Insight Myanmar

Episode #414: “They just didn't believe me at first. So I had to prove to them.” With these words, Xiao Yar Yar captures his struggle for recognition— a struggle that has defined both his personal life and his role in Myanmar’s revolution. When the military staged its coup and dismissed the election as fraudulent, Xiao Yar Yar knew the generals were lying. He had collected votes and seen the results himself. Watching peaceful protestors shot down shattered any remaining illusions. A student training to be a teacher, he set aside his future and stepped into the jungle as a medic. “I received medical training after the revolution. Before the revolution, I was just a young man trying to be a teacher,” he recalls. His medical knowledge was born not in classrooms but on the battlefield— learning to stop bleeding, improvise tourniquets, and stabilize the wounded. Later, he trained others, equipping them with lifesaving skills. Disease and exhaustion ravaged fighters as much as bullets, and Xiao Yar Yar became both medic and counselor, keeping morale alive with humor, food, and small gestures of care. Support extended further through his initiative, “Owl Company.” He delivered hammocks, backpacks, food, and small comforts like soft drinks to the frontlines, filling gaps that larger groups overlooked. Yet the suffering also stretched to IDP camps, where families displaced by bombings endured hunger, dirty water, and trauma. Xiao Yar Yar provided what he could—food, filters, encouragement. Yet he warned that mental health, especially for children, was dangerously neglected. “I think the NUG has to take an action about the IDP and the civilian mental health issue,” he insisted. But as an LGBTQ man, discrimination followed him everywhere. He was mocked, underestimated, and even forced into weapons training by mistake. But he proved his worth as a medic leader. “I have faced the discrimination for my whole life,” he acknowledges. Years later, he sees a stronger resistance with better weapons and training, but unity remains essential. His final words are simple and sharp: “We have to unite very well... all of the EAOs and all of the PDFs.” 

Episode #413: “No one's liberated without everyone being liberated, right?” Those words belong to Nitchakarn “Memee” Rakwongrit, a Thai youth activist whose journey from a rural upbringing to the center of Bangkok’s protests has made her one of the country’s most visible young voices for democracy and feminist struggle. Born in Mahasarakham province in Thailand’s Isaan region, a place long tied to grassroots democracy but often dismissed by elites, Memee grew up in a politicized household, as her father, a staunch Red Shirt supporter, constantly encouraged her to question authority. At sixteen she moved to Bangkok, and when dissident Wanchalerm Satsaksit was abducted in Cambodia in 2020, she joined her first street protest. She recalls it as the moment the curtain lifted on authoritarianism.  Around the same time, having faced harassment and “slut-shaming,” Memee’s feminist awareness deepened. With the Feminist Liberation Front Thailand, she adapted the Chilean anthem “A Rapist in Your Path” into Thai, sparking both solidarity and backlash. “For me, feminism is not just…a theory with big words or vocabulary, but how we are really living our life,” she says. Memee’s activism quickly put her in the crosshairs. At just sixteen she was arrested for a speech about women in prison; over the next two years she faced seven more cases. Authorities subjected her to symbolic punishments, which she wryly called “certificates of activism.” In 2021, she shaved her head at a rally, declaring, “I will shave my head until this Prime Minister quits!” It became a shocking but powerful symbol of resistance. Despite repression, Memee expanded her reach, and became involved with the Milk Tea Alliance. “It gave me the privilege to be able to listen to broader perspectives and border experiences,” she says. She has worked tirelessly to support Myanmar’s pro-democracy struggle, building bridges through “Thai Students for Burma.” For Memee, activism must also include joy. “Fun has two benefits,” she explains. “It is good for mental health in the community, and it attracts more people to join.” Humor, memes, and play, she insists, are weapons against fear.  

