(Rohingya Muslims look through the gates of a house in a village where many displaced by violence found shelter, near Sittwe April 27, 2013.  REUTERS/Damir Sagolj )

A 16-year-old Muslim boy lay dying on a thin metal table. Bitten by a rabid dog a month ago, he convulsed and drooled as his parents wedged a stick between his teeth to stop him from biting off his tongue.

Swift treatment might have saved Waadulae. But there are no doctors, painkillers or vaccines in this primitive hospital near Sittwe, capital of Rakhine State in western Myanmar. It is a lonely medical outpost that serves about 85,300 displaced people, almost all of them Muslims who lost their homes in fighting with Buddhist mobs last year.

“All we can give him is sedatives,” said Maung Maung Hla, a former health ministry official who, despite lacking a medical degree, treats about 150 patients a day. The two doctors who once worked there haven’t been seen in a month. Medical supplies stopped when they left, said Maung Maung Hla, a Muslim.

These trash-strewn camps represent the dark side of Myanmar’s celebrated transition to democracy: apartheid-like policies segregating minority Muslims from the Buddhist majority. As communal violence spreads, nowhere are these practices more brutally enforced than around Sittwe.

In an echo of what happened in the Balkans after the fall of communist Yugoslavia, the loosening of authoritarian control in Myanmar is giving freer rein to ethnic hatred.

Read the full story here.
.
Follow all posts on Twitter @ RTRFaithWorld

Follow all posts via RSS

Follow all posts via Google+

Swift treatment might have saved Waadulae. But there are no doctors, painkillers or vaccines in this primitive hospital near Sittwe, capital of Rakhine State in western Myanmar. It is a lonely medical outpost that serves about 85,300 displaced people, almost all of them Muslims who lost their homes in fighting with Buddhist mobs last year.

“All we can give him is sedatives,” said Maung Maung Hla, a former health ministry official who, despite lacking a medical degree, treats about 150 patients a day. The two doctors who once worked there haven’t been seen in a month. Medical supplies stopped when they left, said Maung Maung Hla, a Muslim.

These trash-strewn camps represent the dark side of Myanmar’s celebrated transition to democracy: apartheid-like policies segregating minority Muslims from the Buddhist majority. As communal violence spreads, nowhere are these practices more brutally enforced than around Sittwe.

In an echo of what happened in the Balkans after the fall of communist Yugoslavia, the loosening of authoritarian control in Myanmar is giving freer rein to ethnic hatred.

President Thein Sein, a former general, said in a May 6 televised speech his government was committed to creating “a peaceful and harmonious society in Rakhine State.”

But the sand dunes and barren paddy fields outside Sittwe hold a different story. Here, emergency shelters set up for Rohingya Muslims last year have become permanent, prison-like ghettos. Muslims are stopped from leaving at gunpoint. Aid workers are threatened. Camps seethe with anger and disease.

In central Sittwe, ethnic Rakhine Buddhists and local officials exult in what they regard as a hard-won triumph: streets almost devoid of Muslims. Before last year’s violence, the city’s Muslims numbered about 73,000, nearly half its population. Today, there are fewer than 5,000 left.

Myanmar’s transformation from global pariah to budding democracy once seemed remarkably smooth. After nearly half a century of military dictatorship, the quasi-civilian government that took power in March 2011 astonished the world by releasing dissidents, relaxing censorship and re-engaging with the West.

Then came the worst sectarian violence for decades. Clashes between Rakhine Buddhists and stateless Rohingya Muslims in June and October 2012 killed at least 192 people and displaced 140,000. Most of the dead and homeless were Muslims.

“Rakhine State is going through a profound crisis” that “has the potential to undermine the entire reform process,” said Tomás Ojea Quintana, U.N. special rapporteur on human rights in Myanmar.

Life here, he said, resembles junta-era Myanmar, with rampant human-rights abuses and a pervasive security apparatus. “What is happening in Rakhine State is following the pattern of what has happened in Myanmar during the military government,” he said in an interview.

The crisis poses the biggest domestic challenge yet for the reformist leaders of one of Asia’s most ethnically diverse countries. Muslims make up about 5 percent of its 60 million people. Minorities, such as the Kachin and the Shan, are watching closely after enduring persecution under the former junta.

As the first powerful storm of the monsoon season approached western Myanmar this week, the government and U.N. agencies began a chaotic evacuation from the camps, urging thousands of Rohingya Muslims to move to safer areas on higher ground across Rakhine State.

Some resisted, fearing they would lose all they had left: their tarpaulin tents and makeshift huts. More than 50 are believed to have drowned in a botched evacuation by sea.

Read story in a pdf xx

Map of Sittwe camps: link.reuters.com/met97t

Previous reports from Myanmar:

2012 riots. r.reuters.com/waz27t].

Saffron vs Green. r.reuters.com/waz27t

“THEY ALL TELL LIES”

Sittwe’s last remaining Muslim-dominated quarter, Aung Mingalar, is locked down by police and soldiers who patrol all streets leading in and out. Muslims can’t leave without written permission from Buddhist local authorities, which Muslims say is almost impossible to secure.

Metal barricades, topped with razor wire, are opened only for Buddhist Rakhines. Despite a ban against foreign journalists, Reuters was able to enter Aung Mingalar. Near-deserted streets were flanked by shuttered shops. Some Muslims peered from doors or windows.

On the other side of the barricades, Rakhine Buddhists revel in the segregation.

“I don’t trust them. They are not honest,” said Khin Mya, 63, who owns a general store on Sittwe’s main street. “Muslims are hot-headed; they like to fight, either with us or among themselves.”

Ei Mon Kyaw, 19, who sells betel nut and chewing tobacco, said Muslims are “really dirty. It is better we live apart.”

State spokesman Win Myaing, a Buddhist, explained why Aung Mingalar’s besieged Muslims were forbidden from speaking to the media. “It’s because they all tell lies,” he said. He also denied the government had engaged in ethnic cleansing, a charge leveled most recently by Human Rights Watch in an April 22 report.

“How can it be ethnic cleansing? They are not an ethnic group,” he said from an office on Sittwe’s main street, overlooking an empty mosque guarded by soldiers and police.

His comments reflect a historic dispute over the origins of the country’s estimated 800,000 Rohingya Muslims, who claim a centuries-old lineage in Rakhine State.

The government says they are Muslim migrants from northern neighbor Bangladesh who arrived during British rule from 1824. After independence in 1948, Myanmar’s new rulers tried to limit citizenship to those whose roots in the country predated British rule. A 1982 Citizenship Act excluded Rohingya from the country’s 135 recognized ethnic groups, denying them citizenship and rendering them stateless. Bangladesh also disowns them and has refused to grant them refugee status since 1992.

The United Nations calls them “virtually friendless” and among the world’s most persecuted people.

BOAT PEOPLE EXODUS

The state government has shelved any plan to return the Rohingya Muslims to their villages on a technicality: for defying a state requirement that they identify themselves as “Bengali,” a term that suggests they are illegal immigrants from Bangladesh.

All these factors are accelerating an exodus of Rohingya boat people emigrating in rickety fishing vessels to other Southeast Asian countries.

From October to March, between the monsoons, about 25,000 Rohingya left Myanmar on boats, according to new data from Arakan Project, a Rohingya advocacy group. That was double the previous year, turning a Rakhine problem into a region-wide one.

The cost of the one-way ticket is steep for an impoverished people – usually about 200,000 kyat, or $220, often paid for by remittances from family members who have already left.

Many who survive the perilous journeys wind up in majority-Muslim Malaysia. Some end up in U.N. camps, where they are denied permanent asylum. Others find illegal work on construction sites or other subsistence jobs. Tens of thousands are held in camps in Thailand. Growing numbers have been detained in Indonesia.

MOB VIOLENCE

Rakhine State, one of the poorest regions of Southeast Asia’s poorest country, had high hopes for the reform era.

In Sittwe’s harbor, India is funding a $214 million port, river and road network that will carve a trade route into India’s landlocked northeast. From Kyaukphyu, a city 65 miles (104 km) southeast of Sittwe, gas and oil pipelines stretch to China’s energy-hungry northwest. Both projects capitalize on Myanmar’s growing importance at Asia’s crossroads.

That promise has been interrupted by communal tensions that flared into the open after the rape and murder of a Buddhist woman by Muslim men in May last year. Six days later, in retribution, a Buddhist mob beat 10 Muslims to death. Violence then swept Maungdaw, one of the three Rohingya-majority districts bordering Bangladesh, on June 8. Rohingya mobs destroyed homes and killed an unknown number of Rakhines.

The clashes spread to Sittwe. More than 2,500 homes and buildings went up in flames, as Rohingya and Rakhine mobs rampaged. When the smoke cleared, both suffered losses, though the official death toll for Rohingya – 57 – was nearly double that for Buddhist Rakhines. Entire Muslim districts were razed.

October saw more violence. This time, Buddhist mobs attacked Muslim villages across the state over five days, led in some cases by Rakhine nationalists tied to a powerful political party, incited by Buddhist monks and abetted at times by local security forces.

U.S. President Barack Obama, on a groundbreaking visit in November, urged reconciliation. “The Rohingya … hold within themselves the same dignity as you do, and I do,” he said. The week he visited, Thein Sein vowed to forge ethnic unity in a letter to the United Nations.

But the violence kept spreading. Anti-Muslim unrest, whipped up by Buddhist monks, killed at least 44 people in the central city of Meikhtila in March. In April and May, Buddhist mobs destroyed mosques and hundreds of Muslim homes just a few hours’ drive from Yangon, the country’s largest city.

Thein Sein responded by sending troops to volatile areas and setting up an independent commission into the Rakhine violence. Its recommendations, released April 27, urged meetings of Muslim and Buddhist leaders to foster tolerance, Muslims to be moved to safer ground ahead of the storm season, and the continued segregation of the two communities “until the overt emotions subside.”

It sent a strong message, calling the Rohingya “Bengalis,” a term that suggests they belong in Bangladesh, and backing the 1982 citizenship law that rendered stateless even those Rohingya who had lived in Myanmar for generations.

The Rohingya’s rapid population growth had fueled the clashes with Buddhists, it said, recommending voluntary family-planning education programs for them. It suggested doubling the number of soldiers and police in the region.

Rohingya responded angrily. “We completely reject this report,” said Fukan Ahmed, 54, a Rohingya elder who lost his home in Sittwe.

Local government officials, however, were already moving to impose policies in line with the report.

THE HATED LIST

On the morning of April 26, a group of state officials entered the Theak Kae Pyin refugee camp. With them were three policemen and several Border Administration Force officers, known as the Nasaka, a word derived from the initials of its Burmese name. Unique to the region, the Nasaka consists of officers from the police, military, customs and immigration. They control every aspect of Rohingya life, and are much feared.

Documented human-rights abuses blamed on the Nasaka include rape, forced labor and extortion. Rohingya cannot travel or marry without the Nasaka’s permission, which is never secured without paying bribes, activists allege.

State spokesman Win Myaing said the Nasaka’s mission was to compile a list identifying where people had lived before the violence, a precondition for resettlement. They wanted to know who was from Sittwe and who was from more remote townships such as Pauktaw and Kyaukphyu, areas that saw a near-total expulsion of Muslims in October.

