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Book Review: The Father of Modern Vaccine Misinformation – “The Doctor Who Fooled the World: Science, Deception, and the War on Vaccines” by Brian Deer

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Needle injection hypodermic syringe. Photo credit: ‘hitthatswitch’, licensed via Creative Commons.

Brian Deer. The Doctor Who Fooled the World: Science, Deception, and the War on Vaccines. Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 2020. ISBN: 9781421438009.

In the depths of worldwide lockdowns in Spring 2020, development was already well underway for a COVID-19 vaccine, which has long been recognized as the most effective tool for ending the pandemic and returning to a sense of pre-pandemic normalcy. The speed with which vaccines were developed and readied for distribution in high income nations represents a modern scientific miracle. It also represented a novel response to a threat to global human security. Yet in the United States, the vaccine acceptance rate is 64.6%. Russia’s rate is a paltry 30.4%. Why is this?

Brian Deer’s book may hold some of the answers to that very question. His book is the culmination of over fifteen years of reporting focused on one individual, Andrew Wakefield. Deer – a healthcare investigative reporter for the Sunday Times – recounts his investigations into Wakefield, tracing his rise from self-assured young physician to vanguard of the modern anti-vaccination movement. Through a series of interviews with mothers, scientists, physicians, and civil servants, Deer completely unravels Wakefield’s initial scientific claims which were used to sow doubt about the efficacy of the three-in-one Measles, Mumps, and Rubella (MMR) jab. Wakefield asserted that the MMR vaccine caused gastrointestinal complications which in turn led to autism. The book is a study in scientific malfeasance and personal failings, as well as a masterwork in conversational exposition. The author’s ability to bring the reader in with him as he sits in homes and coaxes the truth out of parents who were unwitting participants in one of the greatest scientific frauds of the modern era is commendable. As is his ability to breakdown the complex nature of the underlying science of vaccines and gastroenterology (the latter of which was the focus of Wakefield’s so-called research), which makes the book an easy read for the lay person

Beyond the specifically duplicitous nature of Wakefield, who repeatedly engaged in conflicts of interest, junk science, and media and legal manipulation, there are broader lessons for how anti-vaccine sentiments can take hold in the population. The doctor without patients, as Deer derisively refers to Andrew Wakefield throughout the book, used three important tools to foment hostility against the MMR vaccine: mother’s guilt and the fear of the unknown, personal agency, and data manipulation.

The first tool is simple and cruel. If a mother’s child suffers from autism, there must be a clear cause. Poor memory recall associates the child getting vaccinated and almost simultaneous development of non-neurotypical behaviour. Thus, the mother voluntarily exposed the child to the risk of autism and the only way to ameliorate this is to sign the child up for a series of invasive procedures – all of which were unnecessary or whose data was subsequently manipulated. If instead the mother had opted not to get the baby jabbed, then at least any subsequent issues could not be tied back to a decision that the mother had made. The risks of doing something, then, can be rationalized in such a way as to outweigh the risks of not doing something. It is little wonder that Wakefield has developed a cult following whose demographic is almost entirely comprised of mothers of autistic children.

The second tool is closely related to the first, but it goes further by cleaving the medical community and individuals. As Wakefield moved beyond his crusade against the MMR vaccine and took on vaccination writ large, he developed a potent narrative that asked, “who knows what’s better for our children, the mothers or the experts?”

The final tool is simple yet effective: none of Wakefield’s research stood up to close examination, much of it was falsified, and he repeatedly refused to conduct a “gold standard test” even when presented with near-limitless institutional support to do so. As often occurs, the subsequent corrections and redactions did not receive the same level of media coverage as the initial shocking claims.

Many of these tools can be applied toward the COVID-19 vaccines. A child or adult could suffer side effects from the vaccines, or even in extreme circumstances, vaccine injury. Those risks are known, whereas if one chooses not to receive the COVID-19 vaccine, the possibility of suffering from the disease is – to most people – an unquantifiable risk. As with the breathless coverage of Wakefield’s initial findings, negative outcomes receive more limelight than the experience of millions of patients who have had no ill side effects. Personal agency and a distrust of government and experts has been one of the most potent tools of COVID-19 anti-vaccine sentiments. Some ardent refusers have even co-opted the phrase “my body, my choice” from the reproductive rights movement to pushback against perceived government coercion.

