Insight Myanmar

Burmese artists are rightly gaining global recognition for their courage and bravery, standing up for freedom of expression against a murderous regime. While this is somewhat of a new phenomenon for the younger generation of Burmese artists, Darko has been at the intersection of protest and music for some time, as the lead singer of the Indie band "Side Effect."Darko grew up under the prior military regime, when one could be arrested for simply expressing oneself, and so has been well-trained in the art of hiding meaning and keeping a low profile. He feels disappointed that younger musicians don’t appreciate how hard he and his generation of artists had to struggle against the limits of censorship. Yet in spite of that, Darko continues to support their creative expression not only by his 20 years of ground-breaking artistic work, but also through creating platforms and opportunities for younger artists to get their voices out. Aside from music, Darko’s other passion in life has been spirituality and meditation, but he’s not a traditional Burmese Buddhist, especially after he looked into growing anti-Rohingya activity. He visited the camps, and was stunned at what he saw. He was overcome by guilt, and heartbroken to see how the Rohingya were being treated. This experience led to his song “Meiktila”, named after the city where terrible anti-Muslim violence had recently occurred. Because Burmese Buddhists started referencing the Buddha in order to justify violence against Muslims, he began to question everything about how organized religion was manipulating— and perhaps even perverting— the Buddha’s teachings.Ironically, moving away from traditional Buddhism is what allowed Darko’s nascent meditation practice to really take off. He became fascinated with “brainwave entrainment,” which explores how brain waves can be synced with auditory or visual stimuli.He doesn’t have a proper meditation teacher, but finds inspiration in Alan Watts, as well as the Satguru philosophy. Essentially, his practice can be boiled down to simply observing the mind without judgment. However, the military’s brutal behavior has challenged his non-judgmental observation of unfolding reality, to put it lightly. 

David Eubank didn't know that a single moment on a jungle path in 1997 would prove to be so eventful for not only his own life, but an entire nation as well. Living in Thailand at the time, David was growing distressed hearing about a Burmese military operation that was displacing over half a million people. So loading up four backpacks with medicine, he decided to travel the border to see if he could find anyone who needed help. One thing led to another, and that trip ultimately give birth to the Free Burma Rangers (FBR).In this episode’s wide-ranging interview, David goes into his background of 25 years living and supporting those many ethnic communities, sharing what he’s learned from the different groups, the various hardships they’ve faced, and even the strange and exotic foods he’s sampled. As a Christian, David’s faith in a higher power has been a major factor in his work. To this day, his faith animates all of his humanitarian work. “That's the heart of why I do it,” he says. Even in these most difficult of times, he draws on the reservoir of his faith; in spite of his first-hand knowledge of 25 years of Tatmadaw cruelty, he still tries to love his enemy. Still, this does not mean allowing entire populations to be victimized without recourse, and David acknowledges that self-defense, whether on an individual or communal level, is a basic human right everywhere in the world.Compounding the Myanmar military’s brutal tactics used has been the almost total lack of response or engagement by any international actor, a fact which has surprised and greatly distressed David, especially given the extent of the unfolding humanitarian disaster and Myanmar’s geopolitical importance. He believes there is so much good that other nations and foreign entities could still do now, if only they chose to. 

Just a short window of five minutes might have saved the life of Dr. Troy… but he doesn’t feel good about it.In a country where just practicing medicine can now be cause for arrest, Troy is a part of a network of underground doctors who tend to patients in secret, often using rudimentary equipment in undisclosed locations. Earlier this year, he was on his way to relieve another doctor, but was delayed in traffic. During those few moments, soldiers stormed in and arrested his colleague. That doctor is still in prison, a fact which weighs heavily on Dr. Troy to this day.In order to increase capacity, doctors have begun to train Burmese civilians in secret to perform some basic medical interventions if a doctor is not able to come quickly. This arose out of the tragedy that occurred during the siege of Hlaing Thaya. Even though doctors had prepared for the violence, military roadblocks prevented the injured from getting out—or doctors from getting in—and so many the wounded succumbed to otherwise treatable injuries. Compounding matters today is the Third Wave of the COVID pandemic. Because the military is preventing the importation of oxygen concentrators, and the black market cost of oxygen canisters have skyrocketed, the situation is dire.To deal with the enormous stress and mental trauma, Troy has tried to fall back on his Mogok meditation practice, but he has been unable to string together even a few moments of mindfulness. But his practice has helped him to understand his mind more, even during these challenging moments. As a Buddhist practitioner, he tries to send metta to his aggressors, acknowledging how they must still be suffering through this. No matter what they are doing on the outside, he feels that internally they must be haunted by their evil actions.For Troy, his own path is clear as he continues on in his work. “We are not going to give up now, or ever, until we we achieve or we achieve the true democracy of our country.”

