The Mad Driver
Min Aung Hlaing's grip over Myanmar is a grotesque spectacle, and this cartoon by Burmese artist JMP captures the absurdity and tragedy of his rule in striking detail. The image depicts the so-called "General" riding comfortably atop an electric vehicle—a modern symbol that suggests progress—while relying on the forced labor of the powerless to pull his regime forward. The metaphor is searingly accurate: Myanmar's supposed "transformation" under military rule is, in reality, built on the backs of the oppressed, who are driven forward by fear and the cruelty of those in power.
What is particularly remarkable here is the choice of characters forced into service: a monk, a soldier, and an impoverished civilian. These figures aren't just part of a random tableau; they represent the very bedrock of Myanmar's social fabric, cruelly manipulated by Min Aung Hlaing's ambitions.
The soldier—dressed in his military uniform—has become a mere puppet, reduced to a lackey pulling the cart for his master's profit and pride. Here, JMP emphasizes the hollowness of the junta's claim that it is acting in the interest of "national unity" or the military's own "honor." In truth, the soldiers of Myanmar are no longer protectors of their people, but beasts of burden for the ego of a single man. They have lost their dignity, the expression on the soldier's face reflecting a mixture of exhaustion, compliance, and helplessness.
Equally biting is the depiction of the monk, who, with a similarly strained expression, underscores the military's appropriation of Buddhism for its own gains. Monks are supposed to be spiritual guides, beacons of morality, and representatives of Myanmar's religious traditions. Yet here, JMP chooses to show a monk roped into servitude, his back bent under the weight of Min Aung Hlaing's grotesque demands. It’s a brutal indictment of how the junta has not only subjugated the people of Myanmar but also corrupted the very institutions meant to stand apart from the state, using the robe as yet another tool to validate their rule. This monk is not portrayed as a willing lackey, but as someone who, despite his position, has been coerced into carrying a burden he never signed up for.
And there’s the ordinary civilian, crawling at the back of the vehicle, embodying the reality faced by millions across Myanmar: powerless, yet forced to labor under the weight of a regime that claims to be "progressive" and "visionary." The "EV" emblazoned on the vehicle is an especially cutting irony—while Min Aung Hlaing preaches modernity and development, his vision is little more than a facade that tramples on the most fundamental human rights. It’s technological advancement as a prop, while the means of achieving it remain archaic—human beings yoked and suffering for the ego-driven whims of a tyrant.
JMP's portrayal of Min Aung Hlaing himself is equally scathing. There he sits, cross-legged and complacent, the very picture of delusion, wearing a benign smile while he holds the reins of suffering, all while holding a knife with a truly mad, and evil grin. It’s a chilling image that reminds viewers of the totalitarian logic under which Myanmar's people live: do as you're told, or face the consequences.
The detail of the monk and soldier working side-by-side is particularly biting. JMP often critiques both institutions harshly, yet in this piece, he extends an unusual empathy towards them. It's not that these figures are blameless—many soldiers have committed atrocities, and some monks have stoked the fires of ethnic hatred—but rather that they too are victims in a way, trapped in the cycle of violence and manipulation orchestrated by Min Aung Hlaing and his cronies. This is a damning reminder that, in a dictatorship, no one truly escapes exploitation—not even those who appear to be on the side of the powerful.
Min Aung Hlaing's ride is comfortable only because countless others are being crushed beneath it. JMP's cartoon pulls no punches, exposing the grotesque absurdity of a self-styled "leader" who talks about the future while shackling the very people he claims to lead. It’s a biting portrayal of a regime that cannot move forward on its own merit, relying instead on the coerced labor of monks, soldiers, and civilians, all struggling under the weight of an illegitimate and tyrannical power.
The cartoon is, ultimately, a call for solidarity—because, whether monk, soldier, or civilian, everyone is suffering under this oppressive regime. The solution isn't to continue pulling; it's to let go of the ropes and let the junta's false claims to progress collapse under the weight of their lies.