Extracting Truth from Tyranny
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“In Burma, what we see is food security and regular income. That is one of the major issues for everybody,” says Dr. Sann Aung. A dentist turned dissident, politician, and humanitarian, his story reflects both the constraints and moral awakenings of a generation shaped by poverty and repression, yet also with an undying hope for democracy in Myanmar.
Sann Aung begins his narrative as a university student in the 1970s. Like everything else in Burma, the academic system was managed by the Ne Win socialist regime. Sann Aung initially had high hopes. Like many young Burmese, he was drawn to socialist and communist ideals, and read Chinese and Soviet publications that glorified revolutionary equality. At the time, he believed socialism might offer justice for the poor. However, the situation in Burmese academia quickly soured him. Academic placement depended solely on test scores, leaving little room for personal aspiration. He describes a system paralyzed by mismanagement: universities shuttered for years during student unrest, outdated materials, and an elite leadership that dismissed education as a poor investment. This state of affairs was engineered by a government that valued obedience over intellect, and fostered resentment and reflection among educated youth like him.
In the end, he chose to become a dentist, if just for pragmatic, economic reasons. And after earning his degree, he worked eight years in a government clinic. This experience only further demonstrated to him the failure of the state. Life for professionals like him was stable only on paper; in reality, economic controls and corruption stifled opportunity and dignity. And the hardship of everyday life for ordinary Burmese— shortages, low wages, and the weight of an inefficient state bureaucracy— strongly impacted him. He describes the daily degradation under the socialist state: restricted trade, rationing, extortion, and abuse.
So when mass protests erupted across the country in 1988, he joined without hesitation. The uprising, he explains, was not merely political—it was existential. It expressed a nation’s hunger for dignity and freedom long denied by military rule. For Sann Aung, this moment transformed him from a disillusioned civil servant into a lifelong activist for democracy and human rights.
After the 1988 crackdown, Sann Aung entered politics and ran in the 1990 elections. Initially aligned with the National League for Democracy (NLD), he later ran as an independent candidate due to the NLD’s internal divisions and disagreements over candidate selection. His independent spirit, he says, stemmed from the belief that leadership must serve people, not parties. But after the junta— infamously— annulled the election results, he began organizing support for a parallel civilian government when the authorities moved to arrest him. He escaped through rural Burma, hiding in villages and forests, before finally crossing into Thailand. There, he joined the National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma (NCGUB), a government-in-exile formed by elected representatives who refused to concede defeat. That period marked the start of his long life in exile— a continuation of struggle through organization, policy, and advocacy rather than arms.
Within the NCGUB, Sann Aung served had several portfolios, including Health, Education, and Human Rights. He helped establish health coordination mechanisms and distance education programs for teachers and medical workers in border regions. Working with Burmese and international partners, he championed critical and participatory learning models.
At the same time, he reflected on the exiled movement’s political weaknesses. A major failure, he argues, was the inability to integrate ethnic armed organizations (EAOs) who wielded substantial power in their territories into a unified democratic front. The government-in-exile prioritized symbolic legitimacy over inclusive federal cooperation, alienating those EAOs to the movement’s detriment. Lessons such as this, however, gave rise to the Federal Constitution Drafting Committee (FCDC), which produced an alternative charter endorsed by more than a hundred organizations. This document, he still believes, is the most credible foundation for a democratic, federal Myanmar.
When Myanmar began its limited political opening under President Thein Sein, he watched from outside the country with cautious optimism but growing doubt. Many exiles, he says, were weary after decades of struggle and skeptical of the military’s continued power behind civilian institutions. “We tried our best, but many people became exhausted. It will take much longer than we expected,” he reflects. Disillusioned, he eventually stepped back from politics, moving to Australia and working as a nurse, though he continued to follow developments from afar.
The 2021 coup, however, reignited his commitment. Returning to the Thai–Myanmar border, he founded the New Myanmar Foundation to provide humanitarian aid and help document the regime’s human rights abuses. He notes the similarity of the present-day resistance to 1988 but says that now, Myanmar’s people are more connected, educated, and experienced in self-organization. Millions of citizens abroad and a generation raised with democratic expectations joined in protest and resistance this time around. So Sann Aung describes the struggle as both a continuation and an evolution. Success, he believes, depends on three forces: resources, manpower, and moral power. While the revolution’s material capacity remains limited, its moral legitimacy is undeniable.
The challenge, he adds, is to maintain that moral high ground amid the chaos of war. He reiterates that the future depends on nurturing genuine leadership, grounded in ethics rather than ambition. Good leaders, he insists, can transform a nation quickly; poor leaders can destroy it just as fast.
Here he takes a moment to emphasize that the Burmese people did not start the violence. “We do not choose the armed struggle—we are pushed to hold arms,” he says emphatically. Yet, he cautions against dehumanization. True victory, he argues, must include compassion even for adversaries. “When we get democracy, all are the sons and daughters of the country.” He also urges political leaders to offer realistic alternatives rather than slogans. The resistance, he argues, should adopt the FCDC constitution as a unifying interim charter pursue and diplomatic avenues with ASEAN and the UN, and demonstrate the ability to govern with accountability and inclusiveness.
At the same time, Sann Aung describes the psychological toll of displacement: suicides in refugee camps, hopelessness among youth, and the collapse of basic documentation systems. Without legal status, many refugees face detention or exploitation. He argues that humanitarian work is not separate from the democratic movement— it is its moral core. Relief, he insists, sustains not just bodies but belief. “If people suffer and have no food, their morale becomes weak. Humanitarian assistance is very important— without it, they will think the situation is hopeless.”
The challenges are many, but even now, after half a century of commitment and struggle, Sann Aung remains optimistic. He still believes Myanmar’s salvation lies in the moral strength of its people—their capacity to choose integrity over fear, compassion over hatred, and unity over division.