Journal articles on the topic 'Pyu (Burmese people) Burma'

Burmese is the official language of Burma. (In English, ‘Burmese’ and ‘Burma’ are also known as ‘Myanmar’, and ‘Rangoon’ as ‘Yangon’.) It is the major language of the Burmic branch of Tibeto-Burman, and is spoken natively by upwards of 30 million people in the lower valleys of the Irrawaddy and Chindwin rivers, the central plain of Burma and the Irrawaddy Delta, and non-natively by up to another 10 million speakers of other languages in Burma.

Abstract This paper investigates Burmese migrants of Chinese descent, particularly those living in Japan. Many migrants’ fathers or grandfathers originally migrated to Burma/Myanmar due to political turbulence back in China. Studies on overseas Chinese often focus on migration to countries such as Japan, the US, Indonesia, or Burma/Myanmar. Little research has thus far considered families who later embark on a secondary migration to Japan. I traced the family histories of two Sino-Burmese leaders of the Burmese community in Japan. Based on interviews and fieldwork in Japan and Burma/Myanmar between 2016 and 2018, I explored what it means to be a Chinese minority living in Burma/Myanmar. Such people faced a glass ceiling due to ethnic discrimination linked to political instability. Roots in China, nativity in Burma/Myanmar, and migration to Japan and the US tend to create multiple identities. After migrating to Japan, they claimed Burmese identity and used their Japan connections and identity to organize Burmese pro-democracy actions. One ran a sushi restaurant after further migration to the US.

Successive wars and the establishment of a border between the kingdom of Burma and British India in the nineteenth century challenged Burmese conceptions of sovereignty and political space. This essay investigates how European, and more specifically Anglo-American, notions of race, nation, and consular protection to nationals, progressively informed the Burmese concepts of ‘categories of people’ (lumyo) and ‘subject’ (kyun). First, I present the semantic evolution of these concepts in the 1820s–1830s, following the annexation of the western Burmese province of Arakan by British India in 1824. Then, I argue that the Burmese concept of lumyo was progressively associated with the European concept of ‘nations’ in the 1850s–1860s, following the annexation of Lower Burma in 1852. Finally, I uncover developments in the 1870s, when British consular protection extended to several freshly categorised ‘nations’, such as Shan, Karenni, and Kachin.

“If you want to write a real Burmese story”, U Nu once told an audience of Burmese writers, you “must know the real Burmese background”. It is advice that applies to foreign as well as indigenous writers and, in most cases, non-Burmese writers have followed it. The recommendation is important because fiction provides a popular entryway for the “average” reader to reach beyond his normal range of knowledge and imagination; it is more likely that he will have read a novel or short story rather than a history or a scholarly work and it is from this source that he will have formed his ideas and adopted his stereotypes. Thus, it is necessary that the available literature is good, that it is accurate in its descriptions of the locale and the behaviour of the people, that it catches the nuance of local speech and expression, that it reflects the psychology of the subjects when it discusses them rather than imputing alien speech, values, and attitudes.

Sanctions imposed by the U.S. government against Burma in July 2003 have caused hardship for ordinary Burmese people without significantly impacting the State Peace and Development Council military regime. A new approach is needed in dealing with Burma that recognizes the shortcomings of both sanctions and ““constructive engagement.””

In the frontier history of British India, the Khamti and the Singpho tribes of Arunachal Pradesh occupy a very prominent place, as these two tribes were the first frontier tribes which came into a limelight after the expulsion of Burmese from Assam (1824-26 AD). The areas occupied by these tribes were strategically important from the military as well as from the commercial point of view. The Khamti and the Singpho tribes being amongst the last migrant tribes from the other side of patkai hills and who still had connection with their brethren inhabiting in the Burma. Therefore, British who had driven away the Burmese from Assam, wanted to use both the tribes as screen against the Burmese and their area as a buffer zone between Assam and Burma; the expulsion of Burmese from Assam did not only halted the imperial ambition of the Burmese but also hurt the national prestige of Burmese people. Therefore, the British were anxious and anticipating another reinvasion of Burmese in Assam. But in due course of time when British tried to encroach and invade in their ancestral domains; they undertook arms rebellion against the British respectively in 1839 and 1843 A.D.

Historical studies of Burma–China relations have emphasised warfare, seen from the perspective of Chinese sources. One commonly studied event is the thirteenth-century Mongol invasion of Bagan. Burmese sources describe the flight of King Narathihapate (1257–87) from the Mongols, thus earning the Burmese epithet ‘Taruppye’. ‘Tarup’ now refers to the Chinese, but the identities of the people and region to which the term applies have not been constant. This paper discusses the question of the identity of ‘Tarup’ in the Burmese chronicles.

This article explores how the Burmese, traumatized by deepening political crisis and state violence resulting from the military coup in February 2021, have endured the devastation of the virus, how that staggering virus shattered churches, and how churches, with modest assets, managed to help each other to survive together. Amid an inexpressible health crisis tearing them apart, churches epitomized grace, compassion, resilience, and hope by caring for and serving people, especially the most vulnerable and poorest in society. Sharing suffering together, keeping each other as brothers and sisters, and moving on, despite everything, represent the best in the Christian tradition.

AbstractBurmese colonial history suggests that a legal system cannot operate independently from the felt needs of the people who are supposed to obey the law. Despite a monopoly of force for many decades, the British failed to create a sustainable legal system in Burma. Colonial status shifted Burma’s economic role from subsistence agriculture to the generation of large-scale exports. By undermining the traditional Burmese legal system and substituting Western international standards of property rights, enforceability of contracts, and an independent judiciary—all attributes of what some consider to be the “Rule of Law”—the legal system amplified and channelled destructive economic and social forces rather than containing them. This paper examines traditional Burmese law, the administration of law in British Burma, and the consequences of the new legal system for the country and its own stability. The paper concludes by suggesting lessons for Myanmar today, and for the study of the “Rule of Law.”

As Australia, shaped by new policies of immigration and multiculturalism, grows more cosmopolitan, the challenge for psychiatry is to gain greater familiarity with the new ethnic minority groups, including their cultural personalities and backgrounds. The problem faced by the Burmese group in Australia is distinctive and poignant. Some 20,000 Burmese immigrated following World War II, chiefly to Western Australia in the first place, uniting and consolidating their families. Following the military coup and the Revolutionary Council Government of the early 60s, further emigration from Burma was cut off. This meant that the Burmese in Australia, already under stress arising from cultural differences, were prevented from developing the extensive internal social support systems that characterise other major ethnic groups. The author, a Burmese doctor working in a psychiatric setting in Sydney, draws attention to aspects of his country and its people which should be helpful for psychiatric and related professions.

On September 24, 2007, the conflict in Burma, also known as Myanmar, between the public and the military junta, officially known as the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC), reached a serious point. The military junta, which represented the Burmese government, had raised the price of oil through its monopoly, which subsequently elevated food prices. In response, the public, including 1000 monks, protested against the tyrannical rule of the junta. The junta reacted by killing thousands of people and arresting democratic leaders such as U Gambira, the leader of the protesting monks. Amidst this turmoil, many foreign countries intervened to try to find a solution. Keck and Sikkink suggest that these are voluntary and angel states coming to the aid of others. On the other hand, Kaufmann and Pape argue that these are states masking their acts as aid while looking for gains for themselves. They add that these political gains are made at the costly price of economic loss. By examining how the United States has been involved in the crisis in Burma, Kaufmann and Pape’s view on these states appears to be more correct than that of Keck and Sikkink, who believe in the existence of voluntary states.

