(Reuters) - On a hot Sunday night in a remote Myanmar village, Tun Naing
punched his wife and unleashed hell.
She wanted rice for their three children. He said they couldn't afford
it. Apartheid-like restrictions had prevented Muslims like Tun Naing
from working for Buddhists here in Rakhine State along Myanmar's western
border, costing the 38-year-old metalworker his job.
The couple screamed at each other. Tun Naing threw another punch.
Neighbors joined in the row.
The commotion stirred up ethnic Rakhine Buddhists in the next village,
who began shouting anti-Muslim slurs. Relations between the two
communities were already so tense that six soldiers were stationed
nearby. Tun Naing's village was soon besieged by hundreds of Rakhines.
And Myanmar was plunged into a week of sectarian violence that by
official count claimed 89 lives, its worst in decades.
The unrest exposes the dark side of Myanmar's historic opening: an
unleashing of ethnic hatred that was suppressed during 49 years of
military rule.
It is a crucial test for an 18-month-old reformist government in one of
Asia's most ethnically diverse countries. Jailed dissidents have been
released, a free election held and censorship lifted in a democratic
transition so seamless that U.S. President
Barack
Obama is scheduled to make a congratulatory visit on November 19.
State media have largely absolved authorities of any role in the October
unrest, depicting it mostly as spontaneous eruptions of violence that
often ended with Muslims burning their own homes.
But a Reuters investigation paints a more troubling picture: The wave of
attacks was organized, central-government military sources told
Reuters. They were led by Rakhine nationalists tied to a powerful
political party in the state, incited by Buddhist monks, and, some
witnesses said, abetted at times by local security forces.
A leader in the regional party, the Rakhine Nationalities Development
Party, denied it had a role in organizing the assaults but conceded the
possible involvement of grass-roots supporters. "When the mob rises with
very hot ethnic nationalism, it is very difficult to stop them," Oo Hla
Saw told Reuters in an interview.
Two townships - Pauktaw and Kyaukphyu - saw the near-total expulsion of
long-established Muslim populations, in what could amount to ethnic
cleansing. One village saw a massacre of dozens of Muslims, among them
21 women.
Interviews with government officials, military and police, political
leaders and dozens of Buddhists and Muslims across a vast conflict zone
suggest Myanmar is entering a more violent phase of persecution of its
800,000 mostly stateless Rohingya, a Muslim minority in an
overwhelmingly Buddhist country.
CALLED "BENGALIS"
Rohingya have lived for generations in Rakhine State, where
postcard-perfect valleys sweep down to a mangrove-fringed coastline. But
Rakhines and other Burmese view them as illegal immigrants from
neighboring Bangladesh who deserve neither rights nor sympathy. Rakhines
reject the term "Rohingya" as a modern invention, referring to them
instead as "Bengali" or "kalar" - a pejorative Burmese word for Muslims
or people of South Asian descent.
October's attacks marked an acceleration of violence against the
Rohingya. An earlier wave of unrest in June killed at least 80 people.
Afterwards, the Rakhine State government imposed a policy of segregating
Muslim communities from Buddhists across an area roughly the size of
Switzerland.
More than 97 percent of the 36,394 people who have fled the latest
violence are Muslims, according to official statistics. Many now live in
camps, joining 75,000 mostly Rohingya displaced in June. Others have
set sail for Bangladesh,
Thailand and Malaysia
on rickety boats, two of which have reportedly capsized, with as many as
150 people believed drowned.
There is no evidence to suggest the Buddhist-dominated national
government endorsed the violence. But it appears to have anticipated
trouble, stationing troops between Muslim and Buddhist villages a month
ago, following rumors of attacks.
"This is racism," said Shwe Hle Maung, 43, chief of Paik Thay, where
impoverished Muslim families cram into thatched homes without
electricity. "The government can resolve this if it wants to in five
minutes. But they are doing nothing."
