Insight Myanmar

Episode #496: Jak Bazino, a French novelist with more than a decade of lived experience in Myanmar, discusses his novel Breaking the Cycle as an attempt to make sense of the country’s Spring Revolution by situating it within a much longer, unfinished struggle for freedom. He argues that Myanmar’s current uprising is not an isolated crisis but the latest chapter in a historical arc that stretches back to the independence era. Through fiction, Bazino seeks to help readers grasp that continuity in a visceral way that conventional reporting often cannot. The novel is structured around two intertwined timelines. One unfolds in 1942 during the Japanese invasion of Burma. A British archaeologist identifies a votive tablet believed to point toward the location of sacred Buddhist relics. Working with a Burmese woman who provides essential local knowledge, and accompanied by a British colonial officer, he begins a deliberate search for the relics. As the war closes in, the group attempts to preserve the tablet and the knowledge it represents by evacuating it by plane. The aircraft crashes in remote jungle terrain, abruptly ending the search and freezing the mission in history. The story then jumps to 2024, during the Spring Revolution. Displaced civilians and resistance members stumble upon the long-forgotten wreckage and find the tablet. Initially understood only as an old religious object, they carry through an active war zone, where possession itself becomes dangerous. Information about the tablet eventually finds its way outside Myanmar, and scholars and others figure out its connection to that abandoned wartime search. This creates new risks, when external pressures collide with the immediate survival needs of those still living inside the conflict. Bazino also confronts unresolved problems within the resistance, including internal divisions and gender inequality, insisting these issues cannot be postponed without shaping the society that emerges after the war. Through the main Burmese character of Khin Yadanar, a young medic aligned with the Chin Defense Force, he articulates a broader ethical vision of resistance that values care, endurance, and responsibility alongside armed struggle. Despite the novel’s darkness, Bazino maintains a guarded hope that the Spring Revolution can finally break Myanmar’s recurring cycles of domination and defeat. “I really want this book to show that actually [breaking these cycle] can happen,” he says, “even if it’s not easy, and it’s not certain.”

Episode #495: Mark McDowell, a Canadian foreign service officer and former ambassador in Yangon from 2013 to 2016, traces Myanmar through a set of mismatches between how the country is narrated abroad and how it actually operates on the ground. He describes his first visit in the early 2000s as a moment when ordinary life could feel disarmingly quiet and culturally intact even as the background reality remained a military dictatorship and a long civil war. That doubleness, he argues, is part of why outsiders repeatedly misunderstand Myanmar, replacing contact and complexity with policy-as-story. Based in Bangkok in 2003 and travelling into Myanmar before Canada had an embassy, he built relationships with activists, emerging civil society groups, and political figures newly released from prison. He argues that Canadian engagement was often shaped by organizations and narratives that sat outside the country, rewarding moral certainty while discouraging long, inside-country investment. He describes the post-Nargis period as a mostly forgotten incubator for modern civil society, with relief funding and emergency programming spawning local networks that later mattered when political space began to open. During his ambassadorship, McDowell recalls the transition years as a brief window of porosity and improvisation, when Myanmar appeared hungry for information and receptive to new norms, even as the military retained structural power. His meetings with Min Aung Hlaing are remembered less for theatrical menace than for the normality of extended, history-heavy monologues and the general’s self-justifying thesis, proclaiming that “the military is the glue that holds the country together.” Looking back from the coup, he names the discomfort of that ordinary room: “this is now the banality of evil.” Looking on the current reality, McDowell points to capacity that now exists in dispersion, especially the proliferation of independent organizations. “You’ve got this ‘one hundred flowers blooming’ situation here,” he says, “and it’s not a monolithic opposition to the junta anymore. You’ve got huge numbers of independent organizations, whether they’re ethnic-based or interest-based and so on.” He treats that plurality as the defining feature of the present landscape, and a source of future leadership, even as it resists any neat story about unity.

Episode #494: “Any one, any countries, any government, who recognize the results of this elections, they are made a fool by the junta!” Myay Thet is a co-founder and leader of a Myanmar nonprofit research organization that operated inside the country before the 2021 coup and now continues its work through pseudonyms and a distributed network of local researchers. She describes an ethnographic approach she calls Myanography, built to document life under dictatorship not through results and statistics but through daily mechanisms of coercion, fear, and forced accommodation. The election, in her account, is not only fraudulent as an outcome, but also as a process that presses people into visible compliance while keeping punishment close and ambiguous. She explains that the election research was conducted with community ethnographers across Myanmar’s states and regions, alongside civil society partners, beginning two months before voting and tracking the three phase structure. She places the work inside a longer ethnographic project that began after the coup, when researchers themselves experienced “a very forceful political rupture” and began recording how oppression reorganizes ordinary life. In that setting, refusal is not a clean political gesture. It is a risk calculation made under the gaze of local authorities and paramilitary auxiliaries embedded in neighborhoods. Myay Thet draws a sharp divide between rejecting the election from outside the country and living inside it, where “the people inside Myanmar have to accommodate this oppression.” Economic collapse intensifies the pressure, and a single arrest or conscription order can destroy a household, making surface compliance feel like a form of protection even among those who privately resist. She describes subtle resistance continuing under the surface, but argues that the election’s real work is to force visible participation through threats, proximity, and bureaucracy rather than persuasion.