One night in March, Hla Hla and her husband, Yan Min Aung, were on the rooftop of their condo as part of a neighborhood watch group, where ordinary citizens banded together to protect themselves—not from common criminals, but from those supposedly charged with protecting them. That evening, the police arrived to take down some barricades, and she took out her cell phone to film them. They saw the light of her camera, and started shooting. That experience and others caused Hla Hla and her family to flee the country. Choosing to leave Myanmar represented not only the end of a life and community in their home country, but also the realization that the innovative company they had started there, a fun, augmented-reality learning app known as 360ED, would be severely impacted as well. Hla Hla had combined her professional backgrounds in tech and education to create a service that could bring learning opportunities to those marginalized groups often left on the sidelines. And as they knew that many of those who would need the service most wouldn’t necessarily have reliable or inexpensive internet, much of the app can function even when offline.After nine years of product development, they launched in Silicon Valley in 2016, but moved operations to Myanmar as part of the “re-pat” movement, in which exiled Burmese settled back in the country during the stable and optimistic 2010s transition period. And, it was remarkable that they chose to establish their company there, essentially bringing one of the world’s most innovative and cutting-edge technological learning tools to a country that had only recently gotten on-line at all. In other words, when the coup broke, 360ED was well on its way to becoming Myanmar’s first true tech start-up success story!Of course, all this came to a crashing halt in February. Their team members began to go into hiding, and with the educational system in complete disarray, it became apparent that collaborating with school administrators would not be possible. While many outside observers have been following the daily terror and pervasive human rights violations that are now sadly commonplace in Myanmar, stories like these often slip through the cracks, and thus, the extent of the damage and disruption being unleashed by the Tatmadaw is not fully known. In the case of Hla Hla and Yan Min, this meant not only trauma in their personal life, but at least the temporary end of their technological and educational dream in Myanmar as well. 

“Myanmar people are very resilient,” Meredith Bunn says at the start of the conversation.“They have the older generation who lived through so much already. And very luckily, in a way, those people have explained to them, ‘Well, this is what we used to have to do. Let's do this again.’”As much as Meredith has witnessed countless examples of the Burmese people’s courage, she still encounters scenes evoking a horror that is hard to describe. From children so hungry they are literally eating dirt, to young girls mysteriously disappearing, to the military deliberating sending COVID-infected patients into high population areas to intentionally spread the pandemic, to depriving oxygen for infected patients literally suffocating with the illness. It doesn’t end.As someone so deeply connected to a country and a people enduring this suffering, she is clear on who she holds responsible. “I don't hate the Tatmadaw. I don't hate everyone in it. I hate Min Aung Hlaing…I hate the puppets that he has inside.” And while she understands that not every soldier is courageous enough to defect or refuse commands, many are engaging in acts of deliberate cruelty for which there is simply no excuse.While Meredith appreciates any foreigner who has decided to stand with the Burmese people, she has also found herself uncomfortable when those living in safety have arrogantly opined on what Burmese activists should or should not be doing to respond to the carnage there, made even worse if they have not researched the situation and show little interest in listening empathetically to better understand the context. She is equally concerned by what she characterizes as “voyeurism,” beyond just opinionated judgments.With all this, Meredith certainly has her hands full, but her mind and her heart are clear, and the Burmese people are fortunate to have such a person on their side.

The minute that the military took over on February 1st, Hassan was under no illusions as to what was in store. “I never believed we could win without non-violence, because I know [the military],” he said. Hassan’s answer was interrupted by a cough. He recently contracted COVID, and was only beginning to recover at the time of this interview.But while much of the population had no way to escape the oppression and terror that awaited them, Hassan did. He had grown up wealthy, and at the time of the coup was operating a string of successful businesses. “If you have money, you can build a good relationship between you and military.” This was certainly true for his family, who developed close ties with senior military leaders. It might come as a surprise that Hassan’s family, being Muslim, could be on good terms with the Burmese military, by now globally famous for its Islamophobia and Rohingya atrocities. However, Hassan, says, “The military, they have no religion! Trust me, they have only money and power.” Hassan has been helping people throughout the country, venturing into the deepest slums as well as the remote countryside. He has used his own personal funds to support thousands of CDM workers as well as PDF fighters, and begun to fundraise from foreign friends abroad to expand his work. For safety, he works alone, which often makes even the travel to those remote areas challenging enough, besides the dangers inherent in his work.Hassan believes the only way the Burmese people can ultimately win is by an influx of foreign support, including arms and military training. But he acknowledges the likelihood of this is low. And without it, the Burmese people have only their determination and endurance, and as long as they can maintain it, a sense of unity. In a country that has long been divided by ethnicity, region, and religion, Hassan now feels “there is no separation.”