Anti-vaccination movements and the misinformation that drive them directly threaten human security. The resurgence of heretofore eradicated diseases threatens fragile healthcare systems, particularly in low-income countries or conflict zones. Furthermore, disease is a natural limitation to economic activity and development. Those who campaign against effective public health measures, including vaccines, for reasons based not on sound science, but rather fear and misinformation, threaten human security. Deer’s timeline at the end of the book illustrates this reality: March 2011 there is a measles outbreak among the Somali community of Minnesota following an appearance by the good doctor, November 2018 the WHO warns of a resurgence of measles, and in December 2019 the Democratic Republic of Congo reports nearly 5,000 measles-related deaths. Brian Deer’s book is thus an excellent primer on this powerful threat to human security.

What We Read in 2020: A Strife Reading List

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By Walker D. Mills

Photo Credit: Unsplash

The theme that ties this reading list together is the staff at Strife. We are writers, editors and managers who have chosen to highlight a few of the best books we read during 2020. It’s a reading list in the same vein as those from War on the Rocks, CIMSEC and others, that is united by a common group of contributors rather than a thematic focus. 

Each contributor has written a brief description of the selections and why they choose it, and the selections are in no particular order. We hope that you can find something you’ll want to pick up and that you enjoy reading these books as much as we did. 

James Brown, Copy Editor

The Enemy Within: The Secret War Against the Miners

 By Seamus Milne (1994)

A brilliant expose of the British establishment’s attempt to destroy the labour movement during the miners’ strike of 1984-85. Which was the last of the great clashes between the trade union movement and the government, and the final time Britain saw a serious challenge to its neoliberal economic re-alignment. 

Milne delivers an at times thrilling account of how the powerful forces of the State Security Service, police, press, and conservative government conspired to wage a secret war against the miners. The title is taken from a quote by Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher describing the miners as an internal enemy, and “enemy within” and it remains one of the best accounts of how state power in a democracy can be manipulated to serve undemocratic ends.

Bryan Strawser, Managing Editor, Blog

The Violent Image:  Insurgent Propaganda and the new Revolutionaries

By Neville Bolt (2012)

My research is broadly focused on how groups and intelligence agencies use propaganda, particularly social media, to sow discord and influence election outcomes.  Dr. Bolt’s book from 2012 describes the world of fast-moving, viral ‘violent images’ that have changed how insurgent groups and revolutionaries disseminate their messages through the more dynamic technologies and mediums available today. In many cases, these violent images and other propaganda move far more quickly than governments can counter the messaging with facts.

Alt-America:  The Rise of the Radical Right in the Age of Trump

By David Neiwert (2018)

In this book, journalist David Neiwert chronicles the resurgence of extremists on the right in American politics leading to the election of President Donald J. Trump in 2016. He covers the common ground found between right-wing media, the Tea Party, and other Republican activists – and how people like Stephen Bannon and Alex Jones become the new mainstream for far-right activists, the book helped me understand this intersection and how newer communication methods, such as social media (especially Twitter) and streaming video, enabled their rise.

Farley Sweatman, External Representative

Acts of Faith 

By Philip Caputo (2005)

Historical fiction, Acts of Faith is about a group of aid workers and pilots flying aid material (and eventually arms) into Sudan during the height of the Second Sudanese Civil War in what would later become South Sudan. Along with being extremely well-written and entertaining, it provides a pretty apt account of the conflict and the ethno-religious divides within Sudan at the time.

No stranger to writing about violence, Philip Caputo is well-known for A Rumor of War, his “memoir” of his time serving as a US Marine in Vietnam, which is often credited with helping change the US public’s opinion of the Vietnam War. 