Many fled for what Win Myaing said were unregistered camps outside Sittwe, often in flood-prone areas. “We would like to move them back to where they came from in the next two months,” said Win Myaing. The list was the first step towards doing that.

The list, however, also required Muslims to identify themselves as Bengali. For Fukan Ahmed and other Rohingya leaders, it sent a chilling message: If they want to be resettled, they must deny their identity.

Agitated crowds gathered as the officials tried to compile the list, witnesses said. Women and children chanted “Rohingya! Rohingya!” As the police officers were leaving, one tumbled to the ground, struck by a stone to his head, according to Win Myaing. Rohingya witnesses said the officer tripped. Seven Rohingya were arrested and charged with causing grievous hurt to a public servant, criminal intimidation and rioting.

Compiling the list is on hold, said Win Myaing. So, too, is resettlement.

“If they trust us, then (resettlement) can happen immediately. If you won’t even accept us making a list, then how can we try and do other things?” he asked. The crisis could be defused if Rohingya accepted the 1982 Citizenship Law, he said.

But doing so would effectively confirm their statelessness. Official discrimination and lack of documentation meant many Rohingya have no hope of fulfilling the requirements.

Boshi Raman, 40, said he and other Rohingya would never sign a document calling themselves Bengali. “We would rather die,” he said.

Win Myaing blamed the Rohingya for their misfortune. “If you look back at the events that occurred, it wasn’t because the Rakhines were extreme. The problems were all started by them,” the Muslims, he said.

SCORCHED EARTH

In Theak Kae Pyin camp, a sea of tarpaulin tents and fragile huts built of straw from the last rice harvest, there is an air of growing permanence. More than 11,000 live in this camp alone, according to U.N. data. Naked children bathe in a murky-brown pond and play on sewage-lined pathways.

A year ago, before the unrest, Haleda Somisian lived in Narzi, a Sittwe district of more than 10,000 people. Today, it is rubble and scorched earth. Somisian, 20, wants to return and rebuild. Her husband, she says, has started to beat her. In Narzi, he worked. Now he is jobless, restless and despondent.

“I want to leave this place,” she said.

Some of those confined to the camps are Kaman Muslims, who are recognized as one of Myanmar’s 135 official ethnic groups; they usually hold citizenship and can be hard to tell apart from Rakhine Buddhists. They fled after October’s violence when their homes were destroyed by Rakhine mobs in remote townships such as Kyaukphyu. They, too, are prevented from leaving.

Beyond Sittwe, another 50,000 people, mostly Rohingya, live in similar camps in other parts of the state destroyed in last year’s sectarian violence.

Across the state, the U.N relief agency has provided about 4,000 tents and built about 300 bamboo homes, each of which can hold eight families. Another 500 bamboo homes are planned by year-end. None are designed to be permanent, said agency spokeswoman Vivian Tan. Tents can last six months to a year; bamboo homes about two years.

The agency wants to provide the temporary shelter that is badly needed. “But we don’t want in any way to create permanent shelters and to condone any kind of segregation,” Tan said.

Aid group Doctors Without Borders has accused hardline nationalists of threatening its staff, impairing its ability to deliver care. Mobile clinics have appeared in some camps, but a U.N. report describes most as “insufficient.”

Waadulae, suffering from rabies, was treated at Dar Paing hospital, whose lone worker, Maung Maung Hla, was overwhelmed. “We have run out of antibiotics,” he said. “There is no malaria medicine. There’s no medicine for tuberculosis or diabetes. No vaccines. There’s no equipment to check peoples’ condition. There are no drips for people suffering from acute diarrhea.”

State spokesman Win Myaing said Rakhine doctors feared entering the camps. “It’s reached a stage where they say they’d quit their jobs before they would go to these places,” he said.

The treatment of the Rohingya contrasts with that of some 4,080 displaced ethnic Rakhine Buddhists in central Sittwe. They can leave their camps freely, work in the city, move in with relatives in nearby villages and rebuild, helped by an outpouring of aid from Burmese business leaders.

Hset Hlaing, 33, who survives on handouts from aid agencies at Thae Chaung camp, recalls how he earned 10,000 kyat from a general-goods stall in Sittwe before his business and home went up in flames last June. Like other Muslims, he refuses to accept the term Bengali.

“I don’t want to go to another country. I was born here,” he says, sipping tea in a bamboo shack. “But if the government won’t accept us, we will leave. We’ll go by boat. We’ll go to a country that can accept us.”

(Edited by Andrew R.C. Marshall and Bill Tarrant.)

Swift treatment might have saved Waadulae. But there are no doctors, painkillers or vaccines in this primitive hospital near Sittwe, capital of Rakhine State in western Myanmar. It is a lonely medical outpost that serves about 85,300 displaced people, almost all of them Muslims who lost their homes in fighting with Buddhist mobs last year.

“All we can give him is sedatives,” said Maung Maung Hla, a former health ministry official who, despite lacking a medical degree, treats about 150 patients a day. The two doctors who once worked there haven’t been seen in a month. Medical supplies stopped when they left, said Maung Maung Hla, a Muslim.

These trash-strewn camps represent the dark side of Myanmar’s celebrated transition to democracy: apartheid-like policies segregating minority Muslims from the Buddhist majority. As communal violence spreads, nowhere are these practices more brutally enforced than around Sittwe.

In an echo of what happened in the Balkans after the fall of communist Yugoslavia, the loosening of authoritarian control in Myanmar is giving freer rein to ethnic hatred.

President Thein Sein, a former general, said in a May 6 televised speech his government was committed to creating “a peaceful and harmonious society in Rakhine State.”

But the sand dunes and barren paddy fields outside Sittwe hold a different story. Here, emergency shelters set up for Rohingya Muslims last year have become permanent, prison-like ghettos. Muslims are stopped from leaving at gunpoint. Aid workers are threatened. Camps seethe with anger and disease.

In central Sittwe, ethnic Rakhine Buddhists and local officials exult in what they regard as a hard-won triumph: streets almost devoid of Muslims. Before last year’s violence, the city’s Muslims numbered about 73,000, nearly half its population. Today, there are fewer than 5,000 left.

Myanmar’s transformation from global pariah to budding democracy once seemed remarkably smooth. After nearly half a century of military dictatorship, the quasi-civilian government that took power in March 2011 astonished the world by releasing dissidents, relaxing censorship and re-engaging with the West.

Then came the worst sectarian violence for decades. Clashes between Rakhine Buddhists and stateless Rohingya Muslims in June and October 2012 killed at least 192 people and displaced 140,000. Most of the dead and homeless were Muslims.

“Rakhine State is going through a profound crisis” that “has the potential to undermine the entire reform process,” said Tomás Ojea Quintana, U.N. special rapporteur on human rights in Myanmar.

Life here, he said, resembles junta-era Myanmar, with rampant human-rights abuses and a pervasive security apparatus. “What is happening in Rakhine State is following the pattern of what has happened in Myanmar during the military government,” he said in an interview.

The crisis poses the biggest domestic challenge yet for the reformist leaders of one of Asia’s most ethnically diverse countries. Muslims make up about 5 percent of its 60 million people. Minorities, such as the Kachin and the Shan, are watching closely after enduring persecution under the former junta.

As the first powerful storm of the monsoon season approached western Myanmar this week, the government and U.N. agencies began a chaotic evacuation from the camps, urging thousands of Rohingya Muslims to move to safer areas on higher ground across Rakhine State.

Some resisted, fearing they would lose all they had left: their tarpaulin tents and makeshift huts. More than 50 are believed to have drowned in a botched evacuation by sea.

“THEY ALL TELL LIES”

Sittwe’s last remaining Muslim-dominated quarter, Aung Mingalar, is locked down by police and soldiers who patrol all streets leading in and out. Muslims can’t leave without written permission from Buddhist local authorities, which Muslims say is almost impossible to secure.

Metal barricades, topped with razor wire, are opened only for Buddhist Rakhines. Despite a ban against foreign journalists, Reuters was able to enter Aung Mingalar. Near-deserted streets were flanked by shuttered shops. Some Muslims peered from doors or windows.

On the other side of the barricades, Rakhine Buddhists revel in the segregation.

“I don’t trust them. They are not honest,” said Khin Mya, 63, who owns a general store on Sittwe’s main street. “Muslims are hot-headed; they like to fight, either with us or among themselves.”

Ei Mon Kyaw, 19, who sells betel nut and chewing tobacco, said Muslims are “really dirty. It is better we live apart.”

State spokesman Win Myaing, a Buddhist, explained why Aung Mingalar’s besieged Muslims were forbidden from speaking to the media. “It’s because they all tell lies,” he said. He also denied the government had engaged in ethnic cleansing, a charge leveled most recently by Human Rights Watch in an April 22 report.

“How can it be ethnic cleansing? They are not an ethnic group,” he said from an office on Sittwe’s main street, overlooking an empty mosque guarded by soldiers and police.

His comments reflect a historic dispute over the origins of the country’s estimated 800,000 Rohingya Muslims, who claim a centuries-old lineage in Rakhine State.

The government says they are Muslim migrants from northern neighbor Bangladesh who arrived during British rule from 1824. After independence in 1948, Myanmar’s new rulers tried to limit citizenship to those whose roots in the country predated British rule. A 1982 Citizenship Act excluded Rohingya from the country’s 135 recognized ethnic groups, denying them citizenship and rendering them stateless. Bangladesh also disowns them and has refused to grant them refugee status since 1992.

The United Nations calls them “virtually friendless” and among the world’s most persecuted people.

BOAT PEOPLE EXODUS

The state government has shelved any plan to return the Rohingya Muslims to their villages on a technicality: for defying a state requirement that they identify themselves as “Bengali,” a term that suggests they are illegal immigrants from Bangladesh.

All these factors are accelerating an exodus of Rohingya boat people emigrating in rickety fishing vessels to other Southeast Asian countries.

From October to March, between the monsoons, about 25,000 Rohingya left Myanmar on boats, according to new data from Arakan Project, a Rohingya advocacy group. That was double the previous year, turning a Rakhine problem into a region-wide one.

The cost of the one-way ticket is steep for an impoverished people – usually about 200,000 kyat, or $220, often paid for by remittances from family members who have already left.

Many who survive the perilous journeys wind up in majority-Muslim Malaysia. Some end up in U.N. camps, where they are denied permanent asylum. Others find illegal work on construction sites or other subsistence jobs. Tens of thousands are held in camps in Thailand. Growing numbers have been detained in Indonesia.

MOB VIOLENCE

Rakhine State, one of the poorest regions of Southeast Asia’s poorest country, had high hopes for the reform era.

In Sittwe’s harbor, India is funding a $214 million port, river and road network that will carve a trade route into India’s landlocked northeast. From Kyaukphyu, a city 65 miles southeast of Sittwe, gas and oil pipelines stretch to China’s energy-hungry northwest. Both projects capitalize on Myanmar’s growing importance at Asia’s crossroads.

That promise has been interrupted by communal tensions that flared into the open after the rape and murder of a Buddhist woman by Muslim men in May last year. Six days later, in retribution, a Buddhist mob beat 10 Muslims to death. Violence then swept Maungdaw, one of the three Rohingya-majority districts bordering Bangladesh, on June 8. Rohingya mobs destroyed homes and killed an unknown number of Rakhines.

