Contrary to the popular misconception that anti-Rohingya sentiment is a contemporary phenomenon, the roots of ethnic and religious xenophobia in Burma run exceptionally deep. While modern attention often focuses on post-colonial developments, exclusionary hostilities can be traced back to the imperial rulers of Myanmar since at least the 11th century when King Anawrahta Minsawfounded of the Pagan Empire. A pivotal historical turning point occurred in 1784, when Burmese King Bodawpaya annexed the independent state of Arakan. This conquest resulted in the enslavement and forced deportation of tens of thousands of Rohingya Muslims to Mandalay, while triggering a massive exodus of indigenous Rohingya Muslims and Rakhine Buddhists seeking refuge in the Chittagong district, then administered by the British East India Company.
This complex demographic landscape was fundamentally upended following the total British conquest of Burma in 1886following the conclusion of the Third Anglo-Burmese War in November 1885. To consolidate the administration of the new province under the British Raj, the colonial government imported a vast apparatus of educated Indians and Bengalis. Trailing behind this administrative influx came British financial institutions and speculative capital, which paved the way for non-Burmese financial actors. Among them were Chettiars — a caste of Hindu moneylenders from the Tamil region — as well as Marwaris. Engaging in aggressive predatory lending, these usurers frequently seized the land and property of defaulting Burmese peasants. By the early 1930s, Chettiars controlled roughly a quarter of Burma’s lower agricultural landmass. This extensive land loss and economic marginalization fostered intense, widespread resentment among the native population. Crucially, the indigenous population did not differentiate between predatory financiers and working-class South Asian immigrants; anyone possessing South Asian facial features became a target for xenophobia, drawing Tamils, Bengalis, and the indigenous Muslims of Arakan into a singular, hated category.
This volatile atmosphere provided the perfect fertile ground for right-wing, ethno-nationalist groups like the Dobama Asiayone ("We-Burmans Association") and radical figures like U Saw (Galon U Saw). Together, they systematically weaponized these economic grievances into violent anti-Indian and anti-Muslim riots throughout the 1930s. The outbreak of World War II pushed these tensions to a horrific climax. When Japanese forces advanced into Burma in 1942, the British administration hastily retreated, leaving behind generations of South Asian and Muslim communities who had built their lives in the country.
As radical Burmese nationalists aligned themselves with the fascist Japanese forces, these abandoned populations became the immediate targets of vicious pogroms. Even the indigenous Rohingyas of Arakan — widely targeted under the accusation of being pro-British collaborators — faced horrific violence executed with a definitive genocidal intent. The resulting fascist pogroms escalated into the region's first major genocide, during which entire Rohingya-majority towns in southern Arakan were ethnically and religiously cleansed. This systematic violence forced the surviving Muslim populations to flee en masse to the north, creating a segregated demographic concentration bordering modern-day Bangladesh. It also triggered a harrowing mass exodus to India known as the "Long March," forcing hundreds of thousands of Bengalis and Indians to flee the country on foot before Burma finally achieved independence in 1948.
Economic Strife and the Rise of Dobama Asiayone
To fully comprehend the rapid ascent of ethno-nationalism in the 1930s, one must examine how the socio-economic structure of colonial Burma buckled under global pressures. Following its annexation, Burma was tightly integrated into the global marketplace, primarily serving as the primary rice bowl of the British Empire. This economic machine relied heavily on the imported South Asian workforce to fill structural gaps. By the early 20th century, South Asian immigrants held a dominant position in urban labor markets, dock yards, financial networks, and the lower ranks of the civil bureaucracy in major hubs like Rangoon (Yangon).
When the Great Depression struck, global trade collapsed, and the crash of rice prices plunged the indigenous Burmese peasantry into immediate bankruptcy. Unable to service their debts to the Chettiar moneylenders, millions of native farmers suffered land dispossession. Displaced from their ancestral villages, native Burmans migrated to urban centers in search of basic livelihood, where they found themselves in direct, desperate competition with established South Asian laborers.