Natasia Kalajdziovski, Senior Editor

Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland  

by Patrick Radden Keefe (2019)

Say Nothing charts the interwoven stories of two women of Northern Ireland during “The Troubles.” Jean McConville, a widowed mother of ten who was accused by the Provisional IRA of passing information to the security forces and was subsequently murdered in 1972, and Dolours Price, a notorious Provisional who later claimed to be part of McConville’s murder. McConville and Price are used as the anchor-point through which Keefe – who is, fundamentally, a terrific storyteller – weaves an intricate web of political violence and state action alongside secrets and whispers to form a narrative of the conflict that is incredibly accessible and engaging. 

In a conflict so marred by its sectarian nature, there is no such thing as a perfect, or unbiased account of The Troubles and Say Nothing does not purport to be a full telling of that story. But what it does, unlike so many other works on the topic, is to recount the experiences of two women who chose two very different paths when violence engulfed their community and fit their stories into the broader narrative of the conflict. Taking its title from a Seamus Heaney poem, Say Nothing dares to ask its readers to contemplate how wars are fought first on the battlefield, and then for a second time in memory. 

Anas Ismail, Production Manager, Strife Blog

Conflict and Health

By Natasha Howard, Egbert Sondorp, Annemarie ter Veen (2012)

Conflict and Health examines how health is impacted by different forms of conflict, and it has a range of case studies from different settings around the world. The authors provide knowledge of a variety of topics ranging from the nature of the conflicts to humanitarianism and health interventions in conflict settings with clear and concise prose in an easily digestible format. 

Joe Jarnecki, Coordinating Editor, Strife Blog

From Righteousness to Far Right: An Anthropological Rethinking of Critical Security Studies

By Emma McCluskey (2019)

An original and thought-provoking text, McCluskey’s From Righteousness to Far Right follows nineteen months of ethnographic fieldwork in a small Swedish village where, at the height of the so-called “migration crisis,” one hundred refugees were housed. Guiding the reader through day-to-day life in the village the author raises questions about critical security studies’ ability to examine the texture of everyday life within a society increasingly exposed to far-right and securitised politics. An incredibly enjoyable book rich not only for its content but also for its prose. 

The Blood of Others

By Simone de Beauvoir (1984)

A classic of French existentialism, The Blood of Others remains one of the most compelling engagements with how to reconcile responsibility with the pursuit of personal happiness. Set in early 20th Century France, the story follows Jean Blomart and his journey from privileged bourgeois to resistance activist. While a novel may be rare to find on this list it is, I guarantee, a welcome respite. 

Spycatcher: The Candid Autobiography of a Senior Intelligence Officer

By Peter Wright (1987)

Published originally in Australia in 1987, Spycatcher offers an insider account of MI5’s operations following the Second World War, recounting, with incredible honesty, the bugging of embassies across London, the MI5 plot to destabilise the government of Harold Wilson, and the counterspy operations against the Cambridge five. It is an intriguing read for any armchair intelligence historian, and for that matter, any that happen to be standing. 

Walker Mills, Series Editor

Missionaries

By Phil Klay (2020) 

Missionaries is Phil Klay’s second book, after his critically acclaimed collection of short stories Redeployment. A work of fiction, the book follows a group of characters in Colombia as they are sucked into Colombia’s long-running conflict just before the 2016 peace agreement.

Klay is a masterful storyteller and he brins his characters to life with intensive research. But Missionaries is also a statement about war and conflict itself. Violence is often the result of complex systems but the effects are real and unsanitized at the human level. Klay shows how individuals are often caught in systems of violence and they can’t escape. 

Law in a Lawless Land: Diary of a Limpieza

By Michael Taussig (2003) 

Michael Taussig is an anthropologist in Colombia with years of fieldwork experience who has written several books about the country. In Law in a Lawless Land he recounts his experience of spending two weeks in a small town in Colombia’s Cauca Valley during a limpieza, or “cleaning,” when paramilitaries move into the town and kill teenage gang members and anyone else who they deem a problem. 

The work is truly a diary – part a recounting of events and part reflection. Taussig is able to contextualize the violence while presenting an unvarnished look at paramilitary violence in Colombia. The book is a natural complement to Missionaries, which has several fictional accounts of extreme paramilitary violence. 

Walker is a United States Marine infantry officer currently working as an instructor at the Colombian Naval Academy in Cartagena, Colombia. He is currently a non-resident master’s degree student at the Naval Postgraduate School’s Center For Homeland Defense and Security and is a graduate of Brown University and the War Studies Department at King’s College London.

