By Dr. Ko Ko Gyi Abdul Rahman Zafrudin
In our school textbooks and popular histories written by many Bamar scholars, certain chapters of Myanmar’s long and complex history are conveniently shortened or even skipped. One striking example is the era of the three Shan brothers who rose to power after the fall of the Pagan (Bagan) Kingdom and ruled during the Pinya and Innwa (Ava) periods.
When we read our textbooks, we often find only a brief mention: “After the fall of Pagan, three Shan brothers took over.” Then full stop. No more explanation. No attempt to describe the political, social, and cultural developments that took place during those important centuries. Yet, this period — roughly from the early 14th to the mid-16th century — was crucial in shaping Upper Burma’s kingdoms and its relations with the Shan states and neighbouring regions.
The real story is far more intricate than a mere “Shan takeover.” These three brothers — Athinhkaya, Yazathingyan, and Thihathu — were local leaders who filled the power vacuum left by Pagan’s collapse. They did not simply invade but became part of a long process of Shan-Tai migration from the Yunnan region, blending with the existing Burman elites. This was a dynamic era of shifting alliances, local autonomy, and intermarriage among ethnic elites. However, most official histories and schoolbooks treat it as a short interruption between “real” Bamar dynasties.
The late eminent historian Professor Dr. Than Tun, to his credit, honestly wrote that the Tai–Shan conquerors of that time were eventually “conquered” by the Ava (Innwa) Kingdom — not by sword, but by religion and culture, as they gradually embraced Theravāda Buddhism and blended into the existing Bamar courtly traditions.
However, I, though merely a layman in history, would humbly differ from that interpretation. While conversion to Buddhism did bring about some degree of cultural alignment, it did not erase the distinct Shan–Tai identity that continued to influence Upper Burma’s art, architecture, and even royal traditions for centuries. For instance, many of the pagodas and stupas from that era bear a striking resemblance to Thai and Lao-style structures, with their elegant long-necked spires and multi-tiered ornamental forms — quite different from the solid, bell-shaped Bamar pagodas of later Konbaung or earlier Pagan styles.
This architectural evidence suggests that even as the Shan rulers adopted Buddhism, they retained their own aesthetic and cultural expression, leaving behind a hybrid legacy that modern historians rarely explore in depth.
The pattern of omission does not end there.
The same kind of selective storytelling appears again when we reach the history of the Second World War. If you only read the official versions or listen to government ceremonies, you might think that it was the Bamar revolutionaries alone who fought and defeated the Japanese. The truth, however, is far broader and far more collective.
The liberation of Burma was not achieved by one group. The Kachins, Chins, Karens, and other ethnic minorities fought bravely as Allied soldiers and guides in the northern hills. Thousands of Indian, Bengali, Punjabi, Nepalese (Gurkha), Australian, and British soldiers gave their lives to stop the Japanese advance at Imphal and Kohima. These were the decisive battles that cut off the head of the Japanese military beast in Burma. Yet their names and sacrifices are rarely mentioned in Myanmar’s schoolbooks or official commemorations.
At the Kohima War Cemetery, the epitaph reads:
“When you go home, tell them of us and say,
For your tomorrow, we gave our today.”
Those words should remind us of all who fought — regardless of race, religion, or nationality. But sadly, even in countries like Myanmar, Malaysia, Singapore, and Brunei, many people have forgotten that countless soldiers from the Indian subcontinent died so that this region could be free from Japanese occupation. Today, their descendants are sometimes looked down upon or discriminated against by the very societies their forefathers helped to liberate. That is one of history’s saddest ironies.
This selective memory is not limited to Myanmar alone.
Even in recent commemorations, such as China’s 80th anniversary of the war against Japanese aggression, President Xi Jinping’s speech reportedly focused entirely on Chinese heroism and victory — without mentioning the vital support and sacrifices of American soldiers, pilots, and engineers who helped defend China from Japanese invasion. National narratives, it seems, often prefer pride over precision.
There is an old saying that “History is written by the conquerors.”
Yet, in modern times, it is often rewritten — or manipulated — by the governments of the day. What is omitted is just as telling as what is written. And when entire groups, communities, or nations are erased from their rightful place in history, our collective understanding becomes poorer and less honest.
To make our history truthful and meaningful, we must do three things:
- Revise our school curricula to include the full stories of periods like the Pinya and Innwa dynasties and the complex role of the Shan and other ethnic groups.
- Acknowledge the shared wartime sacrifices of all who fought — Bamar, Kachin, Chin, Karen, Indian, Gurkha, British, Australian, American, and others.
- Teach our children humility in remembrance, reminding them that independence and freedom were achieved not by one race or religion alone, but through collective struggle and shared humanity.
When we remember those who gave their today for our tomorrow — truthfully and inclusively — we not only honor the dead, but we also build a wiser and fairer nation for the living.
“My scattered thoughts were like jasmine flowers fallen on the ground — but with a little help from technology, they were strung together into a garland fit to be worn on the head.”
