Insight Myanmar

Episode #521: “The weapon itself just cannot tell the difference between a soldier stepping on it, or a kid on the way to school, or your grandma on her way to the place of worship.” For Erin Hunt, Executive Director of Mines Action Canada (MAC), the harms inflicted on civilians by anti-personnel landmine have motivated her organization's humanitarian work for three decades. MAC was founded in the 1990s “to end the suffering caused by indiscriminate and inhumane weapons such as landmines, cluster munitions, autonomous weapons, explosive weapons in populated areas and nuclear weapons.” In 1997, the Ottawa Treaty, or Mine Ban Treaty, was ratified, with the campaign behind it winning the Nobel Peace Prize the same year. It has since become a model of humanitarian disarmament. That model today faces serious challenges, including its relevance to Myanmar, which has recorded the world's worst casualties from landmines and unexploded ordnance for two years in a row, according to the Landmine Monitor. In a recent interview as part of Insight Myanmar's Navigating a Minefield series, Hunt described how international policy spaces often overlook “the people who have lived with these weapons who are the experts.” Their expertise, she explains, comes from lived experience—mitigating risk as part of everyday life—rather than from formal qualifications or academic training. This perspective has informed MAC's work, particularly in elevating young people and women as leaders in mine action and disarmament. While men and boys are statistically more likely to be landmine casualties, women and girls are disproportionately affected in less visible ways. Gender-based violence and trafficking risks are heightened in conflict and communities under attack. In families that suffer a death or injury, “increased caregiving responsibilities are going to fall on the women and girls”, Hunt says, forcing women and girls to take on additional work or withdraw from school, reinforcing cycles and intersectionality of inequality. As emerging technologies are being adopted to the battlefield in Myanmar, most notably drones in recent years, Hunt points to broader challenges shaping modern conflict including the use of AI and autonomous systems and nuclear command structures. “The big issue is the lack of accountability and the potential for mistakes with no one held accountable,” she says.

Episode #520: “Ancestors are not dead. They're not the living dead. Rather, they should be best thought of as ‘the always living.'” Dr Micah Morton, a cultural anthropologist and professor at Northern Illinois University, describes Akha life across the Upper Mekong borderlands as a struggle to keep that relationship intact while everything around it shifts—states hardening borders, religions competing for allegiance, and markets remaking livelihoods. Morton traces an origin narrative tied to Jadae Mirkhanq, a remembered homeland city-state whose meanings have changed as Akha have become citizens of five countries. The past, he argues, is not a single inheritance but a set of stories shaped by migration, hierarchy, and dissent, including legends of Mongol pressure and internal conflict around a powerful king whose era is credited with laying down the “Akha way.” At the center of Morton's account is Akha customary law, rendered as ghanr, an encompassing system that governs life and death through obligations to ancestors and the maintenance of “vital life giving energy.” Genealogies, ritual offerings, and village gates are not symbolic leftovers but mechanisms that produce health, prosperity, and moral order. Yet modern schooling and language shift change how this knowledge is carried, pushing remembrance from oral mastery toward written records. Morton follows these pressures into a cross-border effort to standardize an Akha writing system, one that was attempted to be designed “by and for Akha,” and into the fractures created when writing becomes a tool for competing missions—Christian evangelism on one side, and neo-traditionalist reform on the other. He frames Christian conversion not as a private belief swap but, in traditionalist terms, an “entirely new set of customary laws,” with the village gate becoming the emblem of rupture, exile, and later reconfiguration. Coffee then arrives as both bridge and threat. In Lawcavq Pu (Doi Chang), wealth from global coffee markets has funded new forms of status and debt, while also underwriting intensified funerals and gatherings aimed at reforming ancestral practice so it can survive beyond the village gates. In the end, Morton does not frame the Akha as trapped between tradition and modernity. He instead regards them as managing competing jurisdictions—ancestral law, church discipline, state regulation, market dependency—none of which can fully absorb the others, and none of which can simply be ignored. “It's an ongoing cultural system of customary law that Akha have, over time, adapted to their particular circumstances.”

Episode #519: Friedgard Lottermoser, a German student of Sayagyi U Ba Khin, describes the unique character of meditation at the International Meditation Center (IMC) in Rangoon between 1959 and 1971. Unlike the large,standardized courses later developed by S. N. Goenka, U Ba Khin taught only one ten-day course a month to small groups. Each student received individualized instruction based on temperament and background. “He went by feeling,” Friedgard recalls, noting that he could sense a student's meditative progress even from afar. She contrasts U Ba Khin's flexibility and adaptability with Goenka's standardized system of recorded discourses and fixed schedules centered on a single technique. When political restrictions prevented U Ba Khin from traveling abroad after Ne Win's 1962 coup, he could not realize his own dream of teaching dhamma outside Burma. So he trained several non-Burmese teachers to undertake this mission, as well as Goenka, who as an Indian businessman was able to obtain a passport. In particular, Goenka's organizational talent and charisma transformed meditation into a vast global network. Yet Friedgard stresses that U Ba Khin never intended his teaching to be wholly standardized; he expected these teaching disciples to adapt the practice to their own cultures. In explaining the technique, Friedgard cites a pamphlet, The Essentials of Buddha Dharma in Meditative Practice, written by U Ba Khin where he outlines ten stages of vipassanā insight. These range from theoretical understanding (samasana) to deep dissolution (bhaṅga) and ultimately to detachment and realization. Unlike Goenka, he placed less emphasis on equanimity and more on “continuity of awareness—anicca with feeling.” Friedgard also goes into great detail about her friendship with Ruth Denison, an U Ba Khin disciple who adapted vipassanā for Western students through movement and mindful walking. Though Denison and her teaching approach was controversial in the conservative, Burmese Buddhist community at IMC, Friedgard believes U Ba Khin would have understood such adaptations. His genius, she says, lay not only in teaching meditation but in trusting that each culture must find its own expression of the Dhamma.

Episode #518: The story of the KMT irregulars in Burma is a historical anomaly tied to the Chinese Civil War, the Cold War, and Burma's early independence. Following their defeat, remnants of the Nationalist Army under General Li Mi crossed into Burma's Shan States. Claiming to continue the anti-communist struggle, they later turned to the opium trade as a means of survival. This trade, expanded under the KMT's control, expanded exponentially, transforming the region into the Golden Triangle—an epicenter of the global drug trade. The KMT's activities also destabilized Burma and strained Prime Minister U Nu's administration, leading to tensions with British and American stakeholders. Meanwhile, the CIA engaged in a covert mission tofund and arm the KMT, further complicating the geopolitical landscape. Meanwhile, the KMT's exploitative practices alienated local ethnic groups, such as the Karen and Mon, deepening mistrust and fragmenting resistance. By 1953, international pressure forced U Nu to address the KMT's presence at the United Nations. This led to evacuations supported by the CIA, though the process was incomplete and fraught with challenges. Many KMT forces remained, leaving an enduring legacy. The Golden Triangle's drug trade flourished, ultimately reaching American inner cities; while regional instability persisted and the Tatmadaw grew in power, setting the stage for military rule in Burma. “By the mid to late 1950s, only about seven or eight thousand had gone [back to Taiwan], which was satisfactory for the government,” Baron says, noting the lasting footprint of the KMT's presence in Burma, and highlighting the incomplete resolutions and ongoing legacies of this historical chapter. “But there was simply in the region, loads that just stayed, loads that never left, and you see their relatives or their descendants still there now.”