This article discusses the world’s most oppressed people, the Muslim Rohingya of Burma (Myanmar) through the lens of “state symbologies and critical juncture”. It further argues the amalgamation of Burmese-Buddhist ethno-nationalism and anti-Muslim hate speech have become elements of Burma’s state symbology and components. Colonialism established conditions in which ethno-religious conflict could develop through policies that destroyed the civic religious pluralism characteristic of pre-colonial states. Burmese Buddhist ethno-religious nationalism is responsible for a series of communal conflicts and state repression because it did not recognize Muslims and other minorities as full and equal participants in the post-colonial national project. Therefore, the cycles of violence and the complexities of inter-ethnic and inter-religious relations indicate that Burmese political culture has become increasingly violent and genocidal.

At the heart of modern social science lies the belief that if societies understand the causes of their current condition, their people will foresee what future ills may befall them unless particular public policies are implemented to avoid the undesirable consequences of previous actions. Analysis and prediction thus provides the power to alter the future, which is only inevitable if people and governments do nothing to understand the causes of their present complaints. J. S. Furnivall, arguably the most prescient foreign analyst of Burmese political and economic life this century, was a true disciple of this idea.

This paper argues that since at least the mid 1980s, there has been an observable negative attitude among the people of Burma against the Chinese. Such sentiment is not just transient public opinion, but an attitude. The author measures it by studying contemporary cultural and media works as found in legally published expressions, so as to exclude any material rejected by the regime's censors. The causes of such sentiment are various: massive Chinese migration and purchases of real estate (especially in Upper Burma), Chinese money that is inflating the cost of everything, and cultural “intrusion.” The sentiment extends to the military, as well: the article examines a dozen memoirs of former military generals and finds that Burma's generals do not trust the Chinese, a legacy of China's interference in Burma's civil war until the 1980s. The public outcry over the Myitsone dam issue, however, was the most significant expression of such sentiment since 1969, when anti-Chinese riots broke out in Burma. The relaxation of media restrictions under the new government has allowed this expression to gather steam and spread throughout the country, especially in private weekly journals that are becoming more outspoken and daring in pushing the boundaries of the state's restrictions.

AbstractSince the opening of the Sino-Burmese border trade in 1988, the movement of goods and people from both sides has increased rapidly. In 2011, China became Burma's largest trading partner and over half the total volume of goods was accrued in cross-border trade via Yunnan. However, national figures on import-export volumes are derived solely from legal flows, while contraband is largely overlooked. To date, academic studies on contraband have remained insufficient, partly due to the difficulty accessing Burmese border areas, and partly due to the mere challenges in obtaining information about smuggling from those who engage in such activity. This paper, based on multiple fieldwork sites over several years, examines a particular contraband – the smuggling of Chinese motorcycles to Burma on the ‘new’ Burma Road. This shadow economy thrived between 2000 and 2014. While highlighting its economic rationality beyond state control, I attempt to make diachronic and synchronic comparisons by engaging with dialogues within the historical trading mechanism of the mule convoys in the region and also with theories of shadow economies generated from contemporary case studies in other parts of the world. I argue that the formation of this shadow economy is not haphazard but adheres to the ethos of the mule caravan trade, predicated on local knowledge and social networks.

This article explores the links between transnational media flows and social and political change in authoritarian regimes through a conjunctural study of Democratic Voice of Burma (DVB), a Burmese exile media organization. Drawing on observation and interviews conducted at DVB’s Oslo studio during the 2010 elections in Burma as well as documentary research, the article explores how diasporic media may contribute to democratization in a military regime where press freedoms and political expression are severely curtailed. The first section draws on Appadurai’s theory of global flows to scrutinize transnational flows of people, capital, media, ideas and technology contributing to DVB’s operations from 1992 to 2010. The next section engages with theories of media and democracy in order to examine DVB’s innovative satellite television coverage of the 2010 elections. The article concludes with a brief discussion of the ongoing relevance of opposition media based outside of Burma amid liberalization measures undertaken by Thein Sein’s nominally civilian government in 2011.

Lisu (ISO 639-2 lis) is spoken by just over a million members of the group of this name in south-western China, north-eastern Burma, northern Thailand and north-eastern India. It formerly also had other names used by outsiders, including Yeren (Chinese yeren ‘wild people’), and Yawyin in Burma and Yobin in India (both derived from the Chinese term). Other names included Lisaw from the Shan and Thai name for the group, also seen in the former Burmese name Lishaw. About two-thirds of the speakers live in China, especially in north-western Yunnan Province, but also scattered elsewhere in Yunnan and Sichuan. About a quarter live in the Kachin State and the northern Shan State in Burma, with a substantial number in Chiangmai, Chiangrai and other provinces of Thailand, and a few thousand in Arunachal Pradesh in India. It is also spoken as a second language by many speakers of Nusu, Anung, Rawang and others in north-western Yunnan and northern Burma. Lisu has almost completely replaced Anung in China and is replacing Lemei in China. The Lisu are one of the 55 national minorities recognised in China, one of 135 ethnic groups recognised in Burma, a scheduled (officially listed and recognised) tribe in India, and one of the recognised hill tribe groups of Thailand. Figure 1 shows a map of the area where Lisu is spoken.

The Rohingya is an ethnic-religious Muslim minority that has struggled with serious human rights violations for decades. Indian migration to Burma, stimulated by British colonial rule, is pointed to as the main cause of the Muslim-Buddhist conflict. Although Indians in Burma currently constitute a fraction of the population (2.3%), resentment remained. The aim of the article is to analyze the threats to many aspects of the personal security of the Rohingya population. It is one of the most populous groups of stateless persons in the world; moreover, since the 1960s, this ethnic group has experienced oppression on a huge scale: from restrictions related to work and movement as well as difficult access to health care and education, through deprivation of civil rights , to physical violence and even death. All this is happening in the 21st century in front of the world. In order to better understand the Rohingya conflict with the Burmese army, the historical context and the course of the conflict were presented. The assistance activities of the European Union and possible solutions to this humanitarian crisis were also indicated.

For more than a millennium, Burmese donors sponsored elaborately decorated structures to publicize their allegiance to the Buddha’s Dhamma in its Pali version, illuminating their understanding of the human predicament. The structures always featured décor informed by revered texts, the Buddha’s words or Buddhavacana and its elaborators, that in the context of the biography of Gotama Buddha writ large, recalled numerous sub-chapters en route to Awakening. Throughout that immensely long timeframe, conceptions of retribution, recalling sojourns in various hells or heavenly mansions, remained constant. Their interpretation, however, moved with the times, reflecting the ever-shifting components of the Gotama saga designed to meet changing circumstances. The article explains why and how these two subjects sustained their influence, how their meanings changed, and how their visual interpretation reflected contemporaries’ grasp of the future. The core argument asserts that behind the images was a socializing conditioning mechanism revealing this setting’s ideational substructure. That substructure’s lineaments exploited psychological and physiological assumptions regarding how humans functioned, harnessing emotions evoked by stories and images and utilizing fear as a form of societal control. The aim was to create what throughout Burmese history were called “the good people”—ideal subjects for a dhamma-governed society.

This paper considers the significance of the talismanic tattoos on Orwell’s hands, which he acquired in Burma during his time as a colonial policeman from 1922 to 1927. It examines historical evidence suggesting that such tattoos were understood differently by British and Burmese people, and concludes that, for Orwell, their meaning was multilayered: first, they were a means of understanding Burmese culture more intimately; second, they were a psychological attempt to cathect his feelings of guilt about his complicity in colonial injustice by remaking his ‘skin-ego’; and third, they were a gesture towards the possibility that inscription—first in the form of tattoos, and later in the written word—might be a way to understand and process his self-alienation. The paper goes on to examine Orwell’s 1936 essay ‘Shooting an Elephant’ in the light of Orwell’s interest in inscription, and traces its themes of mark-making, magic, and authorship, arguing that these ideas enabled him, at a crucial moment in his development as a writer, to map his experiences of colonialism onto his wider commitment to anti-fascist and anti-authoritarian politics.