Episode #412: “We are in Myanmar, and nothing is clear cut.”Anthony Davis offers a stark assessment of Myanmar’s war, drawing on decades of experience studying insurgencies. He begins with the United Wa State Army, a thirty-thousand-strong force running a state the size of Belgium. “It would be entirely wrong to see the Wa as simply Chinese puppets or Chinese proxies,” Davis insists. The Wa have scaled back arms transfers under Chinese pressure, but they remain determined to expand their autonomy. Their ambition is recognition as a state, linking their territories along the Chinese and Thai borders. If the regime collapses, Davis argues, the Wa will act swiftly to unite and consolidate. He calls them “a critical player in the overall struggle for Myanmar.”The Wa’s influence now extends west of the Salween, through ties with the Ta’ang, leverage over the Shan State Progress Party, and neutralization of rivals like the Restoration Council of Shan State. This, Davis notes, is ascendancy rather than reckless conquest—a quiet dominance shaping the conflict’s direction.Davis also identifies drones as a decisive factor. Initially dismissed, they became central to resistance victories in late 2023. The junta responded by creating a drone directorate, importing Chinese systems, and applying Russian expertise from Ukraine. By 2025, drones, artillery, air power, and conscripts are integrated into an operating machine. “It’s an army in the way the resistance, by definition, is not,” Davis observes.Resistance morale remains high, but Davis stresses that spirit alone cannot sustain the fight. “They have got plenty of morale. They’re not short of guns. But if you don’t have enough ammunition, then you’re in trouble.”Elections, he says, “will happen come hell or high water,” yet will not bring peace. China’s backing of the junta complicates everything, while the Arakan Army’s rise in Rakhine could change the board entirely. Davis closes with a warning: “The bottom line is, you can have a ceasefire today, but [the Burmese military is] going to come back, they’re going to rebuild, they’re going to re-equip, and they’re going to come back at you.”

Episode #411: This is the second part of our interview with the meditation teacher, Tempel Smith, and it starts off with his decision “to commit to deep intensive Burmese-style meditation, break through some of these habits, and then find a more integrated lifestyle.” With this in mind, he boarded a flight to Myanmar with his friend Diana Winston, and ordained under Sayadaw U Pandita.Although U Pandita’s reputation as a stern and very demanding teacher caused him some concern, he went to the Sayadaw’s monastery and began to practice. Tempel describes U Pandita’s style as a “ruthless investigation” which was uncommon among Western teachers, and which ultimately led to a deeper understanding of the second foundation of mindfulness.After some time, Tempel became concerned about the intensity of the practice, and when he heard about the newly established Pa Auk Monastery, he decided to try it out, as he was especially keen to practice mettā intensively through jhāna meditation.At Pa Auk, he would find a very different style of monastery. The monastics and lay meditators were more relaxed, and openly discussed scripture and practice between meditation sittings. Tempel also found the actual practice to be quite different, particularly the absorptive states that Pa Auk taught. As he progressed in samathā, he began to see lights, considered a positive sign that one’s practice is going well,. He even began to develop psychic powers, such as predicting the future. This, in particular, shook him to his core, and caused him to question Western notions of “the real world.”This paradigm shift of reality began to affect his faith as well. “I was feeling that devotion to the Buddha, his teachings, the centuries of people practicing it, people rediscovering it at different times and re-encouraging that level of practice,” he says. “And then to see that it wasn't mythology, that it actually could be possibly more true than you might have imagined.”In the next segment, we explore how he took these teachings from Myanmar back home to the US with him.  

Episode #410: “We’ve got to find a way from surviving to thriving again.” With this vision, Jue Jue, a social worker and founder of Jue Jue’s Safe Space, seeks to transform Myanmar’s mental health landscape. Raised in a politically engaged family—her father an 88 Generation activist and her mother a frontline social worker—Jue Jue’s early exposure to trauma and resilience shaped her lifelong dedication to social justice.Her understanding of inequality deepened upon moving to the U.S., where her accent and ethnicity led to discrimination, mirroring the systemic exclusion ethnic minorities face in Myanmar. This caused her to reflecting on her own Bamar privilege, which exposed her past biases, especially toward groups like the Rohingyas and Indian-Burmese. She committed herself to building inclusive, respectful spaces.Jue Jue’s Safe Space, launched in 2019, evolved from a Facebook page into a critical mental health platform for Burmese communities. Inspired by personal struggles and intergenerational trauma, the initiative counters stigma by offering culturally grounded, clinically sound services. Jue Jue emphasizes that mental health suffering often stems from systemic injustice, not individual weakness.She challenges her country’s romanticized patriarchy and calls out its political misuse, while urging a return to Buddhist principles of compassion. Despite operating without steady funding, her initiative has supported many during Myanmar’s cascading crises—pandemic, coup, earthquake—while promoting agency and emotional resilience.Though not yet ready to treat oppressors (those who are currently in the military perpetuating abuses), she hopes for a future where reconciliation is possible. “We’re going to shine again,” she affirms, envisioning a Myanmar rebuilt through inner peace, inclusion, and empowered healing.