The Rakhine violence is also a test for Nobel Peace Prize-winner Aung
San Suu Kyi, now opposition leader in parliament, whose studied
neutrality has failed to defuse tensions and risks undermining her image
as a unifying moral force. Suu Kyi, a devout Buddhist, says she refuses
to take sides.
At stake is the stability of one of Myanmar's most commercially
strategic regions and the gold-rush of foreign investment that has come
with an easing of Western economic sanctions. The United States and the
European Union have suspended, not lifted, sanctions, and have made
resolving ethnic conflicts a precondition for further rewards.
In Rakhine State, however, the conflict has spread, most recently to
areas where Muslims have long lived peacefully with Buddhists, according
to a reconstruction of the violence from October 21 through October 25.
In Paik Thay, the Buddhist Rakhine mobs hurled Molotov cocktails at
wooden huts, while Tun Naing and his neighbors fled. Muhammad Amin, 62,
said he was beaten with a metal pipe until his skull cracked. The
initial violence ended after soldiers fired their guns into the air and
police arrested a Rakhine.
The bloodshed was only beginning.
"WE HAD NO PROBLEMS BEFORE"
The next morning, Monday, October 22, hundreds of Rakhine men gathered
on the southern outskirts of Mrauk-U, an ancient capital studded with
Buddhist temples about 15 miles north of Paik Thay. Then they marched to
Tha Yet Oak, a Muslim
fishing
village of about 1,100 people, and set alight its flimsy bamboo homes.
The Muslim villagers fled by boat to nearby Pa Rein village. The Rakhine
mob followed, swelling to nearly 1,000, according to Kyin Sein Aung,
66, a Rakhine farmer from a neighboring Buddhist village.
He didn't recognize the mob; he described them as "outsiders" and said
he suspected they came from Mrauk-U. Hundreds now poured across a stream
separating the villages. Others came by boat. By noon, there were about
4,000 Rakhines, according to both Buddhist and Muslim villagers.
Four soldiers shot in the air to disperse the crowd but were easily
overwhelmed, witnesses said. The Muslims fought back with spears and
machetes, torching a rice mill and several Rakhine homes. Rakhines fired
homemade guns.
Six Muslims were killed, including two women, said M.V. Kareem, 63, a
Muslim elder in Pa Rein - a toll confirmed by the military. He and other
villagers said they saw familiar faces and uniformed police in the
angry crowd.
"I don't know why it started," said Kareem, who has friends in the
Buddhist village. Buddhist farmer Kyin Sein Aung was baffled, too. For
years, he worked in rice fields shoulder-to-shoulder with his Muslim
neighbors. "We had no problems before."
Communities like Pa Rein had avoided the June violence. But new strains
emerged with the subsequent segregation of Muslim and Buddhist villages,
a draconian order imposed by the Rakhine State government. Intended to
prevent more violence, it backfired.
Impoverished Muslim villagers could no longer buy rice and other
supplies in Buddhist towns. Transgressors were sometimes beaten with
sticks or fists to warn others, according to people interviewed in six
Muslim villages.
Fishing
nets were confiscated.
Desperation grew, with rice
stocks
dwindling as the monsoon peaked in October. Some Muslim villagers stole
rice from Buddhist farmers, further stoking anger, said farmer Kyin Sein
Aung.
By 4:30 p.m. that same Monday, several thousand Rakhines were massed
outside Sam Ba Le, a village in neighboring Minbya township. By now, a
pattern was emerging.
Rakhines flanked the village, hurling Molotov cocktails and firing
homemade guns, said a village elder. Muslims fought back, sometimes with
spears or machetes, but were overpowered. Government troops shot rounds
into the air. By the time the crowd left Sam Ba Le at 6 p.m., one
Muslim man had been killed and two-thirds of its 331 homes razed.
As night fell, the townships of Mrauk-U and Minbya imposed 7 p.m. to 5
a.m. curfews. But worse was to come.
"RAKHINES WILL DRINK KALAR BLOOD"
Tuesday began with a massacre. Reuters reporters visited dozens of
villages in Rakhine State. But there was only one where their entry was
barred by soldiers and police: the remote, riverside community of Yin
Thei, in the shadow of the Chin mountains.
