There was a constant din in the tea shop. Pots clanged, kettles screamed and steamed, and cups and saucers clunked as they collided with the wooden tables. From a distance, a man in a longyi—a traditional sarong still worn by the Burmese—made kiss-kiss sounds as he called for a tea boy to take his order.
It was still breakfast time, but my husband and I were soaked and sweating from the oppressive heat and humidity of downtown Yangon. With a full day ahead, we decided to fuel up with a traditional Burmese breakfast of champions—laphet yay, black tea sweetened with a mix of condensed and evaporated milk; and plates of samosas and char kway or deep-fried dough strips.
I fanned myself with a crumpled brochure that was hastily stuffed into my saddlebag the day before to reinforce the feeble breeze churned out by the solitary wall fan that yawed and whimpered as its head turned from side to side. Like the rest of the rundown tea shop, the edges of the fan’s sea-green blades were capped with accumulated dust and grime—perhaps from having never been cleaned since its installation.
Despite its dilapidated condition, the tea shop gradually filled with a diverse mix of patrons, from tourists to regulars. Tea shops hold a significant place in Burmese culture as both a tradition and a social institution that continues to evolve over time. To be clear, tea was not Britain’s gift to Myanmar. Centuries before British occupation, the Paluang and Wa tribes of Myanmar’s Shan State were already cultivating and enjoying tea.
What the British did introduce was a different kind of tea-drinking culture built around a social ritual that set the stage for conversation and backroom diplomacy. Tea shops are where alliances are forged, deals are sealed, and the seeds of movements are sown. Here, people drink raw, unfiltered news, replete with all its gritty details. They sink their teeth into crunchy gossip served straight from the horse’s mouth.
Essentially, tea shops are to the Burmese what pubs are to the British—except that these are alcohol-free social hubs as Buddhism frowns upon inebriation. If the heavily-postered walls and peeling paint of a tea shop could talk, they would probably spill an endless flow of tall tales and political drama. This is delightful—unless you’re the drama, and it’s your reputation being nibbled.
Like pubs, tea shops had been traditionally considered the exclusive domain of men. Respectable ladies, especially during the colonial period, were expected to steer clear, stay at home, and focus on their domestic duties while the man of the house lingered at the tea shop to do business, ponder the fate of the country, and debate matters of national interest.
“It’s wild to think how scandalous it once was for a woman to hang out at a tea shop,” I remarked, casting a cautious glance around. While most of the patrons at that moment were men, there was also a sprinkling of women enjoying laphet yay and spilling some tea.
“True, our guide mentioned yesterday that some of the more traditional folks still frown upon women enjoying tea here,” my husband chimed in, a playful gleam in his eyes and a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve always had a rebellious streak, haven’t you?”
“I try to behave once in a while,” I chuckled and thanked the tea boy as he hastily placed our orders on the table.
Even today, some of the more traditional and conservative segments of the Burmese population find it hard to imagine women frequenting tea shops. However, the curious glances from locals didn’t deter me from savoring a cup of Burmese milk tea and relishing my char kway. I’ve worked in many male-dominated spaces before where asserting my presence was a daily act of resilience. In the boardroom as in the tea shop, I occupied my space and enjoyed my refreshments.
In modern interpretations of traditional neighborhood tea shops like the Rangoon Tea House, the atmosphere is refreshingly different.
While these establishments remain deeply rooted in tradition and heritage, places like the Rangoon Tea House are more inclusive and welcoming, particularly to those traditionally excluded from tea shop culture, such as women. Continuing the legacy of tea shops as vital social spaces, these contemporary venues, often housed in stunning British colonial buildings, offer a delightful introduction to Burmese culture, inviting foreigners to experience it one sip at a time.