Walker is an Associate Editor at the Center For International Maritime Security and co-host of the Sea Control podcast. He has been published in War on the Rocks, Defense News, USNI Proceedings, the Marine Corps Gazette, West Point’s Modern War Institute, and many other publications. His writing focuses on emerging trends, technology, and tactics on land and at sea. You can follow him on Twitter @WDMills1992.

Book Review: ‘In Defence of America’

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by Antonia Marie Sheppard

Bronwen Maddox. In Defence of America. Gerald Duckworth & Co Ltd, London, 2009. ISBN  978-0715637920 Pp. 208. Paperback. 

In Defence of America: Amazon.co.uk: Bronwen Maddox: Books

In 2013, a parody Twitter account of the American actor Bill Murray (@BillMurray) caused global confusion, after tweeting:

I’m sick of people saying America is ‘the stupidest country in the world’. Personally, I think Europe is the stupidest country in the world.

Perhaps a comment on the American education system; this confusion twinned with frustration offers an amusing illustration of just one internationally recognised stereotype of the United States.

It is precisely this stereotypical, ‘unfair’ portrayal of the United States which Bronwen Maddox, former Foreign Editor of The Times, seeks to challenge in her book, In Defence of America. Her central charge is that the global perception of the United States as a neoimperialist hegemon, characterised by the breath-taking arrogance and misjudgements of its leaders is a misrepresentation deserving of a retrial. While acknowledging that the US is ‘comically’ bad at making a case for itself, Maddox attempts to re-caricature these ‘fat, trigger-happy, Christian fundamentalists’ into more appealing allies. Through an analysis of shared values, capitalist successes, the promotion of democratic principles, and the invasion of Iraq, Maddox argues that anti-Americanism is ill-founded and outdated in our globalised world. However, plagued by illogical methodology, sweeping generalisations, and a by-product of audience alienation, Maddox’s myopic perspective does not withstand scrutiny.

Hailing from an Anglo-American background, Maddox presents herself as an objective commentator. Unfortunately, this does not translate in practice. Portraying the United States as a victim, Maddox adopts the position of attorney, presumably in a case regarding defamation of character. The legitimacy of this stance is questionable. The United States does not need an apologist when it has chosen to exert its power on the global stage, nor does it have any evidence for victimisation, following its position as the predominant author of Western geopolitics. Furthermore, the employment of the English definition of the term ‘liberal’ is paradoxical. By imposing British language etic upon a study of America, does erroneous methodology not mark this interpretation void? The case would likely be thrown out in court.

Despite this, Maddox’s argument that anti-Americanism was inevitable following the fall of the Soviet Union is commendable. After half a century of Cold War animosity, the bipolar nature of the international system collapsed, and the Eastern power bloc that the West had united against disappeared. The primal urge to ‘know your enemy’ meant that this void needed to be filled. Who better to unite against than arguably the most powerful hegemon in history? Fuelled by a combination of American triumphalism and a reignition of nationalism, Western Europeans were free to vocally criticise the United States, without having to depend upon them for defence against the Soviet Union. It was from this freedom that anti-Americanism flourished. However, the United States has not helped its case. The growth of anti-Americanism is not surprising after George W. Bush’s reduction of global politics to a contest of good versus evil; the ‘good’ guys have since perpetrated around 1,000 civilian deaths in Pakistan alone. Defence of the International Liberal Order by illiberal means (see D. Stokes, American hegemony and the future of the Liberal International Order) has undermined America’s virtuous persona on the international stage, and preceded its retreat to isolationism.

Moreover, the charge that America is essentially benevolent is an unpopular opinion. Simply reaffirming that idealism is a ‘guiding inspiration’ of all American policy is an idealistic and distorted representation of the land of the free’s foreign interventions, which lacks a basic foundation in history. The argument that the United States should be applauded for ‘three decades of democracy spreading’ fundamentally ignores the nationalist aims for global hegemony that dictated the Cold War. More recently, the Bush doctrine’s call to impose democracy on the Middle East was not only a selfish pursuit of national security, but disregarded the national interests of the occupied countries. It is these national interests, under the guise of idealism, that continue to define the foreign policy of the United States today.