Marlar has spent years researching gender studies, women’s rights, and violence against women in Burmese society. She notes that besides Myanmar being a patriarchal culture, there is the Burmese Buddhist belief of “pon,”which refers to the good karma inherently bestowed upon men. Due to pon, Marlar is prevented from meditating in certain places in Shwedagon Pagoda, which led her as a girl to wonder if even the lowest male thief has more merit than she or any other woman does in Burma.Marlar acknowledges that her critique of the ways in which Burmese women are marginalized flies in the face over a century of writings that in fact claim the opposite. Colonial British literature highlighted the greater freedoms they observed among Burmese women than in societies in other colonial lands. And more recently, several notable Burmese female writers, such as Ma Thanegi and Mi Mi Khaing, have made similar claims, pushing a theory of agency and independence for Burmese women. But Marlar claims they are writing from a place of privilege that is more indicative of their own circumstances, and at the expense of understanding the lived reality of the vast majority of other women across the country. Marlar notes that more recently, technology and the Internet have connected the Burmese people to the rest of the world, allowing the #MeToo movement to take off in Myanmar. In her view, any potential solution needs to be holistic, bringing together family, community, and culture to end this destructive cycle. She has worked with both community organizations and legislators prior to the coup on a watershed law punishing violence against women, but it was not passed, and she feels that part of the reason was that the Rohingya crisis monopolized the NLD’s attention. She also places blame squarely on Aung San Suu Kyi for not being a real feminist leader.On the sensitive topic of rape, Marlar explains that one of the main reasons it goes underreported is out of shame. However in Myanmar, there not only is shame for the woman, but also the male relatives, who feel emasculated for failing to properly protect them. This is why rape is a favored tactic of the Tatmadaw, as it undermines the pride and morale of the men they are fighting. As challenging as Marlar’s struggle for gender rights have been, nothing compares to the current state since the coup was launched, which she calls a total “nightmare in which basic human rights have disappeared. 

In Myanmar, we know that the coup has been an on-going nightmare since February, and more recently there has been a sharp, Delta-driven Covid spike that the military leadership not only can’t control, but seems driven to exacerbate. People there have started referring to the double crises as “Coupvid”, a term which accurately reflects the obstacles the Burmese people face in just being able to survive day-to-day in these challenging times. In this episode, our three guests discuss what daily life has been like during Coupvid, the possible long-term impacts of this trauma on the population, and what we can do from our own places of safety to show solidarity and support.Alyson and Sandra are medical students living in the US. They are Chinese-Burmese members of the Myanmar diaspora, experiencing Coupvid from two directions: worried about family still in Myanmar and as workers in the medical community. Both young women have been advocating on behalf of striking healthcare workers in Myanmar since February, supporting fundraisers to get critical supplies, and expressing solidarity when the Tatmadaw started targeting and arresting healthcare workers.“Michaela”, using an alias for extra security, is currently living in Yangon. She and her roommate contracted COVID-19 in July, shortly after friends notified them that they had tested positive. Michaela shares her personal story of surviving COVID-19 and nursing her roommate back to health at the same time, as well as the fear and uncertainty that she and many others face when making decisions with limited information, and no access to healthcare.

The ending line of Jessica Mudditt’s book, Our Home In Myanmar, puts a startling cap on her account of her life in Yangon in the 2010s. She writes, “Myanmar’s sudden returned to a dictatorship means that I have inadvertently written a history book.” This is the subject of the current episode, which charts Jessica’s hard-won attempts to live in Myanmar during the last decade.Jessica was primarily motivated to come to Myanmar to witness and report on the 2015 election, arriving a full three years in advance in order to be better positioned to understand that historic event. The Burmese people’s jubilation over those election results of course ended with a crash in 2021.   Jessica has struggled to understand the extremes of humanity that are found in Myanmar. “I've never understood how you can have these two types of people in one geographic area,” she says. “You have these uncouth brutes who have no humanity. And then you have some of the most gentle people in the world....”Of all the ongoing tragedies now facing Myanmar, the one that particularly grabs at her heart is the wholesale destruction of the journalism field. She bore witness to the tentative growth of an entire field as state censorship eased. It was exciting to see young Burmese reporters and photographers exploring what was becoming possible… and yet now this has all been crushed, with so many journalists on the run, imprisoned, or killed.Still, Jessica reflects on the situation with optimism. “I believe that the people will get there in the end, because they are so determined… The alternative is to live a life of total darkness…I've heard people say, ‘Let's clear the decks of the NLD as well. Let's start again, build from the bottom, and a society that's inclusive, and we can avoid some of the mistakes of the past.’”

There are several images that will forever be seared into the mind of the Burmese hip hop artist known as 882021; pictures and videos that he will never be able to unsee, like soldiers charging at protesters, or thugs dressed in monks’ robes cracking car windows with crowbars. 882021 references these grim scenes not only in his music, but also in the artwork in his music videos. He is one of many artists using their creative gifts to resist the military coup in Myanmar.By choosing to be so bold in his lyrics, his life is at risk, and so he quite literally made a new name for himself—actually, a number. The six digits he now identifies himself as represent both the dates of the 1988 revolution and the current resistance movement, and the digits that make up the hexadecimal number for the web color of dried blood—a color he has unfortunately become all-too-familiar with in real life since the February coup.882021 learned Mahasi meditation during his days as a monk. But as valuable as he finds the Buddha’s teachings, he prioritizes freedom of expression in a traditional, conservative society where religious mores often guide artistic output. “I feel everything should be able to be criticized,” he says. “And that includes a religion as well. Personally, I'm a Buddhist myself, but I don't believe in taking extreme measures censoring art.” He is firmly in the tradition of political rap and hip hop that speaks truth to power.In his opinion, rap is the perfect medium for expressing resistance at this current moment. As he says, “Hip hop has always had a political history. And in my opinion, it is the best type of music to express these struggles that we're having with oppression.”