This article examines the vastly expanded mobility of displaced Karen villagers in the evangelical humanitarian movement, the Free Burma Rangers. This builds on ethnographic fieldwork on humanitarian cultures in the Thai-Burmese borderlands conducted since 2007 with a Thai research team and funded by Max Planck Institute for the Study of Religious Diversity. While refugees are too often presented as victims, the article argues that by joining the mission, the Karen freedom fighters become ambassadors of a political ideology and evangelism. Bringing Christianity with them from their displaced homes, displaced Karen meet the evangelical humanitarian organization in the Karen hills or in the Thai refugee camps, train with them, and supply the villagers left behind with emergency health care and religious messages. Sponsored by American evangelical churches, the US military, and resettled Karen communities in the West, the freedom fighters of the Free Burma Rangers mobilize people and resources all over the globe. Recently, they have expanded their operations beyond Myanmar to places as far as Syria, Iraq and South Sudan, thus getting involved in what it presents as a global struggle between good and evil.

This paper examines the causes and consequences of the shifting values infused in the displaced Diasporas in comparison to those who are not from diasporic background yet colonized. Amitav Ghosh’s critically acclaimed novel The Glass Palace introduces few dislocated figures particularly Rajkumar Raha, and his mentor Saya John, who overlook the power play of the British acting as collaborators. Arriving in Burma as orphans, they amassed enormous profit with teak business in the Burmese forests, and gradually transform themselves into business tycoons. Utilizing colonial havoc, they become affluent while fully understand the British power politics. This novel also throws light on two other Nondiasporic characters; Beni Prasad, the District Collector, and Arjun, a Lieutenant in the British Indian Army, who equally shake hands with their European masters being part of their exploitative venture and ideological network. However, interestingly they could not flourish like Rajkumar and Saya John, rather collapsed completely under British policy. Ultimately, they committed suicide through an acute remorse. This paper shows how people from displaced Diaspora become the instances of failed Cosmopolitanism who are unable to rise as transnational in their new home. It also clarifies that, the construction of identity is interrelated with the discourse of power, and the multi-dimensional impact of power and politics.

Background Many people from Burma have migrated to Dehong prefecture and married local residents during the past decades; however, little is known about HIV risk-taking behaviours and HIV prevalence among these mixed couples. We investigated factors correlated with HIV discordance and concordance within Chinese–Burmese mixed couples in Dehong prefecture, Yunnan province, China. Methods: A cross-sectional study with face-to-face questionnaire interviews and HIV blood testing was conducted. Results: Of 5742 couples, 1.6% couples were HIV-infected concordant, 2.2% were HIV serodiscordant with an HIV-infected male spouse and 0.9% were HIV serodiscordant with an HIV-infected female spouse. HIV discordance with an HIV-infected male spouse was significantly associated with characteristics of the male spouse, including being aged ≥30 years, non-Han ethnic minority, a marital relationship of <3 years, commercial sex and injection drug use by the male spouse. HIV discordance with an HIV-infected female spouse was significantly associated with an education level of primary school (v. illiterate); a marital status of being in their second marriage, widowed or divorced; a history of sexually transmissible infection diagnosis of the female spouse; noncommercial extramarital sex by the female spouse or by both spouses; and injection drug use by the male spouse. A marital relationship of ≥3 years was the only significant independent correlate of HIV-infected seroconcordance. Conclusions: The study findings underscore the importance of premarital HIV counselling and testing for this population, and the need for targeted interventions among HIV serodiscordant mixed couples to reduce secondary transmission as early as possible when the relationship begins.

Abstract Recent research on the ‘migration industry’ has provided a means to interrogate how private actors come to be used as a means to facilitate, direct and control migration. Both through incorporating private actors into security functions and outsourcing certain functions to labour brokers, the use of migration industry actors is an important part of the ways in which the state works to maintain its sovereign control over territory and the ways people move across it. Yet this is not the only way in which migration industry actors are used. Instead, private actors also play a key role for migrants, although attention towards how migrants themselves perceive and use these actors during the migration process has received far less attention. Using timelines of migrant trajectories from Burma/Myanmar to Malaysia, the following study therefore sets out to map the private actors involved in the migrants’ projects to travel to and stay in Malaysia—and to investigate how these actors are strategically used by migrants as a means to increase their room to manoeuvre during the migration process. In approaching this, the study combines literature on the privatisation and commercialisation of international migration with scholarship on migration trajectories and migrant agency. Empirically the study builds upon fieldwork conducted in the Burmese migrant community in the city of George Town in northern Malaysia.

This article highlights the legal and technical challenges of contemporary heritage conservation in the context of a weak democracy, ethnic unrest, and military rule. Burma was a military dictatorship from 1962 to 2010, followed by the operation of the civil government between 2011 and 2021, which was then overthrown by the military in 2021. These ten years of civil government were characterized by a reopening of the borders to the international community, initiatives towards democracy. In terms of cultural heritage, Myanmar appeared to have made progress in modernizing its legislation when the country ratified and implemented international conventions protecting tangible cultural heritage such as the World Heritage Convention, the 1970 UNESCO Convention, and the 1995 UNIDROIT Convention. In 2015, the elected parliament drafted new legislation protecting cultural heritage: the Law Protecting Ancient Objectsand theLaw on the Preservation and Protection of Ancient Buildings. How has the ratification of international conventions and new laws impacted domestic conservation practices in Myanmar? The democratic turn entailed a visible modernization of laws, policies, and conservation techniques. However, this time was also characterized by peaks of violence between the Burman government, the Rohingya people, and other ethnic minorities. Ultimately, this article reveals that the protection of heritage became closely linked to ethnonationalist ideologies that have survived the numerous changes of political regime. This is particularly true in the Burmese context. Foreign technical assistance must be aware of the country’s complexity and learn from lessons of the past.

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In his ambitious paper, Risse addresses many important topics ranging from very general issues about what human rights are to quite specific questions about rights to work and leisure. I comment on four themes arranged in order of decreasing generality: Risse's understanding of what human rights are, Risse's suggestion that a conception of human rights should best be "basis-driven," Risse's particular basis-driven conception of human rights, and Risse's specific position on human rights relating to labor and leisure.What grounds can Risse give us for accepting his revisionist understanding of human rights as membership rights, which is so dramatically at odds with fundamental fixed points that have been taken for granted in human rights disputes over the last 60 years or so? If Risse has his way, then the treatment of a human being by others raises human rights concerns only if she is a participant in the global order and only if her treatment is a matter of international concern. It is obvious how this understanding of human rights is welcome to those who seek to free their own conduct or their country's policies from human-rights constraints. Appealing to Risse's understanding, they will be able to block criticisms based on human rights by denying, for example, that the people of the Gaza Strip are members of the global order or by denying that the torture of Burmese citizens within Burma is a matter of international concern. For those whose human rights are in jeopardy, Risse's understanding of human rights could be a disaster. We should therefore examine very closely the arguments he may yet produce for his understanding and, unless they are hugely compelling, stick to the orthodox understanding of human rights as rights that all human beings have against all other human agents.

