| By MIN ZIN | JULY, 2001 - VOLUME 9 NO.6 |
Charity, one of the Buddhist perfections, has long been an integral part of Burmese culture. But history—and habit—have obscured its real social and spiritual value. "If you knew what I know about dana (generosity), you would not let one meal go by without sharing it," the Buddha once said. Dana is the Pali term for giving, generosity and charity, and it is an integral part of the Buddhist ethos. It includes giving of material support to those in need; giving of spiritual knowledge to those in despair; giving of love to those who are abandoned; and giving of protection to those who are threatened. Having given away something with the intention of making life easier for another being, one immediately feels a happiness that fills one’s heart and mind. The Venerable Ashin Thittila of Burma explains the benefits of dana thus: "The object in giving is to eliminate the craving that lies dormant within oneself; apart from which there are the attendant blessings of generosity such as the joy of service, the ensuing happiness and consolation, and the alleviation of suffering." The main idea concerning generosity or any of the ten parami (or "perfections", of which dana is the first and foremost) is that there should be no strings attached. The Buddha urged his followers to give without any expectation of personal reward. Basically, the ultimate aim of generosity practice is the transformation of the individual from a self-centered, greed-driven existence to one that is other-centered and greed-free. Giving is literally a practice in letting go—one that increasingly flies in the face of the acquisitive tendencies that drive modern society. However, even in societies that are not completely consumerist in orientation, true generosity faces serious social pressures. In Burma, for instance, dana has been misinterpreted by successive reigns and regimes to serve the interests of the ruling elite, who profess to promote the values espoused by Buddhism. Notwithstanding such distortions, evidence of the importance of charity in Burmese culture is abundant, from the golden glory of the Shwedagon Pagoda (which owes its magnificence to the donations of countless devotees) to the familiar sight of mendicant monks receiving alms. Nor is charity reserved for those who choose the religious life. Rest houses are set up all over the country for the comfort of travelers, and vessels of clear, cool water can be found on every roadside, put there for the benefit of passersby. These distinctive clay water pots are replenished daily, often by local people who have little else to offer, but who remain intent upon contributing something for the well-being of others. "The inclination to charity is very strong" among Burmese, noted Fielding Hall in his book, The Soul of a People, published in 1902. "The Burmese give in charity far more in proportion to their wealth than any other people." These days, however, many observers take a more jaundiced view of such impulses. "Everything has gone to pot here," remarked one respected Burmese writer recently. "You can’t paint a rosy picture of so-called ‘Burmese beauty’ anymore. Dana has become a self-serving tool to acquire wealth and power," complained the octogenarian author, who has written extensively on Buddhist literature in Burma. "Even among religious people, dana amounts to little more than sending a money-transfer to the next life." Under the current military regime, dana is often represented as a panacea for poverty. In its propaganda, the junta stresses that a lack of generosity, and not poverty as such, is the real problem facing the country’s many destitute citizens: "If you say you can’t make donations because you lack wealth, you can never expect to become wealthy," reads one typical pronouncement in a state-run newspaper. This Catch-22 may be cold comfort for the poor, but for the regime, it makes perfectly good sense. Why blame decades of mismanagement for the country’s many economic woes, when the Buddhist scriptures (according to the junta) say that poverty is simply a product of parsimony? Given the prevalence of such self-serving interpretations of Buddhist principles in public discourse (which is almost totally monopolized by official opinion), it is not surprising that many Burmese have strayed from Buddhism altogether without even realizing it. Many who profess to be Buddhists often direct their charitable offerings according to the advice of soothsayers and astrologers in order to accrue as much merit for themselves as possible. Not only is this practice based on misplaced faith in the powers of pseudo-spiritual fakirs; it also runs contrary to the Buddhist conception of charity as an act free of self-interest. Even more disturbing, from the standpoint of the social impact of such distortions of Buddhist principles, is the way charity has become a form of bribery or even a means of laundering ill-gotten gains. When businessmen want to obtain a license or permit of some sort, they invariably make a donation to a pet project run by one of the ruling generals. And for Burma’s drug lords, who enjoy a status akin to aristocracy in the country’s capital, charity serves as a convenient way to convert illicit profits into social, political, and economic capital. Thus donation ceremonies, which routinely bring together generals, drug lords and businessmen, are highlighted daily on the state-run Myanmar TV news programs. Charity funds everything from the restoration of pagodas to the national football team; but ultimately, the real beneficiaries are those who control the flow of finances behind the scenes. Most ordinary Burmese are well aware of how the system works, and remain troubled by it, even after more