State of the Scam
Coming Soon…
“I think if the international community wants to see the real collapse of illegal business in Myanmar, there is only one way, and that is to remove the Myanmar military leadership from the soil,” opines Dr. Tun Aung Shwe about the growing number of scam centers in his country. A researcher, former public health practitioner, political activist, and current National Unity Government representative to Australia, he situates this scourge within a much longer history of military rule, armed patronage, and illicit political economy. Speaking from his experience as both an academic and a participant in Myanmar’s post-2021 revolutionary movement, he frames online scam operations not as an isolated criminal phenomenon but as the latest manifestation of a military system that has long relied on illegal economies to sustain power.
He explains that scam centers have expanded dramatically since Operation 1027, spreading far beyond their original locations along the borders that Myanmar shares with Thailand and China. What began as relatively small, family-run operations in northeastern Shan State has evolved into a nationwide network reaching major urban centers such as Yangon, Mandalay, and Naypyidaw. Drawing on recent think-tank research, he notes that scam operations have grown roughly tenfold over the past four years, adapting quickly to military pressure and international scrutiny. When resistance forces or neighboring states disrupt operations in one area, the networks relocate, fragment, and reconstitute elsewhere, demonstrating a high degree of resilience.
According to Tun Aung Shwe, this resilience exists because scam centers operate under the protection of the Myanmar military and its allied militias. He places these operations within a broader pattern of armed patronage that dates back decades: The military cultivates local warlords and militia forces inside resistance-controlled territories, arming them and empowering them to fight ethnic resistance organizations; in exchange they receive permission to engage in lucrative illicit activities. Historically this has included narcotics production and trafficking, but today it increasingly includes human trafficking and online scams. Thus, according to Tun Aung Shwe, scam centers are simply the newest revenue stream in a system that has long fused counterinsurgency with criminal enterprise.
The Border Guard Forces (BGF) are the most notorious iteration of this dynamic. Cited in United Nations reports, investigative journalism, and academic research, the BGF have been involved in state-sanctioned militia arrangements that link Myanmar’s military to territorial control, protection of transnational criminal economies, and systematic abuses against civilian populations. Dr. Tun Aung Shwe draws comparisons between the formation of the BGF in the 2010s to earlier strategies under General Ne Win a half century earlier. Many in the BGF originate from splinter groups of ethnic armed organizations that aligned with the military after internal fractures. In Karen State, for example, elements of the Democratic Karen Buddhist Army (DKBA) transformed into BGF under pressure from Naypyidaw during ceasefire negotiations. These groups now control territory, protect scam compounds, and openly cooperate with the military’s political agenda, including support for the planned elections. In return, they retain freedom to conduct illegal business under military protection.
When asked about the military’s recent public actions against scam centers, Tun Aung Shwe is unequivocal: it is purely propaganda, not genuine law enforcement. When resistance groups such as the Karen National Union (KNU) seize scam compounds and preserve evidence, they invite international observers to document what they find; in contrast, in the military’s case, it quickly destroys facilities and equipment. In Tun Aung Shwe’s view, their operations are less about dismantling the scam economy than about protecting the military institution itself. He recalls earlier incidents in which Chinese authorities reportedly presented evidence linking senior Burmese military officers to scam operations. This prompted the military to take action against those individuals due to that Chinese pressure; at the same time, its actions helped hide the broader command structure’s ties to the scam centers. Tun Aung Shwe strongly asserts that it is “very clear that the Myanmar military is taking part in this illicit business. Very, very clear!” So when the military raids scam compounds, it does so in part to destroy any facilities and equipment that could be traced to its own involvement in the scam center operations.
But he also links these military actions directly to its desire to regain international legitimacy through its planned election. As the junta seeks acceptance within ASEAN and recognition at the United Nations, it cannot afford any exposure of its role in scam center operations. By destroying a scam center or two, it can appear to be a responsible state actor combating transnational crime. In sum, the military’s actions against scam centers, he argues, are staged, designed to manage the narrative while hiding its involvement in the scam networks.
Regarding China, Tun Aung Shwe observes that Chinese enforcement efforts appear selective, focused on scam centers that target Chinese citizens; as criminal networks shift operations away from China-focused scams, they re-target their operations toward other countries, and Chinese pressure diminishes. He notes that Australia alone lost billions of dollars to online scams in a single year, while the United States lost even more, much of it originating from centers in Myanmar and neighboring countries.