Episode #409: His military experience enabled a rapport with Myanmar’s armed actors, says Rory McCann, who recently served almost two years as the country Weapons Contamination Specialist for the ICRC. A challenge at the beginning of the job was to build trust with different conflict parties, in part to convince them that the ICRC was teaching weapons safety regarding landmines and other explosive ordnance, not weapons handling. As a 25-year veteran of the Irish Army, McCann was deployed in Chad, Syria and Uganda, with his training in the ordnance corps preparing him for humanitarian mine action. His ICRC role included interaction with the Myanmar Armed Forces and other armed groups. “When you're talking about humanitarian mine action, it has to be much more systematic and you're looking at the international mine action standards,” McCann says. International standards, which are not adhered to in Myanmar, set guidelines across “five pillars": clearance, risk education, victim assistance, stockpile destruction, and advocacy. McCann says his role was educating armed actors about obligations to protect civilians and landmine use under customary IHL. Myanmar is not a signatory to the CCW or the Mine Ban Treaty. Conflict actors are still legally bound by customary IHL that prohibits indiscriminate use of landmines. “Landmine fields are designed to be an obstacle … What we were seeing in Myanmar … they’re simply being used in a sporadic and maybe punitive manner.” Known as “nuisance mining,” this fails to meet military objectives and poses indiscriminate threat to civilians. At present, only risk education, victim assistance, and advocacy are underway. Since 2015, the ICRC and MRCS have conducted over 1,800 sessions reaching 69,000 people in 2024. More than 4,800 people with disabilities were supported through physical rehabilitation services. National ownership is an ICRC goal, though McCann admits conflict makes realization unlikely, focusing instead on risk mitigation and advocacy. 

Episode #408: “There is no way to tell the story of Myanmar and where it’s headed if you are leaving out the Wa,” says Patrick Winn, a veteran Southeast Asia reporter and author of Narcotopia. His book traces the wild story how Wa State, a mountainous enclave on the Chinese border, became defined by narcotics, and how it has become one of the key powers in the country today. A pivotal figure is Saw Lu, born in the mid-1940s, raised among Baptist missionaries, and convinced that literacy and Christianity could unify and “civilize” the Wa. Recruited by Burmese intelligence in his twenties, he was sent to Pang Wai, one of the largest Wa strongholds, as a teacher. Winning villagers’ trust, he then stumbled on a small CIA weapons cache. Through charisma and tactical skill, he transformed himself into a militia leader.  Meanwhile, Kuomintang exiles who had fled China’s civil war turned to opium trafficking, industrializing heroin production along the Thai-Burma border. The CIA and Taiwanese intelligence viewed these warlords as useful anti-communist allies, even as their heroin flowed into South Vietnam and fueled American soldiers’ addictions. Saw Lu tolerated the opium trade, which he despised, to keep Wa villages united against Maoist influence. At one point, the U.S. even used him as a DEA asset, code-named “Superstar.” In the late 1960s, the Communist Party of Burma controlled much of Wa territory for twenty years, during which time Saw Lu faded into obscurity. But a mutiny of Wa soldiers eventually kicked out the Maoists and birthed the United Wa State Army (UWSA). With Chinese backing and drug profits as their main source of income, the UWSA grew into Myanmar’s most powerful non-state military. Saw Lu returned to the scene, and for a while his anti-drug zeal offered a different path to Wa leaders. He wanted to get significant U.S. investment in Wa State in exchange for helping it destroy the drug trade. In the end, however, the CIA undermined Saw Lu’s plans, and he was disgraced.   Today, Wa State is a “narcostate,” effectively an unrecognized country, a state within a state, stable within its own borders yet destabilizing to Myanmar’s unity. “If you think it’s just some dark, out of the way place that doesn’t matter, please update your thinking on this,” Winn warns.

