According to the UN Special Rapporteur on Myanmar, Yanghee Lee, “everything is done through Facebook in Myanmar” and it has “turned into a beast” – with the “ultra-nationalist Buddhists […] inciting a lot of violence and a lot of hatred against the Rohingya and other ethnic minorities.” An important point to consider, highlighted by Matthew Walton and Susan Hayward, are the socio-economic circumstances of the country. After fifty years of military rule and repression, ethnic groups feel “entrenched wariness, if not outright fear and hostility” towards the Bamar majority, the central government as well as amongst themselves. Walton and Hayward, in their report, also point out that as a result of ethnic divisions, as well as varied cultural and historical factors, nationalism in Myanmar  has “become increasingly conflated with Buddhist religious identity.” In other words, to be a true citizen of the country is to be both Buddhist and ethnic Bamar. As a consequence, similar to the polarization during Jakarta’s 2017 elections, non-Buddhist or non-Bamar groups are more easily labeled as “threats” to the sovereignty of the nation. Further to this, the lack of education and knowledge on religion are widespread, fabricating heavy religious bias especially in regards to the Muslim Rohingya.

The lack of access and relative distrust in mainstream media have made people turn towards word of mouth and social media in order to gain information. Indeed, as shown by Tina Burrett’s study on democratisation and media, a local editor explained that “for young people in particular, news shared by friends on Facebook is their main source of information.” Furthermore, he adds that “they do not question the origins or authenticity of what they read online.” This becomes problematic when the issue of fake news is considered – especially when an “in-group” is attempting to antagonise an “out-group”. For example, two people were killed and “scores injured and many Muslim houses and businesses burned” in the 2014 Mandalay riots – sparked by rumours alluding to a Buddhist woman having been raped by a Muslim man. After investigations were conducted, however, this was found to be untrue. A number of local journalists interviewed in Burret’s study claimed that the “lack of capacity for critical thinking among audiences” represented a crucial challenge for Myanmar’s media – as “audiences were more likely to trust information posted online by their friends than news appearing in the professional media.” This dearth is directly linked to decades of military rule, as critical thinking was strongly suppressed and completely absent from the curriculum – even at the university level. The military junta’s dictatorship lasting generations has had a palpable effect on the education system and the way people think. Buddhist Bamar citizens, benefiting from the attribution of full citizenry, would rather – and understandably so – side with mainstream thought backed by the military and prominent Buddhist monks. In complement with the disaffecting nature of nationalist rhetoric, the hatred of the “other”, social media’s rapid-circulatory capacity has furthered the reach of this hate in a country that has “essentially made a digital leap forward in communications” – consequences of which, in Alex Aung Khant’s words, “have yet to be examined.”

Another important aspect to consider when dealing with Myanmar’s ultranationalism is the eminence of Theravada Buddhism. Eighty-nine percent of the total population are fervent followers of this strand of Buddhism that, in the past, had always enjoyed authority in the country. In the olden days of the Burmese kingdoms, from the Pagan Kingdom to the Third Burmese Empire under the Konbaung dynasty, the monastic order (Sangha) maintained a close relationship with the ruling monarchy. The arrival of the British after the First Anglo-Burmese War in 1826 saw a strong decline in monastic sovereignty as the Crown “sought to separate the political and religious realms.” Further to this, the British, being more acquainted with populations from the Indian subcontinent, appointed officials of Hindu or Muslim descent in governmental positions. As a consequence, with the import of Indian labour from the British Raj as an accessory correlative, the “perceived weakening of Buddhism, in concert with Christian missionising, fuelled a Burmese nationalist and Buddhist revival movement in the early twentieth century.” Hence, after the formation of the Sangha Maha Nayaka Committee (the State-appointed clergy) in the 1980s, Buddhist authority attempted to refill the gaps left by the decline of Buddhism in the country. Bearing in mind the colonial era which emasculated Bamar sovereignty and the will to maintain Buddhism as the cultural anchor to all Burmese, the presence of the Rohingya in Rakhine State is perceived as a threat by the firebrand section of the population. Indeed, monks like U Wirathu have passionately proclaimed that there is a “‘Muslim conspiracy’ to conquer Burma through economic exploitation and interfaith marriage.” Similarly, Ashin Sada Ma, a leading monk of the 969 Movement, fears that “some Bengali Muslims are terrorists and have a mission to Islamise our country.” This anxiety is frequently echoed in social media – where information is indiscriminately absorbed. The authenticity of these claims are irrelevant in this context, as they are made by Buddhists of a “respected social status […] and it is assumed that they have correct information.”