Episode #517: “They are using each other for their own benefit.” With this line, Wai Yan Phyo Naing frames a sober account of SinoMyanmar relations. A researcher and lecturer in international relations and modern history who studied in Moscow and later worked with migrants in Thailand, Wai Yan Phyo Naing brings both scholarship and field experience to the conversation. For Wai Yan Phyo Naing, the relationship is transactional. “China is only interested in its national interests,” he says. “China is ready to communicate with whoever becomes powerful in Myanmar.” Myanmar engages because it must, yet, as Wai Yan Phyo Naing insists, “Myanmar is a sovereign, independent state—not a province of China.” Geography drives the rest: China seeks an outlet to the Indian Ocean, and Myanmar's coast provides it. The pipelines from Kyaukphyu to Yunnan are operating; the rail vision remains contested—proof, Wai Yan Phyo Naing says, that consent and fair terms decide outcomes. Security realities push cooperation, as Wai Yan Phyo Naing notes that China brokered talks with MNDAA, TNLA, and AA, even “opened the observer office in Lashio,” and, as the generals realized the limits of unilateral force, they came to “appreciate the Chinese intervention.” The darker side of crossborder interdependence is the scam economy, which Wai Yan Phyo Naing calls “like a cancer.” Strategically, Wai Yan Phyo Naing recounts how Beijing once “wanted to create the tunnel… to the Ayeyarwady River and then to the sea.” That was rejected, but “the port project, gas and oil pipeline” are now real, and China is “ready to continue their highspeed railroad from Yunnan.” The moral is unchanged: both states pursue advantage, and Myanmar must bargain hard. Wai Yan Phyo Naing cautions against extremes. “Whoever holds power in Myanmar cannot forget China's presence,” he says. “Please don't forget we are just beside China… we shouldn't see China as a ‘bad guy' all the time.”

Episode #516: “I want to be able to center women in their full right and to shine a spotlight on how I think they are very much the heroes of the revolution,” says Jenny Hedström, a researcher whose book, Reproducing Revolution, examines women's labor in the Kachin struggle. Joined by Stella Naw, a Kachin activist and scholar, they argue that the conflict cannot be reduced to a simple story of aggressor and victim. Instead, it must be understood through the everyday labor that sustains communities across generations of war. Jenny's engagement with Kachin women began in the early 2000s while working with the Kachin Women's Association Thailand. She found that English-language scholarship centered male fighters and formal politics, while the women she spoke with talked about displacement, rebuilding, and survival. When she began her PhD in 2015, she initially focused on female soldiers, assuming armed actors were the proper lens for studying war. But spending time in Kachin towns, army brigades, and displacement camps shifted her perspective: she realized that labor that was not militarily or publicly celebrated proved equally essential to revolutionary endurance. Together, they argue that Kachin womens' roles in farming, teaching, organizing, and caregiving within Kachin Independence Organization–controlled areas constitute real governance, and not merely domestic support. Stella reframes gender as relational, noting that rigid expectations of masculinity have harmed men as well. “When they can no longer perform the values that define them as Kachin men… they take their own life!” They extend this critique to the international arena, contending that legitimacy is too narrowly defined through sovereignty and armed control. The sustaining labor that makes resistance governance possible remains politically undervalued, and Jenny and Stella want conflict analysis and policy engagement to more explicitly account for this foundational layer of local governance. They stress that the governance sustained by women is politically indispensable, so it should be studied, supported—and valued—accordingly In the end, their commitment remains unequivocal: “We'd rather live and fight for freedom than to submit,” says Stella. “People are willing to die, so they will continue fighting. It's not going to end, but we can end it soon by supporting these resistance actors, who made up for pluralistic states, and support civil society groups who can hold EAOs and EROs accountable.”

Episode #515: Toru Kubota is a Japanese documentary filmmaker who believes storytelling can foster empathy beyond abstract argument. A political science student at Keio University who developed an interest in refugee issues, in 2014 he joined a student project interviewing Rohingya refugees in Japan. Using a camera for the first time, he helped produce a short documentary about their lives. In 2016, Kubota traveled to Sittwe in Rakhine State and entered camps housing Rohingya displaced after the 2012 violence. Though officially designated as internally displaced persons camps, he saw them as places of confinement, where communities were segregated and deprived of adequate services. Filming an accidental fire inside one camp became a turning point; editing the footage later convinced him of film's power to convey lived experience. Following both the military's 2017 campaign against the Rohingya and the 2021 coup, Kubota returned each time to Myanmar to document events unfolding there. While filming a protest in 2022,soldiers arrested him at gunpoint and used staged photographs as evidence of his participation. He was charged with incitement and immigration violations and sentenced to ten years in prison. Fortunately, diplomatic pressure was able to secure his release after 111 days in detention at the notorious Insein Prison, where he had endured solitary confinement and struggled with despair. Since then, Kubota has supported exiled Myanmar journalists in a variety of different ways. His film “Borderline Resistors” follows exile media collectives along the Thai–Myanmar border. Reflecting on his imprisonment and the fragility of civil liberties, he recalls something an activist once told him: “Freedom is like air. You never appreciate it when you can breathe freely. But you finally realize how important is when you get drowned in water.”

