An ode to the unsung heroes of Nay Pyi Taw's hluttaw

An ode to the unsung heroes of Nay Pyi Taw's hluttaw

By Nicholas Farrelly   |   Sunday, 23 March 2014

The standard moaning-and-groaning about Nay Pyi Taw is getting old. Yes, the city is grandiose and appears intimidating at first glance. Yes, it can be inconvenient if you don't have your own wheels.

MPs gather on the steps in front of the hluttaw at the end of a session in November 2012. Photo: Christopher Davy

And, yes, I know many people quarantined in their government dormitory or hotel room, or stranded at the Junction Centre shopping precinct for the fifth night in a row, have queried the merit of the new city. I admit it can be a tough place to love.

But we can't forget that the city is evolving with purpose, seeking to exemplify the ideas driving Myanmar's rolling transformation. It is a laboratory – filling with political, demographic, economic and cultural experimentation – where unpredicted results are mounting up. It deserves serious attention and study.

One place to observe Nay Pyi Taw's evolution up close is the Pyidaungsu Hluttaw, or national parliament. The distinctive design of its 37 major buildings has made it a landmark already, as the symbol of legislative power. High fences ring this iconic complex. It is unfortunate that it is not yet open to the general public.

For those of us fortunate to be inside, the hluttaw offers important lessons about the practice and prospects of democracy in Myanmar. It is where former political prisoners, retired generals, provincial school principals, ethnic rebels, serving military officers, socialist-era technocrats and businesspeople rub shoulders. Some are household names. Others are powerbrokers, lurking in the shadows.

Then there are those thoughtful and considerate MPs, from all political parties, who are working collegially and quietly to represent their constituents and offer Myanmar early glimpses of a democratic tomorrow.

These unsung heroes of the legislature begin their days with breakfast at their dormitory-style residences. Their daily allowance covers the basics. While most live alone, family members now accompany some MPs during their long stints in the capital. In all cases, the multi-ethnic residential accommodation offers a chance to get to know people from across the country.

Whether they come from Kawkareik, Khamti or Kamaryut, by now the rhythm of the day is well understood. From the guesthouse accommodation, almost everyone piles into the buses for the commute to the hluttaw complex. Once inside, MPs mill around, exchanging information about the agenda, collecting the day's paperwork, and readying for the formalities to follow. Some will take an opportunity to catch up on the news. Reports about hluttaw activities are read especially closely.

Then, as the appointed hour of 10am approaches, the MPs drift into the hluttaw chamber. For a Pyidaungsu Hluttaw sitting – drawing together the membership of the upper and lower houses of the legislature – there is extra anticipation.

On these days the observers' gallery is usually filled with activists from the ranks of the major political parties. On many occasions uniformed delegations of Union Solidarity and Development Party and National League for Democracy members fill out the rows. Other days it is ethnic political groups who make their presence known. Then there are the times when schoolteachers or university students get a chance to see the action up-close.

Eventually, the director general calls the hluttaw to attention. The cavernous chamber hushes. As the hush descends, the shuffling of paper stops. A senior clerk, standing near the over-sized main doors, bows. It is the signal that the speaker's arrival is imminent.

Moments later, more than 1000 chairs push back as MPs, and all those sitting in the observers' gallery, stand to attention. The sound of the heavy wooden chairs scraping the floor reverberates distinctively around the chamber.

The speaker of the Pyidaungsu Hluttaw, Thura U Shwe Mann, follows, as does another attendant who will help him to his seat. The speaker, wearing a black gown with gold trim, a silk longyi and velvet slippers, strides confidently to his throne in the centre of the high stage at the front of the room.

The configuration is an echo of the grandest classroom imaginable. The adversarial seating of Westminster-style debate has been discarded in favour of a layout where there is one saya (teacher) and many tapyit (pupils). With a rousing "ahlone mingalabar" ("good morning everyone") from the speaker, the members respond "mingalabar".

And with that ritual, yet another ordinary day commences in Myanmar's extraordinary hluttaw. It must be one of the world's most surprising and exhilarating places to study the evolution of representative politics.

The first hluttaw, elected on November 7, 2010, and then refreshed with by-elections on April 1, 2012, brings together voices from across Myanmar's geographic and political spectrum. They are the quiet labourers, slowly building Nay Pyi Taw's legislative system.

Some MPs are easily recognisable. Chairs of committees sit in clumps with their committee members. USDP members still predominate.

But there are others who are developing a profile for their legislative work, for asking tough questions or for making constructive contributions to the formulation of new laws. U Khat Htein Nan, a Jinghpaw from Kachin State, and U Nay Win Tun, a Pa-O from southern Shan State, are two prominent examples of legislative busyness.

Alongside many other ethnic MPs, including prominent Mon, Chin, Rakhine, Kayin and Kayah voices, they are jostling for influence in a challenging new setting.

While proud of their achievements, especially as a "check and balance" on the executive government, hluttaw members appreciate that their institution is likely to change considerably after 2015. Some MPs are already talking of retirement, content that they have fulfilled their duties to their constituents and the nation. Many are part of an older generation, blooded in the politics of socialism and military dominance. More than a few are tired of the demands of living far from home in Nay Pyi Taw's political hothouse.

They will be replaced by the battalions of young guns now queuing up for a chance to make further changes in Nay Pyi Taw. It is this future generation of MPs, currently toiling away in NGOs, the media, the military, think tanks or the 14 state and region hluttaws, who will need to be ready for the challenges that representative democracy presents.

They may well want to look to the first group of MPs for inspiration. It is never easy to be first. Nay Pyi Taw's trail-blazers have done what they can to build a hluttaw worthy of the people and their votes.

So the next time you feel like bemoaning Nay Pyi Taw's inadequacies, spare a thought for the MPs. Against the odds, and in their quiet ways, they have helped give this city the day-to-day energy it needs.

Nicholas Farrelly is a research fellow in the College of Asia and the Pacific at the Australian National University, Canberra. He is currently undertaking an Australian Research Council-funded study in Myanmar and has attended hluttaw sessions regularly since January 2014.

http://www.information.myanmaronlinecentre.com/an-ode-to-the-unsung-heroes-of-nay-pyi-taws-hluttaw/