By Mozart Brang
“Nationalism is power-hunger tempered by self-deception,” says George Orwell. This observation resonates deeply in the context of Myanmar’s ethnic conflicts.
For over a decade, the air in Myanmar has been thick with the rhetoric of “protection.” From the saffron-robed leaders of now-rebranded nationalist movements to the highest ranks of the military council, the rallying cry has remained constant: Amyo, Batha, Thathana—Race, Religion, and the Buddhist Institute’s Teaching of Religion. To these self-proclaimed guardians, the survival of the Myanmar identity is under constant and existential threat. However, a closer look at the geographical focus of their outrage reveals a glaring, hypocritical void. While these groups claim that Myanmar is being “swallowed,” they seem only to care if the throat doing the swallowing belongs to a religious minority. When it comes to the massive, systemic expansion of Chinese influence and the literal loss of territory in Northern Shan State, the “lions” of Myanmar nationalism such as Sitagu and Wiyathu become mere bystanders by staying silent.
This hypocrisy is best encapsulated by the slogan found in almost every immigration office across the country: “မြေမြို၍ လူမျိုး မပြို၊ လူမြိုမှ လူမျိုးပြိုမည်” [Mye-myo-ywe Lu-myo-ma-pyôk Lu-myo-hma Lu-myo-pyôk-mi (translation: Quicksand will not swallow culture and race, outsiders will swallow up the nation into extinction)]. Following the establishment of Myanmar’s Ministry of Immigration and Population as a separate ministry in 1995, this slogan became institutionalized as the ministry’s official motto and was prominently displayed in immigration offices across the country, reinforcing a state-sponsored narrative that framed demographic change as an existential threat to the nation. This motto has been weaponized for years to justify the marginalization of Myanmar’s Muslim population, framing them as a demographic “invader” that threatens to dilute the Bamar-Buddhist bloodline. Yet, as of 2026, the most significant “swallowing” of the Myanmar race and land is not happening through prayer mats or interfaith marriages; it is happening through the rapid “sinicization” of the northern frontier.
Operation 1027, launched by the Three Brotherhood Alliance in October 2023, fundamentally reshaped the territorial landscape of northern Shan State. The Myanmar National Democratic Alliance Army (MNDAA’s) capture of key centres, including Lashio and Kokang, followed by China-mediated negotiations and ceasefire arrangements in late 2025, underscored both the erosion of Naypyidaw’s authority and Beijing’s growing influence over the conflict’s trajectory. In areas under its control, MNDAA has replaced local Ta’ang‑language signage with Chinese characters in more than 12 villages and has been incorporating Han Chinese in daily administrations. Furthermore, both the MNDAA and the United Wa State Army (UWSA), which has long maintained close ties with China while also sustaining a pragmatic relationship with successive Myanmar military authorities, have been accused of facilitating Beijing’s expanding strategic influence in northern Myanmar.
In these regions, the political gravity of Beijing is far stronger than that of Naypyidaw, to the point that the Chinese yuan is often the preferred currency, and Chinese infrastructure dictates the economy. Even during fuel shortages in central Myanmar, some border areas reportedly remained supplied through Chinese-linked trade networks, underlining where their economic lifelines now run. If the ultra-nationalists were truly concerned about “the race being swallowed,” they would be campaigning against the unchecked inflow of foreign capital and the de facto administrative control China exerts over Myanmar’s borderlands. Instead, there is a deafening silence.
To understand this selective patriotism, one must look back at the “unholy nexus” formed during the Than Shwe era of the 1990s and 2000s. After the 1988 uprising and the subsequent international isolation, the military regime survived primarily through a “Pauk-Phaw” (blood brother) relationship with Beijing. China provided the billion-dollar weapons pipeline, the infrastructure projects, and the diplomatic shield at the United Nations that kept the junta alive.
During this period, the military and its proxy nationalist monks carefully constructed a narrative of “Buddhist Brotherhood” with China to make this dependency agreeable. They utilized “Relic Diplomacy,” parading the Sacred Tooth Relic from China across Myanmar in 1994, 1996, and 2011. These high-profile religious tours served a dual purpose: they gave the military regime religious legitimacy and framed the Communist superpower not as an atheist threat, but as a “brotherly” Buddhist neighbor. This “brotherhood” effectively immunized China from nationalist critique. In the eyes of the ultra-nationalists, a Chinese person—framed as a cultural and religious cousin—cannot “swallow” the race, even if they control the economy and the land. Only the “Kalar” (a derogatory term used for Muslims) is cast as the alien existential threat.
This brings us to the most cynical aspect of the nationalist agenda: convenience. It is safe, easy, and politically profitable to bully a domestic minority that has no state protector and no army. Rallies against Muslims provide the military with a convenient distraction from its own failures and a way to manufacture a false sense of Bamar unity. Conversely, criticizing China is dangerous. The current military council is more dependent on Beijing today for its survival than at any point in history. Since the ultra-nationalist monks are largely funded by or ideologically aligned with military interests, they cannot bite the hand that feeds their patrons.
The result is a warped version of patriotism where “sovereignty” is only a concern when it involves a mosque, but is ignored when it involves a foreign superpower dictating the terms of a national ceasefire or managing a strategic economic corridor. The “protection” they offer is a myth. They are not protecting the Amyo (race); they are protecting a specific power structure that requires a scapegoat to survive. Their silence suggests that they are either unwilling or unable to defend not only race and religion, but also Myanmar’s language, culture, territory, rivers, and mountains when these are perceived to be compromised through the military’s growing dependence on China. This criticism is frequently linked to projects such as the proposed Myitsone Dam on the Irrawaddy River.
If the nationalists truly believed that a race will be destroyed when it is swallowed by another, they would look north with the same bitterness they direct toward the west and the south. The very land they claimed to cherish is increasingly reshaped through external influence over its language, culture, and everyday governance, as the military leadership deepened its reliance on China to sustain its hold on power.
The silence of the ultra-nationalists in the face of China’s expansion is the ultimate proof of their bias. Their agenda is not about the survival of the Buddhist faith or the Myanmar people; it is a tool of statecraft designed to divide the nation.
True patriotism requires defending the country from all threats—especially the ones that come with a checkbook and a veto at the UN. Until these groups find their voice regarding the northern border, their claim to be “protectors” should be treated as what it is: a hollow excuse for hate.
