Nestled along the banks of the mighty Irrawaddy River, Sagaing Division has long been a silent witness to Myanmar’s most defining moments. Unlike the bustling streets of Yangon or the tourist-laden pagodas of Bagan, Sagaing remains an enigma—a place where ancient Buddhist traditions collide with modern-day insurgencies, and where the scars of colonialism still shape local identities.
Centuries before European powers drew arbitrary borders across Southeast Asia, Sagaing was the seat of a short-lived but influential kingdom (1315–1364). The Sagaing Dynasty, though overshadowed by its more famous neighbors like Ava and Bagan, left behind a legacy of monastic scholarship. Today, the region’s rolling hills are dotted with over 500 white-and-gold stupas, earning it the nickname "Little Mandalay."
Yet this spiritual tranquility belies a darker truth: Sagaing’s monasteries have repeatedly become shelters for displaced communities fleeing military crackdowns—a pattern tragically revived during the 2021 coup.
When the British annexed Upper Burma in 1885, Sagaing’s strategic riverside location made it a hub for teak logging and rice exports. Colonial administrators built railroads that still creak under the weight of overloaded freight cars today. But the infrastructure came at a cost:
A local proverb still muttered in markets captures the resentment: "The British took our trees, then gave us borders that bleed."
Post-independence Myanmar promised federalism, but Sagaing became a battleground instead. The region’s ethnic diversity—Burman majority alongside Naga, Chin, and Shan minorities—made it a tinderbox.
When the Tatmadaw (Myanmar military) seized power in February 2021, Sagaing’s dusty towns erupted in protest. By late 2022, grassroots militias like the People’s Defense Forces (PDFs) turned the region into a stronghold of resistance. Satellite imagery reveals:
"We fight with hunting rifles and homemade mines," a 19-year-old PDF fighter told me via encrypted message. "But we know these hills better than they do."
Sagaing’s northwestern edge brushes against India’s volatile Manipur and Nagaland states—a smuggling corridor for weapons and drugs. Meanwhile, China’s Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) eyes the region’s minerals:
"They call it development," scoffed a Kachin activist. "We call it colonization with contracts."
While the world focuses on coups and refugees, Sagaing’s farmers face a slower disaster:
In Monywa, a riverside pagoda now stands half-submerged—an eerie symbol of coexistence with catastrophe.
Amid the chaos, Sagaing’s people persist. In clandestine schools, children learn Burmese and English via smuggled tablets. At night, villagers whisper news through coded thanaka (traditional makeup) patterns. And in the monasteries, monks still debate philosophy—just as their ancestors did seven centuries ago.
"History isn’t just in the past here," an elderly nun told me, gesturing to smoke rising from a distant ridge. "It’s something we breathe in every morning."