This study presents data on consumption patterns, methods of food procurement, and adequacy of dietary intake among Burmese refugee camp households living along Thailand's border with Burma. Households established for one or more years and with children under 15 years of age were sampled. A questionnaire was used to determine economic, food-consumption, and dietary intake patterns; foods consumed were weighed and measured using a 24-hour recall for the household unit; and nutritional status was determined by a Microtoise tape and digital standing scales. In total, 182 households containing 1,159 people were surveyed. The average household energy and protein intakes were 96.6% and 111.4%, respectively, of the recommended daily allowance (RDA) for healthy Thais. Twelve percent of protein was derived from animal sources. Carbohydrate, protein, and fat accounted for 84%, 9%, and 7% of total energy, respectively. The intake of vitamins A, B1, B2, and C and of calcium ranged from 24.2% to 53.1% of the RDA. Iron intake was 85.3% of the RDA, derived mainly from rice, fermented fish, mung beans, green leafy vegetables, and eggs. Ration foods supplied 60.5% to 98.18% of all nutrients consumed in the households, with the exception of vitamins A and C. Among children under five years of age, 33.7% were underweight, 36.4% were stunted, and 8.7% were wasted. Although the refugees were able to procure some nonration foods by foraging, planting trees and vegetables, raising animals, and purchasing and exchanging ration foods for other items, the quantity and quality were not sufficient to compensate for the nutrients that were low or lacking in the ration. The overwhelming majority of dietary nutrients were provided by ration foods, and although the ration and the overall diet may be adequate for short-term subsistence, they do not suffice for long-term survival and optimal growth, especially for younger children.

On February 1, 2021, the military in Burma overthrew the democratically elected government, declared a one-year state of emergency, and installed Senior General Min Aung Hlaing as the head of government. Since the coup, the military has cracked down on protestors, killing over 800 people and detaining many more. Numerous countries and international organizations, including the United States and the United Nations, have condemned the coup and ensuing violence and called for the restoration of a democratic government. The United States and other countries have also imposed rigorous sanctions on the Burmese military, its officials and affiliated corporations, and social media companies have imposed content restrictions to prevent the spread of pro-military propaganda.

This article explores Gustaw Herling-Grudziński’s largely forgotten travel diary “A Journey to Burma.” It argues that the strategy Herling-Grudziński employed to describe the postcolonial world was a unique one. It did not belong to the “socialist postcolonialism” narrative, nor was it a part of Western orientalist discourse. Herling-Grudziński’s Eastern European past and identity deeply influenced his account. Despite some simplification, he was able to summarize Burmese reality surprisingly accurately. The article claims that Herling-Grudziński’s travelogue represents a new angle to the narrative of the relations between Eastern European people of letters and inhabitants of colonized countries.