The clashes spread to Sittwe. More than 2,500 homes and buildings went up in flames, as Rohingya and Rakhine mobs rampaged. When the smoke cleared, both suffered losses, though the official death toll for Rohingya – 57 – was nearly double that for Buddhist Rakhines. Entire Muslim districts were razed.

October saw more violence. This time, Buddhist mobs attacked Muslim villages across the state over five days, led in some cases by Rakhine nationalists tied to a powerful political party, incited by Buddhist monks and abetted at times by local security forces..

U.S. President Barack Obama, on a groundbreaking visit in November, urged reconciliation. “The Rohingya … hold within themselves the same dignity as you do, and I do,” he said. The week he visited, Thein Sein vowed to forge ethnic unity in a letter to the United Nations.

But the violence kept spreading. Anti-Muslim unrest, whipped up by Buddhist monks, killed at least 44 people in the central city of Meikhtila in March. In April and May, Buddhist mobs destroyed mosques and hundreds of Muslim homes just a few hours’ drive from Yangon, the country’s largest city.

Thein Sein responded by sending troops to volatile areas and setting up an independent commission into the Rakhine violence. Its recommendations, released April 27, urged meetings of Muslim and Buddhist leaders to foster tolerance, Muslims to be moved to safer ground ahead of the storm season, and the continued segregation of the two communities “until the overt emotions subside.”

It sent a strong message, calling the Rohingya “Bengalis,” a term that suggests they belong in Bangladesh, and backing the 1982 citizenship law that rendered stateless even those Rohingya who had lived in Myanmar for generations.

The Rohingya’s rapid population growth had fueled the clashes with Buddhists, it said, recommending voluntary family-planning education programs for them. It suggested doubling the number of soldiers and police in the region.

Rohingya responded angrily. “We completely reject this report,” said Fukan Ahmed, 54, a Rohingya elder who lost his home in Sittwe.

Local government officials, however, were already moving to impose policies in line with the report.

THE HATED LIST

On the morning of April 26, a group of state officials entered the Theak Kae Pyin refugee camp. With them were three policemen and several Border Administration Force officers, known as the Nasaka, a word derived from the initials of its Burmese name. Unique to the region, the Nasaka consists of officers from the police, military, customs and immigration. They control every aspect of Rohingya life, and are much feared.

Documented human-rights abuses blamed on the Nasaka include rape, forced labor and extortion. Rohingya cannot travel or marry without the Nasaka’s permission, which is never secured without paying bribes, activists allege.

State spokesman Win Myaing said the Nasaka’s mission was to compile a list identifying where people had lived before the violence, a precondition for resettlement. They wanted to know who was from Sittwe and who was from more remote townships such as Pauktaw and Kyaukphyu, areas that saw a near-total expulsion of Muslims in October.

Many fled for what Win Myaing said were unregistered camps outside Sittwe, often in flood-prone areas. “We would like to move them back to where they came from in the next two months,” said Win Myaing. The list was the first step towards doing that.

The list, however, also required Muslims to identify themselves as Bengali. For Fukan Ahmed and other Rohingya leaders, it sent a chilling message: If they want to be resettled, they must deny their identity.

Agitated crowds gathered as the officials tried to compile the list, witnesses said. Women and children chanted “Rohingya! Rohingya!” As the police officers were leaving, one tumbled to the ground, struck by a stone to his head, according to Win Myaing. Rohingya witnesses said the officer tripped. Seven Rohingya were arrested and charged with causing grievous hurt to a public servant, criminal intimidation and rioting.

Compiling the list is on hold, said Win Myaing. So, too, is resettlement.

“If they trust us, then (resettlement) can happen immediately. If you won’t even accept us making a list, then how can we try and do other things?” he asked. The crisis could be defused if Rohingya accepted the 1982 Citizenship Law, he said.

But doing so would effectively confirm their statelessness. Official discrimination and lack of documentation meant many Rohingya have no hope of fulfilling the requirements.

Boshi Raman, 40, said he and other Rohingya would never sign a document calling themselves Bengali. “We would rather die,” he said.

Win Myaing blamed the Rohingya for their misfortune. “If you look back at the events that occurred, it wasn’t because the Rakhines were extreme. The problems were all started by them,” the Muslims, he said.

SCORCHED EARTH

In Theak Kae Pyin camp, a sea of tarpaulin tents and fragile huts built of straw from the last rice harvest, there is an air of growing permanence. More than 11,000 live in this camp alone, according to U.N. data. Naked children bathe in a murky-brown pond and play on sewage-lined pathways.

A year ago, before the unrest, Haleda Somisian lived in Narzi, a Sittwe district of more than 10,000 people. Today, it is rubble and scorched earth. Somisian, 20, wants to return and rebuild. Her husband, she says, has started to beat her. In Narzi, he worked. Now he is jobless, restless and despondent.

“I want to leave this place,” she said.

Some of those confined to the camps are Kaman Muslims, who are recognized as one of Myanmar’s 135 official ethnic groups; they usually hold citizenship and can be hard to tell apart from Rakhine Buddhists. They fled after October’s violence when their homes were destroyed by Rakhine mobs in remote townships such as Kyaukphyu. They, too, are prevented from leaving.

Beyond Sittwe, another 50,000 people, mostly Rohingya, live in similar camps in other parts of the state destroyed in last year’s sectarian violence.

Across the state, the U.N relief agency has provided about 4,000 tents and built about 300 bamboo homes, each of which can hold eight families. Another 500 bamboo homes are planned by year-end. None are designed to be permanent, said agency spokeswoman Vivian Tan. Tents can last six months to a year; bamboo homes about two years.

The agency wants to provide the temporary shelter that is badly needed. “But we don’t want in any way to create permanent shelters and to condone any kind of segregation,” Tan said.

Aid group Doctors Without Borders has accused hardline nationalists of threatening its staff, impairing its ability to deliver care. Mobile clinics have appeared in some camps, but a U.N. report describes most as “insufficient.”

Waadulae, suffering from rabies, was treated at Dar Paing hospital, whose lone worker, Maung Maung Hla, was overwhelmed. “We have run out of antibiotics,” he said. “There is no malaria medicine. There’s no medicine for tuberculosis or diabetes. No vaccines. There’s no equipment to check peoples’ condition. There are no drips for people suffering from acute diarrhea.”

State spokesman Win Myaing said Rakhine doctors feared entering the camps. “It’s reached a stage where they say they’d quit their jobs before they would go to these places,” he said.

The treatment of the Rohingya contrasts with that of some 4,080 displaced ethnic Rakhine Buddhists in central Sittwe. They can leave their camps freely, work in the city, move in with relatives in nearby villages and rebuild, helped by an outpouring of aid from Burmese business leaders.

Hset Hlaing, 33, who survives on handouts from aid agencies at Thae Chaung camp, recalls how he earned 10,000 kyat ($11 a day) from a general-goods stall in Sittwe before his business and home went up in flames last June. Like other Muslims, he refuses to accept the term Bengali.

“I don’t want to go to another country. I was born here,” he says, sipping tea in a bamboo shack. “But if the government won’t accept us, we will leave. We’ll go by boat. We’ll go to a country that can accept us.”

(Edited by Andrew R.C. Marshall and Bill Tarrant.)

Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono’s visit to Myanmar on Tuesday and Wednesday comes a month after at least 43 people, mostly Muslims, were killed in four days of violence led by Buddhist mobs in the central city of Meikhtila, 80 miles (130 km) north of the capital, Naypyitaw. That sparked a wave of anti-Muslim violence.

“If it’s not addressed in the best way possible, its impact is not good for Myanmar and even for Indonesians who are majority Muslims,” Yudhoyono told a Thomson Reuters Newsmaker event, a forum held in Singapore.

Calm has been restored in Meikhtila and other volatile central areas after authorities imposed martial law and dispatched troops. A Reuters examination showed it was well organised, abetted at times by police turning a blind eye.

“I will encourage that Myanmar will address it wisely, appropriately and prevent tension and violence. We in Indonesia are ready to support them to reach those goals,” he said.

Yudhoyono will meet with Myanmar President Thein Sein during the visit and sign a memorandum of understanding on rice trade, an Indonesian government official said.

His visit also follows deadly unrest last year against Muslim Rohingya, an ethnic minority, in western Rakhine State which Human Rights Watch, a New York-based rights watchdog, described in a report on Monday as ethnic cleansing — a charge rejected by the government.

“There are other challenges in Myanmar like communal tensions facing the ethnic Rohingya,” Yudhoyono said.

Last year’s violence in Rakhine State killed at least 110 people, mostly Rohingya Muslims, and left 120,000 homeless.

Rohingya activists claim their historical lineage in Rakhine dates back centuries, but Myanmar’s government regards the estimated 800,000 Muslim Rohingyas as illegal immigrants from Bangladesh and denies them citizenship. Bangladesh has refused to grant Rohingyas refugee status since 1992.

The violence has sparked an exodus of thousands of Rohingya fleeing Rakhine State by boat. Many have ended up in other Southeast Asian countries including Indonesia, where Buddhist and Rohingya Muslims clashed in an overcrowded immigration detention centre last month.

Yudhoyono said Indonesia has a long history of engaging with Myanmar’s leaders dating to military rule “to encourage them to continue their process of democratisation so they didn’t need to be hurt by embargoes”.

The European Union on Monday lifted sanctions imposed in response to human rights abuses during nearly five decades of military rule that ended in March 2011. The country, also known as Burma, has since embarked on a series of democratic reforms.

“World leaders now are visiting Myanmar because they see Myanmar has changed,” he said. “I will visit Myanmar today firstly to support and promote the process of democratisation, of nation-building, of the rule of law, human rights.”

(Editing by Neil Fullick)

Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono’s visit later in the day to Myanmar comes a month after at least 43 people, mostly Muslims, were killed in four days of violence led by Buddhist mobs in the central city of Meikhtila, 80 miles north of the capital, Naypyitaw. That sparked a wave of anti-Muslim violence.

“If it’s not addressed in the best way possible, its impact is not good for Myanmar and even for Indonesians who are majority Muslims,” Yudhoyono told a Thomson Reuters Newsmaker event, a forum held in Singapore.

Calm has been restored in Meikhtila and other volatile central areas after authorities imposed martial law and dispatched troops. A Reuters examination showed it was well organized, abetted at times by police turning a blind eye.

“I will encourage that Myanmar will address it wisely, appropriately and prevent tension and violence. We in Indonesia are ready to support them to reach those goals,” he said.

His visit also follows deadly unrest last year against Muslim Rohingya, an ethnic minority, in western Rakhine State which Human Rights Watch, a New York-based rights watchdog, described in a report on Monday as ethnic cleansing — a charge rejected by the government.

“There are other challenges in Myanmar like communal tensions facing the ethnic Rohingya,” Yudhoyono said.

Last year’s violence in Rakhine State killed at least 110 people, mostly Rohingya Muslims, and left 120,000 homeless.

Rohingya activists claim their historical lineage in Rakhine dates back centuries, but Myanmar’s government regards the estimated 800,000 Muslim Rohingyas as illegal immigrants from Bangladesh and denies them citizenship. Bangladesh has refused to grant Rohingyas refugee status since 1992.

The violence has sparked an exodus of thousands of Rohingya fleeing Rakhine State by boat. Many have ended up in other Southeast Asian countries including Indonesia, where Buddhist and Rohingya Muslims clashed in an overcrowded immigration detention center last month.