than a decade of such abuses. "Steven Law of Asia World Company has offered a huge donation to build schools and fund multimedia classrooms," remarked Rangoon schoolteacher Mya Lwin recently. He added: "We all know where he gets his money from, but what can we do, except hang our heads in shame?" Law is known to be one of Burma’s leading narco-billionaires. While some of these practices are distinctly modern innovations, there is nothing new about Burmese rulers using charity to enhance their political legitimacy. The current regime has in many ways modeled itself after Burma’s pre-colonial kings. This has been most conspicuously the case in its patronage of the Buddhist Sangha, or monastic community. On a daily basis, the generals make religious offerings that serve not only as a form of personal merit making, but also as powerful symbolic gestures that exploit the Sangha’s historically important role as a unifying factor of the state. Pagodas, as the most visible symbols of religious beneficence, have long played an especially important role in reinforcing claims to political power. In his History of Burma (1925), G. E. Harvey noted that pagodas built by Burma’s King Bayinnaung in Ayutthaya (in present-day Thailand) and other neighboring kingdoms "are still to be seen, and in later ages the Burmese would point to them as proof of their claim to rule those countries." This mindset has persisted to this day, as seen in the current regime’s building of pagodas modeled after Rangoon’s renowned Shwedagon Pagoda throughout Shan State, as a way of asserting Burmese (i.e., ethnic Burman) sovereignty over this ethnically distinct region. The practice of co-opting religious symbolism for political ends literally reaches its pinnacle with the ceremonial hoisting of the htidaw ("umbrella") on the top of pagodas that have been newly constructed or renovated. This act is regarded as the ultimate merit-making event, and yet it has no basis whatsoever in Buddhist doctrine. According to historian Dr Than Tun, "This practice began in the 15th century, when a Mon king invaded Burman-dominated territory and put a big crown made like his own on top of each pagoda in the land he conquered." As retaliation, "The Burmese king put a likeness of his own crown on top each pagoda when he re-seized his land." In early 1999, Burma’s military rulers held a htidaw-hoisting ceremony to mark the completion of a major renovation of the country’s most sacred religious edifice, the Shwedagon Pagoda. The ceremony, which was treated as one of the most important religious events of the 20th century, culminated with the generals shouting "Aung Pyi! Aung Pyi!" ("We won! We won!"). Far from sharing in the generals’ sense of victory, however, local people were left feeling more defeated than ever. "When we heard what they were shouting, we felt crushed," recalled one Rangoon shopkeeper. "It was not act of dana but of sorcery. I was also frightened by the thought of this regime remaining in power for years to come," she added. By far the most appalling misuse of the principle of dana is the widespread practice of forcing people throughout the country to "donate" their labor to public works projects. The regime has repeatedly claimed that such "voluntary labor" is carried out in the spirit of dana, as if there were something spiritually uplifting about being forced to perform backbreaking labor at gunpoint. In some instances, people are genuinely willing to contribute to the upkeep of temples or to projects that directly benefit their communities; but this clearly does not apply to the construction of roads and other infrastructure for the tourism industry, for instance. "In some cases, people do not mind donating their time voluntarily for their religion," observed recently exiled social critic Tin Maung Than. "But the donation of labor for temple construction must be separated from being ordered to give free labor for government projects," he added. Some scholars have pointed out that the current regime is worse than the pre-colonial monarchy in the way it has conscripted labor. "Even King Mindon, unlike some of his predecessors, had insisted on paying for labor by his subjects, and did not require them to attend to court matters while they were busy during harvest time," explained anthropologist Gustaaf Houtman, citing Dr Than Tun’s The Royal Order of Burma. King Mindon, who belonged to Burma’s last royal dynasty, eventually abolished corvee labor altogether, following the introduction of a coinage currency and a new taxation system in 1868, according to Burmese historian Toe Hla. Political abuses are not the only issue that makes dana problematical from a modern perspective; there are also economic consequences that need to be considered. Melford Spiro, in a study of Buddhism in rural Burmese society, observed that "The typical upper Burmese village is reported to spend from 30 to 40 percent of its net disposable cash income on dana and relative activities." This may have the positive effect of encouraging hard work and thrift, but, as Trevor Ling pointed out in his Buddhism, Imperialism and War, "it is important to note that the money that becomes available at harvest time, when the farmer sells his surplus, is channeled into what are from the entrepreneurial point of view unproductive activities." "Dana monies may have a very low opportunity cost if the donors do not have the skills, knowledge and opportunities to invest them productively," concurred a Singapore-based Burmese economist, speaking on condition of anonymity. The tendency to "invest" savings in risk-free religious generosity rather than in risky capital accumulation has the effect of retarding the rate of economic growth, he argued. Taken to extremes, some