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A Myanmar tradition of playing card games at funerals has warped into days-long illegal gambling fests organised by gangsters and approved by corrupt officials.
By FRONTIER
Dozens of people gathered under an iron-framed shelter, a blue tarpaulin shielding them from the early-afternoon sun. The men in the centre of the scrum seemed oblivious to the watching eyes and stared intently at their cards, some with the hint of a smile, others with pure intensity.
They were playing a popular Myanmar card game known as shan koe mee. Similar to blackjack, around four players are dealt two to three cards, and are only trying to beat the dealer, also known as the banker.
The game itself is not unusual, but the pile of millions of kyats in the centre of the table had the crowd’s attention. The banker had put down an initial pot of K500,000 (about US$110 at the market rate), which then swelled from additional bets – a hefty sum for the working class East Hlaing Tharyar Township in Yangon’s outskirts.
The atmosphere grew tense as the players revealed their cards. As is often the case, the banker won, gleefully scooping up piles of cash as the other players cursed him angrily. One ran out of money and had to leave the table.
Inside, a grainy photograph of U Tin Oo watched this scene unfold with a kindly look. The 67-year-old with thinning grey hair had recently died of asthma, and his bereaved loved ones mingled with the gamblers, some of whom were likely hardened criminals.
“We were paid K700,000 to let them gamble here and they play all day and all night for seven days,” a family member told Frontier, adding that they didn’t know the gamblers beforehand.
“They built the shelter, so we don’t have to do anything. They will take a break when we have the funeral ceremony, but otherwise they will keep playing.”
Under Myanmar’s 2019 Gambling Law, a member of the Myanmar Police Force or a local administrator can arrest people gambling in public on the spot without a warrant. The maximum penalty is five years in prison and a fine of K1 million. But despite the funeral being held on the same block as a ward administration office, no such arrests were made.
Tradition corrupted
The spirit of Tin Oo may have been rubbing shoulders with the gamblers as well.
According to Myanmar Buddhist tradition, the doors and windows of the house in which a person has died are left open for seven days and nights, to allow the spirit of the deceased to visit freely. On the seventh day, monks typically come to chant scriptures to facilitate an easy transition to the next life, concluded by slowly pouring water from a pot to a cup.
During this seven-day period, relatives and neighbours often stay at the house to help the family, while men in particular pass the time by playing card games.
This hobby has become so widespread that the grieving family is expected to provide playing cards for their guests. Gambling has historically taken place, but was generally limited to very small amounts, and winnings were typically donated.
Yet, this once-innocent cultural tradition has been corrupted.
Funerals-cum-gambling dens began appearing in poorer neighbourhoods about a decade ago, using traditional card playing as a cover for high-stakes illegal gambling. The practice has boomed even more in recent years, amid a severe economic downturn and collapse of rule of law following the 2021 military coup.
Business has been good for the organisers, known as contractors, but they’re also facing more competition. U Gyi, who has been a contractor for about 10 years, said that in the past the events were held mainly in Yangon’s poorest and roughest neighbourhoods – namely squatter communities in East and West Hlaing Tharyar and Shwe Pyi Thar townships.
But in recent years, it has spread to other, wealthier parts of those townships and new ones as well, such as Htantabin Township.
“Before, there were few contractors,” said U Gyi, asking to be identified by a nickname. “We also tried to keep quiet about our work and where we held the events. We would speak with the family and ensure the games were played discretely because police and ward administrators sometimes didn’t cooperate with us.”
Some ward administrators could be bribed, but even then, the practice had to be kept secret from their higher-ups.
“At that time, it was important for them [the administrators] that news didn’t spread about these events,” said U Gyi.
The more robust economy before the coup also meant it was harder to convince mourning families to allow gambling at the funerals.
“Even families that could barely make ends meet didn’t want us, which was understandable. Who would want gamblers hanging around their house while grieving the death of a family member?” he added.
But the situation has changed due to the collapse of the economy and rule of law under the new military regime.
Before the military seized power, U Gyi was the only contractor in his ward, but now he has at least four competitors, who are all trying to one-up each other by offering more money to bereaved families. The typical rate has ballooned from K200,000-K300,000 to between K400,000 and K1 million – although the value of the currency has also nearly halved.
They also jockey for territory, bribing administrators and police to allow them to hold events, and to block other contractors from doing the same.
“When we arrange a gambling event, we first visit the ward administrator and pay K200,000 and then we pay K100,000 to the police in charge of the ward. The fixed rate means contractors needn’t beat around the bush when bribing the authorities,” U Gyi said.
Many local administrators were appointed after the coup, chosen for their loyalty to the military, and have used the opportunity to enrich themselves.
However, contractors can easily justify the cost of the bribes. One contractor in East Hlaing Tharyar said they can make a net profit of K10 million from a seven-day event, after bribes and other costs are deducted.
“The commission fee is usually 10 percent of the amount put in the bank [during a game]. If the banker puts in K500,000, the contractor earns K50,000,” he said, adding that they earn a new commission each time the banker rotates.
Eternal unrest
Soon after news spread last month that Daw Mya May’s 58-year-old husband had died from a stroke in Shwe Pyi Thar Township, the associates of a well-known contractor visited and offered her K700,000.
Even though her tears had not yet dried, she accepted the offer.
“It was the first time in my life that I had held such a large amount of money in my hands. I was grateful, because it allowed me to hold my husband’s funeral according to tradition,” said Mya May, asking to be identified by a pseudonym.
She came to regret this decision, however, when there was almost another death at the funeral.
“My husband died in the morning, and they began playing cards at noon. On the fourth day, a player was beaten almost to death after being accused of cheating. The gamblers were summoned to the ward office where the situation was resolved. We didn’t get involved, but we were shocked by what happened,” Mya May said.
“The games stopped for a while but resumed in the evening. We were afraid and dared not approach them, even when they were making a lot of noise,” she said. “With many gangsters under one roof, fights can happen at any time.”
But financial hardship means many families are still open to dealing with contractors, and some even contact them first in the event of a death in the family.
“It’s because of extreme poverty,” said a charity worker in East Hlaing Tharyar. “It’s heartbreaking that poor families need to earn money from the death of their loved ones.”
The phenomenon is particularly pervasive in places like Shanchaung ward in East Hlaing Tharyar, which hosts many families who have migrated to Yangon from throughout the country in recent years because of poverty or conflict.
“In densely-populated neighbourhoods, there seem to be gambling events at funerals every day,” said one Shanchaung resident. “Our nextdoor neighbour had to borrow from a loan shark to cover a gambling debt but couldn’t meet the repayments and lost the house.”