Episode #407: One month after the coup, Captain Kyaw Kyaw defected from his post as a military pediatrician. After years of seeing the military brutalize the civilians they were supposed to protect, committing systematic war crimes in conflicts with ethnic armed organizations, he had still felt loyalty to the soldiers in the lower ranks who he viewed also as victims. The carnage that met protests against the coup, however, was the final straw leading him to join the ranks of defectors.In his account of indoctrination and military training, a clear picture emerges of a military leadership that profits off the suffering of the rank-and-file, most of whom are kept in the dark about the historical record and the facts on the ground today. It is also a picture of a military force that is severely debilitated. “I think at least 30 to 40% of infantry soldiers have to be dismissed because of mental instability, drug addiction or alcoholism,” Kyaw Kyaw says. “Half of the brutality, war crimes, and atrocities occur on the front line and among the civilians. A portion of the soldiers are already psychopaths with severe psychological trauma!”It is an open secret in the military, he says, that the real number of combat-ready soldiers is less than half the official statistics. Corruption riddles the procurement and construction sectors, while cementing the loyalty of top generals whose economic interests depend on the military’s economic stranglehold. In Kyaw Kyaw’s estimate, a significant portion of the military stays loyal only for financial gain, while a minority subscribes to the propaganda. About half, he believes, realize the military is the main perpetrator of injustice, although many are held in check for fear of the consequences if they defect.Kyaw Kyaw has a warning for an international community that has failed to take effective action: “Injustice can be very infectious. If more countries believe in power, instead of dialogue, instead of justice, it will backfire for every nation in the world.” 

Episode #406: “I didn’t come to study this subject deliberately with a focus on Buddhism,” says Justine Chambers, author of Pursuing Morality, a book that explores Buddhist moral life among the Plong community in southeast Myanmar—known to outsiders as Pwo Karen—particularly in and around the town of Hpaan. Her work, the product of many years of immersive fieldwork, traces not only Buddhist ethical practices in everyday life but also the entanglements of those practices with political transitions, spiritual power, armed conflict, and minority identity in Karen State. Chambers’ journey began with refugee advocacy in Australia and continued through work in Mae Sot in 2011, just as Myanmar was opening up. Expecting a conflict zone, she found instead a vibrant town full of youth and ambition, but also widespread moral anxiety. This tension became central to her research. She came to find that morality is not innate, and must be pursued daily. She describes how for the Karen, it is shaped by social factors like gender, age, and class. Chambers corrects the common misconception that Karen identity is primarily Christian. Most Karen in lowland Myanmar are Buddhist, and many trace their spiritual heritage to the Mon and even Burmese kings. Their ethical practice is linked not just to self-cultivation, but to community well-being and even environmental harmony.  Yet morality is not always peaceful. Her discussion of the charismatic yet controversial figure, U Thuzana, and the DKBA’s role in the destruction of Manerplaw reveals how ethical revival can also justify violence and division. Ultimately, Chambers presents morality as both personal and collective, grounded in Buddhist cosmology but lived through daily negotiations with power, suffering, and hope. “It’s also about community, and how you are [a] moral being within that community.” 

Episode #405: “Myanmar deserves better,” reflects Olle Thorell, a Swedish Member of Parliament whose nearly two-decade commitment to the nation is both political and personal.  Elected to the Riksdag in 2006, Thorell's focus on Asian affairs quickly centered on Myanmar. He learned from dedicated activists and, in 2011, had a clandestine meeting with Aung San Suu Kyi, a moment he recalls as “fantastic;” albeit, goes on to acknowledge that this occurred before what her later fall from grace in international relations. Part of Thorell’s vision as a member of the Swedish Parliament’s Foreign Affairs Committee is for Sweden to fill the global leadership vacuum, challenge the junta’s legitimacy, and help create a democratic, federal Myanmar. Thorell's early life inspired his resolve. A working-class upbringing instilled a sense of collective responsibility. His formative teenage years spent in apartheid-era South Africa cemented a lifelong dedication to human rights, teaching him firsthand the kind of society created when prejudice and racism is given free reign. Later, as a Swedish language teacher to Balkan refugees, he honed diplomatic skills, witnessing “what happens when a country falls apart, when there is a division among neighbors and friends.”  During Myanmar’s democratic opening (2015-2020), he was inspired by citizens printing newspapers by hand but disturbed by child labor in textile factories. These contrasts solidified his belief in the necessity of international solidarity. Thorell is proud of Sweden's historic role in human rights, grounded in the Social Democratic principle of global solidarity, in contrast to rising nationalism. Despite no direct ties, he affirms that Myanmar must remain a focus for Sweden, seen as “the last bastion of military rule where we feel we need to help out.”  While lamenting a global shift towards narrow self-interest and nationalism, Thorell remains optimistic. “Liberal values and values of democracy and human rights are impossible to quench in the long run,” he says in closing.

