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Banyan<br />
The Burmese road to ruin<br />
Aug 13th 2009<br />
From The Economist print edition<br />
Once a model for Myanmar’s generals of successful autocracy, Indonesia now has even more to<br />
teach <strong>the</strong>m<br />
Illustration by M. Morgenstern<br />
IF THERE was ever a role model for Than Shwe, Myanmar’s vicious, nutty, reclusive “senior general”, it<br />
was Suharto, Indonesia’s late kleptocrat. Suharto was <strong>the</strong> senior general who had everything. His fabulous<br />
wealth made <strong>the</strong> greedy Burmese generals look like paupers. His children parcelled out <strong>the</strong> economy as if<br />
it were <strong>the</strong> family vegetable plot. Feted ra<strong>the</strong>r than shunned, he was dubbed “fa<strong>the</strong>r of development” by<br />
his fan club, and even many foreigners agreed: development banks needed him more than he needed<br />
<strong>the</strong>m. And he held power for 32 years. No wonder <strong>the</strong> Burmese junta gazed admiringly at Indonesia.<br />
The two countries do have much in common. Both are fabulously rich in resources—hydrocarbons,<br />
minerals, timber. Both reached postcolonial independence by way of Japanese occupation. Both are<br />
multiethnic states haunted by <strong>the</strong> twin spectres of racial tension and a separatist periphery. And both<br />
have armies with inflated views of <strong>the</strong>ir importance to national survival.<br />
A fine recent book on Indonesia by Marcus Mietzner of <strong>the</strong> Australian National University* highlights five<br />
features of <strong>the</strong> Indonesian armed forces. Four are also shown by Myanmar’s. First is <strong>the</strong> army’s<br />
(debatable) view of itself as <strong>the</strong> main bringer of independence. Second is its disdain for periods of civilian<br />
rule in <strong>the</strong> 1950s, dismissed as chaotic, corrupt and, through <strong>the</strong> spread of regional rebellions, dangerous<br />
to <strong>the</strong> country’s integrity. Out of this disdain grew a third feature, a doctrine known in Indonesia as<br />
dwifungsi, or dual function, of running <strong>the</strong> country as well as defending it, and a fourth, <strong>the</strong> entrenchment<br />
of <strong>the</strong> armed forces in <strong>the</strong> infrastructure of <strong>the</strong> state. Last year Myanmar’s benighted people were forced<br />
to endorse a dwifungsi constitution in a referendum. Under it, ludicrously undemocratic elections are to be<br />
held in 2010, giving some veneer of legitimacy to <strong>the</strong> soldiers’ unbudgeable heft in parliament and<br />
government.<br />
The fifth point, too, may yet apply to Than Shwe. What Mr Mietzner terms <strong>the</strong> “increasingly sultanistic<br />
character” of <strong>the</strong> ageing Suharto’s rule opened up a rift with his fellow generals. When <strong>the</strong> economy<br />
collapsed in 1998 and <strong>the</strong> threat of anarchy loomed, Suharto looked over his shoulder and found nobody<br />
was following him. In <strong>the</strong> end, dictators, however unpopular, despotic and incompetent, rarely fall<br />
because <strong>the</strong>y have too many enemies. They fall because <strong>the</strong>y have too few friends left.<br />
Fall, however, Suharto did, in 1998, disqualifying Indonesia’s recent history as a serviceable model for<br />
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