The consequences of these assertions are many. They include discrimination as well as episodes of inter-communal conflict in Rakhine State and other parts of the country. It is the faith in what is perceived as “real” teachings of the Buddha, in conjunction with the over-reliance on social media, that has exacerbated inter-communal enmity. Indeed, the effect of actions happening in reality, once considered through the prism of social media, undergoes a multiplying factor which results in greater-scale consequences back in reality. In other words, anti-Muslim sermons by prominent Buddhist monks can lead to violence in themselves. When the preaching and subsequent results of it are virally shared on platforms such as Facebook, the likelihood of widespread strife is greater – whether it be in terms of numbers, or geographical locations. The exponential effect of social networks, acting as amplifiers, have without a doubt played a role in the spread of this resentment toward the Rohingya. In Marzuki Darusman’s words, the chairman of the UN Independent International Fact-Finding Mission on Myanmar, “it has […] substantively contributed to the level of acrimony and dissension and conflict […] within the public” (See also Mr. Darusman’s statement at the 37th Session of the Human Rights Council).

This Myanmar-Kompromat style of defamation, tending towards Islamophobia, has also found its roots in the country’s politics. As defined by Amanda Taub, Kompromat is not only used in Russian politics – it is a “broader attempt to manufacture public cynicism and confusion in ways that target not just one individual but an entire society.” In Myanmar, analogous ways apply. This method benefits those in power who tend to counter their insecurities with the propagation of false information and the demonisation of the “other”. Furthermore, the proliferation of the Buddhist hardline discourse has come to be widely seen as “institutionalised” by the international community. Senior General Min Aung Hlaing’s men on the Bangladeshi border, notably under the now-abolished Nasaka, have utilised oppressive tactics long before the 2017 crackdown in order to keep tight control over the Rohingya – most of whom are denied citizenship under the 1982 Citizenship Law and the 2008 military-drafted Constitution. Further to this, a controversial statute called the “Race and Religion Protection Laws” was passed by Parliament in 2015 under pressure from nationalist groups like the Ma Ba Tha. These laws include the Religious Conversion Bill, the Buddhist Women’s Special Marriage Bill, the Population Control Healthcare Bill, as well as the Monogamy Bill. This specific set of laws has fueled anti-Rohingya rhetoric in practice, as well as on social media platforms – as seen when U Wirathu praised these developments as official intention “to preserve the sanctity of marriage, to safeguard from the danger of Jihadi Muslims who are marrying many women in an effort to establish a Muslim nation.”

The institutionalisation of this discrimination and social media campaigns of disinformation, intended or not, have often “’deliberately blended accurate and forged details’ to sow distrust and confusion.” Proof of whether these digital efforts were deliberately used by the military and ultranationalists to incite the perpetration of crimes against the Rohingya has yet to be definite. Nonetheless, on a global scale, it is clear that “Facebook, Google, and Twitter function as a distribution mechanism, a platform for circulating false information and helping find receptive audiences.” This was largely found to be the case in Myanmar – and as observed by Kyaw Sint, Facebook will need to not only adopt mitigating mechanisms that can (more effectively) curb the spread of hate speech, but also proactively encourage the spread of tolerance, one way or another.