While America might have been the victim of anti-Americanism in 1991, their conduct in Iraq, and more recently under the Trump administration, continues to alienate international perception. Much like European opinion of America, the perspective of this book has not aged well.

Furthermore, the characterisation of the European powers as the ‘losers’ from American dominance does little to serve Maddox’s argument that America does not deserve misrepresentation, but rather perpetuates her hypocritical perception of European stereotypes. Any Englishmen and women reading this will likely relish in the French-bashing of the book, sticking two fingers up at the French, as though on the fields of Agincourt. Maddox’s argument that any political affinity with the United States in France is like signing your own warrant for the guillotine reads as ill-informed prejudice. With American ratings of France reaching a record-high of 87 per cent in 2016, and Obama’s paralleling of himself and Francois Hollande as the ‘Jefferson and Lafayette’ of our time (a duo portrayed as the personification of Franco-American amity, despite the two men having no contact during the Revolutionary years (see Tom Chaffin’s Revolutionary Brothers: Thomas Jefferson, the Marquis de Lafayette, and the Friendship That Helped Forge Two Nations)), it is difficult to defend this projection of anti-Americanism against reality. While the French may be angry about Trump’s lack of common decency, following his cancelation of a centenary visit to the French battlefields due to a spot of rain, it is hardly likely that this antipathy, as Maddox argues, originates from the Treaty of Versailles.

Maddox’s incapability to garner sympathy from her target audience continues. The implication that Britain’s lack of a constitution is due to the recognition that ‘the best words have already been taken’, is not only a matter of opinion, but functions counterproductively to further alienate those she attempts to ‘defend’ America against. Additionally, while attempting to challenge the Anglican perception of the United States’ role as the world’s policeman, Maddox does not just succeed in undermining its legitimacy, but accidentally illustrates (rather effectively) the destructive authority that the ‘world’s policeman’ has exercised this side of the millennium. One is provoked to wonder why US armed forces are rarely subject to scrutiny for their actions, with accountability being an ‘orphan’, to paraphrase JFK. Who gave them license to kill? Therefore, by recognising the position of Europeans as mere agents, under the authority of this stand-alone superpower, one is ironically left to stomach the bitter taste of American exceptionalism.

Littered with generalisations and double-standards, In Defence of America ironically struggles to defend its central argument throughout. If this book was three pages, or three volumes, it could have the potential to do the central argument some justice. Ultimately, this book would be suitable for the general readership, due to its accessibility of language and concise length. It is essential reading for anyone seeking to have an intelligent debate regarding America’s changing relationship with Europe within global politics. Nevertheless, readers of this book should take every sentence with a pinch of salt. It would be wrong to suggest that it is not worth reading – it is – but purely as an exercise in futility, or for the sole function of criticism. Moreover, a word of warning to any fellow Europeans who wish to read this book, a catch-22 presents itself: if this book is not agreeable with yourself, is this as a result of your own anti-American bias?

Antonia Marie Sheppard is an MA Intelligence and International Security student at King’s College London. Specialising in counter-terrorism and deradicalisation, Antonia is a member of the ‘MPOWER Project (NY), conducting research into radicalisation and prevention through intervention. Her research focuses on the UK-USA presence in Cyprus and more specifically at Ayios Nikolaos, the largest GCHQ base outside of the UK.

Book Review: ‘Breaking Hate’

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by Isabela Betoret Garcia

 

Christian Picciolini. Breaking Hate: Confronting the New Culture of Extremism. Hachette Books, London, 2020. ISBN 978-0316522939. Pp. 272. Hardcover, £22.85.

Stories about the alt-right rarely have happy endings. Many associate the movement with white supremacists, those men and women who have left a path of violence and death in their wake. Connotations of ‘white supremacy’ tend to include men marching in a university campus in well-tailored trousers and neat haircuts chanting propaganda, such as the ones that marched in Charlottesville; or perhaps the young men who perpetrated unspeakable acts of violence in houses of worship, like Dylann Roof did in Charleston when he massacred nine people or the Christchurch Mosque Shooting where 51 were murdered. The image conjured up is that of hate, a hate that is so unforgiving to those in its path that it does not invite any kind of compassion. Yet, that is exactly what author and activist Christian Picciolini asks of us in his latest book: Breaking Hate.

