned a very short Karen song. After two or three days of rewriting songs and practicing, we were ready. We started by regaling few Karen houses not far from the camp with our songs. They weren抰 hits but the trials went well and we collected some money. Suddenly we felt like we no longer needed to make charcoal. We perfected our trade as we carolled along. At every house, Htay Oo led us saying, 揗erry Christmas to you all!? The Karen knew we were not Christians. Htay Oo was a very new Christian and did not know much about Christianity. By this time, his pretence of being a Christian was long gone but we all agreed that he should continue to carry the bible. In Wawlay, the headquarters of the Karen National Union抯 6th Bridge, an older Karen woman asked us to sing a quartet. We did not know if it had anything to do with Christmas. No one except me knew its meaning. I mumbled my words and everyone looked at me. Then she said, 揌ow about a duet??When she saw the expression on our faces, she said, 揝ing me any song.? My friends encouraged me to sing, 揥ho抣l stop the rain.?Spurred on by the jungle juice I had earlier, I accepted the encouragement. It was a disaster. The key was too high and when I got to the chorus I could not sing anymore. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. Eventually, we reverted to the good old, 揑 have seen God.?Despite our mishap, the lady turned out to be the most generous. In Wawlay we also found out that one of us梐 history major student梒ould not pronounce 慍hristmas? I was informed of his speech deficiency, but since we called, 揗erry Christmas,?in unison we could not hear distinctly what he was saying so I stood beside him after a song. He said, 揗erry 慓istmas?to you all!? After 10 days or so of carol singing, we collected about 5000 baht. But we did not know what do with the money since it was not intended for the local church or any charity. We felt guilty so we decided to throw a Christmas party. Christmas is, after all, about giving and we wanted to give back what we had earned. We bought a pig and invited soldiers from Major Robertson抯 detachment梐n ensemble of unwanted soldiers from various Karen battalions and disparate ethnic and international volunteers, including a few French and Japanese梩o join us. As a prime character in this initiative, I got a prime cut of two legs from the pork dinner. San Lin, who initiated the Christmas party, cooked for us. It was the best meal I ever had, with the help of jungle juice from a nearby village. Our friend with the speech deficiency later left the jungle for reasons I don抰 recall. He was one of many who returned to the city due to malaria, uncertainty, chaos and infighting. Borders and the military now divide us and keep us from the many people we love. Yet in this winter chill, we are warmed by the memories of the camaraderie, good times, the love we shared and the hope of a reunion some day. Merry 慓istmas?to you all!

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By SETH MYDANS
BANGKOK – In a rare meeting with an outside visitor, Myanmar's pro-democracy leader, Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, told a United Nations envoy over the weekend that she was in good health but needed more frequent medical attention.

Her tightly guarded meeting Saturday at a government office with the envoy, Ibrahim Gambari, was the first time she had been allowed to leave her house since her last meeting with him in May.

During a four-day visit to Myanmar, Mr. Gambari, who is the United Nations under secretary for political affairs, also spoke with officials of the ruling junta including the top leader, Senior General Than Shwe.

The United Nations said in a statement, "Notwithstanding the fact that she remains under detention, Aung San Suu Kyi conveyed to Gambari that she is good health but requires more regular medical visits."

According to local news organizations quoted by The Associated Press, Mrs. Aung San Suu Kyi's personal doctor said he had not visited her since Aug. 24 because of political developments in the country.

Mr. Gambari's visit comes two months after the United Nations Security Council voted to put Myanmar on its agenda, adding to international pressure on the generals on issues of human rights and political freedom.

The release of Mrs. Aung San Suu Kyi, 61, from house arrest has been a central demand of Western nations for years. Last August the country's close neighbors in the region, which had been reluctant to criticize it openly, joined in the demand.

The U.N. secretary general, Kofi Annan, said in advance of Mr. Gambari's visit that he wanted it to produce "tangible steps forward."

The United States ambassador to the United Nations, John Bolton, has said that he plans to file a resolution in the Security Council condemning the regime but that he is waiting to see the results of Mr. Gambari's visit.

According to the United Nations statement, which was issued in Myanmar, Mrs. Aung San Suu Kyi told the envoy that she "welcomes continued engagement by the United Nations in hopes that it can be of help in addressing the many issues that have been raised by Gambari during his visit."

Mrs. Aung San Suu Kyi has been under house arrest for 11 of the past 17 years. Her meeting in May with Mr. Gambari was the first in which a foreigner had been allowed to see her in more than two years. After her meeting Saturday, the United Nations released a photograph of her, unsmiling and somber.

Special envoys from the United Nations have visited Mynamar over the years but have had little effect on the conduct of the junta, which took power in 1988 by crushing a popular uprising.

The generals then canceled the results of a democratic election in 1990 when they lost to Mrs. Aung San Suu Kyi's party, the National League for Democracy.