Three Kings No More

The three statues standing tall in Myanmar are more than monuments; they are the stone embodiments of three kings whose legacies have been harnessed by the military to consolidate and justify its rule. King Anawrahta, King Bayinnaung, and King Alaungpaya are revered figures whose reigns represented eras of unity, territorial expansion, and cultural development. For Myanmar’s military, they have become something else: they are ultimate symbols of nationalism—figures whose authority was established by both sword and divinity, presenting an image of power that is not only temporal but karmically ordained. This historical veneration has allowed Myanmar’s military to wrap itself in the mantle of greatness, as if it alone were the rightful heir to the glories and legitimacy of these ancient kings.

King Anawrahta, known as the founder of the Bagan Empire, is credited with unifying disparate regions and establishing Theravada Buddhism in Myanmar. King Bayinnaung extended the empire's borders to its furthest reaches, establishing the largest empire in Southeast Asian history. King Alaungpaya, the founder of the Konbaung Dynasty, reunited a fractured Myanmar and built a foundation for modern Yangon. To the Burmese military, these kings are not simply historical figures; they represent a lineage of absolute authority, a divine mandate to rule, and an insistence on unity at any cost—principles that have been twisted to support military dominance over the people.

In the cartoon by Burmese artist JMP, a middle finger is raised in front of these towering statues, sending an unambiguous message of defiance. It is a powerful image—and a dangerous one. These three kings have long been associated with karmic power; their legacies, steeped in reverence and folklore, are thought to be infused with a kind of spiritual potency that can protect or punish. In Burmese culture, karma plays an inescapable role in defining power structures. By flipping off the kings, the artist symbolically challenges not only the military’s historical claims but also dares to provoke the karmic consequences that are believed to accompany such irreverence. It is an act that inverts the power dynamics the military has so carefully constructed, turning sacred symbols into targets of ridicule.

This is no light thing. To raise a middle finger to these figures is to turn one's back on centuries of ingrained fear and respect, both for the kings themselves and for the military that claims their inheritance. It is a direct challenge to the military’s self-styled narrative of guardianship and righteous continuity. The image of defiance speaks to the attitude of Myanmar’s younger generations—Gen Z and millennials who have grown up amidst ongoing military oppression, but who have also experienced moments of digital connectivity, glimpses of a freer world, and the hope of democracy during the recent reform years. These young people are now rejecting the idea that the military is a karmic heir, or that power derived from the past must be obeyed without question.

JMP’s cartoon captures this generational break: the audacity to be irreverent, the bravery to reject symbols of oppression, and the courage to challenge the very foundations of power. By using a symbol as universal and immediate as the middle finger, JMP taps into a shared language of resistance, one that is global in its boldness but profoundly local in its implications. It is the voice of a generation unafraid of challenging the narratives imposed upon them. For Gen Z, the raised middle finger is not just about rejecting military authority; it is about reclaiming their own narratives, their history, and the possibility of a future where power is not enforced through fear, coercion, and manipulated karma.

The cartoon by JMP, therefore, stands as a testament to this moment in Myanmar's struggle. It highlights the willingness of a new generation to defy what was once untouchable, to question what was once unquestionable, and to fight against symbols that have long been used to subdue and control. The image does more than mock; it exposes the absurdity of power that relies on the unquestioned sanctity of historical icons. It brings the untouchable down to earth, where it can be faced, challenged, and ultimately overcome.