What happened there suggested a bolder and better organized mob, aided
by incompetent or complicit police.
By 7 a.m. on Tuesday, hundreds of Rakhine arrived on boats to surround
Yin Thei, said a resident contacted by telephone. By late afternoon, the
Muslim villagers were fending off waves of attacks. The resident said
children, including two of his young cousins, were killed by
sword-wielding Rakhines. Most houses were burned down.
Musi Dula, a Muslim farmer from a nearby village, said he heard gunfire
at about 5 p.m. A Yin Thei villager telephoned Musi Dula's neighbours
and said police were shooting at them. Another farmer nervously told
Reuters how he watched from afar as police opened fire from the
village's western edge, also at about 5 p.m.
The official death toll is five Rakhines and 51 Muslims killed at Yin
Thei, including 21 Muslim women, said a senior police officer in
Naypyitaw, the new capital of Myanmar. He denied security forces opened
fire or abetted the mobs. The Yin Thei resident put the toll higher,
saying 62 people were buried in small graves of about 10 bodies each.
As Yin Thei burned, the last of nearly 4,000 Rohingya Muslims were
fleeing the large port town of Pauktaw, in a dramatic exodus by sea that
had begun five days earlier.
Tensions had simmered since October 12, when four Rohingya fishermen
were killed off Pauktaw, said a military source. Afterwards, local
authorities had ordered Rohingya to stay in their own villages for their
safety. Men couldn't work in town, and few dared to go fishing.
"The government gave us food but it wasn't enough," said Num Marot, 48.
"We didn't dare stay."
Pauktaw's Rohingya began cramming into boats for the two-hour voyage to
the state capital, Sittwe. Num Marot's new home would be a tarpaulin
tent in a squalid camp already packed with tens of thousands of people
displaced by the June violence.
About 30 minutes after the last boat pushed out to sea, the two Rohingya
neighborhoods in Pauktaw were set ablaze, witnesses said. All 335 homes
were destroyed. The charred and roofless frame of a once-busy mosque is
marked with graffiti: "Rakhines will drink kalar blood," it reads,
using the slur for Muslims.
Kay Aye, deputy chairman of Pauktaw township, insists Rohingya set
alight their own homes and blames the communal problems on the Muslim
population's doubling in 10 years. "Muslims want all people to become
Muslims. That's the Muslim problem," he said. "Most of the Muslims here
are uneducated, so they tend to be ruder than Rakhines."
Tuesday night fell. Soon a new inferno began in Kyaukphyu, a sleepy port
town 65 miles southeast of Sittwe with strategic significance: gas and
oil pipelines lead from this township across Myanmar to China's
energy-hungry northwest.
So far, the violence had targeted Rohingya Muslims. About a fifth of
Kyaukphyu town's 24,000 people are Muslims, and many of them are Kaman.
The Kaman are recognized as one of Myanmar's 135 official ethnic groups;
they usually hold citizenship and can be hard to tell apart from
Rakhine Buddhists.
Most Kyaukphyu Muslims lived in East Pikesake, a neighborhood wedged
between Rakhine communities and the jade-green waters of the Bay of
Bengal.
Relations between the two communities had began to unravel after the
June violence. The destruction of Buddhist temples by mobs in Muslim
Bangladesh in early October further stoked the animosity.
The first fire began in East Pikesake on Tuesday evening, and soon
dozens of houses, Rakhine and Muslim, were ablaze. The streets around
the Old Village Jamae Mosque, one of East Pikesake's two mosques, became
the front line in pitched battles between the two communities.
Rakhines fought with swords, iron rods and traditional Rakhine spears.
The Muslims had jinglees - long darts made from sharpened bicycle spokes
or fish hooks, which are fitted with plastic streamers and shot from
catapults.
With the sea behind them, Pikesake's Muslims were cut off from escape by
Rakhine crowds so large that the security forces, which numbered about
80 police and 100 soldiers, were overwhelmed, said Police Lieutenant
Myint Khin, Kyaukphyu's station commander. "We couldn't control them,"
he said.