Episode #404: Before the coup, Pandora was a tour guide with little interest in politics. That changed in 2021, when the generals seized power and she found herself leading protests in her hometown of Bago. Arrests of friends and pressure from her family to stop pushed her into the jungle, where she joined the People’s Defense Forces. Life there meant leaking tents, beans and noodles for every meal, and complete separation from her family, whom she has not seen since. In September 2021 she entered PDF training with over 200 recruits, just 13 of them women. After a month of basics she had to choose a specialty—commando, mining, or sniper. She picked sniper, unwilling to face mines or close combat. Yet she had never held a weapon before, and the first time she raised a pistol, she shook so badly she thought she could not fire— and even still, her very first shot hit the target! Soon she was handling M4s and M16s, building strength by running the camp with the rifle on her back until her arms no longer trembled. Her precision earned her a place in advanced sniper training, where she was the only woman among 12 trainees. Sniping required both patience and calculation. Pandora trained as a spotter, paired with her partner—and boyfriend— who fired the shots. She learned to measure distance, wind speed, and target movement, ideally with ten minutes to prepare but sometimes with only seconds. Operations could demand lying in wait for days, even a week, hidden in brush or high ground, ready to strike within a kilometer. At times she shook with nerves, yet discipline and teamwork carried her through. Though she rarely pulled the trigger herself, the memories still haunt her. Nightmares of soldiers appear when she tries to sleep. Eventually she left the front line, but not the revolution. In Mae Sot she now runs a clothing brand, Rise and Shine, and also teaches sewing to survivors of gender violence. Pandora now studies politics, determined to empower women and fight for a democratic Myanmar.

Episode #403: Annai had always been attracted to spirituality.  Growing up in a devout Catholic family in Barcelona, she preferred spending time in church while her friends only wanted to watch TV, and even began asking how she could one day become a Catholic nun. Eventually she found her way to Dhamma Neru, a vipassana meditation center in Spain the tradition of S.N. Goenka.  She found the course extremely difficult and cried every day. However, in the end, she realized this was a path she wanted to dedicate herself to, and so decided to venture to India, where she took the 8-month Pāḷi course offered at Dhamma Giri.  After the Pāḷi course, Annai happened to meet Venerable Canda, who told her about her teacher The Phyu Taw Ya Sayadaw in Burma. Playing his chanting for Annai, she was deeply moved and felt compelled to travel to Myanmar to meet him. Annai meditated at the Yangon-based monastery for five months—even drawing inspiration from Webu Sayadaw and foregoing sleep. Seeing her progress, the Sayadaw gave her permission to meditate for long periods under a large tree in the forest. Annai was also fascinated hearing her Sayadaw’s stories about practicing in Maha Myaing Forest near the Indian border, where he had a branch monastery. Yet there were many obstacles in her being able to go here, as women were rarely allowed remote practice possibilities, and foreigners weren’t even allowed in this part of the country. But somehow Annai was able to break through this red tape, and reaching the forest, took a vow of silence for one year. Still, it was a totally new experience for her, from snakes in her kuti, to armies of termites, to hearing the sound of elephants in the distance, to the playful monkeys. Moreover, whether large or small, each wild animal and insect was a possible threat, and there were spirits in the forest as well, but Annai soon realized that the best way to confront them all was to develop stronger mettā.  Eventually, after six years in total in Myanmar, Annai returned to Spain, where she planned to re-engage with the vipassana community of S.N. Goenka. Although she had pursued a rather diverse meditative experience, she always felt close to her first real teacher. Yet Annai found her deep meditation practice put her at odds with the tradition’s guidelines, and so instead decided to develop a monastery which could support yogis in the dynamic, varied kinds of ways she, herself, had experienced in Myanmar. This led to the establishment of Sarana Vihara near the Montseny National Park, outside of Barcelona. She decided that if people there could not go to Myanmar, she would bring some part of Myanmar to them.  Of course, her strong memories of her time in Myanmar continue to inspire her current work. “It was overwhelming: the generosity, the care, the support of the people [there].” 

