My Buddhist friends
and I
Ro Mayyu Ali September
20, 2017 Dhaka Tribune
Children don't see religious differences. A
Rohingya activist wonders where it all went wrong
Since I was in kindergarten, Rakhine students
and Rohingya students have been sitting together in the same seats
in the classroom. We have been playing together in the same
playground in our school. We have been drinking water from the same
metal pot with a small thick plastic cup. Our school is situated in
Maungdaw, Northern Rakhine State.
The desks and chairs in our school are not for
individual students, but rather, long worn out wooden benches and
desks. We used to sit, three to five students per desk. Boys and
girls sat separately in the classroom during the lesson, but there
was no separation by ethnicity. Perhaps this is where we were first
taught the values of friendship and togetherness.
When I was in grade two, I can vaguely recall
that I had a Buddhist boy who sat at the same desk as me in the
classroom. I have trouble recalling his name now, but I vividly
recall his face, always red-nosed. He was the beloved son of a
military Investigation Officer. His parents relocated to our
village and he joined our school. I remember he was the best
dressed and most stylish boy in our classroom.
Neither of us could understand each other’s
language. He didn’t know my language, and I couldn’t understand his
Burmese accent at that age. But we found other ways to understand
each other. I could help him when I understood his needs. It was
simple when we were that young, even without words. We were too
young to fear each other, and the idea that we were a threat to
each other had never occurred to us.
Since secondary classes, I have had some close
Rakhine classmates. They were Aung Naing, Soe Min, Zaw win and Ma
Ninn Wai. All of them are from my village. When there were sports
matches in our school we took the lead roles together. We enjoyed
our time together during festivals and wedding ceremonies of our
siblings. We freely visited each other’s homes.
We never argued over anything greater than our
sitting arrangements for first-row seats in our classroom. Perhaps
we used to tease each other, but harmlessly, never bullying. We all
had our own dreams. Aung Naing and I wanted to be schoolteachers.
Soe Min and Zaw Win wanted to be in the armed forces. Ma Ninn Wai
never told us what she wanted to be.
The more we grew, the stronger our friendships
became. We grew close enough to share more with each other. We felt
secure in front of each other. We used our exchanges and knowledge
to help each other. During our exams we helped each other study.
Our friendships were pure, even when we were not.
With a vigorous might and bonding we stayed
friends all the way to our matriculation exams. We studied the same
subjects and attended the same tuition classes. We never had to
feel different while we were together in school.
When the results came in, Aung Naing and I
passed the exam. Soe Min, Zaw Win and Ma Ninn Wai were studying
again for the next academic year. We were preparing for our higher
education. Yet, nothing pushed us apart at all.
A time to dream
Aung Naing and I were on the same path. We
shared the same dreams or our lives, and he came from a less
privileged family, like mine. We were not able to join Day
University. He worked at a goldsmith shop in the market and I ran a
tuition class on my town. We both were bookworms and loved learning
and reading new books. We shared a passion for writing down quotes,
poems and essays. We both were soft spoken, gentle. We were similar
in many ways, but that Aung Naing was fatter than me.
In 2011 I joined Distance University of
Education in Sittwe for my first year hoping to obtain a B.A. in
English. During this time, my friend Aung Naing was studying his
final year in Physics. Our friends who failed the matriculation
still took their exams in the next academic level. Luck, however,
did not favour them. When we were in our village we often met each
other. We’d sit in the teashop together watching movies. Everything
was simple and fair in our relationship.
When our results were announced I passed my
first year. Aung Naing became a graduate in B. SC, Physics. It was
time for him to chase his dream, as it was for me and my dream to
finish my studies. He had already applied to be a school teacher. I
enrolled for a second year. Time moved quickly.
One wave, two shores
In June 2012, sectarian violence broke out.
There were deep tensions between the Rakhine people and my Rohingya
people. We believe now it was manipulated by the government, to pit
our peoples against each other. The violence pitted the Buddhists
against the Muslims in our state. With the destruction and loss of
property and life came the destruction of the relationship between
our communities. Love and kindness between our peoples were
replaced by distrust and tension.
Time separates us. Circumstances marginalise
us. We have lost the bonds that kept us together as we once were,
and our loyalty and closeness is not what it once was. Our
coexistence is incomplete. Now, we are not who we were.
Since then no Muslim student has been allowed
to attend Sittwe University. At the same time, no restrictions have
been placed on the Buddhists. My Buddhist classmates can all still
pursue their dreams. When I see them now, they all look quite
different. Aung Naing became a school teacher. Soe Min became a
Border Guard Police. Zaw Win is a policeman now. I, however have
had to remain incomplete. How can a wave crash in two directions on
the same shore? I wondered often.
Five years later I’m waiting to rejoin my
university. I had hoped to be teaching a classroom in school by
now. Even though I am qualified, I have applied but have been
rejected for not being Buddhist. My dreams and hope have been lost
to this conflict, and I find myself also lost in it.
Even though my dream is the same as Aung
Naing’s, we are different in faith. Aung Naing is Buddhist and I am
Muslim. In my country this distinction matters, and it has crushed
the dreams of my younger self.
Now, we are not who we
were
Today, my heart breaks when I see the Rakhine
I was friends with in childhood – Aung Naing in his school
teacher’s uniform and Soe Min and Zaw Win in their armed forces
uniforms. I feel lost and worthless. In my young age I faced the
many ways a human can suffer on this planet. I had all the
potential to achieve my dreams, but lost them as soon as they
should have become reality. It is a suffering I think few can
understand in this world.
Even though we are still friends since we have
known each other since childhood – since our births really, some
external factors divide us. Time separates us. Circumstances
marginalise us. We have lost the bonds that kept us together as we
once were, and our loyalty and closeness is not what it once was.
Our coexistence is incomplete. Now, we are not who we were. We are
not children who were peaceful and happy together.
What then should we do now? Should we look at
our childhood to learn? How we once were the same and supported and
understood each other? Should we see we were born on the same soil
and grew together? Should we remember we were taught in the same
school, and to this day survive in the same place?
Then why now can we not sit together again at
the tea shop? Why can’t we watch movies together as we once did? No
longer can we enjoy each other’s’ festivals and ceremonies. We
could have this time again. We could revive this once more. My
friend and childhood friends! We could once again live peacefully
together.
If we only allow ourselves to! So drop down
the rope of this distrust and tension. A new peaceful future which
looks like our past is waiting for us. We have nothing to pain more
but much to gain.
***The names of the characters in the
post are changed for the sake of safety and for privacy desire.
However, the sequences of the story articulated in this post
represent my real childhood, once all Rakhine and Rohingya
class-friends were the same and altogether. ***