In 2014, telecommunications companies Ooredoo and Telenor introduced a 3G phone network to Myanmar, one of the last, great un-phoned territories of the world (“Mobile Mania”). Formerly accessible only to military and cultural elites, the smartphone was now available to virtually all. In 2020, just six years later, smartphones are commonplace, used by every class and walk of life. The introduction and mainstreaming of the smartphone in Myanmar coincided with the transition from military dictatorship to quasi democracy; from heavy censorship to relative liberalisation of culture and the media. This ongoing transition continues to be a painful one for many in Myanmar. The 3G network and smartphone ownership enable ordinary people to connect with one another and the Internet—or, more specifically, Facebook, which is ‘the Internet in Myanmar’ (Nyi Nyi Kyaw, “Facebooking in Myanmar” 1). However, the smartphone and what it enables has also been identified as a new instrument of control, with mass-texting campaigns and a toxic social media culture implicated in recent concerted violence against ethnic and minority religious groups such as the Muslim Rohingya. In this article, I consider the political and cultural conversations enabled by the smartphone in the period following its introduction. The smartphone can be read as an anomalous, hybrid, and foreign object, with connotations of fluidity and connection, all dangerous qualities in Myanmar, a conservative, former pariah state. Drawing from Sarah Ahmed’s article, “The Skin of Community: Affect and Boundary Formation” (2005), as well as recent scholarship on mixed race identification, I examine deeply held fears around ethnic belonging, cultural adeptness, and hybridity, arguing that these anxieties can be traced back to the early days of colonisation. During military rule, Myanmar’s people were underserved by their telecommunications network. Domestic landlines were rare. Phone calls were generally made from market stalls. SIM cards cost up to US$3000, out of reach of most. The lack of robust services was reflected by remarkably low connection rates; 2012 mobile connections numbered at a mere 5.4 million while fixed lines were just 0.6 million for a population of over 50 million people (Kyaw Myint, “Myanmar Country Report” 232). In 2013, the Norwegian telecommunications company Telenor and the Qatari company Ooredoo won licenses to establish network infrastructure for Myanmar. In August 2014, with network construction still underway, the two companies released SIM cards costing a mere 1500 kyats or US$1.50 each. At the time, 1500 kyats bought two plates of fried rice at a Yangon street food stall, making these SIM cards easily affordable. Chinese-manufactured handsets quickly became available (Fink 44). Suddenly, Myanmar was connected. By early 2019, there were 105 smart connections per 100 people in the country (Kyaw Myint, “Facebooking in Myanmar” 1). While this number doesn’t count multiple connections within a single household or the realities of unreliable network coverage in rural areas, the story of the smartphone in Myanmar would seem to be about democratisation and a new form of national unity. But after half a century of military rule, what did national unity mean? Myanmar’s full name is The Republic of the Union of Myanmar. Since independence in 1948 the country has been torn by internal civil wars as political factions and ethnic groups fought for sovereignty. What actually bound the Union of Myanmar together? And where might discussions of such painful and politically sensitive questions take place? Advertising as a Space for Crafting Conversations of National Identity In a report on Asian Advertising, Mila Chaplin of Mango Marketing, the agency charged with launching the Telenor brand in Myanmar, observes thatin many markets, brands talk about self-expression and invite consumers to get involved in co-creation … . In Myanmar what the consumers really need is some guidance on how to start crafting [national] …] identities. (4) Advertising has often been used as a means of retelling national stories and myths as well as a site for the collective imaginary to be visualised (Sawchuk 43). However, Myanmar was unlike other territories. Decades of heavy censorship and isolationist diplomatic policies, euphemistically named the “closed” period, left the country without a functional, independent national media. Television programming, including advertising, was regulated and national identity was an edict, not a shared conversation. With the advent of democratic reforms in 2011, ushering in a new “open” period, paid advertising campaigns in 2015 offered an in-between space on nationally broadcast television where it was possible to discuss questions of national identity from a perspective other than that of the government (Chaplin). Such conversations had to be conducted sensitively, given that the military were still the true national power. However, an advertising campaign that launched a new way to physically connect the country almost inevitably had to address questions of shared identity as well as clearly set out how the alien technology might shape the nation. To do so required addressing the country’s painful colonial past. The Hybrid in National Narratives of Myanmar In contemporary Myanmar, the smartphone is synonymous with military and government power (mobile Internet traffic in northern Rakhine state, for example, has been shut down since February 2020, ostensibly for security). Yet, when the phone was first introduced in 2014, it too was seen as a “foreign” object, one that had the potential to connect but also “instantiated ... a worldly sensibility that national borders and boundaries are potentially breached, and thus in need of protection from ‘others’” (Sawchuk 45). This fear of foreign influence coupled with the yearning for connection with the outside world is summed up by Ei Phyu Aung, editor of Myanmar’s weekly entertainment journal Sunday:it’s like dust coming in when you open the window. We can’t keep the window closed forever so we have to find a way to minimize the dust and maximize the sunlight. (Thin)Ei Phyu Aung wishes to enjoy the benefits of connecting with the world outside (sunlight) yet also fears cultural pollution (dust) linked with exploitation, an anxiety that reflects Myanmar’s approach to belonging and citizenship, shaped by its colonial history. Myanmar, formerly known as Burma, was colonised in stages. Upper Burma was annexed by British forces in 1886, completing a process of colonisation begun with the first Anglo-Burmese wars of 1823. The royal family was exiled from the pre-colonial capital at Mandalay and the new colony ruled as a province of India. Indian migration, particularly to Rangoon, was encouraged and these highly visible, economic migrants became the symbol of colonialism, of foreign exploitation. A deep mistrust of foreign influence, based on the experiences of colonialism, continued to shape the nation decades after independence. The 1962 military coup was followed by the expulsion of “foreigners” in 1964 as the country pursued a policy of isolation. In 1982, the government introduced a new citizenship law “driven as much by a political campaign to exclude the ‘alien’ from the country as to define the ‘citizen’” (Transnational Institute 10). This law only recognises ethnicities who can prove their presence prior to 1824, the year British forces first annexed lower Burma. As a consequence of the 1982 laws, groups such as the Rohingya are considered “Bengali migrants” and those descended from Chinese and Indian diasporas are excluded from full citizenship. In 1989, the ruling State Law and Order Council (SLORC) changed the country’s name to Myanmar and the anglicised Rangoon to Yangon. Thus the story of Burma/Myanmar since independence is of a nation that continues to be traumatised by colonisation. Given the mistrust of the foreign, how then might an anomalous hybrid object like the smartphone be received? Smartphone Advertising and National Narratives Television advertising is well suited to creating a sense of national identity; commercials are usually broadcast repeatedly. As Sarah Ahmed argues, it is through “the repetition of norms” that “boundary, fixity and surface of ‘social forms’ such as the ‘nation’ are produced” (Cultural Politics of Emotion 12). In her article, “The Skin of Community”, Ahmed describes these boundaries as a kind of “skin”, where difference is recognised through affective responses, such as disgust or delight. These responses and their associated meanings delineate a kind of belonging through shared experience, akin to shared identity—a shared skin. Telenor’s first advertisement in this space, Breakfast, draws from the metaphor of skin as boundary, connecting a family meal with cultural myths and social history. Breakfast was developed by Mango Marketing Services in 2014 and Telenor launched its initial television campaign in 2015, consisting of several advertisements brought to market in the period between 2014 and 2016 (Hicks, Mumbrella). The commercial runs for 60 seconds, a relatively expensive long format typical of a broadly-disseminated launch where the advertiser aims to introduce something new to the public and subsequently, build market share. Opening with images of Yangon, the country’s commercial centre, Breakfast tells the story of May, a newlywed, and the first time she cooks for her in-laws. May’s mother-in-law requests a famous breakfast dish, nanjithoke, typical of Mandalay, where May is from. But May does not know how to cook the dish and blunders around the kitchen as her in-laws wait. Sensing her distress, her husband suggests that she use his smartphone to call her mother in Mandalay and get the recipe. May’s dish is approved by her in-laws as tasty and authentic. In Breakfast, the phone is used as if it were a landline, its mobility not wholly relevant. The locations of both parties, May and her mother, are fixed and predictable and the phone in both instances is closely associated with connecting homes and more significantly, two important cities, Yangon and Mandalay. The advertisement presents the smartphone as solving the systemic problem of unreliable telecommunication in Myanmar as well as its lack of access; there is a final message reassuring the user that calls are affordable. That the smartphone is shown as part of everyday life presents it as a force for stability, a service that locates and connects fixed places. This in itself represented a profound shift for most people, in light of the fact that such communication was not possible during the “closed” period. Thus, this foreign, hybrid object enables what was not previously possible.While the benefits of the smartphone and network may be clear, the subtext of the advertisement nonetheless points to fears of foreign influence and the dangers of introducing an alien object into everyday life. To mitigate these concerns, May is presented in the traditional htamein or longyi and aingi, a long wrap skirt and fitted blouse with sleeves that end on the forearm, rather than western jeans and a t-shirt—both types of clothing are commonly worn in Yangon. Her hair is pulled back and pinned up, her makeup is subtle. She inhabits domestic space and does not have her own smartphone. In fact, it does not even occur to her to call her mother for the nanjithoke recipe, which is slightly surprising given her mother has a smartphone and knows how to use it, indicating that she has probably had it for some time. This subtext reflects conservative power structures in which elder generations pass knowledge down to new generations. The choice to connect Yangon and Mandalay through the local noodle dish is also significant. Breakfast makes manifest historic meanings associated with “place” a mapping of the “hidden” and “already given cultural order” (Mazzarella 24-25). As discussed earlier, Yangon was the colonial capital, known as an Indian city, but Mandalay as the pre-colonial capital remains a seat of cultural sophistication, where the highest form of the Myanmar language is spoken. The choice to connect Myanmar with the phone, as foreign object and bearer of anomaly, should be read as a repudiation of its bordered past, when foreigners (or kalaa, a derogatory term), including European ambassadors, were kept separate from the royal family by walls and a moat. The commercial, too, strongly evokes a shared skin of community through the evocation of the senses, from Yangon’s heat to the anticipation of a tasty and authentic meal, as well as through the visualisation of kinship and inheritance. In one extremely slow dissolve, May and her mother share the screen simultaneously, compressed in space as well as time. It is as if their skin of kinship is stretched before us. As the viewer’s eye passes from left to right across the screen, May’s present, past, and future is visible. She too will become the mother, at the other end the phone, offering advice to her daughter. There is suggestion of a continuum, of an “immemorial past” (Anderson 12), part of a national narrative that connects to pre-colonial Mandalay and the cultural systems that precede it, to the modern city of Yangon, still the commercial of contemporary Myanmar.At first glance, Breakfast seems to position the phone as an object that will enable Myanmar to stay Myanmarese through the strengthening of family connections. The commercial also strives to allay fears of the phone as a source of cultural pollution or exploitation by demonstrating its adoption among the older generation and inserting it into a fantasy of an uninterrupted culture, harking back to pre-colonial Burma. Yet, while the phone is represented in anodyne terms, it is only because it is an anomalous and hybrid object that such connections are possible. Furthermore, the smartphone in this representation also enables a connection between pre-colonial Mandalay to contemporary Yangon, breaching painful associations with both annexation and colonisation. In contrast to the advertisement Breakfast, Telenor’s information video, Why we should use SIM slot 1, does not attempt to disassociate the smartphone with foreignness. Instead, it capitalises on the smartphone as a hybrid object whose benefit is that it can be adapted to specific needs, including faster Internet speeds to enable connection to external video channel, such as YouTube.The video features young women dressed in foreign jeans and short-sleeved tops, wearing Western-style make-up, including sparkly nail polish. Both women appear to own their smartphones, and one is technically adept, delivering the complex information about which slot to use to facilitate the fastest Internet connection. Neither has difficulty with negotiating the complicated ports beneath the back cover of their smartphone to make the necessary change. They are happy to alter their phones to suit their own needs. These women are perhaps more closely in line with other markets, where the younger generation “do not expect to follow their parents’ practice” (Horst and Miller 9). This is in direct contrast to Breakfast, where May’s middle-aged mother has adopted the phone and, in keeping with conservative power structures, is already well-versed in its uses and capabilities. While this video was never intended to be seen by the audience for Breakfast, there remain parallels in the way the smartphone enables a connection within the control of its user: like May’s mother, both women in Breakfast are able to control or mitigate the foreign material through the manipulation of their device, moving from 2G to H+. They can opt in or out of the H+ network.This article has explored discussions of national identity prompted by the introduction of the smartphone to Myanmar during a moment of unprecedented political change. Breakfast, the advertisement that launched the smartphone into the country, offered a space in which the people of Myanmar were able to address questions of national identity and gently probe the discomfort of the colonial past. The communication video Why we should use SIM slot 1 reflects Myanmar’s burgeoning sense of connection with the region and presents the smartphone as customisable. The smartphone in advertising is thus positioned as a means for connecting the generations and continuing the immemorial past of the Burmese nation into the future, as well as a hybrid object capable of linking the country to the outside world. Further directions for this enquiry might consider how the discussion of Myanmar’s national identity continues to be addressed and exploited through advertising in Myanmar, and how the smartphone’s hybridity is used to counteract established national narratives in other spaces.References Adas, Michael. The Burma Delta 1852-1941. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 2011.Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso, 1983. Ahmed, Sara. Cultural Politics of Emotion. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 2014.———. “The Skin of Community: Affect and Boundary Formation.” Revolt, Affect, Collectivity: The Unstable Boundaries of Kristeva’s Polis. Eds. Tina Chanter and Ewa Płonowska Ziarek. Albany: State U of New York, 2005. 95-111. Chaplin, Milla. “Advertising in Myanmar: Digging Deep to Even Scratch the Surface.” WARC, Mar. 2016. <https://origin.warc.com/content/paywall/article/warc-exclusive/advertising-in-myanmar-digging-deep-to-even-scratch-the-surface/106815>.Charney, Michael W. A History of Modern Burma. Cambridge, Cambridge UP: 2009.Cheesman, Nick. “How in Myanmar ‘National Races’ Came to Surpass Citizenship and Exclude Rohingya.” Journal of Contemporary Asia 47.3 (2017): 461‑483.Fink, Christine. “Dangerous Speech, Anti-Muslim Violence, and Facebook in Myanmar.” Journal of International Affairs 71.1 (2018): 43‑52.Hicks, Robin. “Telenor Launches First TV Ad in Myanmar.” Mumbrella, 2 Feb. 2015. <http://www.mumbrella.asia/2015/02/telenor-launches-first-tv-ad-myanmar>.Horst, Heather A., and Daniel Miller. The Cell Phone. An Anthropology of Communication. New York: Berg, 2006.Kyaw Myint. “Myanmar Country Report.” Financing ASEAN Connectivity: ERIA Research Project Report. Eds. F. Zen and M. Regan. Jakarta: ERIA, 2014. 221-267. Breakfast. Mango Creative, Mango Media Marketing, Telenor Myanmar. 26 Jan. 2015. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2G2xjK8QFSo>.Mazzarella, William. Shovelling Smoke. Advertising and Globalization in Contemporary India. Durham and London: Duke UP, 2003.“Mobile Mania.” The Economist. 24 Jan. 2015. <https://www.economist.com/business/2015/01/22/mobile-mania>.Nyi Nyi Kyaw. “Adulteration of Pure Native Blood by Aliens? Mixed Race Kapya in Colonial and Post-Colonial Myanmar.” Social Identities 25.3 (2018): 345-359. ———. “Facebooking in Myanmar: From Hate Speech to Fake News to Partisan Political Communication.” Yusof Ishak Institute Perspective 36 (2019): 1-10. Sawchuk, Kim. “Radio Hats, Wireless Rats and Flying Families.” The Wireless Spectrum: The Politics, Practices and Poetics of Mobile Media. Eds. Barbara Crow, Michael Longford, and Kim Sawchuk. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 2010.Thin Lei Win. “Beauty Pageants Expose Dreams and Dangers in Modern Myanmar.” Reuters, 26 Sep. 2014. <https://www.reuters.com/article/us-foundation-myanmar-beautycontests/beauty-pageants-expose-dreams-and-dangers-in-modern-myanmar-idUSKCN0HL0Y520140926>.Transnational Institute. “Ethnicity without Meaning, Data without Context: The 2014 Census, Identity and Citizenship in Burma/Myanmar.” Amsterdam: TNI-BCN Burma Policy Briefing, 2014.