Episode #402: “In stable times, sustainability may be seen as a long term aspiration,” says Tin Shine Aung, a Burmese scholar and sustainability expert whose work bridges research, policy, and on-the-ground crisis response. “But in our context, in the context of a polycrisis, it’s become like a strategy for survival and reconstruction.”Arguing that Myanmar is living through a true polycrisis— multiple shocks that collide and amplify each other rather than simply add up— Tin Shine Aung points out that this demands treating sustainability not as a later luxury but as a present survival and reconstruction strategy. He rejects the idea of “waiting until after the war,” noting that disasters and social-economic collapses do not pause for politics, so governance must integrate sustainability now across environmental, social, and economic pillars.Tin Shine Aung threads a timeline to show how system fragility accumulated: the 2007 fuel-price crisis and Saffron Revolution exposed cracks; in 2008, Cyclone Nargis devastated the delta and the junta nonetheless pushed a constitutional referendum, claiming “over 90%” approval while many communities were still reeling. The 2010s brought ethnoreligious nationalism and political accommodation to it: Muslim candidates were excluded from the NLD’s 2015 lists, producing the first Muslim-free legislature since independence, and in January 2017 constitutional lawyer U Ko Ni— closely associated with State Counsellor design— was assassinated at Yangon’s airport broad daylight.Here Tin Shine Aung contrasts Myanmar’s breakdown with Ukraine to illustrate what makes a polycrisis: in Myanmar, systems across governance, economy, and social services have simultaneously failed and safe exit pathways are scarce. Economically, factories in major cities often get only “two to three hours a day” of grid power, forcing costly generators; more than a million workers have lost jobs; basics like cooking oil have tripled versus pre-coup; sanctions intended for elites cascade down the economy; new U.S. tariffs of about 40% on some categories and military conscription further squeeze the garment sector and labor supply.And yet, despite state failure and natural disasters, even now, grassroots actors are improvising underground schooling, digital classrooms and alternative universities, and turning to small-scale renewables— evidence that sustainability thinking is already alive on the ground! Tin Shine Aung urges international partners to scale such local initiatives and design sanctions, tariffs, and aid logistics to avoid worsening multiplier effects. “Even in the polycrisis,” he says, “our Burmese people are quietly laying the foundation for the sustainable future.”

Episode #401: “Look at my eye. Trust me! You can do this!” With steady assurance, Nay Chi Linn describes her work at the Sunshine Care Center (SCC), a border-based facility she founded to care for Myanmar’s war-injured. Located on the Thai side of the border, the SCC provides daily care, physiotherapy, rehabilitation, and emotional support.Nay Chi Linn was raised in Yangon and studied law before moving to Chiang Mai for further study. There, she met an ethnic Karen man and got married; the couple lived in a refugee camp with his family for two years before moving out, but staying nearby on the Thai side of the border. After the 2021 coup, she started financially supporting civil servants and protesters, but Myanmar authorities began investigating her, and were able to trace a bank transfer. Warned of the imminent danger of being detained, she fled to her in-laws’ house in the Karen-controlled town of Lay Kaw Kaw. There, in the chaos of displacement after the coup, she began helping people fleeing the regime or displaced by fighting with food, shelter, supplies and health needs; over time, the needs grew and her improvisations became more systematized, laying the foundations for what would become the SCC, which she opened after moving back into Thailand.Nay Chi Linn works with patients with a blend of firmness and empathy— what she calls the “energy of mom.” She allows the initial anger, fear and frustration of patients facing their challenging situations to wash over her, and then urges them to focus on what they have left and take responsibility for their recovery, for their families’ and even their country’s sake.The SCC is a demanding ecosystem of care that rests on routine, discipline, and morale. The busy, involved day starts early and ends late: medical teams check lists and send those with appointments to hospitals; logistics drives runs back and forth all day; evenings bring pickups and resets for the next day. Within those routines, the work itself is often improvisational and pressured. Amid this challenging, sometimes chaotic environment, Nay Chi Linn is always there for the people in her care. “I have no time to cry!” she exclaims about her workday. Still, she admits that she sometimes breaks down in private afterwards, yet still finds a way to keep going.

Episode #400: James Rodehaver, head of the UN Human Rights Office on Myanmar, offers a sobering account of the country’s accelerating crisis and the limits of the international community’s response. Drawing on decades of experience in conflict zones, he describes Myanmar as uniquely complex and heartbreakingly violent—particularly since the 2021 coup. His office, which operates from outside the country due to lack of access, monitors rights violations, advises UN agencies, and supports civil society efforts.Rodehaver acknowledges that some UN agencies do engage with the junta to secure humanitarian access, and says the anger this provokes among the Burmese public is entirely justified. But he stresses that discreet coordination also occurs with resistance actors, including the National Unity Government and ethnic armed organizations, though these relationships are often kept quiet to protect humanitarian operations.According to Rodehaver, 2024 was the deadliest year yet, with nearly 2,000 verified civilian deaths—most caused by indiscriminate airstrikes and heavy weaponry used by the military. Since the coup, over 6,300 civilians have been confirmed killed, amid spiraling displacement, economic collapse, and growing food insecurity.He warns that recent cuts in international aid are crippling essential services and shrinking civic space. Part of the problem, he admits, is a failure to tell the full story of Myanmar’s suffering and resilience—a failure he takes partial responsibility for. Despite limited staff and access, his team continues to support civil society, provide training in international humanitarian law, and promote protection strategies for at-risk communities.Ultimately, Rodehaver returns to the principle that guides his work: empathy. “We pick the side of the victims,” he says, and draws strength from the courage and endurance of the Myanmar people.

