ASTRONOMICAL downtown rents, power cuts, traffic that gets worse by the week: these are Yangon’s growing pains. But they pale in comparison with its growing pleasures: cranes everywhere, a steady stream of new businesses and, most important, optimistic citizens. Signs of progress abound, some flashy—swish new restaurants and hotels—and others mundane—co-ordinated bus routes that have ended the lunatic system whereby the packed vehicles of competing firms raced from stop to stop to snaffle the waiting customers.

Outside the city, however, the lustre fades quickly. Booming Yangon uses perhaps half of Myanmar’s electricity and accounts for as much as a quarter of its economic output, but most of the country’s population is still rural. They fish or farm, often using primitive methods, a fact that becomes glaringly apparent as soon as you leave Yangon. The military regimes that ruled Myanmar for 50 years left it isolated and impoverished.

Aung San Suu Kyi, who opposed the generals for decades before assuming the country’s leadership last March, entered office with the wind at her back. The military junta had begun liberalising the economy before it handed over power. Foreign investment had risen, particularly in oil and gas, and the private sector was growing by leaps and bounds, albeit from a tiny base. After the landslide victory of Ms Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy (NLD) in elections in late 2015, donors poured in funds and expertise. Yangon is filled with international advisers eager to help the country modernise. And less than six months after Ms Suu Kyi took office, America lifted long-standing sanctions.

Yet growth is now slowing, as is foreign investment (see chart). The government has taken a few steps to maintain economic momentum. Regulatory changes approved in August made it easier for microfinance companies to operate—a must in a country where most people lack access to affordable credit. An update of basic corporate law went to parliament in January; when passed it will replace the Burma Companies Act of 1914, which includes severe penalties for firms that lay false claim to “the patronage of His Britannic Majesty”. An investment law enacted in October builds on the generals’ market reforms and, unlike their decrees, which were often imposed out of the blue, it was the subject of an extensive public consultation.

But the new government also has peremptory moments. Before Burmese New Year, it suddenly announced that the associated holiday would last five days this year rather than the usual ten. It has also unveiled a draft law requiring foreigners living in Myanmar to get government approval to leave their city of residence for longer than 24 hours. Foreign chambers of commerce, naturally, are up in arms. These incidents point to two frequent complaints about Ms Suu Kyi’s government: atrocious communication and a penchant for centralisation. The previous government, says one foreign investor, included experienced economic policymakers and listened to businessmen’s complaints; this one does neither. “This government sees business as evil,” he says. “We don’t know who to talk to, and we don’t know who [Ms Suu Kyi] listens to.” There are no regular exchanges between businesses, legislators and regulators, so laws are proposed before MPs understand their impact. And the government has not articulated much of an agenda for reform: shortly after taking office, for instance, the NLD could not come up with any more detail about its plans for the economy than a 12-point manifesto that contained such laudable but vague goals as cutting red tape and encouraging competition. Many civil-society types complain that they, too, have no access to Ms Suu Kyi’s inner circle. Her feeling, says one, is that the role of NGOs was to ensure the previous government remained on the path towards democracy; now that the Burmese people have freely chosen their rulers, obstreperous watchdogs are no longer needed. Donors with money and goodwill, meanwhile, have projects at the ready, but people in government are reluctant to make decisions without a clear signal from the top. Even Ms Suu Kyi’s main priority, the peace process between the government and the ethnic armies that have fought it for decades, appears to be stalling. The momentum built by the previous government has dissipated. Skirmishes between the army and assorted rebel groups are becoming more frequent. The second in a series of national peace conferences, scheduled for February, was delayed after it became apparent that only a handful of groups would even attend. The terms of a final deal remain as unclear as ever. The army, which under the constitution it foisted on the country remains a law unto itself, rakes in millions from jade and timber in border regions, giving it a strong incentive to let fighting continue. Peace would also put the ethnic militias out of business.

Ms Suu Kyi is in a tricky position: the army fears she will concede too much to the rebels, while ethnic minorities see her as just another condescending leader from the country’s Burman majority, little different from her predecessors. Shockingly, she has failed to criticise the army as it has rampaged through villages inhabited by the Rohingya minority, raping and killing on a horrifying scale according to the UN. Some 70,000 of them have fled across the border into Bangladesh. The Rohingya are disliked by the Burmans who form the bedrock of the NLD’s support; defending them could dent her political standing. But in a democracy, leaders have to make hard choices. So far, Ms Suu Kyi has proved more adept at avoiding them.