Episode #493: The entry point was children. During the reform period, as the Myanmar military and other armed groups feared making concessions that would affect the battlefield, international mine action specialists sought common ground by emphasizing civilian protection."The civilians were the victims, and everybody could see that it was not a good thing to have young children being killed or wounded by the mines," says Pascal Simon, a veteran humanitarian mine action and national capacity development officer. “Everybody wants to save lives and protect civilians, in theory.”In this episode, Simon reflects on his work in Myanmar from 2016 to 2020 and the delicate process of expanding mine action education in contested space. He describes how it was importantto "try to remain open and neutral" in an attempt to focus on prevention rather than blame. Simon says this neutrality allowed mine risk education to be gradually integrated into education and social welfare networks, including in EAO-controlled areas and refugee communities in Thailand.Progress culminated at the 2019 National Mine Action Conference, which brought together civilian ministries, military representatives, international organizations, and ethnic actors, putting "the government in the leading seat" to discuss landmines as a national humanitarian issue. The workshop concluded with the need to establish a National Mine Action Authority.The proposed authority never materialized. When the 2021 military coup abruptly ended the transition period, it dismantled both the coordination infrastructure and the trust that had been built.Throughout the interview, Simon returns to the importance of trust, consistency, and neutrality, engaging with all actors. Engagement with the military, which risks legitimization, remains a critical tension for international organizations. "We have to talk to everybody, at least to try to and, of course, we have to make sure that they’re not using us," Simon says.

Episode #492: Wong Chen, a Malaysian Member of Parliament active in international relations as Malaysia held the ASEAN chair, argues that the Myanmar crisis will not be resolved through moral appeals, symbolic diplomacy, or repeated Western advocacy alone. He maintains that the Myanmar military is far more resilient than many outsiders assume and largely unmoved by external condemnation. In his view, meaningful progress will come only when the junta faces real leverage generated by coordinated internal resistance, supported by pragmatic regional engagement. Without such pressure, he suggests, dialogue risks becoming performative and ultimately serving the military’s interests. Wong Chen situates this argument in Malaysia’s 2025 experience leading ASEAN, a consensus-based organization with a rotating annual chair. When Malaysia assumed the role, he initially felt optimistic, given Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim’s human rights reputation and ASEAN’s existing Five-Point Consensus on Myanmar. That optimism faded as Malaysia adopted what Wong Chen describes as “pragmatic engagement” with both the junta and resistance groups. While he accepts that communication with all parties is unavoidable, he stresses its asymmetric effects because the junta is not a good-faith actor. For example, junta-controlled media reframes such meetings as “recognition,” even when this is far from the case. He also argues that ASEAN’s institutional design undermines long-term crisis management. Unlike short, bilateral disputes ASEAN has mediated successfully, Myanmar requires sustained, multi-year engagement. Rotating chairs shift operational control to new national bureaucracies, reset personnel and priorities, and prevent the accumulation of institutional memory. The junta exploits these recurring reset points by re-litigating settled issues and using the sheer quantity of engagements to claim legitimacy. Wong Chen therefore calls for a permanent, well-resourced ASEAN mechanism dedicated to Myanmar, one that is not affected despite the changes inherent in the rotating chair. Beyond ASEAN, Wong Chen identifies China as the pivotal external actor, motivated less by ideology than by stability and trade. As long as Myanmar’s opposition remains fragmented, Wong Chen points out that China will usually default to dealing with the junta. He criticizes the National Unity Government for strategic stagnation, internal rigidity, and overreliance on Western moral appeals, urging greater unity, clearer goals, and stronger use of diaspora resources. While cautiously optimistic that geopolitical shifts—potentially involving U.S.–China rivalry and even unconventional actors like Donald Trump—could create openings, Wong Chen ultimately places responsibility on Myanmar’s resistance and opposition to unify around a shared vision and leadership in order to create the leverage needed to force a resolution. External actors can assist, he says, but “you have to do it yourself.”