Picciolini was born to Italian immigrants, in Illinois; by the age of 14 he had joined one of the most violent racist groups in the United States, the Chicago Area Skinheads. By 16 he had become the leader of the group, as well as formed a white supremacist punk band, W.A.Y (White American Youth). Even though he left the movement at 22, he had spent eight years helping it grow. Such a drastic U-turn came, he claims, from interactions he had with the people he had been conditioned to hate – black, Jewish, and homosexual people – and finding some common ground which left him unable to justify his hate. After leaving his former violent life, having spent some years in a dark space of apathy and depression by his own admission, he began to do what became his life’s calling: telling his story. His first book, White American Youth: My Descent into America’s Most Violent Hate Movement— and How I Got Out, focused on his life. Picciolini seemed to understand that for people to truly believe that his theory of de-radicalisation could work, they had to understand how he had come to believe in them himself.

Breaking-Hate: Confronting the New Culture of Extremism serves both as a culmination and as a new chapter. A culmination in that it is not only a collection of stories of men and women Christian has helped de-radicalise; it also allows Christian to share the steps of extremist disengagement he has come to believe. With each new chapter, however, it becomes clear to the reader that there is much work to be done, and that extremism really is an embedded cultural problem.

Christian’s proposal is clear: No one is born into hate, and violent ideologies are not what lead people down the road of extremism. When someone encounters what he calls ‘potholes’ in life, they will be in danger of never fulfilling their sense of identity, community, and purpose (ICP). De-Radicalisation is a contested concept with no single accepted process, and many doubt the effectiveness of it. In the field of de-radicalisation many scholars such as Daniel Koeher have pointed to ideology as a key aspect in the road to radicalisation. Picciolini’s theory differs significantly. It is when they trip on their search of ICP that extremism may find them, but ideology itself is the last step. Only by listening to their stories and identifying these potholes, presumably extraordinary patience and compassion, one can extend a hand to bring them back to a normal life. The process he uses includes 7 steps: Link, Listen, Learn, Leverage, Lift, Love, Live. These steps are meant to form a link with the subject, understand how their path in life brought them to radicalisation, help them make amends, and eventually life free. Though his argument is fascinating and compelling, Picciolini does not spend much time discussing alternative theories of de-radicalisation that have an ideological basis, which would lend more credibility to his argument.

“The answer is love”: the message could not be more clear (Image credit: Christian Picciolini)

The structure of the book relies on the reader connecting with the stories told within. From veterans and men recruited in prison, to a former ISIS fighter, to a seventeen year-old girl caught in a scam that seemed to lead all the way to the 2016 Presidential election— the stories Christian relates are raw and tender. They are simultaneously full of sorrow, anger, and hope. Yet there are underlining reminders that even if disengagement is successful, the subjects of the book may be atoning for their actions for the rest of their lives.

The message of the book is, for the most part, effectively conveyed and persuasive. Because most of the subjects Christian examines in the book were part of the Alt-Right we might ask if ideology truly does not matter as much as other experts say in the de-radicalisation process, and the book would benefit from exploring other theories for Picciolini to more effectively defend his own. The book’s persuasiveness does rely on the author himself, and on the anecdotal evidence he provides of the cases present in the text, which could be more effective if paired with quantifiable evidence of the success of his methods. Upon closing the book, however, a reader will likely reconsider any previously held notions on the psychology of radicalisation which rely on ideology and be willing to consider compassion, and in this point the book is undeniably successful.

Picciolini admits to sometimes almost losing patience, hope, and control when trying to help extremists disengage. But here is where he comes to the most important lesson of all: see the child, not the monster. This is not meant to excuse the actions of extremists because of the abuse they may have suffered, the severe lack of ICP that delivered them into the arms of hate. But rather to remember that basic premise, that no one is born into hate; and if they find their way into it, they can find their way out.

