Insight Myanmar

Episode #422: “There is beauty in owning one's racial identity. There's beauty in owning, valuing, and respecting one's heritage, ancestors, sexual identity, and gender identity. But on the other side of the coin, there can also be imprisonment there.”So says Bhante Sumano, an African-American monk at Empty Cloud Monastery. This is the 6th episode in our ongoing “Intersections of Dhamma & Race” series, in which we examineentrenched protocols, practices and biases within the vipassana and mindfulness communities.Bhante Sumano begins by telling us how he came to take on the monk’s robes. Originally from Jamaica, he moved to New York City for college and has stayed there ever since. Bhante Sumano trained under Thich Nhat Hanh and Thanissaro Bhikkhu before ultimately deciding that Empty Cloud was the best fit for him, as he appreciated the flexibility and openness in how the monastery embraced different Theravadin traditions.Bhante Sumano goes on to describe how the Buddha’s teachings have guided him in understanding and responding to racism. He expresses disappointment with how he has seen the wider Buddhist community respond to the recent social justice movement, and feels that even many experienced teachers have “blind spots” that prevent deeper understanding. Finally, he shares the value in providing safe spaces where practitioners of color can come to practice the Dhamma.

Episode #421: Saijai Liangpunsakul, whose first name means “the link between two hearts,” speaks of her journey through the turbulent conflict of Myanmar, and how the kindness and resilience of the Myanmar people continue to inspire her. Now a recognized expert on digital trauma and rights, she has come a long way from her small southern Thailand village. She travelled to Costa Rica on her own at 15 years on a student scholarship, and continued her global education in Canada and the US.The spark for her defining work ignited during the Arab Spring in Egypt, where she was on an exchange program from college. She witnessed firsthand technology's power for social change. This fascination changed the trajectory of her thinking about a career, and she initially joined an organization that utilized digital technology for healthcare access around the world. Then a stopover in Myanmar between work-related destinations in 2014 changed her life. She became captivated by the country and its digital revolution, and her planned two-week detour turned into six years.However, her initial perspective on the promise of technology in Myanmar hid technology’s darker underbelly. Saijai saw it transform into a “digital battleground” used for hate speech and oppression, notably against the Rohingya. She recognized Facebook's complicity in this growing problem, noting that it only had two people at that time to do all of content moderation for Myanmar. Saijai also describes a “devastating” situation now unfolding in Myanmar, one that combines real-life sexual and gender-based violence with tech-facilitated abuse. To combat this scourge – and coupled with her own terrible, personal experience of being harassed online –  she felt compelled to act. She co-founded Myanmar Witness to document abuses, and also Stop Online Harm, an “online ambulance” providing crucial technical, psychosocial, and legal support for survivors of digital trauma.“The answer was the community,” she says. “It is to hear the story of another woman go through abuse, how another woman can survive, and that makes me feel like I can be that too,” she affirms.

Episode #420: “This is this shit is real. This is not a dream. This is real.”  Burmese actor and public figure Khar Ra recounts a path that runs from Mogok to Yangon, into entertainment, and then—after the 2021 coup—into public dissent, displacement, and ongoing advocacy. He grew up on Mogok’s west side. Money was tight; his father died from alcohol; his mother remarried and left; with no siblings, he lived among relatives and kept one house rule: don’t drink, don’t smoke. Before leaving he told a friend he would not return unless he had become an artist. In Yangon Khar Ra studied English at Dagon University while translating, working restaurant shifts, and taking shortterm jobs. A friend urged him into a modeling contest; he arrived in borrowed clothes, learned fast, and in 2014 was named Mr. Asia Myanmar, then placed second runnerup at the regional Mr. Asia pageant. Work followed across modeling, music, and film. He notes the limits of precoup censorship—no profanity even in gangster scripts, intimacy restricted.  On January 31, 2021, Khar Ra was planning his next series of films; by morning the coup began. Within days he joined rallies with ’88 Generation figures, raised the threefinger salute, shared inthe 8 p.m. potandpan protests, and posted blunt messages against the regime. He also redirected his platforms to verified needs— medicine, rent, transport— adding, “We must carry on what we are doing. We can’t waste their sacrifice… We’re in this together, and we will fight until the end. We can make it happen.” After a fellow celebrity’s detention, his own name appeared under Section 505(a). Khar Ra hid with relatives, then left Yangon in a longyi and glasses, passing seven checkpoints. He moved toward the Thai–Myanmar border and into ethniccontrolled areas, met displaced families, and says the shift was clear: “I am on a path of revolution… It is happening.” The next phase took him to the United States. He joined fundraisers (including a San Francisco night he says raised over US$90,000), acted in a UCLA student short—his first screen role in nearly five years—and assembled a small documentary from an elevenday Karen trip. Exile, he says, cost him identity and purpose, yet his pledge stands: “I will keep supporting the movement.I’ll fight until the end.” 