Episode #491: The third episode in our five-part series features conversations recorded at the 16th International Burma Studies Conference at Northern Illinois University, where scholars, students, researchers, and practitioners gathered around the theme Dealing with Legacies in Burma. Held amid ongoing political turmoil and humanitarian crisis, the conference created a rare space for open dialogue and shared reflection. Insight Myanmar was invited into this environment to record conversations with a wide range of attendees, produced in collaboration with NIU’s Center for Southeast Asian Studies. We hope these episodes bring listeners into the atmosphere of the gathering and into conversation with the people who continue to shape the field today. Naw Moo Moo Paw, a PhD candidate at UMass Lowell, grounds her research on disability caused by political violence during her own upbringing. Raised in the conflict-ridden Bago region amid landmines, forced labor, and death, she witnessed numerous civilian injuries, including of her own father. She completed a master’s in Japan, where the quiet environment triggered long-suppressed PTSD stemming from her childhood experiences. Her current research examines post-injury political participation, social inclusion, and cultural interpretations of disability. She emphasizes that disabled people in Myanmar seek acceptance and community support more than financial aid and warns that unaddressed trauma may lead to future societal instability. Aye Minn discusses his work with an online university in Myanmar, which was formed after the 2021 coup to provide a learning space for teachers and students who left the state system. He characterizes his work as combining parahita, the Buddhist principle of acting for the good of others with atahita, or acting for one’s own benefit… which Burmese culture often views negatively. He argues that self-improvement is inseparable from service, especially in a country where opportunity is rare. The university now operates largely on unpaid volunteer labor, reflecting Burmese society’s long tradition of service and its scarcity of financial resources. He champions equity, urging Western scholars to recognize their privilege and consider more culturally adaptive academic standards. As he puts it, “We should bring more scholars who are underprivileged onto the table.” Grace, a master’s student researching rare earth mining in Kachin State, explains that these minerals are essential for global technologies and green energy, but their extraction causes severe environmental and health damage. In northern Myanmar, communities face rising cases of skin disease, respiratory problems, and digestive disorders, intensified by post-coup instability. After restricting domestic mining, China shifted to Myanmar, where a complex mix of militias, the military regime, and the Kachin Independence Organization control territory. China pressures these groups to maintain mineral supply chains while Chinese investors conduct mining with little oversight, leaving toxic waste behind. Local resistance exists through petitions and faith-based organizing, but militarization and poverty limit effectiveness. Many villagers depend on mining for basic survival, reflecting longstanding resource-curse dynamics. She references recent reports of U.S. interest in sourcing rare earths from here, which could be of interest to Kachin leaders as it offers them a lifeline away from China.

Episode #490: Matt Walton, a political theorist and scholar of Buddhism and politics in Myanmar, and author the acclaimed Buddhism, Politics and Political Thought in Myanmar, argues that Burmese political life cannot be understood through secular or Western democratic frameworks alone. He contends that struggles over democracy, authority, nationalism, and pluralism in the country unfold within a shared Theravāda Buddhist moral universe whose internal logics remain consistent even as they produce sharply divergent political outcomes. Ethical life, political legitimacy, and social order are deeply embedded in Buddhist moral reasoning, shaping how political ideas are articulated and contested. In his undergraduate years, he developed an interest in meditation, which took shape during his first visit to Myanmar. Initially going as a backpacker, he joined a demanding 21-day vipassanāretreat in the Mahāsi lineage in the Sagaing Hills. That retreat proved pivotal for him both as practitioner and professionally, sparking his interest how embodied Burmese Buddhism plays out in social, cultural and political spheres. Subsequent travels through Myanmar helped crystalize his awareness that democratic aspirations and rights discourse in the region operate within Buddhist concepts of causality, responsibility, and ethical conduct rather than liberal political theory. He devoted himself to the study of Burmese language, Buddhist philosophy, and political thought. Central to Walton’s analysis is the relationship between lokī, the mundane sphere, and lokuttara, the supramundane orientation toward insight and liberation. These are not opposing realms but relational categories that structure political reasoning. Burmese discourse recognizes that ethical practice depends on material conditions, while also warning that excessive supramundane focus can undermine worldly governance. Political legitimacy emerges from negotiating this tension. Walton shows how Buddhist texts can generate competing political interpretations, supporting both hierarchical authority and participatory responsibility. Across history—from U Nu and Aung San to Ledi Sayadaw, Buddhist nationalism, and contemporary pluralist debates—Walton emphasizes that the same moral universe underlies empowerment and violence alike. Understanding this coherence, he insists, does not imply moral endorsement but is essential for grappling with Myanmar’s political crisis and imagining more inclusive futures. Walton cautions against assuming secularism would offer a neutral alternative, noting that secular governance elsewhere remains shaped by Christian histories, and instead calls for explicit, critical engagement with Buddhist moral reasoning to identify resources for genuinely inclusive coexistence.

