Capital Blues
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Naypyidaw, now three years old, was designed and built to serve as the seat of Burma’s military government. For the ordinary Burmese who have to live and work there, it’s a city without a heart
NAYPYIDAW — BROAD avenues lined by imposing public buildings crisscross an undulating landscape where bamboo forests and sugar cane plantations once stood. This is Naypyidaw, three years after the military regime moved its capital here from Rangoon.
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By day, at least half a dozen large markets draw crowds of shoppers, while off-duty military officers play rounds of golf on one of the courses that have sprung up around the new capital. Tourists are enticed to visit the new city by such attractions as a zoo.
Most residents aren’t so impressed by the transition of this former central Burmese backwater into the nation’s new capital, financed from the income raised by exports of such resources as gems, teak, natural gas and even opium.
“This place may be Naypyidaw for them [the ruling generals], but it’s ‘lock-up land’ for us,” said one local resident, looking around to make sure he wasn’t overheard. People have reportedly been arrested and jailed for cracking jokes about the generals and their “Royal City”—the English meaning of Naypyidaw.
Most residents are wary about using the Internet for fear they’re being monitored. Mobile phone service is unavailable in Naypyidaw for security reasons.
One visitor from Rangoon told me that while he was using the Internet a government agent ordered him to hand over his memory stick to be checked for possible anti-government content.
Naypyidaw-based journalists working for local publications complain of a lack of cooperation by the authorities, who frequently prohibit them from photographing government buildings.
Security officers are reportedly instructed to keep a close eye on the movements of visitors and journalists.
Most residents I interviewed said their lives had not improved in the three years since the seat of government moved from Rangoon to Naypyidaw.
Laborers drawn from many parts of the country who are still engaged in building the new capital, work under severe conditions for the equivalent of US $1.50-$2 per day, housed in makeshift huts and existing on poor food and well water.
Most construction companies working on completing the public buildings of Naypyidaw have had to suspend operations there and move to the cyclone-devastated areas of Rangoon Division and the Irrawaddy delta. Construction workers receive no compensation for the days lost, and many of them have to take out loans at 20 percent interest in order to survive.
Money is scarce in Naypyidaw, where business owners have to rely on well-paid, free-spending senior government officials and their families to make a living.
As Naypyidaw grew to attain a population estimated to number 1 million, local business people hoped the expansion would bring prosperity. It didn’t—and many who moved to Naypyidaw in the expectation of making a good living are now planning to leave. Most of those who chose to remain are struggling to keep above water.
“I’m now thinking of closing my shop because I can no longer afford the rent,” said a jeweler at Naypyidawmyoma Market.
There’s another reason why she is thinking of leaving Naypyidaw—she’s Chinese and a victim of scarcely concealed official racial discrimination.
“The authorities have said Naypyidaw must be cleansed of the Chinese,” said a Sino-Shan barbecue restaurant owner.
“My place was closed down twice,” he said. “We had to bribe the authorities to let us reopen.” As he talked, a group of military officials chatted, laughed and ate heartily at a nearby table.
Naypyidaw is no place for young people, either. Undergraduates at its Yesin University of Agriculture have been told that after their second year they must leave and follow practical courses of study in the countryside.
“We don’t want to interrupt our studies,” said one student.
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