Episode #514: Richmond Heath, an Australian physiotherapist, longtime vipassana meditator and senior trainer in tension and Trauma Releasing Exercises (TRE) discusses the involuntary movements that arise for some people in meditation. He argues they are not signs of dysfunction, but rather expressions of underlying bodily processes. It's how a person relates to them that matters most. In his late twenties, Heath developed chronic pain that resisted conventional treatment and forced him to abandon the physical activity that had once grounded him. Turning to vipassana meditation in the tradition of S.N. Goenka, he encountered intense discomfort but discovered that pain was partly a reaction layered onto sensation. By observing it rather than resisting it, its character changed, opening a new way of relating to the body. As his practice deepened, spontaneous movements began to arise. These ranged from subtle shifts to complex, fluid postures that felt unexpectedly free rather than painful. Because he was not consciously producing them, he experienced them as something happening through the body rather than something he was doing. Yet neither medical nor meditative frameworks could account for it. His vipassana teachers discouraged the movements, and eventually he was asked to leave a retreat; medicine, in turn, tended to framed them as manifestations of pathology. Despite this, he trusted his experience and continued observing. He later described these as “neurogenic movements” and came to understand them as part of a broader rhythm of activation and release. While initially interpreting them as trauma discharge, he expanded this view, noting similar patterns in early development, cultural practices, and states of heightened energy. This led him to conclude that no single framework fully explains the phenomenon. Encounters with Aboriginal elder Jack Beatson and later TRE provided validation and context. TRE, which deliberately elicits similar movements, confirmed that such responses can be accessed intentionally, but also reinforced that they function best when not controlled. Heath emphasizes discernment: the same process can regulate or destabilize depending on how it feels. His guiding question—“are you okay, and is it working for you?”—extends beyond meditation to everyday experiences, reframing reactions like panic as part of the body's attempts to adjust. Even in extreme conditions, such as conflict zones, these processes may offer limited but meaningful relief. Ultimately, Heath maintains an openness to interpretation, grounded in a simple principle that the Aboriginal elder told him: “Enjoy the ride!”

Episode #513: Georgi Engelbrecht of the International Crisis Group links two stories that matter for Myanmar: the Mindanao peace process and Russia's ties to authoritarian partners in Southeast Asia.He begins in the Philippines with what he calls the conflict's “master cleavage” — Muslim communities inside a state seeking self-determination against what they see as colonial intrusion. That grievance was reinforced by migration, exclusion, and underdevelopment until it hardened into decades of separatist war. But the macro narrative never explained everything. Alongside it ran “horizontal violence”: clan feuds, communal disputes, and local power struggles that don't disappear just because a deal is signed.For Engelbrecht, the 2012 and 2014 agreements with the Moro Islamic Liberation Front were a turning point, not an ending. The MILF largely abandoned fighting, the Bangsamoro autonomy project became real, and governing structures took shape after the autonomous region was established in 2019. Yet the region remains “in flux,” with delays, elite rivalries, contested legitimacy, and violence that has shifted rather than vanished.From Mindanao he pivots to Myanmar and what major powers mean by “stability.” Russia's push into Asia, he argues, accelerated with its rupture from the West, as Moscow sought partners and arenas beyond Western leverage. In Myanmar, that lens favors the junta: Russia tends to read rebellion as instability and the central state as the default counterweight. With pipelines for hardware, parts, training, and contact, “Myanmar, because of Russia's help, is not that isolated anymore,” and perceptions of durability become a force multiplier.His wager is blunt: “Russia is banking on victory of the regime.” China, by contrast, cannot afford distance and hedges across actors because Myanmar's disorder sits on its border. As Engelbrecht puts it, “Chechnya [for Russia] is probably what Myanmar is for China.” For Moscow, this becomes part of a broader pattern—how Russia shows it can keep partners standing, stay relevant beyond Western systems, and act as a patron for regimes the West is trying to isolate. For Myanmar, that means the relationship isn't a blueprint for victory—but it can function as scaffolding: not determining the war's shape, but bracing the regime's ability to persist.

Episode #512: “The overall consequences are so bad that I myself urged the Norwegian government to stop some of this.” Hanne Sophie Greve, a Norwegian judge and long-time human rights jurist, argues that Telenor's conduct in Myanmar created foreseeable and preventable pathways to severe human rights harm, but existing legal systems struggle to respond proportionately. She frames the case as both a corporate failure and a test of how Norway—a state that portrays itself as committed to democracy and human rights—handles the risks created when a majority state-owned company operates in a fragile political environment. Greve reconstructs Telenor's entry into Myanmar during a period of political opening, when optimism about liberalization was widespread. She notes that Telenor had a strong reputation for transparency and human-rights due diligence, which she describes as a tool designed to identify high-risk contexts. Precisely because of that due diligence, Greve identifies the company's first major failure: Myanmar's telecommunications sector was structurally high-risk even during the democratic transition, because the legal system lacked safeguards, and Telenor knew this. She argues that the company should have insisted on legal protections and planned for an emergency exit. When political conditions deteriorated and sanctions reinforced those risks, Telenor still failed to act on what it knew. The second failure was Telenor's handling of real-time interception equipment. Although lawful when imported, Telenor kept it in Myanmar after sanctions were imposed and was later operationalized by the military. She emphasizes that leaving such capacity behind in a country sliding toward authoritarian violence is not a neutral act. She also strongly criticizes Telenor's exit and sale of its Myanmar operation to a military-linked entity, arguing that sensitive data should have been deleted rather than left accessible. Greve describes the situation in present-day Myanmar as a constant conflict in which surveillance enables arrests, repression, and lethal violence. While she says Telenor's criminal liability under Norwegian law remains legally uncertain, she argues that if responsibility is established it would attach to the company itself, not individual employees. She concludes by treating the case as a warning about how control over communications infrastructure directly affects whether a society can function at all, and she expresses hope that Norway can support a peaceful transition for Myanmar's people. “I would love to see my own country in Norway participating in bringing about that peaceful transition for the benefit of the people of Myanmar.”

In this bonus episode, Better Burma's monastic donation manager, Mora, shares what he has been seeing on the ground in Myanmar after years of conflict and displacement, now compounded by the March 28, 2025 earthquake. He explains why so much of Better Burma's work runs through monasteries and nunneries, as these communities have become frontline sanctuaries for children, providing shelter, food, schooling, and basic healthcare for thousands who have nowhere else to go. Mora describes what it takes to deliver aid under current conditions, the scale of damage and urgent rebuild needs across sites in Sagaing, Mandalay, and surrounding areas, and what Better Burma has been doing since the quake, from constructing temporary and permanent housing to repairing collapsed walls and roofs and helping communities relocate out of unsafe structures. He highlights one orphanage nunnery caring for more than 90 children, including infants, now living in unsafe bamboo shelters after their building was destroyed, and he explains how economic hardship has crushed local giving, forcing some nunneries to travel long distances just to gather rice to send back to the children. He closes by underscoring how vast the remaining needs are, from classrooms and teaching halls to restored water access and basic monastic requisites lost in the debris, and invites listeners who want to support this work to donate at betterburma.org/donation.