Episode #489: Neo grew up in Yangon, living a simple life—running a small convenience store, taking remote jobs, and spending his nights with friends, music, and beer. “I work and I play and I drink. Life was good, but things change,” he says. On the night of January 31, 2021, as he finished a hip hop track mocking junta supporters, the internet went dark. “They cut off every connection,” he recalls. “Telephone lines, internet, everything; yet my Wi-Fi didn’t get cut. Maybe they forgot that service.” Through that one fragile signal, Neo confirmed the truth: “They really did a coup.” His father gave him a choice—leave the country or fight. “I immediately answered, ‘I’m going to fight back.’” Soon after, Neo left Yangon for Myawaddy and joined the resistance. At the jungle camp, life was stripped bare: “We were not well prepared, except our mental. We only had our spirit.” Between training drills, he wrote lyrics. “Some days I got four or eight bars; somedays I got the whole verse.” His songs—Pinkies vs. Guns and Nonprofit Soldier—became battle anthems of defiance. Frontline life hardened him. “If we had something to eat in the kitchen, we didn’t have to go hunt,” he says. “That’s the killing part.” Yet amidst the brutality, he found unity. “If you’reBuddhist, Christian, Muslim—that doesn’t matter. Everyone’s the same.” Neo insists their fight isn’t about revenge. “It’s not about how many you kill, it’s about how many you save.” War changed him. “I can’t say I’m a good man, but I can say I am trying not to be bad.” His name—taken from the protagonist of The Matrix—became both a shield and a vow: no going back. “I think I’ve already chosen the pill,” he says quietly. “So there’s no going back.”

Episode #488: Veteran journalist and human rights advocate Chris Gunness describes Myanmar as “an extraordinarily fascinating country,” one that shaped both his early reporting career and his later work on international justice. Following events from London in the mid-1980s, he saw a nation marked by colonial legacies, ethnic fragmentation and civil war, yet so closed that major crises went unnoticed abroad. By 1986, Myanmar had become the center of his reporting as he tracked growing instability. In spite of his inexperience, he was sent undercover by the BBC to report from the country in the buildup to the 1988 uprising. Ordered to report openly, he filed news dispatches from a dilapidated Rangoon hotel. A day later, a hidden message from student leaders—coordinated by a prominent human rights lawyer—summoned him to a secret meeting. Blindfolded and taken to a safe house, he recorded interviews with organizers, a banker and a soldier. These tapes, smuggled out through diplomatic channels, were broadcast by the BBC on 6 August 1988. One interview inadvertently announced the precise moment protests would begin. At 8:08 a.m. on 8 August, millions marched across the country. The entire Burmese populace was informed ahead of time as a direct result of this reporting. Deported to Dhaka as a result, Gunness continued reporting, producing dispatches that became Myanmar’s primary source of national information during the uprising. Though he rejects credit for sparking the movement—calling the Burmese people “the real heroes”—the experience taught him how shared information empowers political action. Gunness later founded the Myanmar Accountability Project (MAP), using universal jurisdiction to pursue legal cases against junta leaders in Turkey, the Philippines, Indonesia and Timor-Leste. He also challenges junta attempts to gain legitimacy abroad, including a current case in the UK. Despite deep skepticism toward international justice and the UN’s failures in Myanmar, Gunness believes accountability efforts can preserve evidence, empower victims and reinforce the illegitimacy of military rule. Ultimately, however, he argues that Myanmar’s hope rests with its people, whose resilience he describes as “the indomitability of the Burmese spirit.”

Episode #487: Noor Azizah, a Rohingya genocide survivor and the founder and leader of the Rohingya Maìyafuìnor Collaborative Network, argues that violence against the Rohingya is still an ongoing reality shaped by military force, armed groups, legal exclusion, and regional inaction. She insists that Rohingya rights must be central to any future political settlement involving Myanmar, rather than treated as a secondary or humanitarian issue. Azizah places Rohingya persecution within a long historical trajectory beginning in 1942, when Japanese forces exacerbated tensions between Rohingya Muslims and ethnic Rakhine; before that, Rohingya and Rakhine communities had lived peacefully side by side. Following Myanmar’s 1962 military coup, anti-Rohingya violence intensified, causing a large and growing displacement, mostly towards Bangladesh, which now hosts more than one million Rohingya refugees. The 1982 citizenship law was another defining moment, rendering the Rohingya stateless and imposing severe restrictions on movement, education, and healthcare. Finally, the 2017 military “clearance operations” represented the most extreme escalation, forcing more than 700,000 Rohingya to flee as villages were burned, civilians killed, and mass rape used as a weapon of terror. Azizah emphasizes that propaganda and hate speech have played a central role in this violence. Coordinated campaigns have portrayed Rohingya as illegal migrants and existential threats, amplified through Facebook and extremist Buddhist networks. She adds that economic interests, including infrastructure projects in Rakhine State, continued alongside mass violence. She discusses the International Court of Justice case brought by The Gambia against Myanmar as a landmark effort to enforce the Genocide Convention and stresses the failure of regional bodies such as ASEAN to protect Rohingya. Azizah concludes by describing the work of RMCN, a women-led organization providing humanitarian aid and advocacy, and reiterates that Rohingya rights are non-negotiable, and essential to Myanmar’s future.