Yudhoyono said Indonesia has a long history of engaging with Myanmar’s leaders dating to military rule “to encourage them to continue their process of democratization so they didn’t need to be hurt by embargoes”.

The European Union on Monday lifted sanctions imposed in response to human rights abuses during nearly five decades of military rule that ended in March 2011. The country, also known as Burma, has since embarked on a series of democratic reforms.

“World leaders now are visiting Myanmar because they see Myanmar has changed,” he said. “I will visit Myanmar today firstly to support and promote the process of democratization, of nation-building, of the rule of law, human rights.”

(Editing by Neil Fullick)

“If you follow us, I’ll kill her,” the monk taunted police, according to a witness, as a Buddhist mob armed with machetes and swords chased nearly 100 Muslims in this city in central Myanmar.

It was Thursday, March 21. Within hours, up to 25 Muslims had been killed. The Buddhist mob dragged their bloodied bodies up a hill in a neighborhood called Mingalarzay Yone and set the corpses on fire. Some were found butchered in a reedy swamp. A Reuters cameraman saw the charred remains of two children, aged 10 or younger.

Ethnic hatred has been unleashed in Myanmar since 49 years of military rule ended in March 2011. And it is spreading, threatening the country’s historic democratic transition. Signs have emerged of ethnic cleansing, and of impunity for those inciting it.

Over four days, at least 43 people were killed in this dusty city of 100,000, just 80 miles (130 km) north of the capital of Naypyitaw. Nearly 13,000 people, mostly Muslims, were driven from their homes and businesses. The bloodshed here was followed by Buddhist-led mob violence in at least 14 other villages in Myanmar’s central heartlands and put the Muslim minority on edge across one of Asia’s most ethnically diverse countries.

An examination of the riots, based on interviews with more than 30 witnesses, reveals the dawn massacre of 25 Muslims in Meikhtila was led by Buddhist monks – often held up as icons of democracy in Myanmar. The killings took place in plain view of police, with no intervention by the local or central government. Graffiti scrawled on one wall called for a “Muslim extermination.”

Unrest that ensued in other towns, just a few hours’ drive from the commercial capital of Yangon, was well-organized, abetted at times by police turning a blind eye. Even after the March 21 killings, the chief minister for the region did little to stop rioting that raged three more days. He effectively ceded control of the city to radical Buddhist monks who blocked fire trucks, intimidated rescue workers and led rampages that gutted whole neighborhoods.

Not all of the culprits were Buddhists. They may have started the riots, but the first man to die was a monk slain by Muslims.

Still, the Meikhtila massacre fits a pattern of Buddhist-organized violence and government inaction detailed by Reuters in western Myanmar last year. This time, the bloodshed struck a strategic city in the very heart of the country, raising questions over whether reformist President Thein Sein has full control over security forces as Myanmar undergoes its most dramatic changes since a coup in 1962.

In a majority-Buddhist country known as the “Golden Land” for its glittering pagodas, the unrest lays bare an often hidden truth: Monks have played a central role in anti-Muslim unrest over the past decade. Although 42 people have been arrested in connection to the violence, monks continue to preach a fast-growing Buddhist nationalist movement known as “969″ that is fueling much of the trouble.

The examination also suggests motives that are as much economic as religious. In one of Asia’s poorest countries, the Muslims of Meikhtila and other parts of central Myanmar are generally more prosperous than their Buddhist neighbors. In Myanmar as a whole, Muslims account for 5 percent of the populace. In Meikhtila, they comprise a third. They own prime real estate, electronics shops, clothing outlets, restaurants and motorbike dealerships, earning conspicuously more than the city’s Buddhist majority, who toil mostly as laborers and street vendors.

As Myanmar, also known as Burma, emerges from nearly half a century of isolation and military misrule, powerful business interests are jockeying for position in one of Asia’s last frontier markets. The recent violence threatens to knock long-established Muslim communities out of that equation, stoking speculation the unrest is part of a bigger struggle for influence in reform-era Myanmar.

The failure of Nobel Peace Prize-winner Aung San Suu Kyi, now opposition leader in parliament, to defuse the tension further undermines her image as a unifying moral force. Suu Kyi, a devout Buddhist, has said little, beyond warning that the violence could spread if not dealt with by rule of law.

Suu Kyi declined to be interviewed for this story.

To read the story in a PDF: click link.reuters.com/vap27t

For map of violence: click link.reuters.com/xar27t

GOLD HAIR CLIP

The spark was simple enough.

Aye Aye Naing, a 45-year-old Buddhist woman, wanted to make an offering of food to local monks. But she needed money, she recalled, sitting in her home in Pyon Kout village. At about 9 a.m. on March 20, a day before the massacre, she brought a gold hair clip to town. She had it appraised at 140,000 kyat. With her husband and sister, she entered New Waint Sein, a Muslim-owned gold shop, which offered her 108,000 kyat. She wanted at least 110,000.

Shop workers studied the gold, but the clip came back damaged, she said. The shop owner, a young woman in her 20s, now offered just 50,000. The stout mother of five protested, calling the owner unreasonable. The owner slapped her, witnesses said. Aye Aye Naing’s husband shouted and was pulled outside, held down and beaten by three of the store’s staff, according to the couple and two witnesses.

Onlookers gathered. Police arrived, detaining Aye Aye Naing and the owner. The mostly Buddhist mob turned violent, hurling stones, shouting anti-Muslim slurs and breaking down the shop’s doors, according to several witnesses. No one was killed or injured, but the Muslim-owned building housing the gold shop and several others were nearly destroyed.

“This shop has a bad reputation in the neighborhood,” said Khin San, who says she watched the violence from her general store across the street. “They don’t let people park their cars in front. They are quarrelsome. They have some hatred from the crowd.”

That hatred had been further stoked by a leaflet signed by a group calling itself “Buddhists who feel helpless” and handed out a few weeks before. It suggested Muslims in Meikhtila were conspiring against Buddhists, assisted by money from Saudi Arabia, and holding shady meetings in mosques. It was addressed to the area’s monks.

Tensions escalated. By about 5:30 p.m., four Muslim men were waiting at an intersection. As a monk passed on the back of a motorbike, they attacked. One hit the driver with a sword, causing him to crash, witnesses said. A second blow sliced the back of the monk’s head. One of the men doused him in fuel and set him on fire, said Soe Thein, a mechanic who saw the attack. The monk died in hospital.

Soe Thein, a Buddhist, ran to the market. “A monk has been killed! A monk has been killed!” he cried. As he ran back, a mob followed and the riots began. Muslim homes and shops went up in flames.

Soe Thein identified the attackers by name and said he saw several in the village days after the monk was murdered. Police declined to say whether they were among 13 people arrested and under investigation related to the Meikhtila violence.

“WE JUST WANT THE MUSLIMS”

That evening, flames devoured much of Mingalarzay Yone, a mostly Muslim ward in east Meikhtila. The fire razed a mosque, an orphanage and several homes. Hundreds fled. Some hid in Buddhist friends’ houses, witnesses said. About 100 packed into the thatched wooden home of Maung Maung, a Muslim elder.

As the mob swelled in size, Win Htein, a lawmaker in Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy party, tried to restrain the crowd but was held back. “Someone took my arm and said be careful or you will become a victim,” he said.

About 200 police officers watched the riots in the neighborhood before leaving around midnight, he said.

By about 4 a.m., the Muslim men inside Maung Maung’s house were braced for battle, chanting in Arabic and then shouting in Burmese, “We’ll wash our feet in Burman blood.” (The Burmans, or Bamah, are Myanmar’s ethnic majority.) Nearly a thousand Buddhists were outside.

When dawn broke, at about 6 a.m., the only police presence in the area was a detail of about 10 officers. They slowly backed away, allowing the mob to attack, said Hla Thein, 48, a neighborhood Buddhist elder.

The Muslims fled through the side of the house, chased by men with swords, sticks, iron rods and machetes. Some were butchered in a nearby swamp, said Hla Thein, who recounted the events along with four other witnesses, both Buddhist and Muslim.

Others were cut down as they ran toward a hilltop road. “They chased them like they were hunting rabbits,” said NLD lawmaker Win Htein.

Police saved 47 of the Muslims, mostly women and children, by encircling them with their shields and firing warning shots in the air, Hla Thein said. “We don’t want to attack you,” one monk shouted at the police, according to a policeman. “We just want the Muslims.”

Ye Myint, the chief minister of Mandalay region that includes Meikhtila, told reporters later that day that the situation was “stabilizing.” In fact, it was getting worse. Armed monks and Buddhist mobs terrorized the streets for the next three days, witnesses said.

They threatened Thein Zaw, a fireman trying to douse a burning mosque. “How dare you extinguish this fire,” he recalls one monk shouting. “We are going to kill you.” A group of about 30 monks smashed the sign hanging outside his fire station and tried to block his truck. He drove through a hail of stones, one striking below his eye, and crashed, he said, showing his wound.

“A monk with a knife at one point swung at me,” said Kyaw Ye Aung, a junior firefighter who, like Thein Zaw, is Buddhist.

Three days later, on the hill where Muslim bodies were burned, this reporter found the remains of a mix of adults and children: pieces of human skull, vertebrae and other bones, and a singed child’s backpack.

Nearby, municipal trucks dumped bodies in a field next to a crematorium in Meikhtila’s outskirts. They were burned with old tires.

MURKY POLITICAL FORCES

Knife-wielding monks jar with Buddhism’s better-known image of meditative pacifism.

Grounded in a philosophy of enlightenment, nonviolence, rebirth and the vanquishing of human desires, Buddhism eschews crusades or jihads. It traditionally embraces peace, clarity and wisdom – attributes of the Buddha who lived some 2,500 years ago.

About 90 percent of Myanmar’s 60 million people are practicing Buddhists, among the world’s largest proportion. Sheathed in iconic burgundy robes, Buddhist monks were at the forefront of Myanmar’s struggle for democracy and, before that, independence.

Many Burmese find it easier to assume a cherished institution has been infiltrated by thugs and provocateurs than to admit the monkhood’s central role in anti-Muslim violence in recent years.

On the streets of Meikhtila, witnesses saw monks from well-known local monasteries. They also saw monks from Mandalay, the country’s second-largest city and a center of Burmese culture about 100 miles (160 km) to the north. One such visitor was the nationalistic monk Wirathu.

Wirathu was freed last year from nine years in jail during an amnesty for hundreds of political prisoners, among the most celebrated reforms of Myanmar’s post-military rule. He had been locked up for helping to incite deadly anti-Muslim riots in 2003.

Today, the charismatic 45-year-old with a boyish smile is an abbot in Mandalay’s Masoeyein Monastery, a sprawling complex where he leads about 60 monks and has influence over more than 2,500 residing there. From that power base, he is leading a fast-growing movement known as “969,” which encourages Buddhists to shun Muslim businesses and communities.

The three numbers refer to various attributes of the Buddha, his teachings and the monkhood. In practice, the numbers have become the brand of a radical form of anti-Islamic nationalism that seeks to transform Myanmar into an apartheid-like state.

“We have a slogan: When you eat, eat 969; when you go, go 969; when you buy, buy 969,” Wirathu said in an interview at his monastery in Mandalay. Translation: If you’re eating, traveling or buying anything, do it with a Buddhist. Relishing his extremist reputation, Wirathu describes himself as the “Burmese bin Laden.”