Episode #511: Like many young Kiwis, Jarrod Newell wanted to see the world. Taking advantage of the special working holiday visas available in the United Kingdom, he traveled to London,where he participated in the city's wild, partying lifestyle. After saving some money, he would pick up and find some new place to visit, ultimately making his way across cities and even continents. While attending hippy festival in Greece, he met a girl who had just completed a ten-day vipassana retreat in the tradition of S.N. Goenka, and told him of an upcoming course in Crete, and Jarrod went there straight away. The course experience was brutal, but had a deep impact on him. After ten years, he finally returned home, and now a committed meditator, sat and served regularly at the local vipassana center. When Jarrod heard that Goenka would be leading a pilgrimage through Burma, he knew he had to go. As soon as he stepped off the plane in the Golden Land, he realized he was somewhere special. He was especially moved by his sitting in in a cave at Shwe Taung Oo in Monywa, where Ledi Sayadaw used to reside nearly a century ago. It was there that the idea of ordaining as a monk came to him, and Goenka eventually gave him his blessing to take robes. Now a monastic, he returned to Shwe Taung Oo Pagoda, where he decided to sit six, 10-day self-courses in the style of Goenka retreats, with just one day between each. As a monk, Jarrod was greeted with open arms and an open heart by nearly every Burmese person outside the military that he came in contact with, and on more than one occasion was invited to remain in whatever area he was in for life, with promises that all his needs would be looked after. However, in the end, he decided to disrobe, and returned to New Zealand via India, where he sat a 60-day course. When he was 32, Jarrod enrolled in medical school, and met his future wife with whom he had three daughters. He has a medical practice, and has opened a business. “I'm just very much a householder,” he notes. But the memories from his time in the Golden Land are never very far away for Jarrod, and the lessons from those years are precious.

Episode #510: “I'm not an activist,” says Bart Was Not Here, a Burmese artist whose politically oriented work reflects a life shaped by dictatorship and displacement. He argues that art creates a space where memory, humor, fear, and imagination can coexist, allowing both artist and viewer to navigate political realities in ways that ordinary language cannot. Bart sees current global politics as part of a wider shift toward more extreme forms of power. Myanmar's experience, he explains, no longer feels unique but echoes developments now taking place elsewhere. This awareness shapes both his personal outlook and his artistic practice. As an individual he worries about the state of the world, yet as an artist he values the act of creation as a protected interior space from which to observe, reflect, and transform experience into form. Satire plays a central role in his work, as Bart argues that humor can deflate authoritarian power by exposing its absurdity; a practice that Burmese have long been trained in doing. In a society familiar with repression, he notes how humor becomes a subtle form of resistance. For Bart, absurdity reveals how power, while often appearing grand, can be exposed as brittle and theatrical. These ideas shape his recent exhibition, Threshold. The project emerged after he moved to the United States and received an immigration identification number for non-citizens. The label struck him as a strange science-fiction scenario—a “Third World alien” entering the first world. From this experience he developed the idea of a threshold: a suspended, liminal space between departure and arrival where identities shift and renegotiate themselves. It is an interconnected world rather than a series of isolated paintings, and populated by both mythic characters and archetypes from his own internal landscape. Through his layered environments, Bart explores systems of control, waiting, and escape. Ultimately, however, he insists that art should remain playful and exploratory. As he puts it, “Nothing is really that deep… it's all spectacle and entertainment.”

Episode #509: “I don't have hope. But I think that this is something that I should accept. It is reality.” Chalida Tajaroensuk, a longtime advocate of democratic reform and human rights across the Southeast Asian region, argues that human rights work collapses when it is built on prediction rather than conditions. Her account begins in a provincial Buddhist temple where community care wasn't an abstract virtue but daily labor among the elderly, the poor, and those without family. From there, she traces a path through Thai student activism, the violence of the 1970s and 1990s, and a period in the jungle alongside the Communist Party, followed by disillusionment with ideologies that promise total change while leaders chased private benefit. Against grand theories, Chalida advocates a method that stays stubbornly small and specific—bailing people out of detention, negotiating with authorities, finding schools for Myanmar children who can't study in Thai, persuading landlords to accept refugees who must report regularly, building neighborhood trust so displaced people can survive with dignity. “Do a small thing, and then when you have success, you feel success with the small.” Chalida extends that realism to refugee policy, arguing that reforms can still fail in implementation through language barriers, exploitation, and the hollowing out of camp life when key workers are forced to leave. On Thai public life, she is blunt about worsening conditions and the shortage of leaders she trusts, although what remains is obligation and repetition—ground-level fact-finding, people-to-people exchange, and the insistence that action continues even without a promised ending. Asked why she keeps going, Chalida returns to responsibility, not optimism. “I think that this is my duty.” She does not promise outcomes. She does not offer closure. She insists only on the smallest honest pledge: “Today we do today's best.”

Episode #508: Damian Lilly, a veteran humanitarian and human-rights specialist, who has worked in conflict zones across the world, believes assistance must be joined with protection and accountability. “We can't just be there to assist people—we also need to be there to protect them.” He formed this conviction through his work with Médecins Sans Frontières, documenting sexual violence in places such as Afghanistan, South Sudan, and the Congo and turning testimony into pressure on governments. Working with the UN, he returned to South Sudan later as Senior Advisor on the Protection of Civilians. The civil war there drove more than 250,000 people into UN compounds, and although his work helped shelter so many people, he looks upon it as a failure because in the end, there was no justice or redress. Protection without justice, he says, “really loses sight of what we're trying to do.” Later on, he was posted in Gaza in his role as UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees: during that time, there were three Israeli military incursions into the territory between 2008 and 2014, with no real repercussions, which only reinforced to Lilly how impunity fuels repeated wars. Accountability, he says, fails not for lack of law but ofpolitical will. When his wife, also a UN employee, received a posting to Myanmar, Lilly and his family moved to Yangon. This was shortly before the coup. He reports watching the tanks roll down the streets. In response, Lilly co-founded the Myanmar Accountability Project (MAP) to pursue prosecutions abroad through what is called “universal jurisdiction,” where crimes against humanity in one country can be prosecuted in another country's national courts. MAP is seeking cases in countries like Indonesia, the Philippines, and Turkey. Lilly critiques the International Criminal Court and UN Security Council for their paralysis, timidity in engaging the junta, and reluctance to recognize the NUG as the people's legitimate representative. While the UN employs the claim of neutrality to justify continued relations with the junta, Lilly argues that true neutrality means fidelity to humanitarian principles, not moral equivalence. Despite bureaucratic inertia and shrinking aid budgets, Lilly insists that localization, persistence, and creative legal action can still advance justice. “It is a complex area,” he says, “but an important part of how we address many of these situations.”