Isabela first completed a Foundation Programme in International Relations and is now a third-year War Studies and History BA. She also works as an International Relations and Politics Tutor for King’s Foundations. She is Mexican-Spanish and lived most of her life in Mexico until she moved to London, and this background has given her a keen interest in migration. She is also interested in how the every-day has become politicised through media, and what this means for the future of journalism and politics. You can follow her on Twitter @isa_betoret.

Book Review: ‘The Hidden History of Burma’

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by Anna Tan

 

Thant Myint-U. The Hidden History of Burma: Race, Capitalism and the Crisis of Democracy in the 21st Century. Atlantic Books, London, 2019. ISBN 978-1-78649-790-1. Pp. xi, 288. Paperback. £10.78

 

The case for peace in Myanmar (Burma) has been a tiring and relentless one. The biggest myth of all is that Burma was set to have a bright future during the dawn of its independence from the British Empire. Thant Myint-U in his latest work “The Hidden History of Burma” (2020) reminds us that the reality is far more complex. The colonial legacy of the state’s institutions and its impact on the plethora of ethnic groups across Burma’s periphery would continue to haunt its present-day problems. Most notably among these are the Rohingya crisis and Burma’s half-century struggle for democracy. The colonial era’s martial race policy stands at the forefront of these problems. Despite the great academic legacy left behind by the colonial era, Thant argues, the state was considerably weak at the time when General Aung San founded the nation. This meant that whatever great that was embedded within Burma was either purged or became stale during years of poverty. Moreover, Ne Win’s failed anti-imperialist revolution – or the pursuit of the ‘Burmese Way to Socialism’ – would further exacerbate this situation.

Towards the end of the 20th century, the socialist layer of the nation-state’s operational ideology gradually peeled away; leading to some form of a free-market system and one that according to Thant can best be described as ‘crony capitalism’. Yet, strikingly, Burma’s political reforms of the early 2010s had originally envisioned an alternative future. Here, the implementation of neoliberal policies and a non-state intervening would complete the country’s transition to a free-market system, to follow the steps of congested and inequality-ridden cities we so very often see across South East Asia today. In this regard, those easily combustible issues surrounding race and inequality are left out. The state itself does not even seem to be cognizant of it. Neither is any consideration given to the idea that one’s ethnicity can be fluid. As a result, state formation and attempted conflict resolution is stuck in a vicious cycle of bureaucracy, electoral politics, and red-tape; further fuelled by a strange concoction of neoconservatism and a fixed primordial perception regarding race and ethnicity amongst parties and actors across the political spectrum.

The blame for the sustained civil strife across various parts of the country is shared among all parties, both at home and abroad. It is Thant’s insider narrative in the book that made me realise how it is bizarre that China’s ambitions for Burma re-emerged. Initially thwarted by the reformist government of Thein Sein, those intentions came back centre stage after the conflict in Rakhine escalated to the point of genocide. Unfortunate decisions made by Aung San Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy (NLD) during peacebuilding efforts that followed their victory in the 2015 elections inflamed this situation, particularly after the Myanmar Peace Centre – consisting mostly of Thein Sein staffers – was dismissed. However, this jarring moment in history is to this day a wasted opportunity that not many in the country paid much attention to. Indeed, the urban population were very much distracted by the economic promises of the new NLD government. With more shopping centres and shinier airports in the making, less visa restrictions, and an increase in free travel, it seems that it is the bourgeoisie that gets to enjoy better, more instant luxuries. I can speak from experience that testimonials by the (upper-)middle-class of Burmese society certainly reflect this sentiment. A justifying bulwark against any criticism towards the NLD government, these promises led to ample opportunity for the resolution of civil strife in the country getting squandered; thereby further darkening a future that looks more bleak than ever.