Episode #399: Insight Myanmar was very fortunate to conduct a series of interviews with Friedgard Lottermoser between 2023 and 2024, amounting to more than forty hours before she sadly passed away last year. Friedgard was one of the few non-Burmese who could speak about the experience of meditating extensively with Sayagyi U Ba Khin, life at the International Meditation Center (IMC), and what it was like to live in Burma at a crucial period of its modern history.In this episode, she explains how she survived the July 7, 1962 student massacre by chance, spending the weekend meditating at IMC instead of joining the demonstrations at Rangoon University. “After meditating for several hours, I heard a huge boom, like thunder,” she says. “I thought it was just the continuation of a long thunderstorm, but it was the military blowing up the Student Union building!”She also speaks about her stepfather’s work with the German firm Fritz Werner, the state-owned company that helped establish Burma’s arms industry in the late 1950s and licensed local production of G3 rifles. These weapons, which became standard issue for the Burmese army, were later turned against students in 1962 and again during the 1988 uprising. For Friedgard, this connection adds a painful irony to her memories, as the same rifles linked to her family’s presence in Burma were used to silence the very voices of democracy she might have joined that day.Her reflections often circle back to meditation, which she saw as both refuge and compass. “Of course, I listened to what U Ba Khin said, but it was reinforced by my personal perception through the development of Vipassana meditation. That is why, actually, I followed it up in these early days.” For Friedgard, meditation was not just practice but the thread that allowed her to endure, make sense of, and carry forward the experiences of those turbulent years.

Episode #398: The Telenor scandal has emerged as one of the most serious blows to Norway’s reputation as a champion of peace and human rights. Nicolai Prydz, author and long-time observer of Myanmar, calls it “the largest scandal in Norway, but it’s under the carpet. Nobody wants to tell it.” When Telenor entered Myanmar in 2014, only 7% of the population owned a mobile phone. Backed by Norway’s decision to lift sanctions and forgive $3 billion in debt, the company quickly expanded to more than 20 million users and generated hundreds of millions in annual profits. Norwegian politicians hailed it as a model of how business could support democracy. But Prydz stresses the transition was never real. The 2008 constitution guaranteed the military permanent power. Ordinary people, however, placed their trust in Telenor, associating it with Norway’s peace reputation. That trust was betrayed after the February 2021 coup. The junta demanded sensitive telecom data— locations, call records, contact lists— of activists and opposition leaders. Myanmar Now reported Telenor complied over 200 times. Prydz is blunt: “Of course, you don’t come back the 20th or 21st time if it’s not of any use!” When challenged, Telenor never denied its cooperation, claiming refusal would endanger staff. The company also left intact surveillance equipment capable of monitoring networks nationwide. In 2022, Telenor sold its Myanmar operations to Lebanon’s M1 Group and Shwe Byain Phyu, a conglomerate tied to the military, effectively transferring the data of 20 million users to the junta’s allies. Norwegian judge Hanne Sophie Greve has warned that Norway and Telenor could be complicit in crimes against humanity. For Prydz, the story is personal: his friend Ko Jimmy, the democracy activist he met in 2012, used a Telenor SIM until his arrest and execution in 2022. “The reason why I wrote my book is because I love my country,” Prydz says. He demands Norway face its complicity, investigate fully, and repair the damage, instead of sweeping the truth under the carpet.