Police fired tear gas and rubber bullets to disperse Muslim and Rakhine
mobs, said Police Lieutenant Myint Khin. The military fired live rounds,
said a source in the security forces, but evidently not into the crowd.
Staff at Kyaukphyu hospital told Reuters they treated injuries from
blades, jinglees and fire, but none from bullets.
"TAUGHT THEM A LESSON"
The next morning, the rest of East Pikesake went up in flames. Myint
Hlaing, a local official, said the heat was "more intense than a
crematorium." It singed the fronds of five-story-high palm trees.
Rakhine men had begun pouring in from surrounding villages. Unpublished
video shot by an amateur cameraman shows young men in red bandanas
entering the town in convoys of tractors. They helped to terrorize
Muslims living elsewhere in Kyaukphyu, according to Muslim and Rakhine
witnesses. Police Lieutenant Myint Khin said the security forces were
too overstretched to stop them.
Men with swords pulled Susu, 39, and her husband Than Twa, 48, from a
house in west Kyaukphyu. "They cut him here and here and here," said
Susu, chopping at her arms and legs. She recognised many of her
attackers: They were neighbours, she said. Susu ran off to find some
soldiers, who escorted her back to rescue her husband. He was dead.
Only two forces could give the mob pause. The first was the national
military, which scattered crowds by shooting in the air. The second was
Rakhine Buddhist officials such as Myint Hlaing.
Some officials joined the mob, said local Muslims, but others confronted
it. Facing cries of "Kill the kalar protector!" Myint Hlaing, 68,
pleaded with angry Rakhines outside Kaman Muslim homes in his
neighbourhood. "If we hadn't protected the Kamans, their houses would be
destroyed and the people dead," he said.
By mid-morning, the military began evacuating Muslims by bus to a
guarded refugee camp outside town.
Back in Pikesake, which was still burning, the Muslims had only one
exit: the sea. A flotilla of fishing boats was preparing to leave its
blazing shores.
"People swam out to the boats but were chased down and stabbed before
they got there," said Abdulloh, 35, a Rohingya fisherman. Xanabibi, 46, a
Kaman woman, said she watched from a boat as three Rakhine men with
swords set upon a Muslim teenager. "I watched them ... cut up his body
into four pieces," she said.
Rakhine Buddhists claim they witnessed atrocities, too. Myint Hlaing
said he saw a Muslim on one departing boat hold aloft a severed Rakhine
head.
By mid-afternoon, at least 80 boats, many overloaded with 130 or more
people, had set sail for Sittwe, said witnesses. An additional 1,700 or
more Muslims ended up at a squalid, military-guarded camp outside
Kyaukphyu.
The official statistics tell of a lopsided battle at Kyaukphyu. Of the
11 dead, nine were Muslims. Nearly all of the 891 houses destroyed
belonged to Muslims; nearly all of the 5,301 people displaced were
Muslims. Four of Kyaukphyu's five mosques were destroyed.
A prominent Rakhine businessman, who requested anonymity, showed little
sympathy for his former neighbours. "The majority taught them a lesson,"
he said.
"HOT ETHNIC NATIONALISM"
The last spasm of violence took place at Kyauktaw, a town north of the
state capital, Sittwe. At that point, the military shot into the crowd -
and, for the first time, killed the Buddhists it had long been accused
of siding with.
Soldiers opened fire to prevent Rakhine villagers on two boats from
storming a Rohingya Muslim community, said Aung Kyaw Min, a 28-year-old
Rakhine from Taung Bwe with a bullet in his leg. "I don't know why the
military shot at us," he said. Two people died and 10 were wounded,
villagers said.
In a separate incident the same day, security forces shot at Rakhines on
Kyauktaw's outskirts, killing two and wounding four, a witness told
Reuters.
The shootings seemed to send a message to the mobs. The violence stopped
that day.