Episode #507: “It's a process of learning and unlearning, and understanding that knowledge exists in many places and is everywhere, not just in the academy,” says Davina Quinlivan, an Anglo-Burmese writer and research fellow in English and Creative Writing, of her second memoir, Possessions. Her first book, Shalimar, reconstructed her father's wartime childhood in colonial Burma through historical inquiry, while Possessions turns toward embodiment and the present, exploring how inheritance lives in memory, belief, and the body. Quinlivan recounts her parents' Anglo-Burmese backgrounds: born before World War II, they knew each other in Burma before their families emigrated to England in the mid-1950s amid post-independence uncertainty. After marrying other partners, they reconnected decades later and married. Raised in West London in the 1980s, Quinlivan grew up with an inherited Burma shaped by atmosphere and narrative. Though she never experienced what her parents described, their stories formed her imaginative interior. Knowledge in her childhood home was transmitted not through books or institutions but through language, food, fragments of memory, and silence. As the first in her family to attend university, she immersed herself in film and French feminist philosophy, later completing a doctorate and building a long academic career. Yet she began to question the hierarchy that privileges institutional knowledge over embodied and inherited forms. Living in rural Devon with her husband and children, she found English folklore—oak trees, medieval churches, Green Man carvings—entering into dialogue with Burmese cosmology. When her youngest son suffered recurring febrile seizures, she rendered the experience through mythic frameworks, imagining ancestors as active presences. Rather than resolve identity into a single narrative, Possessions holds together multiple landscapes, histories, and ways of knowing within one life.

Episode #506: “I think the toll of doing dedicated work even as we grow older is so small compared to that of so many brave Myanmar activists. I can support the cause, but I can also choose not to confront myself with the full reality of what's going on in the ground. That's a choice that Myanmar people by and large don't have! That's how I carry on doing the work I do,” says Patrick Hoffmann, reflecting on the personal and historical drivers behind his commitment to Myanmar's democracy movement. Patrick's personal background indicates how individual narratives can ignite a lifetime commitment to global justice, advocating for freedom even from afar. His Jewish family heritage, marked by his father's childhood under Nazi Germany during World War II in Berlin, imbued him with a deep understanding of trauma and the devastating impact of atrocity; combined with the sense that one must never take democracy for granted, and it is always something worth fighting to preserve. This personal history, as both a German and a Jew, fuels his belief that “we, more than any other people, should stand for preventing genocide anywhere,” a conviction that propels his advocacy. Interacting with Myanmar students and activists in Yangon in 2012, he learned early the nuances in democratic models, particularly in the Asian context. After the 2021 coup, Patrick joined German Solidarity Myanmar, moving from conventional humanitarian aid work to more deeply active political lobbying. He advocates for a nuanced approach for Germany to show solidarity with Myanmar's cause, such as not only condemning the regime but also supporting non-state actors. Through his work, he has realized the power of inclusive narrative building, as well as how art can tell “a much more approachable and human portrayal of people fighting for democracy on the ground.” Despite the immense challenges, Patrick remains inspired by the movement's resilience. “This movement feels so close,” he says. “It's on the verge of success. We cannot give up now.”

Episode #505: In February, Timor-Leste opened judicial proceedings against Myanmar's military regime, marking the first time one ASEAN member has initiated legal action against another. Supporting the case, the Chin Human Rights Organization (CHRO) submitted evidence documenting serious international crimes, including the rape of a pregnant woman, the massacre of ten civilians, an airstrike on a hospital, the killing of Christian religious leaders, and repeated attacks on churches.CHRO Executive Director Salai Za Uk Ling joins the podcast, and argues that because Myanmar's legal system offers little protection for minority groups, international mechanisms have become essential. “Because no domestic laws really protect minority groups inside Myanmar, utilizing internationally accepted human rights standards and instruments becomes our only means by which we can promote awareness and try to address the human rights issues of people across Myanmar.”mv8r3g5fInternational legal action can serve several purposes, he explains. While pursuing long-term justice through legal processes, it also raises global awareness, increases political pressure on the regime, and may help deter future crimes. For people inside Myanmar, these efforts also carry symbolic weight. “We're talking about ordinary people all across Myanmar. Everyone is in one way or another, directly or indirectly, affected by the regime's actions,” Za Uk says. Even small recognition of their suffering can provide a sense that the world has not forgotten them.In Chin State, landmines are one element of a broader pattern of violence. Za Uk describes them as part of a systematic campaign to undermine communities in areas where resistance forces have driven out the military.“Landmines are just a piece of the larger puzzle of the regime trying to destroy lives that could be otherwise thriving in places that have been liberated,” he says. Used alongside indiscriminate airstrikes and other attacks on civilians, such tactics amount to war crimes and crimes against humanity.More than half of Chin State's population has been displaced since the 2021 coup. As families struggle to survive amid constant air attacks and hidden landmines, Za Uk warns the threat could become a long-term crisis. “A landmine is like a soldier that never sleeps,” he says. “And unfortunately, the target has been civilians.”

Episode #504: Michael Sladnick, an American activist who has lived and worked near the Thai–Myanmar border since the 2021 military coup, joins the podcast a second time to argue that the most consequential story of Myanmar's revolution is not elite political maneuvering but the everyday construction of democratic practice by ordinary people under extreme pressure. He presents the movement as one in which civic life, political education, and multi-ethnic solidarity continue to develop despite war, repression, and material deprivation. Embedded in a resistance community along the border, his sustained relationships with activists, fighters and displaced families from central Myanmar have taught him that outsiders often misunderstand the social base of the resistance. He says political participation in these communities reflects ethical reasoning and conscious choice, not ignorance or simple reaction to hardship. He describes a society where young villagers debate democracy, minority rights, women's rights, and LGBT rights while remaining rooted in rural life, and he sees a hopeful trend in the growth of political consciousness within the resistance that encompasses the inclusion of ethnic minority rights as an essential component of a democratic future. Sladnick portrays the conflict as a long struggle defined by endurance rather than imminent victory or defeat. He notes that exhaustion is real, but surrender is not seen as a viable option. Instead, the people are building grassroots democratic and civic institutions, and trying to keep them alive so that when openings appear, they will still be capable of coordinated action. Indeed, to Sladnick, the movement's weakest point is the missing bridge between those voices and the outside world: the lack of recognition, platforms, and material support that would help grassroots groups coordinate, survive, and be heard beyond Myanmar's borders. He does not romanticize conditions—he emphasizes shortages, fear, and constant danger—but he returns to the idea that democratic capacity is being formed “on the ground,” right now, through lived participation, and that the international audience must come to recognize and act on this fact.