Whether in their traditional or contemporary form, tea shops are where you go to feel the pulse of Burmese society. A friend of mine, a Burmese diplomat whom I met during a brief visit to Austria, once shared that hanging out at a local tea shop offers a more vivid and authentic window into Myanmar’s collective consciousness. These humble, sometimes dingy spaces draw ordinary citizens as well as military spies who know exactly where to get their fill of the latest “intelligence”. Before stories make their way to the Irrawaddy Times or on Facebook (if they ever do!), they first make their rounds over steaming cups of tea and the satisfying crunch of char kway. I guess, it’s also safe to say that some of the most interesting events in Burmese history begin with tea.
Rumor and some historians have it that the infamous 8888 Uprising in Myanmar where thousands of people from the countryside rose up against military rule started at an unassuming tea shop in Yangon where two boys were arguing over which music to play. One of the boys involved in the ruckus was allegedly the son of a prominent military official. No one knows for sure what happened to the other boy or whose music ended up getting played.
“Je zu din ba de,” I said as the tea boy brought us more tea and samosas. My eyes lingered on a collage of old calendars overlapping with posters of democracy icon Aung San Suu Kyi and some teen movie stars. On the opposite side of the room, electric wires hung haphazardly, while a cell phone lay on a wooden counter attached to its charger. Well, I thought, at least we were seated close to the exit—just in case. From a distance, a soda chiller glowed brightly, vying for attention with a couple of fluorescent tubes mounted near a bulky television that was beaming cloudy images of black-and-white films. At the counter, a middle-aged woman was busy counting some paper bills.
For some reason, tea shops remind me so much of diplomacy, which also used to be an old boys’ club. Like tea shops, women were also largely invisible in diplomacy’s early days yet it did not mean that women were totally absent. Diplomacy is and continues to be a family affair. While men took center stage in official negotiations (“Track I” diplomacy) as Ambassadors, their wives and daughters were instrumental in supporting roles that were crucial to diplomatic success.
Often shrouded in the shadows of more prominent spouses and partners, women worked within extensive networks that can sway negotiations and shape decisions, albeit through the subtle sway of organizing social events that brought key players together. This behind-the-scenes involvement often goes unnoticed but plays a crucial role in the overall diplomatic landscape. By engaging in informal dialogues, organizing socials, and spearheading community and grassroots initiatives, women in
diplomacy play a crucial role in building trust, fostering collaboration, and generating creative solutions to complex problems, laying the groundwork for successful formal negotiations.
During Myanmar’s formal peace process over a decade ago, members of the Women’s League of Burma were relegated as observers, despite being equally impacted by the peace process as other segments of Burmese society. Unfazed, they turned this obstacle into an opportunity for active engagement. They used tea and pastries as tools to bridge the gap, reaching out to their male counterparts involved in negotiations.
Through countless milk tea conversations, they ensured that their unique perspectives on the country’s future were not only acknowledged but also taken seriously. This strategic approach created a conducive environment for dialogue, fostering mutual understanding and paving the way for more inclusive negotiations.
In tea shops, women fuel critical conversations by keeping the tea flowing and managing day-to-day tea house operations as owners and tea house staff who are indispensable in fostering conversations and brokering deals. Whether in international relations or in tea houses, women wield significant influence behind the scenes.
Yet, women cannot remain behind the scenes. Just as the sustainability of tea shops depends on the patronage of all genders, diplomacy requires greater female presence on the frontlines—where debates happen and decisions are forged. While women’s informal contributions are invaluable, women also deserve greater representation and active involvement in formal processes. After all, the full picture can never emerge without the perspectives, insights, and expertise of the other half of the population.
Tradition is good for as long as it does not stifle innovation or limit inclusivity. It is worth reflecting that before a practice became tradition, it served an adaptive purpose at one time or another. Blindly clinging to tradition without considering its relevance in modern contexts can hinder growth and limit our ability to evolve as a society.
As my husband savored the final sip of his tea, gently placing the cup back onto its saucer, he asked, “What’s our next stop?”
“I think a visit to the Shwedagon Pagoda would be wonderful,” I replied, the shimmering image of Myanmar’s most sacred site vivid in my thoughts.
“Sounds good,” he nodded. “Lead the way.”
Featured photo by Sebastien Boisvert | Credit: Getty Images/iStockphoto
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