The senior police officer in Naypyitaw acknowledged that police were
forced to fire at both Muslims and Rakhines in their attempts to subdue
large crowds.
The official death toll from the October violence now stood at 89. The
real toll could be higher. The extent of the killing at Yin Thei village
remains unclear. Reports persist that scores of Muslims fleeing Pauktaw
drowned after Rakhines rammed their boat. Nearly 4,700 homes were
destroyed in 42 villages.
In a statement that Thursday, President Thein Sein warned that the
"persons and organizations" behind the Rakhine State violence would be
exposed and prosecuted. The mobs were well-organized and led by core
instigators, some of whom moved village to village, military sources
told Reuters.
In Kyaukphyu, however, police have so far arrested only seven people -
six of them for looting. In Mrauk-U township, where most killings
occurred, only 14 people have been arrested, said the military
intelligence officer. The apparent impunity of the instigators is
sending a chilling message to Muslim communities across Myanmar.
The intelligence officer, who has direct knowledge of the state's
security operations, identified the suspected ringleaders as Rakhine
extremists with ties to the Rakhine Nationalities Development Party, or
RNDP, which was set up to contest Myanmar's 2010 general election. He
didn't name any suspects. Buddhist monks stoked the unrest with
anti-Muslim rhetoric, he added.
RNDP Secretary-General Oo Hla Saw denied that his party organized any
mobs. But he acknowledged the possible involvement of supporters,
low-level officials and "moderate monks who become radical when they
think about Muslims."
Oo Hla Saw blamed local authorities for failing to heed rumors of
impending violence, and Islamist radicals for inflaming tensions. For
many Rakhines, he adds, the term Rohingya has jihadist overtones
associated with the "Mujahid," autonomy-seeking rebels in northern
Rakhine State from 1949 to 1961, who called themselves ethnic Rohingya.
(Independent historians say the rebels did popularize the term
"Rohingya," but cite a few references to it since the 18th century.)
Even today, Oo Hla Saw said, the Rohingya want "to set up an autonomous
Islamic community. They are systematically scheming to do that."
Most Rohingya struggle simply to get by. A 2010 survey by the French
group Action Against Hunger found a malnutrition rate of 20 percent, far
above the emergency threshold set by the World Health Organization.
Many arrived as laborers from Bangladesh under British rule in the 19th
century - grounds the government now uses to deny them citizenship.
Rohingya were effectively rendered stateless under the 1982 Citizenship
Law, which excluded them from the list of indigenous ethnic groups.
Officials refer to them as Bengalis. Most Rohingya found it hard to
apply for naturalized citizenship, since they couldn't speak Burmese or
prove long-term residence.
Monks, symbols of democracy during 2007 protests against military rule,
have helped fuel the outrage against Muslims. A week before the violence
erupted, monks led nationwide protests against plans by the
Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC), the world's biggest Islamic
body, to set up a liaison office in Rakhine State.
An anti-OIC rally in Sittwe on October 15 "angered Muslims here,"
conceded Nyar Nar, 32, one of the Rakhine monks who led it. He regards
Muslims as foreign invaders. "As monks, we have morality and ethics," he
said. "But if outsiders come to occupy our land, then we will take up
swords to protect it."
In some parts of the state, the mood is celebratory. "This is the best
time because there are no Muslims here," said Zaw Min Oo, a Rakhine shoe
seller in Pauktaw township. Nearly 95 percent of a 20,000-strong Muslim
community there is now gone.
The peace might be short-lived. The state's clumsy attempts at
segregation helped create the conditions for the October violence.
Further segregation - including the confining of tens of thousands of
Muslims in seething camps - could spark more violence. Curfews remain in
force across much of Rakhine State.
In Kyaukphyu town, starving dogs sniff through the ashes while municipal
workers heave scrap metal into a truck. The only Muslim left in town is
Ngwe Shin, an old woman suffering from mental illness. She can often be
found near the market, shuffling past vandalized or shuttered homes.
(Additional reporting by Martin Petty and Reuters staff; Editing by Bill
Tarrant and Michael Williams)