Episode #486: Daniel M. Stuart, a Buddhist studies scholar and vipassana practitioner, rejoins the podcast to describe his growing interest in Dr. Leon Edward Wright, a Black Christian theologian whose brief but potent connection with Burmese meditation master U Ba Khin has been nearly erased from histories of modern Buddhism and mindfulness. Stuart uses Wright’s story to illuminate a world where meditation, anti-colonial politics, ritual therapeutics, and visionary experience intertwined—far from the later scientific and universalist framing of the Goenka lineage. He situates Wright within Asia’s anti-colonial landscape, where independence movements fostered solidarity across communities. These movements influenced Black intellectuals in the United States, and Wright, already thinking about race, empire, and religion, saw global traditions as resources for liberation. Part of his time to Burma thus appears as part of a broader search for tools to support oppressed communities. Stuart highlights how Wright’s experiences fit within Burmese cosmology shaped by Ledi Sayadaw, in which modern medicine coexisted with protective chanting and ritual healing. U Ba Khin adapted this framework, diagnosing afflictions through elemental imbalances and energetic blockages. Wright’s visionary experiences—light, fire, a hand offering a yellow rose—made sense to him through Christian symbolism, and Stuart notes that “it's not at all surprising if he had some of those experiences, that he would interpret them through the lens of his own tradition.” In contrast, Goenka leans publicly on a secular presentation, but his lineage emerged from a lineage whose earlier layers were steeped in an esoteric cosmology. Ledi framed meditation, healing, and protection within a universe populated by unseen beings, karmically charged diseases, elemental obstructions, and the ritual power of chanting—what he called methods for “warding off” afflictions. U Ba Khin adapted that worldview into a system that treated ailments through energetic diagnoses in addition to teaching meditation. Goenka, however, reframed phenomena once explained through cosmological forces as natural law, and teacher-mediated energetic work was eliminated in favor of promoting the concept of a “non-sectarian” technique. Yet the tradition’s underlying course structure—chanting, the teacher’s position, the atmosphere of protection—still reflects its origins. For Stuart, Wright exemplifies cross-racial and cross-religious solidarity: a Black diplomat and cultural attaché in newly independent Burma bringing meditation back to Black communities in the U.S. He concludes that “I do think he's an important figure that deserves more attention,” not only for his own story but for what it reveals about the complex origins of modern mindfulness.

Episode #485: “I am not talking as a representative of Anya. I am just a normal person from Anya,” says Saw Bosco, a Myanmar peace process practitioner, grassroots educator on federalism, and political economy researcher. Drawing on his life as a Catholic from Myanmar’s central dry zone, he connects faith, identity, violence, and economics to argue that peace cannot exist without dignity, inclusion, and material survival for ordinary people. Bosco was raised in a small Bayingyi community, descendants of Portuguese settlers long absorbed into Burmese culture. Although culturally local, their Catholic faith marked them as different within a state that rigidly links race, religion, and citizenship. Growing up as a “double minority,” Bosco learned that marginalized groups often try to blend in to survive, even when doing so offers no real protection under the law or in society. He explains that Christian identity is lived differently across Myanmar. In Christian-majority ethnic states such as Chin or Kachin, religious life is practiced publicly, even if under state constraints. In Buddhist-majority regions, however, Bamar or mixed-heritage Christians do not fit the state’s standardized race–religion templates, leaving them subject to heightened bureaucratic scrutiny over identity documents, education, employment, and mobility. After the 2021 coup, this vulnerability intensified into targeted violence in places like Sagaing, where Christian villages were destroyed not only for resisting military rule but because religious difference made brutality easier to justify. Bosco situates these experiences within a broader critique of identity politics, federalism, and peacebuilding. He warns that opposition politics remain organized around ethnic categories that fail to represent newer regional and post-ethnic identities driving resistance today. His skepticism is shaped by his earlier involvement in the National Ceasefire Agreement, which he describes as an elite-driven process disconnected from civilian lives. At the center of his analysis is political economy. Across the Sagaing region, farmers face debt, land insecurity, and military attacks that have turned agriculture into a battlefield. Bosco rejects narratives that celebrate this suffering as “resilience,” insisting instead that peace without economic justice merely reproduces inequality and leaves survival mistaken for stability. “We need to listen to what is happening in the central area as well, like why we are struggling at the political level.” he says in closing. “Of course, everything is very important, for every single political movement and for everyone. But the life of the people from central area is also a unique experience, like the other ethnic people out there.”

