BURMA’S CONCRETE JUNGLE
Surely Burma’s greatest linguistic gift to the world is the term “white elephant”, meaning something that is of little use to man nor beast, yet still ruinously difficult and costly to maintain, a bit like Meghan Markle. In legend, Buddha’s mother dreamed of just such an elephant entering her womb immediately prior to the baby godlet’s conception, making the possession of similar rare albinos prized by Southeast Asian monarchs as signs of their divine Buddha-sanctioned right to rule. Thus, if a rival courtier or troublesome courtesan were ever to be gifted a pale pachyderm by the King, it could not be declined, being an ostensible sign of royal favour… whereas in truth the King aimed only to eat up his potential usurper’s gold through looking after the useless creature, which could never be given away or used as a work-animal, being no beast of burden, just a burdensome beast. So revered were they that some were escorted everywhere by Buddhist priests, lulled to sleep by choirs singing hymns, and even suckled as calves by human women – you can see how they could easily bankrupt an owner. The term was popularised abroad by American carnival-barker PT Barnum, who acquired one at great expense, planning to bill it as “The Sacred White Elephant of Burma”. When he actually got it, Barnum found it was really just dirty grey with roseate spots or “diseased blotches”. Sadly, white elephants aren’t truly white, but mottled pink, a genuine misnomer.
Naturally, today’s Burmese absolute rulers in the astrology and magic-obsessed military junta (or ) which has governed the Buddhist nation for most of the 70-plus years since it gained its independence from the British Empire in 1948 possess several white elephants of their own, which are endlessly paraded on TV being showered with scented holy-water and chanted prayers to make the Generals’ own reign seem whiter than white rather than blood-red. New elephants have a remarkable record of popping up just before elections, as in 2010 and 2015, suggesting the military keep a few hidden in reserve for as and when they are needed, with the animals hailed as living puppet-politicians and another. In recent decades, Burma has accumulated a record number of albinos, which at first seems like a heavenly gift bestowed by Buddha – until you consider that rampant deforestation has simply flushed them out into the open, facilitating easy capture by government snatch-squads. Like Russian dolls, these white elephants now live safe and secure, guarded by policemen wielding assault-rifles, within another, even larger, white elephant of the concrete kind – Uppatasanti Pagoda, a golden temple-cum-zoo within the grounds of the junta’s mega-costly purpose-built new capital of Naypyidaw. It’s a wholly artificial city-state carved from the jungle interior and serves equally as fortress, royal city, three-dimensional propaganda symbol and extended exercise in occult architecture so mammoth in scale it would make even Nicholas Hawksmoor tremble. With the Tatmadaw seizing open power once again in the deadly coup of 1 February 2021, their impregnable elephant-sanctuary may yet prove its worth after all.