The proposed paper studies the narratives of ‘borders’ and ‘nations’ on the border lands between India and Burma invoking two works of fiction written in Assamese and English respectively. Jangam (1982) an Assamese novel by Debendranath Acharya is read with The Glass Palace (2000) by Amitav Ghosh to study the stateless lives of people who become victims of operative forces controlling the exclusionary lines of border and nation. Set on the backdrop of World War II, both the novels address the ramifications of border and nation in the lives of common people. They probe less explored geography of the Indo-Burmese border and the ebbs and flows during the colonial and post-colonial times. Popular representations depicting this particular geography have remained elusive, comparing for example, the Indo-Pakistan border. It is argued that the historical narratives of cross border migrations in the colonial times can be reviewed through regional writers’ expressions about home and homelessness. The fixity of borders and the consequent realisations of belonging to a nation for both the Indian migrants in Burma and their counterparts in India not only call for fluidity in the way home and homelessness are understood, but also are read against the temporal re-imaginings of national identities. Exploring beyond the historical records of such episodes, these works of fiction offer nuanced and poignant picture of what politics does to everyday human life. The contorted lives of migrants crossing these contested borders suggest that borders are sites of negotiations where ideas of nation and nationalism are constantly interrogated and ideas of ‘insider/outsider’ and ‘home/world’ are redefined.