Internationally, the foreign policy of Western governments in addressing Burma’s human rights abuses provides no room for complexity and mixed bureaucratic responses by organisations such as the United Nations over the past decade have led to drastic consequences in the peace processes throughout Burma. Their involvements with the country’s democratisation efforts and entrance into the global economy were exclusively pivoted around Aung San Suu Kyi. This narrative of the ‘lady against the generals’ paid very little attention paid to the influence of ludicrous cross-border conflicts, war economies, and the incentives of various factions – be it within the state or of the rebel groups. The former president’s sudden and wide embrace of the West was short-sighted to the extent that it made light of the impact that the participation of Ethnic Armed Organisations (EAOs) along the Sino-Burmese border could have. Suu Kyi’s government furthermore underestimated the repercussions of Western isolation on the peace deals made during the ‘21st Century PangLong Conferences’. Above all else, the young population especially, and sadly, do not seem to be able to tell the difference between the story of Burma: is it one of Suu Kyi or one of inclusivity.

Though merely stating facts, Thant’s description of the contemporary political processes in Burma is at times specked with instances that were darkly astonishing, oftentimes unintentionally comical. One of these moments includes the time when John Yettaw handed Suu Kyi the Book of Mormon, making it all the more surreal. Nevertheless, there are parts where Thant could have elaborated further, such as the impact of U Nu’s policies on the racial and social integrity of a briefly democratic Burma prior to Ne Win’s coup in 1962. However, the country’s complex web of layers stands masterfully explained in the book.

Lost is the potential of this beautiful country, so rich in natural resources, in which a deeply troubled rural citizenry resides which knows war not as an exception but as the norm. 

Most importantly, Thant demonstrates that the story of Burma’s fight for democracy is not so much as black-and-white, not a clear David-and-Goliath spectacle that we are made to believe most of the time. A particularly challenging part recounts the solemn story of a certain lady named Moe. Driven into destitution by the cascade of events following the Bush-era sanctions that shut down garment factories, her life led from unemployment to sex trafficking, only to discover herself with a diagnosis of HIV/AIDS after a hazardous, painful journey back home. These same sanctions were supported by several pro-democracy and human rights activists at home and abroad. These activists were also part of the same force that blocked the Global Fund’s humanitarian aid that was supposed to relieve HIV/AIDS and malaria outbreaks in Burma of the early 2000s, thereby cutting off all remaining hope for people like Moe. Indeed, Moe’s life is not an uncommon one for the precariat of Burma, whose rights, needs, and welfare seem to be left out of the picture entirely. While the nation emphasises the virtue of personal sacrifice for the greater good pivoted around the leader; the vast majority have little more to give. Lost is the potential of this beautiful country, so rich in natural resources, in which a deeply troubled rural citizenry resides which knows war not as an exception but as the norm. Not a glimmer of hope seems to remain in a country where Burmese identity is defined by race and ethnicity.

That is not to say that are no memorable and beautiful moments. During the peak of the Rakhine crisis in 2016, the compassion of a Buddhist monk in Rakhine that offered refuge and food to displaced civilians of the Buddhist and Muslim creed and traumatised by the violence raging outside will give any reader a chilling feeling of awe as the pages turn. The man was confronted by protesters outside his monastery for housing Muslims together with Buddhists, arguing that the protestors would have to go through him if they wish to ransack the monastery and commit violence inside. An anomaly of a preacher who truly practices a rare act of compassion could perhaps make one faintly wonder just ‘what if?’.

What kind of a future Burma will head towards we still do not know. But as Thant puts, it is truly hard to be optimistic at present. Yet understanding Burma is imperative still, in a way, as the story should provide us to rethink how Western democracies interact with authoritarian and transitory regimes in the future. It should also provide a brutal lesson for us, when aiding and advocating for democracy in contested states, to jettison the idea that one-dimensional foreign policies that prescribe a dose of sanctions followed by the introduction neoliberalism will do the trick of healing an infinitely complex, deeply conflict-ridden nation towards peace and prosperity.

This piece was originally published on the author’s personal blog, which you can find here

Anna Tan is a postgraduate student for MSc Global Affairs at King’s College London. Her research is focused on how Western human rights diplomacy affects democracy and authoritarianism in the Asia Pacific. She has previously worked for UNDP Myanmar and the American Red Cross, and is a member of the Programme Committee of the Conflict, Security and Development (CSD) Conference 2020 hosted by the Department of War Studies and the Department of International Development (DID). Anna holds a BSc in Neuroscience. You can follow her on Twitter: @AnnaTanGTW