Episode #503: Alicia Turner shows that Burmese Buddhists were not passive subjects of British colonialism, but active agents who reimagined Buddhist responsibility, authority, and identity through the concept of the sāsana, the Buddha's dispensation. Rather than treating colonialism as a simple rupture imposed from outside, her work reveals how Buddhists in Burma drew on their own religious frameworks to interpret crisis, decline, and moral obligation. In doing so, Turner challenges scholarly approaches that privilege nationalism, modernity, or so-called “Protestant Buddhism,” arguing that these lenses often miss how Burmese Buddhists understood and defended their tradition from within. Turner situates these developments within a much longer-standing anxiety about the decline and possible disappearance of the sāsana. This concern had always existed, but under British colonial rule it became urgent. The collapse of the monarchy brought with it the loss of royal patronage for elite monastics, creating a moral and religious vacuum. Lay Buddhists increasingly stepped into this space, taking on responsibility for preserving Buddhism through moral discipline, public accountability, and collective reform. Figures such as Ledi Sayadaw were central to this shift, expanding access to Abhidhamma study and enabling women and non-elites to participate directly in safeguarding the sāsana. Turner illustrates these tensions through the colonial “shoe controversy,” when British officials refused to remove their shoes in Buddhist sacred spaces. What colonial authorities framed as a matter of personal custom or symbolic respect was, for Burmese Buddhists, a serious desecration of sacred space and a denial of Buddhist moral authority. For Turner, the episode reveals a deeper clash over how religion itself was understood: whether ritual and embodied discipline were morally efficacious, or merely optional expressions of inward belief. The controversy shows how questions of religious authority, practice, and sovereignty were negotiated—and contested—under colonial rule. Finally, Turner traces how this moral project later fed into the post-Independence turn toward meditation. Promoted nationally under Burma's first prime minister, U Nu, meditation was framed as a universal practice capable of renewing society itself, and it soon spread globally as something that could be taken up regardless of religious background. At the same time, Turner argues that many contemporary mindfulness movements reproduce forms of erasure, treating ritual life, cosmology, and embodied moral discipline as secondary or disposable—echoing older colonial assumptions about what counts as “essential” religion.

Episode #502: This episode, part of the Decolonizing Southeast Asian Studies Conference series, features two powerful voices—Shakil Ahmed and Tümüzo Katiry—who approach decolonization from distinct but complementary perspectives. Together, they show how imagination, identity, and place intertwine in the struggle to reclaim meaning and possibility. Shakil Ahmed, a futurist and educator, explores how his academic field can serve as a decolonial tool. “Future Studies is a study of the future, but the future has not happened yet,” he explains. “So how do you study something that hasn't happened yet? You study how people think about the future currently.” He outlines a shift from prediction to imagination, emphasizing that “there are multiple different futures as opposed to one exact possibility.” He describes key frameworks—“default future, possible futures, probable futures, and the preferred future”—which empower people to move from passive acceptance to active agency. Shakil's “iceberg” model of Causal Layered Analysis asks listeners to look beneath visible issues to their deeper worldviews and myths: “These dominant myths and metaphors have shaped our society.” For him, decolonization means rewriting these inherited stories while balancing global structures with local wisdom. His outlook is hopeful: futures work, he insists, is about imagination, participation, and responsibility. Tümüzo Katiry speaks from the Naga homeland straddling the India–Myanmar border. “The definition of ‘Naga' is still very much debated,” he notes, pointing to colonial borders that divided families and cultures. He grounds his reflections in food autonomy: “First thing is the question of food sovereignty… Nagas tend to be very self-sustaining.” He describes local diets rich in pork, beef, fermented soybeans, crabs, and insects— each part of an ecosystem of survival and creativity. “We say that we eat anything that moves,” he jokes. Tümüzo's reflections expand to the environment: borders, he warns, also fragment wildlife habitats, while climate change and fragile infrastructure leave his region vulnerable. Yet his final words are generous and open: “I highly recommend people to visit the remote areas as well.”

Episode #501: “There were events going on in the world that I really cared about,” says investigative journalist Emanuel Stoakes as he reflects on the path that eventually drew him into reporting on Myanmar's human rights crises. He began reporting on events there in 2012, first covering the Kachin conflict before turning to the Rohingya crisis. When he visited the Rohingya camps in 2013, he was shaken by the scale of deprivation: children with preventable disabilities, untreated burns, and even signs of polio. Outside the camps, he witnessed entrenched anti-Rohingya sentiment, reinforced by decades of propaganda. Conversations with nationalist Rakhine politicians exposed openly dehumanizing views, exemplified by one official's dismissal of rape allegations because, he claimed, Rohingya women were “dirty, smelly women.” Stoakes also describes meeting the nationalist monk Wirathu, who warned that he was asking “very dangerous questions.” Leaked military psychological-operations documents later confirmed what he suspected: the military deliberately stoked communal hatred by spreading fabricated rumors and portraying Muslims as a demographic threat. He saw similar patterns in Meiktila after the 2013 riots, where footage revealed organized brutality against Muslims, including burned victims and dead children. And although the UN had published a report in 2012 after the sectarian violence in Sri Lanka that pledged to stop such atrocities from happening again, it completely failed in Myanmar. Its agencies were divided: development offices prioritized access while human-rights staff issued unheeded warnings, and the Burmese military played one side against the other, effectively marginalizing opposing voices. Since the 2021 coup, he sees a “national awakening” among many Bamar who now experience state violence themselves. But he stresses that sympathy alone is not enough. He believes Myanmar's future depends on sustained resistance, institutional reform, and supporting local journalists who can tell the country's story with depth and clarity.

Episode #500: “If my story offers anything, I really hope that it offers permission to question sincerely, to grow beyond structures that once served us and to hold both gratitude and discernment at the same time,” says Shelina Rose, a former Acharya in the S.N. Goenka Vipassana tradition. Having stepped away from that role a couple of years ago, she does not reject discipline or community. Instead, she argues that the sincerity that draws someone into a spiritual container can later require them to move beyond it. For her, maturity means shifting from dependency to autonomy without losing appreciation for what once helped. Born in Nairobi to an Indian Ismaili Muslim family and raised in London, Shelina studied medicine in Cardiff and trained as a general practitioner in London. A pivotal moment came while working on a pediatric burns ward, where she witnessed a mute child begin to heal only after expressing trauma through art. The experience convinced her of the deep link between mind and body. Despite professional success, she felt unfulfilled and left her job to travel to Australia. There she encountered Vipassana meditation. A powerful experience on her first ten-day course committed her fully to the path. She later studied Pāḷi in India, became an Assistant Teacher, then an Acharya, serving in senior roles across Europe. She remembers the presence of S.N. Goenka vividlyduring these years: “The energy of that man was giant.” Over time, however, she felt the culture discouraged inquiry. “You weren't really trained to think.” Her practice also plateaued; the technique, she says, “becomes a fossil after a while.” After long reflection, she left, losing community and security in the process. However, rebuilding through compassion and creative expression, she now emphasizes care, discernment, and growth. Her closing advice: “I encourage you to question and to continue to grow.”