Amid this widespread economic trauma, the Dobama Asiayone was founded in Rangoon in 1930. Born in the volatile months following deadly racial clashes between native Burman and Indian dock workers, the association sought to overthrow British imperialism while simultaneously asserting Bamar cultural and political supremacy. The organization popularized an uncompromising, ethno-centric slogan that left no room for minority inclusion:"Burma is our country; Burmese literature is our literature; Burmese language is our language."
Members adopted the title Thakin ("Master") as a psychological rebellion against British colonial rulers, signaling that the indigenous population alone should be masters of the land. While the Dobama Asiayone contained various ideological factions — including leftist student radicals who would later lean toward socialism — its dominant right-wing elements capitalized heavily on popular survival anxieties. These right-wing factions systematically scapegoated the entire South Asian community, framing them not merely as tools of colonial exploitation, but as parasitic entities. This ideological pivot transformed a standard anti-colonial liberation struggle into an aggressive nativist campaign demanding the total political, social, and economic exclusion of non-indigenous populations.
U Saw, Thuriya, and the Mechanics of Exclusion
While the Dobama Asiayone fostered an intellectual and grassroots base for ethno-nationalism, the practical mechanics of right-wing populism and media-driven anti-immigrant agitation were mastered by U Saw. A fiercely ambitious and ruthless political operator, U Saw built his political career by positioning himself as the ultimate champion of native Burman interests against foreign influence. Unlike the university-educated elite who dominated early nationalist circles, U Saw possessed a background as a provincial lawyer, a factor that heightened his populist appeal to the grievance-driven lower and middle classes.
U Saw’s primary vehicle for ideological dissemination was his ownership and editorial control of the highly influential Burmese-language newspaper Thuriya ("The Sun"). Under his guidance, Thuriya became a powerful mouthpiece for xenophobic and anti-Muslim propaganda. The publication regularly featured sensationalized reporting, aggressive polemics, and editorials that portrayed South Asian immigrants — including Tamils, Bengalis, and Muslims — as existential cultural and economic threats to the native Buddhist population. By continuously running inflammatory narratives regarding immigration and religious friction, U Saw effectively stoked public resentment and manufactured a state of constant cultural panic.
This media-driven hostility found a destructive outlet during the widespread anti-Indian and anti-immigrant riots of 1930 and 1938. The 1938 riots, in particular, were directly aggravated by ethno-nationalist press coverage led by Thuriya, which seized upon a controversial religious pamphlet to instigate countrywide anti-Muslim and anti-Indian pogroms. U Saw capitalized on the chaos of these riots to strengthen his political capital, outmaneuver moderate opponents, and solidify his stance on restricting immigration.
Beyond print propaganda, U Saw institutionalized his exclusionary agenda through physical force. He established the Galon Army (Galon Tat), a highly disciplined paramilitary organization named after the mythical bird of Hindu-Buddhist lore that destroys the serpent (Naga). Dressed in uniforms and subjected to strict militaristic training, the Galon Army served as an instrument of intimidation. Through this potent combination of media manipulation and paramilitary force, U Saw’s political platform explicitly demanded the containment, disenfranchisement, and eventual ouster of South Asian populations from Burma's civic sphere.
The Terminology Transition and the Roots of Modern Identity
When examining the exclusionary campaigns of 1930s Burma, a critical distinction must be made regarding the terminology of identity. In contemporary international discourse, the plight of the Muslim population of Arakan (Rakhine) State is intrinsically tied to the term "Rohingya." However, during the colonial era of the 1930s, this specific political and ethnic designation was not a part of mainstream public or administrative vocabulary.
Instead, the British colonial administration, along with Burmese nationalist groups, employed broad, collective, and often derogatory categorizations. The Muslim populations residing in the western frontier of Arakan, alongside transient laborers arriving from the Chittagong division, were universally classified under generic headers such as "Bengalis," "Indians," or the sweeping vernacular term "Kala."