He began giving a series of controversial 969 speeches about four months ago. “My duty is to spread this mission,” he said. It’s working: 969 stickers and signs are proliferating – often accompanied by violence.

Rioters spray-painted “969″ on destroyed businesses in Meikhtila. Anti-Muslim mobs in Bago Region, close to Yangon, erupted after traveling monks preached about the 969 movement. Stickers bearing pastel hues overlaid with the numerals 969 are appearing on street stalls, motorbikes, posters and cars across the central heartlands.

In Minhla, a town of about 100,000 people a few hours’ drive from Yangon, 2,000 Buddhists crammed into a community center on February 26 and 27 to listen to Wimalar Biwuntha, an abbot from Mon State. He explained how monks in his state began using 969 to boycott a popular Muslim-owned bus company, according to Win Myint, 59, chairman of the center that hosted the abbot.

After the speeches, the mood in Minhla turned ugly, said Tun Tun, 26, a Muslim tea-shop owner. Muslims were jeered, he said. A month later, about 800 Buddhists armed with metal pipes and hammers destroyed three mosques and 17 Muslim homes and businesses, according to police. No one was killed, but two-thirds of Minhla’s Muslims fled and haven’t returned, police said.

“Since that speech, people in our village became more aggressive. They would swear at us. We lost customers,” said Tun Tun, whose tea shop and home were nearly destroyed by Buddhists on March 27. One attacker was armed with a chainsaw, he said.

A local police official made a deal with the mob: Rioters were allowed 30 minutes to ransack a mosque before police would disperse the crowd, according to two witnesses. They tore it apart for the next half hour, the witnesses said. A hollowed-out structure remains. Local police denied having made any such an agreement when asked by Reuters.

Two days earlier in Gyobingauk, a town of 110,000 people just north of Minhla, a mob destroyed a mosque and 23 houses after three days of speeches by a monk preaching 969. Witnesses said they appeared well organized, razing some buildings with a bulldozer.

“ENEMY BASES”

Wirathu denied directing the monks in Meikhtila and elsewhere.

“You have the right to defend yourselves. But you don’t have the right to kill or destroy,” he said in the interview.

Wirathu said he was in Meikhtila to persuade monks not to fight. At one point, he delivered a speech on a car roof. A first-hand account of what he said was not available.

He acknowledged spreading 969 and warned that Muslims were diluting the country’s Buddhist identity. That is a comment he has made repeatedly in speeches and social media and by telephone in recent weeks to a large and growing following.

“With money, they become rich and marry Buddhist Burmese woman who convert to Islam, spreading their religion. Their businesses become bigger and they buy more land and houses, and that means fewer Buddhist shrines,” he said.

“And when they become rich, they build more mosques which, unlike our pagodas and monasteries, are not transparent,” he added. “They’re like enemy base stations for us. More mosques mean more enemy bases, so that is why we must prevent this.”

Wirathu fears Myanmar will follow the path of Indonesia after Islam entered the archipelago in the 13th century. By the end of the 16th century, Islam had replaced Hinduism and Buddhism as the dominant religion on Indonesia’s main islands.

Wirathu began preaching the apartheid-like 969 creed himself in 2001, when the U.S. State Department reported “a sharp increase in anti-Muslim violence” in Myanmar. Anti-Muslim sentiment was fueled in March that year by the Taliban’s destruction of Buddhist images in Bamiyan, Afghanistan, and in September by al Qaeda’s attacks in the United States.

The monk continued until he was arrested in 2003 and sentenced to 25 years in prison for distributing anti-Muslim pamphlets that incited communal riots in his birthplace of Kyaukse, a town near Meikhtila. At least 10 Muslims were killed in Kyaukse by a Buddhist mob, according to a U.S. State Department report.

Wirathu has a quick answer to the question of who caused Meikhtila’s unrest: the Buddhist woman who tried to sell the hair clip. “She shouldn’t have done business with Muslims.”

“STATE INVOLVEMENT”

Wirathu should be arrested, said Nyi Nyi Lwin, a former monk better known by his holy name U Gambira who led the “Saffron Revolution” democracy uprising in 2007 that was crushed by the military. “What he preaches deviates from Buddha’s teachings,” he said. “He is a monk. He is an abbot. And he is dangerous. He is becoming very scary and pitiful.”

But Gambira said only the government can stop the anti-Muslim mood.

“In the past, they prevented monks from giving speeches about democracy and politics. This time they don’t stop these incendiary speeches. They are supporting them,” he said. “Because Wirathu is an abbot at a big monastery of about 2,500 monks, no one dares to speak back to him. The government needs to take action against him.”

Hla Thein, a witness to the massacre in Meikhtila, said authorities did surprisingly little to stop the violence. “It was like they were waiting for an order that never came,” he said.

One senior policeman told Reuters he expected to be ordered to forcibly restrain the riotous mob, but was told not even to use truncheons.

That pattern echoes what Reuters reporters found last year in an examination of October’s anti-Muslim violence in Myanmar’s western Rakhine State. There, a wave of deadly attacks was organized, according to central-government military sources. They were led by Rakhine Buddhist nationalists tied to a powerful political party in the state, incited by Buddhist monks, and, some witnesses said, abetted at times by local security forces.

The latest bloodshed could have been nipped in the bud, said NLD lawmaker Win Htein, a former army captain who spent 20 years as a political prisoner. He said the region’s military commander, Aung Kyaw Moe, could have stopped the riots with a few stern orders – especially given that thousands of soldiers are permanently stationed in Meikhtila and nearby.

Aung Kyaw Moe insisted authorities did their job. “It is like a battle. When it first starts you can’t really guess the manpower needed or how big it is going to be. But there was protection.”

Min Ko Naing, a former political prisoner revered by Burmese nearly as much as Suu Kyi, was in Meikhtila as the violence began. After the massacre, he said, the mob looked well organized. Cell phones in hand, monks inspected cars leaving town, he said. A bulldozer was used to destroy some buildings. “The ordinary public doesn’t know how to use a bulldozer,” he said.

The U.N. special rapporteur on human rights in Myanmar said he had received reports of “state involvement” in the violence. Soldiers and police sometimes stood by “while atrocities have been committed before their very eyes, including by well-organized ultra-nationalist Buddhist mobs,” said the rapporteur, Tomas Ojea Quintana. “This may indicate direct involvement by some sections of the state or implicit collusion and support for such actions.”

Ye Htut, a presidential spokesman and deputy minister of information, called those accusations groundless. “In fact, the military and the government could not be concerned more about this situation,” he said.

Authorities imposed martial law on the afternoon of March 22, the third day of violence. By then, only three people had been arrested, all of them for carrying weapons, a police official said. As they began to make more arrests, the unrest ended the next day. A total of 1,594 buildings were destroyed, the regional government said.

It started up a day later in Tatkon on the outskirts of the capital Naypyitaw. The riots then swept south to Bago Region, erupting along a highway just north of Yangon. By March 29, at least 15 towns and villages in central Myanmar had suffered anti-Muslims riots. In Yangon, some Muslims prepared for violence by Buddhists, shuttering shops and leaving to stay with relatives elsewhere.

On April 2, 13 Muslim boys died in a fire at a Yangon religious school. Many grieving relatives say they believe the blaze was deliberately set. The floors were surprisingly slick with oil during the blaze, they said. Yangon officials say it was caused by an electrical short circuit.

Some speculate the violence may be orchestrated by conservative forces pushing back at reformers. Or that crony businessmen linked to the former junta hope to knock Muslims out of business and create an economic vacuum in the heartlands that only they can fill. This last theory resonated with some Muslim businessmen such as Ohn Thwin, 67.

“This is both religious anger and economics,” he said, surveying the remnants of his 30-year-old metalworking shop at a popular corner of Meikhtila, a strategic city where three highways intersect. Like many Muslims, he can trace his ancestry back several generations. And like many, he runs a profitable business and has dozens of Buddhist friends, including one who helped him escape the violence.

MAKESHIFT REFUGEE CAMPS

Across town, about 2,000 people cram into a two-story high school, one of several makeshift refugee camps housing about 11,000 of the town’s Muslims, according to the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. Many more squeezed into a nearby stadium.

It’s unclear if the Muslims whose businesses were destroyed will be able to reclaim their prime real estate. Ye Myint, the region’s chief, said they may be moved to new areas – a policy that backfired in Rakhine State, where segregation has only led to further communal violence.

“Once we have achieved a time when there is peace, stability and the rule of law, then we look into resettlement,” said Ye Myint.

The high school feels like a jail. Muslims inside cannot leave at will. Friends and relatives are kept waiting outside. Police block journalists from speaking with Muslims – even through a gate.

“I can’t sleep at night. I keep thinking there will be another attack,” said Kyaw Soe Myint, 40, who was waiting to see his 10 cousins inside before a guard shooed him away. “We’re living with fear.”

The identity of those arrested is unclear. But according to police, among those detained was the gold shop owner.

Aye Aye Naing, owner of the hair clip, remained shocked by the violence. “I feel sad for the Muslims who have been killed,” she said. “All humans are the same; it’s just the skin color that is different. We have friends who are Muslims.” She said she doesn’t know what became of her hair clip.

(Additional reporting by Min Zayer Oo.; Editing by Andrew R.C. Marshall, Michael Williams and Bill Tarrant.)

“If you follow us, I’ll kill her,” the monk taunted police, according to a witness, as a Buddhist mob armed with machetes and swords chased nearly 100 Muslims in this city in central Myanmar.

It was Thursday, March 21. Within hours, up to 25 Muslims had been killed. The Buddhist mob dragged their bloodied bodies up a hill in a neighborhood called Mingalarzay Yone and set the corpses on fire. Some were found butchered in a reedy swamp. A Reuters cameraman saw the charred remains of two children, aged 10 or younger.

Ethnic hatred has been unleashed in Myanmar since 49 years of military rule ended in March 2011. And it is spreading, threatening the country’s historic democratic transition. Signs have emerged of ethnic cleansing, and of impunity for those inciting it.

Over four days, at least 43 people were killed in this dusty city of 100,000, just 80 miles north of the capital of Naypyitaw. Nearly 13,000 people, mostly Muslims, were driven from their homes and businesses. The bloodshed here was followed by Buddhist-led mob violence in at least 14 other villages in Myanmar’s central heartlands and put the Muslim minority on edge across one of Asia’s most ethnically diverse countries.

An examination of the riots, based on interviews with more than 30 witnesses, reveals the dawn massacre of 25 Muslims in Meikhtila was led by Buddhist monks – often held up as icons of democracy in Myanmar. The killings took place in plain view of police, with no intervention by the local or central government. Graffiti scrawled on one wall called for a “Muslim extermination.”

Unrest that ensued in other towns, just a few hours’ drive from the commercial capital of Yangon, was well-organized, abetted at times by police turning a blind eye. Even after the March 21 killings, the chief minister for the region did little to stop rioting that raged three more days. He effectively ceded control of the city to radical Buddhist monks who blocked fire trucks, intimidated rescue workers and led rampages that gutted whole neighborhoods.

Not all of the culprits were Buddhists. They may have started the riots, but the first man to die was a monk slain by Muslims.

