A Tamil Erasure
Coming Soon…
Within Myanmar’s ethnically diverse and rich tapestry lies an often overlooked thread of history: the contributions and struggles of the Tamil Burmese, an ethnic and linguistic group originating in the Tamil Nadu region of southern India. Saravanan, a Tamil rights activist, joins the conversation to discuss his community’s 2,000-year old connection to Burma.
Saravanan has worked to challenge the conventional understanding of Myanmar’s history and culture, which is characterized by the marginalization of Burma’s ethnic minority communities by the Bamar majority, and the dominance of Theravada Buddhism over other religions. But he stresses that in contrast to this narrative, alienated minorities like the Tamil and others have historically contributed much to Burmese society and culture. He laments the irony of that discrimination despite those contributions: “We’ve grown up in these streets, yet they don’t belong to us.”
Saravanan takes a tour of this history, which dates to around 300 BC, when a trade relationship developed between Tamil merchants and Mon people in what is now Myanmar. He says that evidence of this history can be seen in the presence of Hindu temples, such as in Bagan, bearing Tamil inscriptions.
In the centuries that followed, there was a wave of Tamil migration to Burma that primarily involved a powerful mercantile guild, which had assimilated completely into the society at large by the 13th century. This has led to speculation that many Burmese may well carry significant Tamil ancestry, something that, he adds, many are completely unaware of. Another migration occurred during the colonial period, which Saravanan identifies as an era of immense change. According to his research, there were only 19 Indians living in Yangon in 1852. Then the Indian population surged, to approximately 4.1% of the total population in the late 1800s, and by the 1931 census, it was around 1 million, comprising 7% of Myanmar's population, mostly concentrated in Lower Burma.
This dramatic change is a direct consequence of the Burmese rice boom, when the British saw the vast, uncultivated tracts of fertile land in Lower Burma as an opportunity for profit. Initially, they incentivized Burmese migrants from Upper Burma to cultivate these lands, leading to an early phase of success. However, an increase in demand for rice in the late 1860s created huge pressure for cheap labor, which led to the colonial policy of the forced relocation of many Indians into Burma to fill this gap and work for minimal or no compensation. “They were exported, as if they were herd animals,” says Saravanan.
This dynamic was tragically fed by the widespread and devastating Madras Famine in southern India. The British Burma Labor Law of 1876 took advantage of this catastrophe, incentivizing 'kangani' (recruiting agents) to enlist people from famine-stricken villages in southern Tamil Nadu. Most recruited Tamils belonged to the lowest rungs of India’s caste system, and they were lured by false promises of freedom from debt, wages and return passage, and often told to sign contracts they couldn't read. They endured harrowing overland journeys, sometimes having to walk all the way from Madras to Rangoon–over 2,500 miles!
The resulting, rapid demographic change in Burma was the impetus for deep-seated, racial resentment directed against Tamils, which still exists today. Saravanan unpacks this bias further, delving into the deeply sensitive issue of skin color in Myanmar society. He observes a clear and painful association between darker skin tones and lower class. As a person with brown skin himself, referred to by the derogatory term kalar ('black' in Burmese), Saravanan knows this all too well firsthand. He explains that this prejudice is ingrained from childhood, with Bamar children disciplined by the warning that the kalar will come get them if they misbehave, instilling a deep-seated fear of anyone with darker skin.
Saravanan dissects the term kalar, explaining that it is specifically used for outsiders seen as “invaders” disrupting or threatening the viability of Burmese institutions in general, and Theravada Buddhism in particular. He suggests that perceived threats from outside may have driven the suppression of Indian (and other) communities inside Burma, in the belief that it was the only way for Buddhism to survive and flourish. He draws a direct line from the use of kalar against Tamils in the 1930s to the current labeling of Rohingyas as Bengali kalar, revealing the ease with which minority groups are scapegoated in the country, which has subsequently led to much violence without accountability.
Yet despite this systemic bias, Saravanan points out how the Tamil community has made immense (though often unacknowledged) contributions to Burmese culture and society. Their labor helped fuel Myanmar's prosperity during the rice boom, and some Burmese Tamils converted to Christianity to gain upward social mobility and became clerks in British offices. He also highlights the system of banking initiated by the Chettiyars, a money-lending class of Tamils. With over 30 bank branches under their control, these financiers are credited as being instrumental in facilitating the rice boom, offering loans that were more accessible than those from the British authorities—helping the crop to flourish. As their wealth grew, Saravanan notes that the Chettiyars ended up owning a significant percentage of Myanmar's total arable land by the 1930s. [Editor’s note: although not addressed in the interview, it’s important to add that while these loans were indeed more accessible, they often came with extremely high interest rates. The resulting wave of foreclosures led many Burmese farmers to view the Chettiyars as exploitative, and this dynamic became a major factor in the rise of anti-Indian sentiment during the colonial period.]