Episode #484: In Myanmar, landmine contamination has often been attributed to relics of World War 2 or past conflicts. “But in Myanmar today, landmines are not a historical problem,” Nyein Nyein Thant Aung says. “[Landmines] are like a living system of control that continues to shape how people move, walk, and survive. They don’t appear in dramatic footage, they don’t require constant supervision, yet they often have a longer and deeper impact on a civilian life than more visible forms of violence.”Another misconception is that landmines are primarily defensive. Yet the strategic use by the Myanmar military is offensive, not only against military targets but civilians, she says, emptying villages, closing roads, blocking access to water and food, and making land unusable.The dynamic nature of the conflict, and pattern of opposing sides learning from the other’s tactics, is also apparent in the evolution of the drone war. Nyein Nyein Thant Aung divides the military’s drone use into different phases, beginning with their deployment in Kachin and Rakhine in 2016-2018 focusing on surveillance and reconnaissance. After Operation 1027 inflicted losses on its positions in 2023, the military began using dual-use drones as weapons platforms, copying tactical innovation demonstrated by resistance armed groups.These patterns of innovation and adoption are typical of present-day conflicts generally, Nyein Nyein Thant Aung says, with emerging tactics and technologies crossing borders. Foreign collaboration with the military in space and cyber affects both military domains and control of information spaces. Satellite technology provides imaging and coordinates in the military theater, giving a strategic advantage and guiding airstrikes, as well as control over communications channels.There are lessons from landmines that reflect on the wider, multidimensional conflict. “This is not an argument that landmines are culturally inevitable or accepted. Fear and resentment toward mines are widespread,” Nyein Nyein Thant Aung says. “The presence of landmines does not imply a strategic sophistication. So often it reflects insecurity rather than control… Being precise about these limits is important.”

Episode #483: “I particularly look from Marxist feminist perspectives,” says Ma Cheria, a Myanmar-born researcher now living in exile in Chiang Mai. Her work examines how capitalism and patriarchy combine to exploit Burmese migrant women in Thailand’s informal economy. Before the 2021 military coup, she was a social worker involved in peace and gender programs and helped lead anti-coup strikes. After comrades were arrested, she fled to Thailand, continuing the struggle through research and activism. Cheria’s studies reveal that over five million Myanmar migrants now live in Thailand, nearly two million without documents. Many work in “3D jobs”—dirty, dangerous, and demeaning—that Thai citizens refuse to do. Though formal factories must pay the minimum wage, most women end up in unregistered home-based factories where they can bring children and work flexible hours, but earn half the legal rate and lack safety or legal protection. “Workers know it is very unfair, but they cannot complain because they are undocumented,” she explains. Cheria traces these abuses to a malfunctioning migration system that forces workers to depend on brokers who extort money or seize passports. She links today’s exile economy to Myanmar’s crushed labor movement: once progressive and female-led, it was outlawed after the coup. In Thailand, migrants are legally allowed to join Thai-run unions but not to form their own—an empty right in border towns with no Thai workers. Her Marxist-feminist analysis highlights women’s “double exploitation”: wage labor in factories and unpaid domestic labor at home. “In the revolution, we have to abolish both systems together,” she says of capitalism and patriarchy. From exile she teaches feminist and labor theory to ethnic women’s groups online, believing that change grows through shared reflection. Despite repression and growing anti-migrant hostility, she documents quiet resilience in Burmese-run schools and clinics. Her message is clear: solidarity across borders is essential because “only a small group benefits, while the majority—the working class—remains unseen.

Episode #482: “My main mission, so to speak, is to clarify the differences between the many rumors about Myanmar... the myths going on both inside and outside the country, which are all very much related.” Hans-Bernd Zöllner, a Protestant minister turned scholar, has spent decades exploring how Buddhism, politics, and myth intertwine in Myanmar’s history. From his first trip in the 1980s, he resisted Western portrayals that reduced Burma to a struggle between good and evil. “The media have their own image of Myanmar, which is still… like a confrontational view between good and evil.” He insists that such binaries ignore the cultural and religious frameworks that shape Burmese politics. At the heart of his analysis lies democracy. “The Burmese concept of democracy is a concept of qualitative democracy, the quality of the rulers comes first. And the Western concept is a concept of quantitative democracy, the number of votes comes first.” For a brief period, he notes, Suu Kyi’s vision of righteous, elected rule coexisted with the military’s karmic claim to legitimacy. That uneasy balance collapsed, culminating in the 2021 coup— another turn in Burma’s recurring cycle of unity and rupture. Buddhism, Zöllner argues, is central to understanding this cycle. Where kings once ruled with monastic support, the generals after 1988 claimed legitimacy through karma and ritual. Monks like Sitagu Sayadaw reinforced this by endorsing military campaigns as protection of the faith. Suu Kyi, by contrast, drew from another Buddhist tradition— the ruler chosen for justice and order. These clashing concepts explain why she was venerated at home but misunderstood abroad, and in his mind, also explain why the 2021 coup was inevitable. Zöllner closes on a personal note: “Institutionalized religion is always a problem, and we have to try to find our own way to live by a personal religion that can guide daily life and encourage good deeds.”