Still, the Meikhtila massacre fits a pattern of Buddhist-organized violence and government inaction detailed by Reuters in western Myanmar last year. This time, the bloodshed struck a strategic city in the very heart of the country, raising questions over whether reformist President Thein Sein has full control over security forces as Myanmar undergoes its most dramatic changes since a coup in 1962.

In a majority-Buddhist country known as the “Golden Land” for its glittering pagodas, the unrest lays bare an often hidden truth: Monks have played a central role in anti-Muslim unrest over the past decade. Although 42 people have been arrested in connection to the violence, monks continue to preach a fast-growing Buddhist nationalist movement known as “969″ that is fueling much of the trouble.

The examination also suggests motives that are as much economic as religious. In one of Asia’s poorest countries, the Muslims of Meikhtila and other parts of central Myanmar are generally more prosperous than their Buddhist neighbors. In Myanmar as a whole, Muslims account for 5 percent of the populace. In Meikhtila, they comprise a third. They own prime real estate, electronics shops, clothing outlets, restaurants and motorbike dealerships, earning conspicuously more than the city’s Buddhist majority, who toil mostly as laborers and street vendors.

As Myanmar, also known as Burma, emerges from nearly half a century of isolation and military misrule, powerful business interests are jockeying for position in one of Asia’s last frontier markets. The recent violence threatens to knock long-established Muslim communities out of that equation, stoking speculation the unrest is part of a bigger struggle for influence in reform-era Myanmar.

The failure of Nobel Peace Prize-winner Aung San Suu Kyi, now opposition leader in parliament, to defuse the tension further undermines her image as a unifying moral force. Suu Kyi, a devout Buddhist, has said little, beyond warning that the violence could spread if not dealt with by rule of law.

Suu Kyi declined to be interviewed for this story.

GOLD HAIR CLIP

The spark was simple enough.

Aye Aye Naing, a 45-year-old Buddhist woman, wanted to make an offering of food to local monks. But she needed money, she recalled, sitting in her home in Pyon Kout village. At about 9 a.m. on March 20, a day before the massacre, she brought a gold hair clip to town. She had it appraised at 140,000 kyat ($160). With her husband and sister, she entered New Waint Sein, a Muslim-owned gold shop, which offered her 108,000 kyat. She wanted at least 110,000.

Shop workers studied the gold, but the clip came back damaged, she said. The shop owner, a young woman in her 20s, now offered just 50,000. The stout mother of five protested, calling the owner unreasonable. The owner slapped her, witnesses said. Aye Aye Naing’s husband shouted and was pulled outside, held down and beaten by three of the store’s staff, according to the couple and two witnesses.

Onlookers gathered. Police arrived, detaining Aye Aye Naing and the owner. The mostly Buddhist mob turned violent, hurling stones, shouting anti-Muslim slurs and breaking down the shop’s doors, according to several witnesses. No one was killed or injured, but the Muslim-owned building housing the gold shop and several others were nearly destroyed.

“This shop has a bad reputation in the neighborhood,” said Khin San, who says she watched the violence from her general store across the street. “They don’t let people park their cars in front. They are quarrelsome. They have some hatred from the crowd.”

That hatred had been further stoked by a leaflet signed by a group calling itself “Buddhists who feel helpless” and handed out a few weeks before. It suggested Muslims in Meikhtila were conspiring against Buddhists, assisted by money from Saudi Arabia, and holding shady meetings in mosques. It was addressed to the area’s monks.

Tensions escalated. By about 5:30 p.m., four Muslim men were waiting at an intersection. As a monk passed on the back of a motorbike, they attacked. One hit the driver with a sword, causing him to crash, witnesses said. A second blow sliced the back of the monk’s head. One of the men doused him in fuel and set him on fire, said Soe Thein, a mechanic who saw the attack. The monk died in hospital.

Soe Thein, a Buddhist, ran to the market. “A monk has been killed! A monk has been killed!” he cried. As he ran back, a mob followed and the riots began. Muslim homes and shops went up in flames.

Soe Thein identified the attackers by name and said he saw several in the village days after the monk was murdered. Police declined to say whether they were among 13 people arrested and under investigation related to the Meikhtila violence.

“WE JUST WANT THE MUSLIMS”

That evening, flames devoured much of Mingalarzay Yone, a mostly Muslim ward in east Meikhtila. The fire razed a mosque, an orphanage and several homes. Hundreds fled. Some hid in Buddhist friends’ houses, witnesses said. About 100 packed into the thatched wooden home of Maung Maung, a Muslim elder.

As the mob swelled in size, Win Htein, a lawmaker in Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy party, tried to restrain the crowd but was held back. “Someone took my arm and said be careful or you will become a victim,” he said.

About 200 police officers watched the riots in the neighborhood before leaving around midnight, he said.

By about 4 a.m., the Muslim men inside Maung Maung’s house were braced for battle, chanting in Arabic and then shouting in Burmese, “We’ll wash our feet in Burman blood.” (The Burmans, or Bamah, are Myanmar’s ethnic majority.) Nearly a thousand Buddhists were outside.

When dawn broke, at about 6 a.m., the only police presence in the area was a detail of about 10 officers. They slowly backed away, allowing the mob to attack, said Hla Thein, 48, a neighborhood Buddhist elder.

The Muslims fled through the side of the house, chased by men with swords, sticks, iron rods and machetes. Some were butchered in a nearby swamp, said Hla Thein, who recounted the events along with four other witnesses, both Buddhist and Muslim.

Others were cut down as they ran toward a hilltop road. “They chased them like they were hunting rabbits,” said NLD lawmaker Win Htein.

Police saved 47 of the Muslims, mostly women and children, by encircling them with their shields and firing warning shots in the air, Hla Thein said. “We don’t want to attack you,” one monk shouted at the police, according to a policeman. “We just want the Muslims.”

Ye Myint, the chief minister of Mandalay region that includes Meikhtila, told reporters later that day that the situation was “stabilizing.” In fact, it was getting worse. Armed monks and Buddhist mobs terrorized the streets for the next three days, witnesses said.

They threatened Thein Zaw, a fireman trying to douse a burning mosque. “How dare you extinguish this fire,” he recalls one monk shouting. “We are going to kill you.” A group of about 30 monks smashed the sign hanging outside his fire station and tried to block his truck. He drove through a hail of stones, one striking below his eye, and crashed, he said, showing his wound.

“A monk with a knife at one point swung at me,” said Kyaw Ye Aung, a junior firefighter who, like Thein Zaw, is Buddhist.

Three days later, on the hill where Muslim bodies were burned, this reporter found the remains of a mix of adults and children: pieces of human skull, vertebrae and other bones, and a singed child’s backpack.

Nearby, municipal trucks dumped bodies in a field next to a crematorium in Meikhtila’s outskirts. They were burned with old tires.

MURKY POLITICAL FORCES

Knife-wielding monks jar with Buddhism’s better-known image of meditative pacifism.

Grounded in a philosophy of enlightenment, nonviolence, rebirth and the vanquishing of human desires, Buddhism eschews crusades or jihads. It traditionally embraces peace, clarity and wisdom — attributes of the Buddha who lived some 2,500 years ago.

About 90 percent of Myanmar’s 60 million people are practicing Buddhists, among the world’s largest proportion. Sheathed in iconic burgundy robes, Buddhist monks were at the forefront of Myanmar’s struggle for democracy and, before that, independence.

Many Burmese find it easier to assume a cherished institution has been infiltrated by thugs and provocateurs than to admit the monkhood’s central role in anti-Muslim violence in recent years.

On the streets of Meikhtila, witnesses saw monks from well-known local monasteries. They also saw monks from Mandalay, the country’s second-largest city and a center of Burmese culture about 100 miles to the north. One such visitor was the nationalistic monk Wirathu.

Wirathu was freed last year from nine years in jail during an amnesty for hundreds of political prisoners, among the most celebrated reforms of Myanmar’s post-military rule. He had been locked up for helping to incite deadly anti-Muslim riots in 2003.

Today, the charismatic 45-year-old with a boyish smile is an abbot in Mandalay’s Masoeyein Monastery, a sprawling complex where he leads about 60 monks and has influence over more than 2,500 residing there. From that power base, he is leading a fast-growing movement known as “969,” which encourages Buddhists to shun Muslim businesses and communities.

The three numbers refer to various attributes of the Buddha, his teachings and the monkhood. In practice, the numbers have become the brand of a radical form of anti-Islamic nationalism that seeks to transform Myanmar into an apartheid-like state.

“We have a slogan: When you eat, eat 969; when you go, go 969; when you buy, buy 969,” Wirathu said in an interview at his monastery in Mandalay. Translation: If you’re eating, traveling or buying anything, do it with a Buddhist. Relishing his extremist reputation, Wirathu describes himself as the “Burmese bin Laden.”

He began giving a series of controversial 969 speeches about four months ago. “My duty is to spread this mission,” he said. It’s working: 969 stickers and signs are proliferating — often accompanied by violence.

Rioters spray-painted “969″ on destroyed businesses in Meikhtila. Anti-Muslim mobs in Bago Region, close to Yangon, erupted after traveling monks preached about the 969 movement. Stickers bearing pastel hues overlaid with the numerals 969 are appearing on street stalls, motorbikes, posters and cars across the central heartlands.

In Minhla, a town of about 100,000 people a few hours’ drive from Yangon, 2,000 Buddhists crammed into a community center on February 26 and 27 to listen to Wimalar Biwuntha, an abbot from Mon State. He explained how monks in his state began using 969 to boycott a popular Muslim-owned bus company, according to Win Myint, 59, chairman of the center that hosted the abbot.

After the speeches, the mood in Minhla turned ugly, said Tun Tun, 26, a Muslim tea-shop owner. Muslims were jeered, he said. A month later, about 800 Buddhists armed with metal pipes and hammers destroyed three mosques and 17 Muslim homes and businesses, according to police. No one was killed, but two-thirds of Minhla’s Muslims fled and haven’t returned, police said.

“Since that speech, people in our village became more aggressive. They would swear at us. We lost customers,” said Tun Tun, whose tea shop and home were nearly destroyed by Buddhists on March 27. One attacker was armed with a chainsaw, he said.

A local police official made a deal with the mob: Rioters were allowed 30 minutes to ransack a mosque before police would disperse the crowd, according to two witnesses. They tore it apart for the next half hour, the witnesses said. A hollowed-out structure remains. Local police denied having made any such an agreement when asked by Reuters.

Two days earlier in Gyobingauk, a town of 110,000 people just north of Minhla, a mob destroyed a mosque and 23 houses after three days of speeches by a monk preaching 969. Witnesses said they appeared well organized, razing some buildings with a bulldozer.

“ENEMY BASES”

Wirathu denied directing the monks in Meikhtila and elsewhere.

“You have the right to defend yourselves. But you don’t have the right to kill or destroy,” he said in the interview.

Wirathu said he was in Meikhtila to persuade monks not to fight. At one point, he delivered a speech on a car roof. A first-hand account of what he said was not available.

He acknowledged spreading 969 and warned that Muslims were diluting the country’s Buddhist identity. That is a comment he has made repeatedly in speeches and social media and by telephone in recent weeks to a large and growing following.

“With money, they become rich and marry Buddhist Burmese woman who convert to Islam, spreading their religion. Their businesses become bigger and they buy more land and houses, and that means fewer Buddhist shrines,” he said.

“And when they become rich, they build more mosques which, unlike our pagodas and monasteries, are not transparent,” he added. “They’re like enemy base stations for us. More mosques mean more enemy bases, so that is why we must prevent this.”