Episode #499: Paul Vrieze, a Dutch journalist and PhD researcher specializing in Myanmar's Spring Revolution, has observed the country's political trajectory for over 15 years. Drawn to Myanmar's opening in 2012 after working in Cambodia, he joined The Irrawaddy as its first foreign editor, during a period of political reforms under Thein Sein. The February 2021 coup abruptly ended the democratic transition. Nonviolent mass protests impressed the world but were met by brutal crackdowns, prompting a rapid shift to armed resistance. Vrieze saw this as a rare case of escalation without major fragmentation. He notes a common protest dynamic: repression is experienced as a personal and communal assault, a “slippery slope” leading self-defense to evolve into armed struggle. This dynamic played itself out in Myanmar. Armed resistance in the country developed three patterns: spontaneous rural uprisings, organized ethnic acts of resistance, and individuals fleeing to the border who begin training with ethnic resistance organizations (EROs). The NUG adapted to events by formally labeling many of the emerging local resistance groups as People's Defense Forces (PDFs) and by proposing the idea of a Federal Army. However, ethnic resistance organizations (EROs) resisted bringing their forces under a single chain of command, preferring to maintain control in their own areas. This has left tensions and limits on coordinated action, raising the question of international recognition, which depends on territorial control, national standing, and functioning governance. The NUG has the broader political mandate but lacks secure in-country presence, while EROs have effective administrations yet are still regarded as regional rather than national actors. Vrieze believes unity, inclusivity, and a shared political vision are crucial for victory, warning that without them, success will be far harder to achieve. Fortunately, the movement has been able to maintain unity across ethnic divides so far, despite political differences and Chinese attempts to broker a ceasefire between EROs and the junta. He is hopeful that this unity will be maintained, and strengthened.

Episode #498: Caleb, a research coordinator with the Myanmar-based research group Myanography, argues that participation in the military's 2025–2026 election functioned less as a democratic exercise than as a survival mechanism for civilians living under junta rule. In his view, it reflected fear, coercion, and uncertainty, and turnout figures cannot be understood outside that context. For the first time in Myanmar's history, a national election was divided across three dates—December 28, 2025, January 11, 2026, and January 25, 2026—while large parts of the country were excluded because they were not under military control. Myanography monitored 16 locations across 12 states and regions through community-based field research. Across these sites, Caleb identifies patterns of intimidation, administrative manipulation, and ongoing armed conflict shaping participation. Even before voting began, residents faced pressure. Officials reminded members of the Civil Disobedience Movement that their names remained on record and noted that family members were eligible for military conscription. Rumors spread that abstention could trigger retaliation. Voting slips were distributed selectively, and voter lists contained omissions and inaccuracies. Turnout varied sharply. In Haka, the capital of Chin State, participation was extremely low. In other areas, roughly one-third voted, often strategically. One resident explained, “I just pressed the buttons for the other parties… because I was only focused on avoiding the lion and the green,” referring to symbols of the military-aligned Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP). With no meaningful campaign period, limited information, and confusion between similarly named parties, many voters lacked clarity about their options. Conflict further destabilized the process. In Mudon and Langkho Townships, explosions, drone attacks, and heavy military deployments accompanied voting. In Mandalay, residents were warned that if the indelible ink mark used for election control was not visible on someone's finger, they could well be repercussions. For Caleb, the election's phased structure, restricted access, and atmosphere of fear reveal its function: not democratic choice, but the reinforcement of military control.

Episode #497: “This is my life. Life is so precious, and I need to take responsibility for what I'm doing,” says Oliver Tanner, a long-term meditation practitioner and Buddhist scholar whose PhD focuses on early Buddhist textual studies. In his second appearance on the podcast, Tanner reflects on how his path has shifted from an emphasis on meditation techniques and intensive retreats, to sustained, daily practice based on the early teachings of the Buddha as presented in the suttas, all framed by a single concern: how to understand and respond to suffering honestly and clearly. Looking back on his earlier years, Tanner recounts his deep immersion in intensive meditation retreats within the Goenka tradition. At that stage of his life, his primary motivation was experiential transformation. Meditation offered him discipline, ethical grounding, and a direct encounter with his own mind, and he describes this period as profoundly beneficial. It provided stability and direction, demonstrating through lived experience that sustained effort could lead to meaningful change. He treats this phase not as something to outgrow or reject, but as an essential foundation that made later inquiry possible. Tanner affirms his conviction that the early teachings aim for independence in the Dhamma, which ultimately requires the practitioner to be willing to step outside the boundaries of their tradition as needed. And indeed, he felt an increasing need to understand what he was doing and why. While the techniques he practiced were transformative, they did not fully answer deeper questions about purpose. This led him to systematic study, first in Myanmar, where Abhidhamma and commentarial traditions were central and the suttas secondary, and then in Sri Lanka, where the emphasis shifted decisively to the suttas themselves. Encountering these texts directly, he experienced them not as abstract doctrine but as practical, existential guidance addressing suffering, behavior, and everyday life. In sum, he says that the early teachings reward careful attention and lived application rather than belief or loyalty in a particular tradition. “There's a treasure trove waiting in these teachings and such practical guidance is there to incorporate these teachings, not just as some special thing you do on retreat, but in your daily life.”

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.

Episode #476: Minnthonya, a deeply committed Burmese monk, recounts his remarkable journey from traditional monastic education to becoming a key figure in Myanmar's resistance movements. Initially drawn to the Buddhist path as a young boy, he studied under teachers who encouraged a deep engagement with both Buddhist scriptures and broader knowledge. It was this education that opened his eyes to the true political situation in his country, where the military regime had not only oppressed the people but also controlled religious institutions. As a teenager, Minnthonya's desire to change Myanmar grew, and he began organizing underground reading groups with fellow monks to discuss the country's dire political situation. Despite the regime's brutal repression, he and his peers covertly shared political writings and inspired others to question the status quo. His efforts culminated in his leadership role during the 2007 Saffron Revolution, where monks took to the streets, reciting the Metta Sutta, demanding freedom from military oppression. One of their key actions was the "Patta Nekku Sanna"—a symbolic boycott of the military's offerings, which united the monks in their defiance against the regime.Forced into exile after the regime's crackdown, Minnthonya continues his activism from Thailand, setting up libraries, education centers, and organizing resistance efforts among exiled Burmese communities. His commitment to the Dhamma has never wavered, as he believes that true Buddhist teachings must address the suffering of the people. For him, the fight for democracy and justice is inseparable from the spiritual path. He continues to advocate for both inner and outer peace, teaching that monks have a duty to stand up against oppression and that the path to freedom lies not only in meditation but also in courageous action against injustice.“We never believe in the military regime!” he exclaims. "For a very long time, [the military] has been destroying our Buddhism. They've killed many monks, sent countless others to jail, and destroyed monasteries—even now!”