Fig 1: Image from a secret Rangoon fashion shoot. Photograph: Myanmar Photo Archive / Lukas Birk. Introduction NOTE: Rangoon, Burma has been known as Yangon, Myanmar, since 2006. I use Rangoon and Burma for the period prior to 2006 and Yangon and Myanmar for the period thereafter. In addition, I have removed the name of any activist currently in Myanmar due to the recent policy of executing political prisoners. On 1 February 2021, Myanmar was again plunged into political turmoil when the military illegally overthrew the country’s democratically elected government. This is the third time Myanmar, formally known as Burma, has been subject to a coup d’état; violent seizures of power took place in 1962 and in 1988-90. While those two earlier military governments met with opposition spearheaded by students and student organisations, in 2021 the military faced organised resistance through a mass Civil Disobedience Movement (CDM) initiated by government healthcare workers who refused to come to work. They were joined by private sector “strikes” and, perhaps most visible of all to western viewers, mass street demonstrations “led” by “Gen Z” activists—young people who had come of age during Myanmar’s brief decade of democracy. There is little doubt that the success of the CDM and associated protests is due to the widespread coverage and reach of social media as well as the creative communications skills of the country’s first “generation of digital natives”, who are sufficiently familiar and comfortable with social platforms to “participate and shape their identities in communication and dialogue with global digital media content” (Jordt et al. 12 ). The leveraging of global culture, including the use of English in protest signs, was notable in garnering international media coverage and so keeping Myanmar’s political plight front-of-mind with governments around the world. Yet this is not the whole story behind the effectiveness of these campaigns. As Lisa Brooten argues, contemporary networks are built on “decades of behind-the-scenes activism to build a multi-ethnic civil society” (East Asia Forum). The leading democracy activist, Min Ko Naing, aligned “veteran activists from previous generations with novice Gen Z activists”, declaring “this revolution represents a combination of Generations X, Y and Z in fighting against the military dictatorship’” (Jordt et al. 18). Similarly, the creative strategies used by 2021’s digital campaigners also build on protests by earlier generations of young, creative people. This paper looks at two creative protest across the generations. The first is “secret” fashion photography of the late 1970s collected in Lukas Birk’s Yangon Fashion 1979 – Fashion=Resistance. The second is the contemporary #100projectors campaign, a “projection project for Myanmar democracy movement against the military dictatorship” (in the interest of full disclosure, I took part in the #100projectors project). Drawing from the contemporary advertising principle of “segmentation”, the communications practice where potential consumers are divided into “subgroups … based on specific characteristics and needs” (WARC 1), as well as contemporary thinking on the “aesthetics” of “cosmopolitanism”, (Papastergiadis, Featherstone, and Christensen), I argue that contemporary creative strategies can be traced back to the creative tactics of resistance employed by earlier generations of protesters and their re-imagining of “national space and its politics” (Christensen 556) in the interstices of cosmopolitan Rangoon, Burma, and Yangon, Myanmar. #100projectors Myanmar experienced two distinct periods of military rule, the Socialist era between 1962 and 1988 under General Ne Win and the era under the State Law and Order Restoration Council – State Peace and Development Council between 1988 and 2011. These were followed by a semi-civilian era from 2011 to 2021 (Carlson 117). The coup in 2021 marks a return to extreme forms of control, censorship, and surveillance. Ne Win’s era of military rule saw a push for Burmanisation enforced through “significant cultural restrictions”, ostensibly to protect national culture and unity, but more likely to “limit opportunities for internal dissent” (Carlson 117). Cultural restrictions applied to art, literature, film, television, as well as dress. Despite these prohibitions, in the 1970s Rangoon's young people smuggled in illegal western fashion magazines, such as Cosmopolitan and Vogue, and commissioned local tailors to make up the clothes they saw there. Bell-bottoms, mini-skirts, western-style suits were worn in “secret” fashion shoots, with the models posing for portraits at Rangoon photographic studios such as the Sino-Burmese owned Har Si Yone in Chinatown. Some of the wealthier fashionistas even came for weekly shoots. Demand was so high, a second branch devoted to these photographic sessions was opened with its own stock of costumes and accessories. Copies of these head to toe fashion portraits, printed on 12 x 4 cm paper, were shared with friends and family; keeping portrait albums was a popular practice in Burma and had been since the 1920s and 30s (Birk, Burmese Photographers 113). The photos that survive this era are collected in Lukas Birk’s Yangon Fashion 1979 – Fashion=Resistance. #100projectors was launched in February 2021 by a group of young visual and video artists with the aim of resisting the coup and demanding the return of democracy. Initially a small group of projectionists or “projector fighters”, as the title suggests they plan to amplify their voices by growing their national and international network to 100. #100projectors is one of many campaigns, movements, and fundraisers devised by artists and creatives to protest the coup and advocate for revolution in Myanmar. Other notable examples, all run by Gen Z activists, include the Easter Egg, Watermelon, Flash, and Marching Shoes strikes. The Marching Shoe Strike, which featured images of flowers in shoes, representing those who had died in protests, achieved a reach of 65.2 million in country with 1.4 million interactions across digital channels (VERO, 64) and all of these campaigns were covered by the international press, including The Guardian, Reuters, The Straits Times, and VOA East Asia Pacific Session, as well as arts magazines around the world (for example Hyperallergic, published in Brooklyn). #100projectors material has been projected in Finland, Scotland, and Australia. The campaign was written about in various art magazines and their Video #7 was screened at the Bangkok Art and Culture Centre in February 2022 as part of Defiant Art: A Year of Resistance to the Myanmar Coup. At first glance, these two examples seem distant in both their aims and achievements. Fashion photos, taken in secret and shared privately, could be more accurately described as a grassroots social practice rather than a political movement. While Birk describes the act of taking these images as “a rebellion” and “an escape” in a political climate when “a pair of flowers and a pair of sunglasses might just start a revolution”, the fashionistas’ photographs seem “ephemeral” at best, or what Mina Roces describes as the subtlest form of resistance or ‘weapons of the weak’ (Scott in Roces 7). By contrast, #100projectors has all the hallmarks of a polished communications campaign. They have a logo and slogans: “We fight for light” and “The revolution must win”. There is a media plan, which includes the use of digital channels, encrypted messaging, live broadcasts, as well as in-situ projections. Finally, there is a carefully “targeted” audience of potential projectionists. It is this process of defining a target audience, based on segmentation, that is particularly astute and sophisticated. Traditionally, segmentation defined audiences based on demographics, geodemographics, and self-identification. However, in the online era segments are more likely to be based on behaviour and activities revealed in search data as well as shares, depending on preferences for privacy and permission. Put another way, as a digital subject, “you are what you choose to share” (WARC 1). The audience for #100projectors includes artists and creative people around the world who choose to share political video art. They are connected through digital platforms including Facebook as well as encrypted messaging. Yet this contemporary description of digital subjectivity, “you are what you choose to share”, also neatly describes the Yangon fashionistas and the ways in which they resist the political status quo. Photographic portraits have always been popular in Burma and so this collection does not look especially radical. Initially, the portraits seem to speak only about status, taste, and modernity. Several subjects within the collection are shown in national or ethnic dress, in keeping with the governments edict that Burma consisted of 135 ethnicities and 8 official races. In addition, there is a portrait of a soldier in full uniform. But the majority of the images are of men and women in “modern” western gear typical of the 1970s. With their wide smiles and careful poses, these men and women look like they’re performing sophisticated worldliness as well as showing off their wealth. They are cosmopolitan adepts taking part in international culture. Status is implicit in the accessories, from sunglasses to jewellery. One portrait is shot at mid-range so that it clearly features a landline phone. In 1970s Burma, this was an object out of reach for most. Landlines were both prohibitively expensive and reserved for the true elites. To make a phone call, most people had to line up at special market stalls. To be photographed with a phone, in western clothes (to be photographed at all), seems more about aspiration than anarchy. In the context of Ne Win’s Burma, however, the portraits clearly capture a form of political agency. Burma had strict edicts for dress and comportment: kissing in public was banned and Burmese citizens were obliged to wear Burmese dress, with western styles considered degenerate. Long hair, despite being what Burmese men traditionally wore prior to colonisation, was also deemed too western and consequently “outlawed” (Edwards 133). Dress was not only proscribed but hierarchised and heavily gendered; only military men had “the right to wear trousers” (Edwards 133). Public disrespect of the all-powerful, paranoid, and vindictive military (known as “sit tat” for military or army versus “Tatmadaw” for the good Myanmar army) was dangerous bordering on the suicidal. Consequently, wearing shoulder-length hair, wide bell bottoms, western-style suits, and “risqué” mini-skirts could all be considered acts of at least daring and definitely defiance. Not only are these photographs a challenge to gender constructions in a country ruled by a hyper-masculine army, but these images also question the nature of what it meant to be Burmese at a time when Burmeseness itself was rigidly codified. Recording such acts on film and then sharing the images entailed further risk. Thus, these models are, as Mina Roces puts it, “express[ing] their agency through sartorial change” (Roces 5). Fig. 2: Image from a secret Rangoon fashion shoot – illicit dress and hair. Photograph: Myanmar Photo Archive / Lukas Birk. Fig. 3: Image from a secret Rangoon fashion shoot. Photograph: Myanmar Photo Archive / Lukas Birk. Roces also notes the “challenge” of making protest visible in spaces “severely limited” under authoritarian regimes (Roces 10). Burma under the Socialist