Episode #397: In this episode of the Insight Myanmar Podcast, two compelling voices—Thinzar Shunlei Yi and Wongpun Amarinthewa—illuminate the stakes of Myanmar’s political crisis from the frontlines of resistance and reporting. Thinzar Shunlei Yi, a prominent Burmese activist and deputy director of the Anti-Sham Election Campaign Committee, lays out a forceful case against the junta’s proposed elections. Far from representing democratic progress, she sees them as a calculated maneuver to legitimize the military’s grip on power. These elections, rooted in the discredited 2008 Constitution, are framed as part of a broader strategy to escape accountability and sustain authoritarian rule under the veneer of civilian governance. “The 2008 Constitution was also another coup,” she asserts, “[that was executed] in the name of democracy.”  Her coalition, which includes civil society actors and ethnic political parties, has already moved beyond the junta’s framework, pursuing a revolutionary roadmap to draft an inclusive federal democratic constitution from the ground up. Speaking to the international community, she warns that continued reference to the 2008 Constitution risks legitimizing a system that has failed time and again to protect Myanmar’s people or bring about real change. Wongpun Amarinthewa, a Thai journalist, brings a parallel perspective from across the border. He reflects on his reporting trips to refugee camps along the Thai-Myanmar border, where the trauma of displacement—especially among children—left a lasting emotional mark. His work underscores the human toll of the conflict and the widespread lack of awareness among the Thai public, which is exacerbated by government restrictions, media indifference, and nationalist sentiment. Despite the obstacles, Wongpun remains committed to telling these stories, emphasizing the urgent need for deeper regional awareness and cross-border solidarity. “As a media [worker], it’s my responsibility to let the public know what’s really happening along the border of Thailand,” he says.

Episode #396: “There is no other issue in Thailand that has this long of a history of civil society engagement like Myanmar.” With these words, Thai humanitarian worker and activist, Mic Chawaratt, discusses the decades-long relationship between Thailand and Myanmar regarding displacement, refugee management, and civil society aid. He traces Thailand’s security-driven approach to Myanmar refugees from the 1980s to today. Despite not signing the 1951 Refugee Convention, Thailand has hosted large populations displaced by conflict and political repression, though often without offering any legal recognition. He notes how the official response has been spotty, and Thai civil society, not the government, has largely shouldered the responsibility, building what Mic calls a “parallel system” of humanitarian care. After the 2021 coup, this system has been tested further by surging refugee numbers and increased repression. He criticizes Thailand’s “proxy diplomacy,” which masks quiet support for the junta while sidelining the National Unity Government. ASEAN, too, comes under fire for its inaction. Meanwhile, new crises—such as scam centers exploiting vulnerable migrants—intersect with old ones, creating deeper humanitarian challenges. In closing, Mic takes a bird’s eye view of the challenge, calling for a shift from emergency response to long-term infrastructure: education, healthcare, and legal protections. He also stresses the need for humanitarian organizations to listen to the refugees’ own voices and safeguard their rights while highlighting the reality of burnout and donor fatigue.  And as Thai politics shift rightward, he urges vigilance to protect civil society space and regional solidarity. “The story of Myanmar is also the story of Thailand,” he concludes. “We cannot separate them. Our futures are bound together.” 

Episode #395: Laetitia van den Assum, a Dutch diplomat and former ambassador to Thailand, was one of nine members of the Advisory Commission on Rakhine State, a group set up in 2016 at Aung San Suu Kyi’s request and chaired by former UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan. Its mandate was to improve conditions in one of Myanmar’s poorest and most divided regions. In this conversation, van den Assum reflects on the Commission’s work, her dealings with Annan and Min Aung Hlaing, and the enduring challenges of Rakhine. From the outset, the military opposed the Commission because it had been established without their consent, and Min Aung Hlaing tried to push Parliament to expel the foreign members. But as van den Assum notes, “he could not stop us,” since the 25 percent of seats reserved for the military under the 2008 constitution was insufficient to block the process. Building trust among local communities was another hurdle-- the Commission had to prove that it represented everyone, not only the Rohingya. In August 2017, the Commission released its final report, containing 88 recommendations focused on peace, development, and human rights. The very next day, ARSA launched attacks on police posts, and the military retaliated with sweeping operations that drove 750,000 Rohingya into Bangladesh. Van den Assum believes these plans were already in place, describing the scale of violence as shocking but not unexpected. She continues to stress the report’s lessons. Citizenship remains central: without reform of the 1982 law that excluded the Rohingya and many others, genuine progress is impossible. Long-term planning also requires accurate population data, as nearly a million people were left uncounted in the 2014 census. Looking at Myanmar today, van den Assum sees fragmentation across the country and insists that peace must precede development and rights. Calling for pragmatic international support, she warns that Myanmar cannot rely on foreign aid indefinitely and must become more self-sufficient. Yet her appreciation for the resistance effort is unwavering: “My admiration knows no bounds for those continuing to fight for their self-determination. They don’t see a way back. There’s only a way forward.”