Insight Myanmar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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