government was a particularly difficult place in which to mount any form of resistance. Consequences included imprisonment or even execution, as in the case of the student leader Tin Maung Oo. Ma Thida, a writer and human rights advocate herself jailed for her work, explains the use of creative tools such as metaphor in a famous story about a crab by the writer and journalist Hanthawaddy U Win Tin: The crab, being hard-shelled, was well protected and could not be harmed. However, the mosquito, despite being a far smaller animal, could bite the eyes of the crab, leading to the crab’s eventual death. ... Readers drew the conclusion that the socialist government of Ne Win was the crab that could be destabilized if a weakness could be found. (Thida 317) If the metaphor of a crab defeated by a mosquito held political meaning, then being photographed in prohibited fashions was a more overt way of making defiance and resistant “visible”. While that visibility seems ephemeral, the fashionistas also found a way not only to be seen by the camera in their rebellious clothing, but also by a “public” or audience of those with whom they shared their images. The act of exchanging portraits, what Birk describes as “old-school Instagram”, anticipates not only the shared selfie, but also the basis of successful contemporary social campaigns, which relied in part on networks sharing posts to amplify their message (Birk, Yangon Fashion 17). What the fashionistas also demonstrate is that an act of rebellion can also be a means of testing the limits of conformity, of the need for beauty, of the human desire to look beautiful. Acts of rebellion are also acts of celebration and so, solidarity. Fig. 4: Image from a secret Rangoon fashion shoot – illicit dress length. Photograph: Myanmar Photo Archive / Lukas Birk. Fig. 5: Image from a secret Rangoon fashion shoot – illicit trousers. Photograph: Myanmar Photo Archive / Lukas Birk. As the art critic and cultural theorist Nikos Papastergiadis writes, “the cosmopolitan imagination in contemporary art could be defined as an aesthetic of openness that engenders a global sense of inter-connectedness” (207). Inter-connectedness and its possibilities and limits shape the aesthetic imaginary of both the secret fashion shoots of 1970s Rangoon and the artists and videographers of 2021. In the videos of the #100projectors project and the fashion portraits of stylish Rangoonites, interconnection comes as a form of aesthetic blending, a conversation that transcends the border. The sitter posing in illicit western clothes in a photo studio in the heart of Rangoon, then Burma’s capital and seat of power, cannot help but point out that borders are permeable, and that national identity is temporally-based, transitory, and full of slippages. In this spot, 40-odd years earlier, Burmese nationalists used dress as a means of publicly supporting the nationalist cause (Edwards, Roces). Like the portraits, the #100projector videos blend global and local perspectives on Myanmar. Combining paintings, drawings, graphics, performance art recordings, as well as photography, the work shares the ‘instagrammable’ quality of the Easter Egg, Watermelon, and Marching Shoes strikes with their bright colours and focus on people—or the conspicuous lack of people and the example of the Silent Strike. Graphics are in Burmese as well as English. Video #6 was linked to International Women’s Day. Other graphics reference American artists such as Shepherd Fairey and his Hope poster, which was adapted to feature Aung San Suu Kyi’s face during then-President Obama’s visit in 2012. The videos also include direct messages related to political entities such as Video #3, which voiced support for the Committee Representing Pyidaungsu Hlutaw (CRPH), a group of 15 elected MPs who represented the ideals of Gen Z youth (Jordt et al., viii). This would not necessarily be understood by an international viewer. Also of note is the prevalence of the colour red, associated with Aung San Suu Kyi’s NLD. Red is one of the three “political” colours formerly banned from paintings under SLORC. The other two were white, associated with the flowers Aung Sang Suu Kyi wore in her hair, and black, symbolic of negative feelings towards the regime (Carlson, 145). The Burmese master Aung Myint chose to paint exclusively in the banned colours as an ongoing act of defiance, and these videos reflect that history. The videos and portraits may propose that culturally, the world is interconnected. But implicit in this position is also the failure of “interconnectedness”. The question that arises with every viewing of a video or Instagram post or Facebook plea or groovy portrait is: what can these protesters, despite the risks they are prepared to take, realistically expect from the rest of the world in terms of help to remove the unwanted military government? Interconnected or not, political misfortune is the most effective form of national border. Perhaps the most powerful imaginative association with both the #100projectors video projections and fashionistas portraits is the promise of transformation, in particular the transformations possible in a city like Rangoon / Yangon. In his discussion of the cosmopolitan space of the city, Christensen notes that although “digital transformations touch vast swathes of political, economic and everyday life”, it is the city that retains supreme significance as a space not easily reducible to an entity beneath the national, regional, or global (556). The city is dynamic, “governed by the structural forces of politics and economy as well as moralities and solidarities of both conservative and liberal sorts”, where “othered voices and imaginaries find presence” in a mix that leads to “contestations” (556). Both the fashionistas and the video artists of the #100projectors use their creative work to contest the ‘national’ space from the interstices of the city. In the studio these transformations of the bodies of Burmese subjects into international “citizens of the world” contest Ne Win’s Burma and reimagine the idea of nation. They take place in the Chinatown, a relic of the old, colonial Rangoon, a plural city and one of the world’s largest migrant ports, where "mobility, foreignness and cross-cultural hybridity" were essential to its make-up (Aung Thin 778). In their instructions on how to project their ideas as a form of public art to gain audience, the #100projectors artists suggest projectors get “full on creative with other ways: projecting on people, outdoor cinema, gallery projection” (#100projectors). It is this idea projection as an overlay, a doubling of the everyday that evokes the possibility of transformation. The #100projector videos screen on Rangoon bridges, reconfiguring the city, albeit temporarily. Meanwhile, Rangoon is doubled onto other cities, towns, villages, communities, projected onto screens but also walls, fences, the sides of buildings in Finland, Scotland, Australia, and elsewhere. Conclusion In this article I have compared the recent #100projectors creative campaign of resistance against the 2021 coup d’état in Myanmar with the “fashionistas” of 1970 and their “secret” photo shoots. While the #100projectors is a contemporary digital campaign, some of the creative tactics employed, such as dissemination and identifying audiences, can be traced back to the practices of Rangoon’s fashionistas of the 1970s. ­­Creative resistance begins with an act of imagination. The creative strategies of resistance examined here share certain imaginative qualities of connection, a privileging of the ‘cosmopolitan’ and ‘interconnectedness’ as well as the transformativity of actual space, with the streets of Rangoon, itself a cosmopolitan city. References @100projectors Instagram account. <https://www.instagram.com/100projectors/>. @Artphy_1 Instagram account. <https://www.instagram.com/artphy_1/>. 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PurposeThis article delineates the pilot implementation of the Rohingya Archive (R-Archive). The R-Archive seeks to both confront and exploit the roles of documentation and recordkeeping in forced displacement of Rohingya people through targeted physical and bureaucratic violence in Myanmar. This grassroots activist intervention is located at the intersection of technology, rights, records, jurisdictions and economics. Using Arweave's blockweave, the R-Archive secures copies of records, such as identity documentation, land deeds and personal papers, carried into diaspora by Rohingya refugees against unauthorised alteration, deletion and loss, providing a trust infrastructure for accumulating available evidence in support of rights claims and cultural preservation.Design/methodology/approachIterative development of functional requirements, data collection processes and identification of a technological solution for the community-based, post-custodial, blockchain-inspired R-Archive; design and testing of the R-Archive pilot; and analysis of trust and economic concerns arising.FindingsA complex set of interconnecting considerations is raised by this use of emerging technologies in service to a vulnerable and diasporic community. Hostile governments and volatile cryptocurrencies are both threats to the distributed post-custodial R-Archive. However, the strength of the community bonds that form the archive and articulated in its records speak to the possibility of perdurance for a global Rohingya archive, and working through the challenges surfaced by its development offers the possibility to serve as a model that might be adaptable for other grassroots archival activist projects initiated by oppressed, marginalised and diasporic communities.Research limitations/implicationsPersonal and community safety and accessibility concerns, especially in refugee camps and under Covid-19 restrictions, presented particular challenges to carrying out the research and development that are addressed in the research design and future research plans.Practical implicationsThe goal of this pilot was to collect and store examples of a range of documents that demonstrate different aspects of Rohingya culture and links to the homeland as well as those that record formal evidentiary relationships between members of the Rohingya community now in diaspora and the Burmese state (e.g. acknowledgements of citizenship). The pilot was intended to demonstrate the viability of using a blockchain-inspired decentralised archival system combined with a community-driven approach to data collection and then to evaluate the results for potential to scale.Social implicationsThe R-Archive is a community-centred and driven effort to identify and preserve, under as secure and trusted conditions as possible, digital copies of documents that are of juridical, cultural and personal value to the Rohingya people and also of significance as primary documentary evidence that might be used by international legal institutions in investigating genocide taking place in Burma and by academic researchers studying the history of Burma.Originality/valueThe R-Archive is novel in terms of its technological application (Arweave), the economic concerns of a vulnerable stateless population it is trying to address, and its functional complexity, in that its goal is simultaneously to serve both legal evidentiary and community archive functions. The R-Archive is also an important addition to other notable efforts in the diasporic Rohingya community that have attempted to employ the tools of technology for cultural preservation.