Episode #481: Toby Mendel, a lawyer with the Centre for Law and Democracy, has spent over a decade working on freedom of expression and democratic reform in Myanmar. He recalls the Thein Sein years (2012–2015) as an exhilarating period when military-linked officials introduced new laws and appeared surprisingly open to external advice. International organizations were energized, and citizens sensed real hope. But with the NLD’s 2015 election victory, momentum stalled. Mendel points to the 2015 broadcasting law, which could have created an independent broadcasting council, but was never implemented by the NLD. By the 2021 coup, Myanmar still had only twelve licensed radio stations, evidence of a media sector “absolutely not developed.” At the core, he argues, was the NLD’s reluctance to practice democracy in full: they affirmed it in principle but resisted certain aspects, such as a free, critical press. Concerning the Rohingya genocide, he expresses disappointment that Aung San Suu Kyi, despite her “enormous moral authority... just went along with it”; in his view, not using “her moral and political authority is a significant failure as a leader.” Since the coup, however, he has seen attitudes shift as more Burmese experience the military’s repression first-hand, prompting rethinking about the Rohingya and entrenched patriarchy. Despite NLD shortcomings, progress was still made in some areas. For example, CLD worked with a Women’s Health Organization on the right to information, showing how openness could strengthen women’s rights. Mendel also established the Myanmar Media Lawyers Network, helping build capacity for democratic media law. The coup was a rupture that few foresaw. Officials once moving toward democratic reforms were jailed overnight. Since then, CLD has pivoted to supporting civil society in conflict zones, developing adaptable democratic frameworks, and aiding local “statelets” experimenting with governance. Mendel stresses that replacing the military with something “less toxic” is not enough—Myanmar needs real democratic structures. While free elections are impossible today, local initiatives adopting media policies and civil society rules mark fragile but vital first steps. Looking outward, he warns of China’s export of authoritarian models and the spread of disinformation, and urges Western governments, especially Canada, to prioritize democracy support. “The people of Myanmar are engaged in an epic struggle,” he concludes, one that demands far greater international backing.

Episode #480: Michael Santi Keezing, a former Thai Forest monk, describes himself as both a Buddhist and a “post-Buddhist,” shaped by a lifelong effort to understand the mind, culture, and the limits of spiritual practice for someone raised in an intensely individualistic Western society. He recalls that before he ever meditated, he felt a persistent longing to understand consciousness, a “free-floating yearning” that led him into Eastern spirituality through books like Be Here Now, Siddhartha, and the works of Carlos Castaneda. Discovering a nearby monastery in the Ajahn Chah lineage, he eventually ordained, believing he was pursuing clear insight through what he calls Buddhist phenomenology. Only later did he recognize that trauma and a desire for safety also influenced his decision, as the monastery offered structure, belonging, and a refuge from uncertainty. Inside monastic life he set aside the intellectual world that once defined him, devoting himself to meditation and the Vinaya. Meditation gave him emotional clarity, while the discipline cultivated humility and restraint. Yet he also saw rigidity within Western monastic communities—an absolutism around hierarchy and rules that sometimes obscured compassion. A turning point came when he lived among Indonesian and Thai monks in Queens, where identical rituals felt more human and flexible, revealing that Western monastics inadvertently reshaped the tradition through their WEIRD conditioning. That conditioning, he says, produces inward-focused individuals burdened by psychic wounds, often misreading Buddhism through a modern psychological lens. Returning to the act of reading late in his monastic years, he encountered books on neuroscience, which reframed experiences he once interpreted through Buddhist metaphysics. Realizing that no single framework held all answers, he eventually moved beyond monasticism. Michael now emphasizes a practical understanding of not-self, rejects political quietism, and argues that wisdom must express itself as action and responsibility. Reflecting on Burma's struggle, he affirms that “justice can be achieved for the Burmese people,” holding hope while remainingcommitted to engagement.

Episode #479: “Thailand is not about people, it's about diversity. People are a very important resource to build a country, no matter where you're from, or who you are, right?” Born in Thailand’s Deep South near the Malay border, Koreeyor Manuchae embodies layered identities— Muslim, Malay, Thai— and has become one of the country’s boldest advocates for migrant and refugee rights. Her path began almost by chance: a volunteer posting after law school brought her to Mae Sot, along the Thai-Myanmar border. There, she met people fleeing repression and poverty and saw that her legal education meant little unless it served those excluded from its protection. This realization became her life’s compass. Starting with simple tasks like filing wage complaints, she uncovered deeper systems of exploitation. She saw that Myanmar migration was an act of survival— and that Thailand’s prosperity depended on those it marginalized. “Without migrant workers, Mae Sot would be nothing,” she says. Yet while migrants sustain Thailand’s industries, they’re often vilified as criminals or disease carriers. She notes that this is a kind of hypocrisy, given how much migrants have contributed to the development of Thai society and prosperity. Manuchae’s criticism of Thailand’s migrant policies is fierce. Legal channels are so costly and slow that people fall into illegality by necessity. She argues for a system that is simple, affordable, and humane—one that values dignity over control. Her landmark “chicken farm” case, where enslaved workers won justice, proved that freedom isn’t defined by unlocked doors. But she knows victories are fragile: courts still blur the line between forced labor and trafficking. Koreeyor Manuchae often speaks of the need to recognize humanity before nationality, believing that identity is defined not by documents but by the simple fact of existence. Or as she says, “We need to care about fundamental things like fundamental right for human rights as well.”