Episode #419: “I’m just doing what is right, what is wrong, what’s the matter? What should I do as a human being?”After medical school, instead of choosing comfort, Dr. Myay Latt went to the Naga Self-Administered Zone — a place with no roads or electricity, where he was often the first doctor anyone had seen. He built bamboo clinics, trained villagers, and survived falls off cliffs while fighting malaria and tuberculosis. “They think I’m a strange person,” he says, laughing, “but they thank me.”His work took him across Myanmar’s forgotten corners — from Chin to Rakhine, where he ignored warnings and treated patients in areas marked No Entry for Rohingya. “I just want to heal people,” he says. “Not take sides.” In Putao, near the Kachin mountains, he reached villages by boat and foot, sleeping in leech-infested huts and learning the depth of his country’s suffering.When the coup came in 2021, he and friends spent the night awake in Yangon, drinking whiskey and waiting. “It’s like slapping our face,” he says. Out of that shock came an idea, inspired so many decades ago by Gandhi’s nonviolent crusade against the British: What if we stop their machine? He and other doctors decided then and there, to refuse to work under the junta. By morning, the Civil Disobedience Movement was born. Within days, hospitals, banks, and ministries stood still.The regime answered with bullets and airstrikes. “They’re so inhumane,” he says. “Hospitals, schools — they don’t care who’s inside.” He calls the attacks a clear breach of international law and urges only one thing: stop bombing civilians.Today, Myay Latt leads Heartland Union, bringing medical aid to Myanmar’s war zones. Many of his colleagues are gone. Still, he meditates and carries on. “Sometimes I cry at night, just hearing a Burmese traditional song,” he says softly. “But I will do whatever I can to win this revolution.”

Episode #418: Lorraine Pan is a 21-year-old queer, autistic, immigrant from China who now studies Women and Gender Studies at the University of Toronto (note that Pan’s preferred pronouns are they/their/them). Growing up in a small town, Pan felt alienated in a conservative school system that stigmatized neurodivergence. Their politicization began in high school during the Hong Kong protests of 2019: Chinese state media glorified police violence while censoring dissent, a contradiction that unsettled them. With friends’ help, Pan became more internet savvy, and soon learned to navigate China’s vast surveillance and censorship system, encountering authentic voices from Hong Kong and Taiwan. This experience, combined with exploring their queer identity, convinced Pan that remaining in China was impossible. Canada offered relative safety, but Pan faced new struggles as a racial minority and first-generation immigrant navigating academic rigor, visa pressures, and financial uncertainty. They describe themselves as an “in-betweener,” belonging fully neither in China nor abroad. Online, they built a platform linking movements across Asia, with solidarity for Hong Kong, Taiwan, Myanmar, and LGBTQ rights. But harassment eventually forced them offline, shifting their activism toward speaking and community work. Pan emphasizes intersectional solidarity, noting that movements must center marginalized groups—such as LGBTQ individuals within ethnic or displaced communities—rather than deferring their rights until after “democracy.” For Pan, democracy without equity is hollow. They reject hierarchy and leader-centrism, advocating decentralized organizing and valuing intergenerational exchange despite tensions with older activists. Pan’s internet experiences in China, and conversations with friends still there, deepened their empathy for activists in Myanmar. The parallels were clear: Myanmar’s regime shuts the internet down entirely, while China keeps it open but tightly censored and monitored. Both methods silence dissent and inflict lasting trauma. Seeing this connection reinforced Pan’s conviction that authoritarian repression is shared across borders and that transnational solidarity is essential.

This bonus episode features the recording of a special online meditation fundraiser hosted by Better Burma in partnership with Vipassana Hawaii. The event combined meditation, reflection, and stories from the ground in Myanmar, highlighting how monasteries and nunneries have become lifelines—providing shelter, food, and education for displaced families amid crisis. Mora, who leads our monastic support team, shares firsthand accounts of resilience and need, while Vipassana Hawaii teachers guide practice and reflection. Donation links mentioned in the session remain active, with contributions continuing to sustain these monastic communities and their vital humanitarian role.