Wirathu fears Myanmar will follow the path of Indonesia after Islam entered the archipelago in the 13th century. By the end of the 16th century, Islam had replaced Hinduism and Buddhism as the dominant religion on Indonesia’s main islands.

Wirathu began preaching the apartheid-like 969 creed himself in 2001, when the U.S. State Department reported “a sharp increase in anti-Muslim violence” in Myanmar. Anti-Muslim sentiment was fueled in March that year by the Taliban’s destruction of Buddhist images in Bamiyan, Afghanistan, and in September by al Qaeda’s attacks in the United States.

The monk continued until he was arrested in 2003 and sentenced to 25 years in prison for distributing anti-Muslim pamphlets that incited communal riots in his birthplace of Kyaukse, a town near Meikhtila. At least 10 Muslims were killed in Kyaukse by a Buddhist mob, according to a U.S. State Department report.

Wirathu has a quick answer to the question of who caused Meikhtila’s unrest: the Buddhist woman who tried to sell the hair clip. “She shouldn’t have done business with Muslims.”

“STATE INVOLVEMENT”

Wirathu should be arrested, said Nyi Nyi Lwin, a former monk better known by his holy name U Gambira who led the “Saffron Revolution” democracy uprising in 2007 that was crushed by the military. “What he preaches deviates from Buddha’s teachings,” he said. “He is a monk. He is an abbot. And he is dangerous. He is becoming very scary and pitiful.”

But Gambira said only the government can stop the anti-Muslim mood.

“In the past, they prevented monks from giving speeches about democracy and politics. This time they don’t stop these incendiary speeches. They are supporting them,” he said. “Because Wirathu is an abbot at a big monastery of about 2,500 monks, no one dares to speak back to him. The government needs to take action against him.”

Hla Thein, a witness to the massacre in Meikhtila, said authorities did surprisingly little to stop the violence. “It was like they were waiting for an order that never came,” he said.

One senior policeman told Reuters he expected to be ordered to forcibly restrain the riotous mob, but was told not even to use truncheons.

That pattern echoes what Reuters reporters found last year in an examination of October’s anti-Muslim violence in Myanmar’s western Rakhine State. There, a wave of deadly attacks was organized, according to central-government military sources. They were led by Rakhine Buddhist nationalists tied to a powerful political party in the state, incited by Buddhist monks, and, some witnesses said, abetted at times by local security forces.

The latest bloodshed could have been nipped in the bud, said NLD lawmaker Win Htein, a former army captain who spent 20 years as a political prisoner. He said the region’s military commander, Aung Kyaw Moe, could have stopped the riots with a few stern orders – especially given that thousands of soldiers are permanently stationed in Meikhtila and nearby.

Aung Kyaw Moe insisted authorities did their job. “It is like a battle. When it first starts you can’t really guess the manpower needed or how big it is going to be. But there was protection.”

Min Ko Naing, a former political prisoner revered by Burmese nearly as much as Suu Kyi, was in Meikhtila as the violence began. After the massacre, he said, the mob looked well organized. Cell phones in hand, monks inspected cars leaving town, he said. A bulldozer was used to destroy some buildings. “The ordinary public doesn’t know how to use a bulldozer,” he said.

The U.N. special rapporteur on human rights in Myanmar said he had received reports of “state involvement” in the violence. Soldiers and police sometimes stood by “while atrocities have been committed before their very eyes, including by well-organized ultra-nationalist Buddhist mobs,” said the rapporteur, Tomas Ojea Quintana. “This may indicate direct involvement by some sections of the state or implicit collusion and support for such actions.”

Ye Htut, a presidential spokesman and deputy minister of information, called those accusations groundless. “In fact, the military and the government could not be concerned more about this situation,” he said.

Authorities imposed martial law on the afternoon of March 22, the third day of violence. By then, only three people had been arrested, all of them for carrying weapons, a police official said. As they began to make more arrests, the unrest ended the next day. A total of 1,594 buildings were destroyed, the regional government said.

It started up a day later in Tatkon on the outskirts of the capital Naypyitaw. The riots then swept south to Bago Region, erupting along a highway just north of Yangon. By March 29, at least 15 towns and villages in central Myanmar had suffered anti-Muslims riots. In Yangon, some Muslims prepared for violence by Buddhists, shuttering shops and leaving to stay with relatives elsewhere.

On April 2, 13 Muslim boys died in a fire at a Yangon religious school. Many grieving relatives say they believe the blaze was deliberately set. The floors were surprisingly slick with oil during the blaze, they said. Yangon officials say it was caused by an electrical short circuit.

Some speculate the violence may be orchestrated by conservative forces pushing back at reformers. Or that crony businessmen linked to the former junta hope to knock Muslims out of business and create an economic vacuum in the heartlands that only they can fill. This last theory resonated with some Muslim businessmen such as Ohn Thwin, 67.

“This is both religious anger and economics,” he said, surveying the remnants of his 30-year-old metalworking shop at a popular corner of Meikhtila, a strategic city where three highways intersect. Like many Muslims, he can trace his ancestry back several generations. And like many, he runs a profitable business and has dozens of Buddhist friends, including one who helped him escape the violence.

MAKESHIFT REFUGEE CAMPS

Across town, about 2,000 people cram into a two-story high school, one of several makeshift refugee camps housing about 11,000 of the town’s Muslims, according to the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. Many more squeezed into a nearby stadium.

It’s unclear if the Muslims whose businesses were destroyed will be able to reclaim their prime real estate. Ye Myint, the region’s chief, said they may be moved to new areas – a policy that backfired in Rakhine State, where segregation has only led to further communal violence.

“Once we have achieved a time when there is peace, stability and the rule of law, then we look into resettlement,” said Ye Myint.

The high school feels like a jail. Muslims inside cannot leave at will. Friends and relatives are kept waiting outside. Police block journalists from speaking with Muslims – even through a gate.

“I can’t sleep at night. I keep thinking there will be another attack,” said Kyaw Soe Myint, 40, who was waiting to see his 10 cousins inside before a guard shooed him away. “We’re living with fear.”

The identity of those arrested is unclear. But according to police, among those detained was the gold shop owner.

Aye Aye Naing, owner of the hair clip, remained shocked by the violence. “I feel sad for the Muslims who have been killed,” she said. “All humans are the same; it’s just the skin color that is different. We have friends who are Muslims.” She said she doesn’t know what became of her hair clip.

(Additional reporting by Min Zayer Oo.; Editing by Andrew R.C. Marshall, Michael Williams and Bill Tarrant.)

Their homes, shops and mosques destroyed, some end up in refugee camps or hide in the homes of friends or relatives. Dozens have been killed.

“We don’t know where they are,” says Aung Ko Myint, 24, a taxi-driver in Sit Kwin, where on Friday, Buddhists ransacked a store owned by one of the town’s last remaining Muslims. “He escaped this morning just before the mob got here.”

Since 42 people were killed in violence that erupted in Meikhtila town on March 20, unrest led by hardline Buddhists has spread to at least 10 other towns and villages in central Myanmar, with the latest incidents only a two-hour drive from the commercial capital, Yangon.

The crowds are fired up by anti-Muslim rhetoric, spread by telephone and social media networks such as Facebook, from monks preaching about a so-called “969 movement”.

The number is derived from Buddhism – the three numbers refer to various attributes of the Buddha, his teachings and the monkhood – but it has come to represent a radical form of anti-Islamic nationalism which urges Buddhists to boycott Muslim-run shops and services.

Myanmar is a predominantly Buddhist country, but about 5 percent of its 60 million people are Muslims. There are large Muslim communities in Yangon, Mandalay and towns across Myanmar’s heartland.

The unrest poses the biggest challenge to a reformist government that took office in 2011 after nearly half a century of military rule.

In a nationally televised speech on Thursday, President Thein Sein warned “political opportunists and religious extremists” against instigating further violence.

“I will not hesitate to use force as a last resort to protect the lives and safeguard the property of the general public,” he said.

Dusk-to-dawn curfews are in effect in many areas of Bago, the region where Sit Kwin lies, while four townships in central Myanmar are under a state of emergency imposed last week.

But the security forces are still battling against pockets of unrest, while state-run media reports 68 people have been arrested for unrest which made almost 13,000 people homeless.

RUMOURS

The trouble in Sit Kwin began four days ago, when people riding 30 motorbikes drove through town urging villagers to expel Muslim residents, said witnesses. They then trashed a mosque and a row of Muslim shops and houses.

“They came with anger that was born from rumors,” said one man who declined to be identified.

Further south, police in Letpadan have stepped up patrols in the farming village of 22,000 people about 160 km (100 miles) from Yangon.

Three monks led a 30-strong group towards a mosque on Friday. Police dispersed the crowd, many of whom carried knives and staves, and briefly detained two people. They were later released at the request of township officials, police said.

“I won’t let it happen again,” said police commander Phone Myint. “The president yesterday gave the police authority to control the situation.”

The abbot who led the protest, Khamainda, said he took to the streets after hearing rumors passed by other monks by telephone, about violence between Buddhists and Muslims in other towns. He said he wanted revenge against Muslims for the destruction by the Taliban of Buddhist statues in Bamiyan province in Afghanistan in 2001.

“There is no problem with the way they live. But they are the minority and we are the majority. And when the minority insults our religion we get concerned,” he told Reuters. “We will come out again if we get a chance.”

Letpadan villagers fear the tension will explode. “I’m sure they will come back and destroy the mosque,” says Aung San Kyaw, 35, a Muslim. “We’ve never experienced anything like this.”

Across the street, Hla Tan, a 67-year-old Buddhist, shares the fear. “We have lived peacefully for years. Nothing can happen between us unless outsiders come. But if they come, I know we can’t stop them,” he said.

North of Sit Kwin is the farming town of Minhla, which endured about three hours of violence on both Wednesday and Thursday.

About 300 people, most from the nearby village of Ye Kyaw, gathered in the early afternoon on Wednesday. The crowd swelled to about 800 as townsfolk joined, a Minhla policeman told Reuters. They then destroyed three mosques and 17 shops and houses, he said.

No Buddhist monks were involved, said witnesses.

“VERY NERVOUS”

The mob carried sticks, metal pipes and hammers, said Hla Soe, 60, a Buddhist who runs an electrical repair shop in Minhla. “No one could stop them,” he said.

About 200 soldiers and police eventually intervened to restore a fragile peace. “I’m very nervous that it will happen again,” said Hla Soe.

About 500 of Minhla’s township’s 100,000 people are Muslims, said the police officer, who estimated two-thirds of those Muslim had fled.

However, Tun Tun is staying. “I have no choice,” says the 26-year-old, whose tea shop was looted by Buddhists, one armed with a chainsaw.

He plans to rebuild his shop, whose daily revenue of 10,000 kyat ($11) supports an extended family of 12. On the wall of his ransacked kitchen is a portrait of democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi. He did not believe she could do anything to help.

Tun Tun traced the rising communal tension in Minhla to speeches given on February 26 and 27 by a celebrated monk visiting from Mon State, to the east of Yangon.

He spoke to a crowd of 2,000 about the “969 movement”, said Win Myint, 59, who runs a Buddhist community centre which hosted the monk.