Episode #475: “So many peoples in Myanmar who are fighting for democracy and human rights... they don't get any title or any recognize, but they did what they believed in.” Wut Hmone Win carries a legacy of resistance that began long before her. Her father, a student leader in the 1974 uprising involving U Thant's funeral, was imprisoned for his defiance of Ne Win's regime, and her family lived under surveillance. “The whole life of me and my family is [being] watched by the military,” she says. That experience taught her that freedom always has a cost. Educated in economics in Yangon and Norway, she had once hoped to live an ordinary life, free from politics. But when the 2021 coup struck Myanmar, the safety and democracy she enjoyed in Norway became unbearable reminders of what her people had lost. “I am living in Norway. I feel democracy and freedom and safety here, and human rights,” she says, with the understanding that all of this was lost completely back home. Within days she began organizing protests, helping to found the CRPH Support Group, Norway—a coalition of over twenty-one ethnic and religious organizations fighting for Myanmar's democracy from exile. As General Secretary, she oversees its humanitarian aid programs and international advocacy. “I do need money to support people who are suffering in Myanmar,” she says. “That's my simple strategy… we do need to support human rights… we do need [to be] shouting out loudly effectively.” Wut Hmone Win is critical of diaspora groups that remain confined to their own circles. “They are [remaining] in their own group, and that is a limited amount,” she says, emphasizing the need to reach Norwegians who “don't know about Myanmar.” Traveling beyond Oslo, she holds cultural events in towns like Lillehammer to “show our culture, dancing and then what happened in Myanmar.” For her, crossing those boundaries is how the revolution's voice can truly be heard. “We are standing here like a diaspora group in Norway,” she says. “We do need support, and we do need [recognition] too.”

Episode #474: Scott Aronson, a career humanitarian and conflict expert, describes his years in Myanmar between 2015 and the 2021 coup as “a really dynamic but also very challenging time to work in Myanmar.” He reflects on how his professional experience, field expertise, and moral convictions converged during a period of both democratic optimism and deepening crisis. Beginning his humanitarian career in the early 2000s, Aronson worked in Darfur and northern Uganda, where he learned the importance of coordination, adaptability, and respect for civilians in violent settings. Later, with USAID's Bureau for Humanitarian Assistance, he managed disaster and conflict responses, including the 2015 Nepal earthquake. In 2016, he became USAID's senior conflict and governance advisor at the U.S. Embassy in Yangon, supporting Myanmar's transition from dictatorship to democracy. His work focused on strengthening civil society networks and promoting inclusion in a fragile peace process. The 2017 Rohingya crisis shifted his attention to Rakhine State, where he worked with both Rohingya and Rakhine partners to provide humanitarian aid and document abuses. He calls this a time of hope mixed with heartbreak, when Myanmar's potential for democratic unity collided with long-standing ethnic and religious divisions. When the 2021 coup struck, Aronson was in Yangon under COVID quarantine. He helped coordinate emergency communication and funding for local partners after banks and networks collapsed. He credits Burmese activists with sustaining resistance, describing how local groups organized safe houses, escape routes, and covert aid despite mortal danger. Aronson argues that supporting Myanmar's democracy serves both moral and strategic U.S. interests, rejects isolationist arguments, and acknowledges the personal toll of the crisis. He remainshopeful that unity among Myanmar's diverse movements will eventually rebuild the nation: “When that day comes, and it will come,” he says, “there's going to be so much growth and opportunity in the country.”

Episode #473: “The military was pursuing an illiberal strategy to peace, and Norway became complicit, not necessarily by design, but by its effect, it became a de facto sponsor of a strategy for illiberal peace building by the military.” Kristian Stokke draws on decades of research across Sri Lanka, South Africa, and Indonesia, where Norway's peace efforts often reinforced state dominance rather than confronting inequality. He argues that Myanmar followed the same trajectory. “Norway became the envoy of the West that went in to test the waters,” he recalls, acting as a diplomatic go-between for Western powers eager to engage Myanmar's generals. “When we came to Myanmar, it was very clear that Norway's engagement was interest-based. It was no longer pretending to be just altruistic.” Norway's involvement, he continues, was driven as much by self-interest as by moral aspiration: “as a diplomat, as an aid donor and as an investor.” He goes on to describe that as a result, the so-called democratic opening of the 2010s was not a genuine transition: “This was not the negotiated transition of South Africa or Latin American countries in the 1980s,” Stokke explains. “It was an authoritarian-led transition to less closed dictatorship or electoral autocracy.” He believes Norway's peacebuilding “actually undermined the forces for power sharing and democracy,” focusing too much on the state and too little on democratic and ethnic movements. Reflecting on the years since the coup, Stokke laments Norway's caution: “At times, I find it surprising or unfortunate that they don't come out in support of those actors who are really at the forefront of the struggle for better democracy in Myanmar.”

Episode #472: “Where is my grandmother's vote?!” asks Thiri. Her core argument is that Myanmar's struggle today is not a failed revolution, but the evolution of a long, cyclical people's movement, whose legitimacy most recently derives from a valid election overturned by the military, and from the accumulated sacrifice and sustained moral agency of ordinary people. For Thiri, the most powerful form of resistance now is preserving dignity, voice, and mutual care amid prolonged uncertainty. She grounds this argument in lived experience. Her grandmother, eighty-two at the time, insisted on voting in person in the November 2020 general election despite being eligible for early voting at home. On election day morning, she woke before dawn and went to the polling station to cast her ballot for the National League for Democracy; a week later, she died. She never witnessed the coup that overturned the election results, sparing her the pain of seeing what she regarded as a sacred civic duty rendered meaningless. For Thiri, the legitimacy crisis begins there: millions of votes, like her grandmother's, were cast in good faith but never honored. From this starting point, Thiri argues that any new election organized by the same military lacks moral and political legitimacy. She describes it as an attempt to erase their unresolved theft. Democracy, she insists, cannot be reset without reckoning with the original violation. The election matters deeply to the military and to some international actors seeking closure, but not to people living with airstrikes, displacement, and fear. To the junta, it functions as an exit strategy that just sustains their oppressive rule in the guise civilian governance. To put the despair surrounding these times in Myanmar in context, Thiri turns to movement theory. She describes movements as cyclical, marked by peaks of hope followed by repression and exhaustion. The downturn now, she emphasizes, is but a natural phase, and to not get overly caught up in it. Thiri believes the present moment calls for reflection, role clarity, and recognition of small victories that preserve people power. Survival itself becomes a form of resistance. She frames emotional self-preservation as defiance, concluding, “I would rather choose to remember the kindness and the community and the resilience of people that are against any form of oppression.”