Episode #417: “There has been a massive lay critique of leading Buddhist monks that have been seen as pro-military… but to conclude that monks are either silent or pro-military is too hasty! What we actually see is polarization and division within the Saṅgha,” says Iselin Frydenlund, a professor of religion in Norway who has spent decades studying Buddhism and politics in Sri Lanka and Myanmar.   One of her arguments is that the Saṅgha has never been truly unified. The coup simply shattered public illusions of unity, and that diversity and division have always marked monastic life in Myanmar. Frydenlund’s second main point concerns a popular perception that the Saṅgha has been “captured” by the junta. She does admit that pro-junta monastic voices have drawn strength from decades of state patronage, forming what she and her colleagues call the “military-monastic complex.”  But the reality is far more complex: not all monks are under the military’s sway, and she stresses that even the reasons that pro-military monks support the junta are not monolithic. Some are certainly rabidly militaristic, but others simply fear chaos more than dictatorship; there are many others alleged to be complicit through their silence, but are just afraid, and others who resist quietly, sustaining the Vinaya and supporting the displaced.  In the end, Frydenlund expresses concern that dismantling institutional Buddhism in a post-junta Myanmar would impoverish the Sāsana. She emphasizes that it has “has not gone away” even during the revolution, and remains central to its networks, ethics, and resilience. The future may bring new schisms, reforms, or survival strategies, but she insists that Buddhism will be an integral part of whatever shape the country takes. “Don’t buy into this narrative that we all lose faith in Buddhism now, because it’s a revolution,” she says. “Buddhism is still with us as this kind of personal practice, but it’s also the realization of the Dhamma and the need for social justice that informs this societal engagement.”

Episode #416: In the early 1990s, a chance encounter with Burmese student exiles in Bangkok sparked Nic Dunlop’s enduring interest in the country. His initial ignorance of the country developed into curiosity, empathy, and visual storytelling. As a photojournalist, Dunlop has spent years documenting the “invisible dictatorship” of Myanmar’s military regime, focusing on the mechanisms of social control, forced labor, and repression. His 2013 book, Brave New Burma, aimed to educate Western audiences about the complex realities behind simplistic narratives. Rather than reinforcing the myth of Aung San Suu Kyi as a saintly figure, he presents her as a tough leader shaped by privilege, critiquing her understanding of marginalized communities alongside a limited understanding of the country’s peripheral conflicts. He also challenges the Western romanticization of both Suu Kyi and Myanmar, arguing that it led to performative policies and a blindness to the structural conditions that enabled the 2021 coup. Dunlop documents not just brutality, but structure—capturing how indoctrination, poverty, and coercion shape Myanmar’s military conscripts. From refugee camps to prison quarries, his work illustrates repression both subtle and overt. His photographs, including one of Suu Kyi herself, offer visual testimony to the country's contradictions. In the end, he emphasizes humility as essential to understanding Myanmar: “The more I learn about Burma, the less I know.”

Episode #415: U Jāgara's spiritual journey is a fascinating exploration of monastic life, creativity, and the transformative power of the Dhamma. Born in Quebec, his introduction to meditation set him on a path that would span traditions and continents. His spiritual journey was initially shaped by his time in the Goenka tradition, where he valued the rigor and structure of its method. He later practiced Mahasi Sayadaw’s teachings in Yangon, which introduced him to the nuanced and adaptive approaches of Burmese monastic practice. Then in Sri Lanka, he immersed himself in rich Theravādatraditions of scholarship and meditation that expanded his understanding of the Dhamma, affording him both intellectual depth and the opportunity to live a solitary monastic life for a time. Appointed as a teacher within the Goenka tradition, U Jāgara eventually grappled with the organization’s growing rigidity. For example, he felt that the pre-recorded discourses limited the opportunity for creative and responsive teaching. He also noted how the exclusion of alternative meditation techniques narrowed practitioners' understanding of the Dhamma’s diversity. In addition, he strongly believed that the discouragement of interaction with monks and traditional Buddhist rituals created a sense of separation from the broader, Buddhist spiritual community. Though valuing its teachings, he transitioned away from the Goenka organization, seeking a more integrative approach to the Dhamma,. A transformative chapter unfolded for U Jāgara when he left monastic life temporarily to explore lay life in France. Balancing personal aspirations with the needs of others, he gained insights into the richness of human relationships, responsibilities, and shared growth. Yet, the call to monastic life drew him back to Myanmar, where Pa Auk Sayadaw’s individualized and methodical guidance reshaped his meditation practice. Under this mentorship, U Jāgara refined his focus on jhāna meditation, achieving profound clarity and insights.“We have to remind ourselves that the monastic life is not for everybody, and it's a question of choice. It's much better if you if you are able to be monastic, and it's cool because you don't have responsibilities, and you just devote yourself to the Dhamma! But it does not, by itself, integrate the lay life, and lay life can be very rich.”

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