By failing to differentiate between multi-generational residents of the frontier regions and recently arrived economic migrants, 1930s right-wing nationalism established a dangerous precedent: it treated all individuals of South Asian descent as a singular, undesirable bloc. The formal introduction of the modern term "Rohingya" into the public political lexicon did not occur until the post-World War II era. During the late 1940s and 1950s, as Burma transitioned toward independence from British rule, local intellectual and political elites in Arakan began utilizing "Rohingya" to assert a distinct indigenous identity, seeking constitutional recognition and protection from the central government.
Nevertheless, the foundational mechanics of exclusion developed in the 1930s — which equated South Asian ancestry and Muslim faith with foreign intrusion — persistently cast a shadow over this identity, leaving it vulnerable to state-sponsored rejection.
The Cataclysm of World War II: Fascist Alliances and Pogroms
The structural xenophobia cultivated throughout the 1930s found its ultimate, catastrophic expression during World War II. In 1942, as the Japanese imperial army swept into Southeast Asia, the British colonial administration underwent a rapid and chaotic retreat. In their wake, the British abandoned hundreds of thousands of South Asians and Muslims who had built their homes in Burma over generations. Left without state protection, these minority groups immediately bore the brunt of deep-seated nationalist resentments.
Believing that the Axis powers would guarantee Burma’s absolute independence, radical Burmese nationalists formed a wartime alliance with the fascist Japanese forces. To these nationalist factions, the remaining South Asian population was viewed not merely as an economic burden, but as a hostile, fifth-column element fiercely loyal to the British Crown. The indigenous Rohingyas of Arakan were singled out for particularly brutal treatment under the accusation of being pro-British collaborators — a geopolitical alignment forced upon them as they sought British protection against local hostility.
The resulting collision of Japanese militarism and Burmese ethno-nationalism triggered a wave of fascist pogroms that escalated into the region's first major modern genocide. In the southern regions of Arakan, nationalist militias carried out systematic campaigns of ethnic and religious cleansing. Entire Rohingya-majority towns and villages were razed, and their populations were systematically executed or driven out. This targeted violence fundamentally altered the demographics of western Burma; surviving Muslims fled in desperate masses toward the north, seeking safety in numbers near the border of Chittagong (modern-day Bangladesh).
Simultaneously, the broader South Asian population across Burma faced complete dispossession. This sparked the harrowing historical exodus known as the "Long March", during which upwards of 500,000 Indians, Tamils, and Bengalis attempted to flee Burma on foot through treacherous mountainous terrain to reach British India. Countless thousands perished from disease, starvation, and rebel attacks along the way. The descendants of those survivors who managed to escape or endure the march still carry the trauma of an exodus that permanently fractured their connection to the land they called home.
Conclusion: The Lasting Legacy of 1930s Xenophobia
The rise of right-wing ethno-nationalism in 1930s Burma provides a stark historical case study in how deep-seated cultural friction and economic trauma can be weaponized by populist leaders to justify systemic exclusion. Driven by the severe economic disruptions of the Great Depression and the predatory actions of colonial financial systems, the Dobama Asiayone successfully shifted public discourse toward an aggressive, monocultural definition of citizenship. This framework established the enduring national myth that Burma belonged exclusively to the ethnic Bamar majority. Concurrently, figures like U Saw demonstrated the volatile efficacy of combining media propaganda with paramilitary intimidation, transforming socio-economic grievances into violent anti-immigrant pogroms that laid the groundwork for wartime atrocities.
The rhetoric, tactics, and demographic engineering forged during this era did not disappear with the conclusion of World War II or the achievement of independence in 1948. Instead, the practice of viewing Muslim and South Asian populations through a lens of permanent foreignness became deeply embedded within the institutional memory and legal frameworks of the modern state. By exploring the deep historical trajectory of King Bodawpaya's early conquests, the economic displacement caused by the Chettiars, and the fascist pogroms of U Saw's era, one uncovers the direct ideological roots of the modern human rights crises that continue to isolate and persecute minority communities in the region today.
Dr. Siddiqui is a peace and human rights activist.
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