Episode #478: The second episode in a five-part series, these conversations were recorded at the 16th International Burma Studies Conference at Northern Illinois University, where scholars, students, researchers, and practitioners came together for presentations, forums, roundtables, and cultural exhibitions centered on the theme “Dealing with Legacies in Burma.” Taking place amid ongoing political turmoil and humanitarian crisis, the gathering offered a rare space for open dialogue. Insight Myanmar was invited into this environment to record interviews with a wide range of attendees, produced in collaboration with NIU’s Center for Southeast Asian Studies. We hope these episodes carry listeners into the atmosphere of the conference and into conversation with the people who continue to shape the field today.Thuta, a Burmese educator and poet, moved to the US to study Education Policy and Leadership at the University of Oregon. He talks of his love of literature, especially poetry, which he describes as an emotional companion that shifts with physical place and inner state, offering solace during joy, heartbreak, and national turmoil. Identifying himself as a “word player,” he blends languages to express identity, exemplified by his coined term “Oregon Padauk,” which later inspired an educational organization focused on trauma-informed practices. Thuta’s time in Oregon shaped him deeply through its natural beauty, progressive spirit, and the generosity of its people—especially senior citizens engaged in social justice. He concludes with the belief that individuals can be the light for others during difficult times.Alicia Turner reflects on how Burma Studies has transformed during her twenty-five years in the field. She critiques the colonial assumptions behind the idea of scholarly “objectivity” and stresses the need for researchers—both foreign and Myanmar-born—to examine their own assumptions, positionality, and embedded privileges. Stressing a “decolonized” approach, she notes the newly prominent role of young Myanmar scholars whose perspectives offer essential correctives to earlier, outsider-dominated research. Turner also argues that research undertaken during the current conflict cannot be neutral, since even seemingly apolitical fieldwork carries political consequences. In discussing Buddhism and the Western mindfulness movement, she acknowledges both its personal benefits and its distortions of Burmese traditions.Kathryn, a student researching political violence, the resistance, and the country’s democratic aspirations, notes that people are contributing in diverse ways to the fight based on their circumstances. However, she wishes major resistance leadership was more grounded, similar to past leaders who remained physically embedded in public life. She stresses the need to reject rigid “us versus them” thinking by recognizing the humanity of ordinary soldiers who joined the military for survival. As a Gen Z member, she says the current youth motivation is shaped by past experiences of relative freedom during the 2010s, which offered a glimpse of a more hopeful future. She warns that the proliferation of arms can create the illusion of immunity from long-term consequences and emphasizes the need for restraint to avoid repeating global patterns where victims become oppressors.

Episode #477: “I found Myanmar a really interesting case study,” says Gerard McCarthy, a political sociologist and author of Outsourcing the Polity. His work explores how deeply divided,impoverished societies emerge from conflict and build political settlements. Drawn to Myanmar during its 2010 transition, McCarthy focuses his research on provincial regions like northern Bago and Karen States—areas largely ignored in existing scholarship, which tends to center on Yangon and Mandalay. McCarthy examines how Myanmar’s military regime, following the collapse of socialism, strategically withdrew from welfare provision and encouraged businesspeople and religious institutions to fill the gap. This “social outsourcing,” he argues, gave rise to a form of “moral citizenship” in which the public relies on voluntary charity, not state entitlements. Buddhist ideas such as parahita were reinterpreted to support this system, laying the groundwork for broad civil society engagement—including the response to Cyclone Nargis in 2008. Post-coup resistance, including support for PDFs and displaced communities, builds on these same networks. But McCarthy warns against romanticizing civil society: non-state welfare is often uneven, unregulated, and unsustainable, he cautions. He notes that as a legacy of this “moral citizenship” dynamic, both elites and the general public now undervalue state-based social protections. To move forward, he suggests, Myanmar must learn from as well as build on the transparency and trust embedded in charitable systems. “The state might try to mimic the aspects of the non-state sector which people have faith in,” he argues. For him, voluntary generosity is not a substitute for nationwide systems of justice or systematic redistribution.