This growing resentment was part of a broader intensification of anti-Indian feeling across Burma. Economic displacement, combined with existing xenophobia, culminated in the 1930 workers' riots in Rangoon, when primarily Telugu and Tamil-speaking dock workers demanded a pay raise and were replaced by Burmese workers after a dispute with British officials. This ignited violent clashes, fueled by false rumors that Indians attacked Burmese. The ensuing riots resulted in over 100 reported deaths and 1,000 injuries.
Saravanan explains that to truly grasp the current situation of the Tamil community, one must examine the period after Ne Win seized power in 1962. “It was then that thousands of Tamil and Telugu people were deported back to India by law,” he explains. Ne Win's regime prioritized safeguarding Buddhism and Bamar people over all others, a mentality that directly led to the nationalization of foreign owned properties. According to the 1949 National Citizenship Act, only 10,000 Indians were awarded Burmese citizenship, while thousands of others were classified as foreigners, making their land and possessions subject to seizure.
This crackdown against Indians, and Tamils in particular, went beyond disenfranchisement: it was also a cultural assault. Before 1962, Tamils had had a variety of Tamil language newspapers and movie theatres, as well as numerous schools. But within just two years, these were all nationalized, and the Tamil language was banned! Saravanan notes that this ban still exists officially, so while some printing in Tamil does occur, there are still no official Tamil newspapers in Myanmar. For Saravanan, this was a deliberate attempt to “kill our people culturally.” He goes on, asking rhetorically: “If we cannot speak our language and if we do not live our way of life, and we do not have our names, who are we even?”
This systematic oppression led to the forcible exodus of thousands—the wealthy and the educated—who resettled primarily in South India and Bihar, forming communities known as “Burma colonies.” Only those who were uneducated, the descendants of the laborers who had lost their connection back home, remained in Myanmar. These individuals, unable to communicate with relatives in India, began, as Saravanan describes, “deceiving themselves as being Burmese, speaking the language, and even worshiping Buddha!” This self-suppression, for him, can be seen as a desperate attempt to integrate. Yet, the political barriers were not removed. “This systematic oppression pushed the community deep down in the social hierarchy,” he says.
Saravanan stresses that this oppression has resulted in a dearth of official community organizations. While a few informal groups exist, they lack broad reach, and the Tamil community remains powerless and vulnerable. This systematic exclusion has had devastating consequences for the Tamil community, including their inability to participate in the public sector, hold government positions, vote, or be elected. He highlights the extreme difficulty of advocating for Tamil rights in Myanmar, explaining that the retaliation is quite brutal for anyone attempting to agitate for their rights, creating a strong sense of fear that such actions could lead to a worse position in society. Saravanan feels that for the Tamil community, the political system—whether democracy or dictatorship—has largely been irrelevant, as Tamils face discrimination in both. Moreover, he notes, that Tamils remain “deeply alienated” from their motherland. “They are just sticking around like side actors,” he laments, in a sad summation of his community’s social, cultural and political standing.
On a brighter note, Saravanan describes an unexpected revitalization of Tamil culture, mainly through cinema and satellite channels, during the 1990s, which allowed families to watch Tamil serials and movies. “We actually grew up seeing these entertainment media, so we started, maybe miraculously, understanding our ancestral culture,” he explains. Saravanan observes that Tamil “crave to belong somewhere, yearning for the villages seen in movies, a place where they might be accepted without having any eyes being thrown at [them].” He adds that cultural traditions, like Pongal and other Hindu festivals, are still celebrated by individual families in the home, and in temples, though otherwise not publicly. “There is a conscious effort to suppress those things, to avoid being perceived as distinctive from the society,” he says.
Saravanan notes a recent and hopeful shift in the Tamil younger generation, who he sees as increasingly taking pride in their identity. This is especially the case following the 2021 coup, as many ethnic and sexual minority groups have risen up, seeing this as a chance to align with the pro-democracy movement, and an opportunity to gain recognition. Saravanan believes that it is time for his community's voice to be included within Myanmar’s democratic movement. He calls for genuine discourse on the “Indian issue” with other democracy actors, and hopes to see his community integrated into a future Myanmar.
Saravanan proposes the creation of an “alienated minorities committee” to actively examine ways of integrating marginalized communities back into Burmese society. He believes this should include signifying alienated minorities' distinct historical roles and involvement in the country's progression and providing them the agency to name themselves beyond the term kalar, and in their own languages. He also asserts it should include reserving positions for them in colleges and lowering educational requirements, and stresses the need for their full inclusion and participation in government and society.
In closing, he says, “I can’t change the fact that I am a Tamil, and I have no reasons to feel ashamed. The new generation are feeling this way more and more. This will hopefully give rise to a growing potential for our future in Myanmar.”