might argue that charity as it has been practiced in Burma for centuries is a hindrance to economic development, since it diverts capital away from more "productive" uses. However, the Singapore-based economist concedes that the problem lies less with charity than with the general inefficiency of the Burmese economy: "In this case, it is tied up with the problem of a lack of mechanisms, modalities and motivation for efficient allocation of financial resources." Although the profit motive—the driving force behind market-based economics—seems to be at odds with the values of Buddhism, it would be a mistake to conclude that Buddhism is inimical to economic growth. The Buddha taught his lay followers that instead of squandering or hoarding wealth, a quarter of one’s income should be used for consumption, a quarter saved for an emergency, and a half used for one’s business—a very high rate of reinvestment if taken literally. The experience of other Buddhist countries also attests to the fact that Buddhism is no impediment to economic progress. "Thai people also devote a considerable percentage of their income to merit-making," observed anthropologist Christina Fink. "Yet the Thai economy grew at a rate of more than 10% a year during the late 1980s and throughout most of the 1990s." As for the political manipulation of dana, it is worth noting that on several occasions, monks conscientiously opposed to the policies of the ruling regime have turned the generals’ pious pretenses against them. The most famous instance of this occurred in late 1990, when senior monks in Mandalay called for a religious boycott (pattam nikkujjana kamma—"overturning the bowl") against the regime by rejecting alms from military officials and their families and refusing to perform religious services for them. The protest was eventually crushed, but it served as a potent reminder that the Sangha’s moral authority is not something that can simply be usurped by an illegitimate and fundamentally immoral regime. Contrary to the regime’s practice of directing its dana almost exclusively towards the Sangha, most learned abbots and Buddhist scholars agree that there is no doctrinal basis for such bias. In his book Ottama Purisa Dipani, the Venerable Ledi Sayadaw stated, "Alms giving done for the benefits arising therefrom after selecting the status of the donees and the way to accrue most merit is not a noble meritorious deed." Citing Ledi Sayadaw’s teaching, U Aung Shwe, one Burma’s most influential Buddhist scholars, wrote as follows: "Giving alms not only to the Three Gems (the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Sangha) but also to the poor is the noblest deed of alms giving." Efforts to assist the poor by providing such necessities as food, medicine, and education, initiated by well-respected abbots like Thamanya Sayadaw, as well as by Aung San Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy and other, smaller volunteer groups, reflect a clear understanding of the spirit of dana as it is taught in the Buddhist scriptures. However, Burmese people seldom make such "secular" donations, in large part because the requisite institutions of civil society are almost entirely absent. Independent civic-minded organizations are virtually non-existent in Burma today, as any form of popular participation in activities affecting whole communities is regarded as a threat to military rule. The few "volunteer" organizations that do exist in Burma at present operate under the auspices of the regime, and often serve primarily as means of channeling corporate or private "donations" directly into the hands of the generals or their cronies. Beyond these immediate political circumstances, however, there are also deeper cultural factors at work that tend to lead to the misapplication of basic Buddhist values in Burmese society. An inordinate attachment to tradition for tradition’s sake, without a critical awareness of the basis of many time-honored practices, eventually renders even the best of these practices meaningless. The Buddha’s teachings on dana remain as deeply relevant as ever, but only when they are applied thoughtfully can their true value be properly appreciated. Thamanya Sayadaw U Vinaya Thamanya Sayadaw U Vinaya, an elderly monk from the Pa-o ethnic group, lives at the foot of Thamanya Mountain, some twenty miles outside of Pa-an, the capital of Karen State. Thamanya Sayadaw is a strict vegetarian, as are those who live in the area around his monastery; the food stalls within three miles of the Thamanya sell no food containing meat. Visiting pilgrims also eat only vegetarian food for several days before coming to pay obeisance to the Sayadaw. People have great faith in his metta samatha (power of universal loving-kindness and peace), and believe that his blessing will bring them success in their endeavors. Apart from his accomplishments as a meditator and other imperceptible religious qualities, the Sayadaw is also revered for his socially oriented charity practice. The grounds owned by Thamanya Sayadaw cover a three-mile radius around the mountain where about 7,000 families live. The Sayadaw owns several vehicles, including heavy-duty trucks that are used for various construction projects, such as building schools and maintaining roads and various public utilities. Aung San Suu Kyi once noted that while the regime forces people to contribute labor to build roads, the Sayadaw achieves his works through voluntary contributions from the people. However, some observers have noted that most people who donate money to the Sayadaw seem to do so in the belief that they will earn greater merit due to his exalted spiritual status, rather than with an awareness of the social value of their contributions.