After the speech, Muslims were jeered and fewer Buddhists frequented his tea shop, said Tun Tun. Stickers bearing the number 969 appeared on non-Muslim street stalls across Minhla.

President Thein Sein’s ambitious reform program has won praise, but his government has also been criticized for failing to stem violence last year in Rakhine State in western Myanmar, where officials say 110 people were killed and 120,000 were left homeless, most of them Rohingya Muslims.

The U.N. special rapporteur on human rights in Myanmar said on Thursday he had received reports of “state involvement” in the recent violence at Meikhtila.

Soldiers and police sometimes stood by “while atrocities have been committed before their very eyes, including by well-organized ultra-nationalist Buddhist mobs”, said the rapporteur, Tomas Ojea Quintana. “This may indicate direct involvement by some sections of the state or implicit collusion and support for such actions.”

Late on Friday, three monks were preparing to give another “969″ speech in Ok Kan, a town 113 km (70 miles) from Yangon.

(Additional reporting by Min Zayar Oo; Editing by Andrew R.C. Marshall and Robert Birsel)

As tensions between Beijing and Hanoi escalate over the South China Sea, Vietnamese anti-China protesters who face repeated police crackdowns are finding a new form of political expression: soccer.

“People don’t feel scared playing soccer,” said Phuong, the team captain, after a practice match in the capital, Hanoi.

They call themselves “No U FC” — a reference to the U-shaped line China has drawn around almost the entire South China Sea, passing close to Vietnam, then around Malaysia and north to the Philippines, an area where potential oil deposits, strategic shipping routes and fishing rights converge in one of Asia’s most combustible territorial disputes.

“FC” stands for Football Club. Or, as some players say, “Fuck China”.

The team illustrates mounting resentment of China whose sovereignty claims over the stretch of water off its south coast and to the east of mainland Southeast Asia set it directly against U.S. allies Vietnam and the Philippines, while Brunei, Taiwan and Malaysia also lay claim to parts.

The club was formed after police arrested dozens of anti-China protesters who had gathered peacefully almost every weekend from June to August last year. They were at first tolerated in the tightly controlled Communist country where public dissent is rare. But the authorities feared they could evolve into a wider, harder-to-control anti-government movement, said several diplomats with high-level government contacts.

Some of those arrested were accused of turning against the state. Among the protesters were intellectuals and bloggers whose anger extended well beyond Beijing to sensitive domestic issues – from a widening rich-poor divide to land evictions, police brutality and restrictions on freedom of expression.

After the crackdown, Phuong and other protest leaders met at Thuy Ta, a popular cafe near Hanoi’s Hoan Kiem Lake, to plot their next move. Police ordered the cafe’s owners not to serve them. They went to another cafe, and soon that was shut down.

“That’s when we decided to start the soccer team,” said Phuong. “We needed a way to meet regularly.”

About 30 players turned up for their first practice on Oct. 30 last year. By March, they had their first high-profile game against a team sponsored by PetroVietnam, a state company that has riled China by exploring for oil in the South China Sea. No U FC’s supporters waved anti-China banners and shouted “down with Chinese aggression”.

Police ordered PetroVietnam not to play, said Phuong. The field’s owner ordered them off the grounds, for good. Police officials were unavailable to comment on this story.

CAT AND MOUSE

No U FC engaged in a cat-and-mouse game with the authorities for several months, gathering at various fields in Hanoi often only to be shooed away. They wore black-and-white soccer jerseys with a crossed-out U-shaped crest on the front. Emblazoned on the back: “Hoàng Sa”, the Vietnamese name for disputed islands also known as the Paracels.

Since September, they have gathered twice a week at an artificial-turf field owned by the military, an institution the protesters say appears sympathetic to their cause. But undercover police usually keep watch.

On a recent Sunday, nearly 100 No U FC members showed up. They take pride in their diversity: one is a poet, another a banker. Their ages range from 10 to 60. Some play barefoot.

Beyond their common beliefs, they are united by something else: nearly all have been detained at some point, along with supporters such as Ta Tri Hai, a violinist in a straw cowboy hat who played folk music on the sidelines.

“We’re getting stronger because of social media,” said Nguyen Van Dung, a goalkeeper and protest organiser. The club has swelled to about 120 members who communicate closely on Facebook.

He criticised the government for what he sees as a weak response to assertions of Chinese sovereignty, including last month when Chinese fishing boats were accused of cutting a seismic cable attached to a PetroVietnam vessel exploring near the Gulf of Tonkin.

“The Vietnam government needs to put more pressure on China,” he said.

That looks unlikely to happen.

RELUCTANCE TO COMPLAIN TOO LOUDLY

Vietnam depends heavily on China. Imported Chinese machinery, refined oil and steel are at the heart of Vietnam’s factory-fuelled economy, stretching Vietnam’s trade deficit with China to $13 billion in 2011 from $185 million in 2001.

Chinese resentment runs deep, rooted in feelings of national pride and the struggle for independence after decades of war and colonialism. Faded grey pagodas etched with Chinese characters are studded around Hanoi, a reminder of the more than 1,000 years of Chinese rule that ended in the 10th century.

Some recall the invasion of Chinese forces in northern Vietnam in 1979 and the border skirmishes that continued into the 1980s. Chinese money began trickling in from 1991, when ties were normalised, reaching $120 million in investments by 1999.

Since then, Chinese investment has surged to $21 billion when combined with the value of Hong Kong projects in Vietnam.

This helps explain Vietnam’s reluctance to complain loudly over each Beijing provocation, said diplomats.

At a Nov. 19 summit of Southeast Asian leaders in Cambodia, China stalled debate on a resolution of maritime disputes in the South China Sea, rebutted attempts to start formal talks on the issue and avoided any rebuke from Obama Administration over its territorial ambitions. While the Philippines lodged a formal protest, there were no public statements from Vietnam.

Days later, when China’s southern Hainan province authorised police to board and seize foreign ships operating “illegally” in its waters in the South China Sea from next year, the Philippines, Singapore and the secretary general of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations expressed concern. Vietnam kept silent.

Only when Chinese boats were accused of sabotaging the Vietnamese oil exploration operation by cutting a seismic cable did authorities issue a condemnation on Dec. 4.

Phuong, 25, wants his government to show more consistency in its public statements over China’s territorial ambitions. And he doesn’t understand why authorities won’t support him.

“We’re patriots,” he said.

He has been arrested three times and lost his job at an electronics shop after police pressured the owner, he said. Teammate Le Dung is equally resolute. His wife, he said, divorced him because he wouldn’t stop protesting. Another player, La Viet Dung, tattooed the club’s logo on his arm.

Among the club’s fans are well-known dissidents such as Le Gia Khanh, 80, who was imprisoned for six years for helping former colonial ruler France during the First Indochina War that ended in 1954. He was jailed a second time during the Vietnam War with the United States.

“This team exists to prove that the fire in our hearts is still alive,” he said after cheering the team from the sidelines.

The comments by Obama at a regional summit meeting illustrate how he intends to manage Sino-U.S. ties that have become more fraught across a range of issues, including trade, commercial espionage and the territorial disputes between Beijing and Washington’s Asian allies.

“President Obama’s message is there needs to be a reduction of the tensions,” Deputy National Security Adviser Ben Rhodes said after the East Asia Summit in the Cambodian capital Phnom Penh. Also present at the summit were leaders from China, Japan, the 10-member Association of South East Asian Nations (ASEAN), India, South Korea, Australia and New Zealand.

“There is no reason to risk any potential escalation, particularly when you have two of the world’s largest economies – China and Japan – associated with some of those disputes.”

That diplomatic response comes at the end of a three-day trip by Obama to old U.S. ally Thailand, new friend Myanmar and China ally Cambodia in a visit that underlines the expansion of U.S. military and economic interests in Asia under last year’s so-called “pivot” from conflicts in the Middle East and Afghanistan.

Obama’s attention was divided as he tried to stay on top of the unfolding crisis in Gaza. He dispatched Secretary of State Hillary Clinton from the summit to the Middle East for a round of troubleshooting talks in Israel, the West Bank and Egypt.

In his first meeting with a Chinese leader since his re-election, Obama said Washington and its chief economic rival must work together to “establish clear rules of the road” for trade and investment.

“It is very important that as two of the largest economies in the world that we work to establish clear rules of the road internationally for trade and investment,” Obama told Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao. The U.S. president, however, stopped short of accusing China of violating those rules.

During the U.S. election, Obama accused his rival, Mitt Romney, of shipping U.S. jobs to China when he was a businessman. Romney, in turn, denounced Obama for being “a near-supplicant to Beijing” on trade, human rights and security.

ASIAN DISPUTES

In Asia, those trade tensions overlap with friction over Chinese sovereignty claims on disputed islands. On Monday, the Philippines accused summit host Cambodia of trying to stifle discussions on the South China Sea, where Chinese claims overlap with those of ASEAN members the Philippines, Vietnam, Malaysia and Brunei, as well as Taiwan.

It was the second time in five months China appeared to use its influence over Cambodia to stifle debate over the issue.

A July foreign ministers meeting of ASEAN, also hosted by Cambodia, broke down in acrimony and failed to agree on a communiqué for the first time, just weeks after a standoff between a Philippine warship and Chinese vessels in the South China Sea.

“I’m committed to working with China and I’m committed to working with Asia,” Obama said. China and the United States had a “special responsibility” to lead the way on sustained global growth, he added before the meeting was closed to media.

Wen highlighted “the differences and disagreements between us” but said these could be resolved through trade and investment.

The Philippines, Australia and other parts of the region have seen a resurgence of U.S. warships, planes and personnel, since Obama began shifting foreign, economic and security policy towards Asia late last year, unnerving Beijing.

Japanese Prime Minister Yoshihiko Noda said mounting Asian security problems raise the importance of the U.S.-Japan alliance, a veiled reference to tensions over Chinese sovereignty claims and maritime disputes.

“With the increasing severity of the security environment in East Asia, the importance of the Japan-U.S. alliance is increasing,” Noda told Obama.

STRAINED TIES

Beijing claims the South China Sea as its territory based on historical records. The area is thought to hold vast, untapped reserves of oil and natural gas that could potentially place China, the Philippines, Vietnam and other claimant nations alongside the likes of Saudi Arabia, Russia and Qatar.

Sino-Japanese relations are also under strain after the Japanese government bought disputed islands known as Senkaku in Japan and Diaoyu in China from a private Japanese owner in September, triggering violent protests and calls for boycotts of Japanese products across China.

China says both disputes involve sea-lanes vital for its economy and prefers to address conflicts through one-on-one talks.

The Philippines sent a letter of protest on Tuesday to Cambodia after the summit host said Southeast Asian leaders agreed not to internationalize the row over the South China Sea and to confine talks to between ASEAN and China — a claim disputed by Philippine President Benigno Aquino.

A stern-faced Philippine Foreign Minister Albert del Rosario said his delegation had been shocked when a Cambodian official told a news conference that ASEAN leaders had reached a consensus at their summit on Sunday.

“Consensus means everybody. I was there, the president (Aquino) was there and we’re saying we’re not with it because there’s no consensus,” del Rosario told reporters. “How can they say there’s consensus when we’re saying there’s no consensus?”

(Additional reporting by Mark Felsenthal, Stuart Grudgings, Prak Chan Thul, Manuel Mogato and James Pomfret; Editing by Raju Gopalakrishnan)