Tun Aung Shwe raises parallel concerns about the drug trade. He cites recent UN Office on Drugs and Crime findings that show a sharp rise in opium and methamphetamine production since the 2021 coup, much of it shipped to Europe, Australia and the U.S. He notes that opium cultivation is concentrated in areas controlled by military-aligned ethnic forces, illustrating again how illicit economies flourish where armed patronage replaces civilian governance. Myanmar’s emergence as a leading producer of synthetic drugs, he argues, cannot be separated from the military’s deliberate tolerance and facilitation of these industries.
The conversation then focuses on the election, which Tun Aung Shwe consistently describes as fraudulent. He situates the election within the military’s long history of broken promises and constitutional manipulation. From the caretaker government of 1958, through the 1962 coup, the 1988 uprising, and the ignored results of the 1990 election, he argues that the military has repeatedly used elections to gain some strategic advantage for itself rather than as any genuine exercise of the electoral process. The 2008 Constitution, in his view, was crafted to entrench military supremacy permanently.
Yet the military even violated that! He explains that after seizing power, it declared a State of Emergency, which under the Constitution allows it to take over all legislative, executive, and judicial authority under the Commander-in-Chief, essentially giving the military legal cover to take over the government. That provision also calls for elections within six months after the State of Emergency expires; the military promised that once that happened, it would hold elections within the prescribed timeframe. However, first it repeatedly extended the State of Emergency, and then, when widespread resistance finally made any thought of “normal” elections impossible, it amended party registration laws, enacting sweeping cybersecurity restrictions, and introducing election “protection” legislation designed to suppress dissent. These changes, he says, strip citizens of fundamental rights in the guise of procedural legitimacy. The goal is not governance but rebranding: transforming a military council into a nominally civilian government without altering power structures.
Tun Aung Shwe argues that the military’s mindset makes genuine reform impossible. Drawing on academic analyses of the regime’s ideology, he describes an institution that views itself as the sole guardian of national unity, distrusts civilian politics, and equates federalism with national disintegration. This worldview, he says, has blocked meaningful peace for more than seven decades! Ceasefires are only conceived of tactically, to consolidate military positions. As a result, Myanmar has remained trapped in cycles of “negative peace,” punctuated by renewed conflict.
At the same time, he portrays the post-coup revolutionary movement as having achieved something unprecedented: within months of the coup, revolutionary actors articulated shared principles for a future federal democratic union, embodied in the Federal Democracy Charter. He emphasizes that this progress occurred precisely because the military was absent from the process. In his assessment, sustainable peace in Myanmar requires removing the military from political power entirely.
When asked about the future of Myanmar’s armed forces, Tun Aung Shwe stresses that the revolution prioritizes security sector reform. He explains that the goal is not the absence of a military but the creation of a new, professional, federal force with a different mandate, doctrine, and culture. He describes initiatives aimed at encouraging military defections, integrating personnel willing to break from the junta into future federal security arrangements. Codes of conduct, rules of engagement, and professional standards are emphasized as foundational elements of this transition. In his telling, the revolution is not improvisational but programmatic, with clear institutional goals. In contrast, he argues that the junta’s current fighting force functions less as a military institution than as a criminal organization led by perpetrators of war crimes. Reform therefore will require dismantling its political role and building new structures grounded in civilian oversight, international humanitarian law, and respect for ethnic diversity.
He predicts that while a small number of states will continue engaging with the military even after the election, he does not expect a fundamental shift in global attitudes towards the junta. Countries committed to democracy and human rights, he says, are unlikely to legitimize the clearly sham election and its rigged, pro-military results. The more serious challenge lies in international forums where the junta may still garner support, such as the UN, where Russian and Chinese veto power can shield the military from accountability, or ASEAN, where they can still gain regional political recognition. He argues that continued engagement by external actors reflects a persistent misunderstanding: the belief that the military remains the only force capable of stabilizing Myanmar. In his view, that assumption ignores the reality on the ground, where recruitment has collapsed, morale is low, and the institution increasingly relies on coercive conscription. In his words, the military resembles “a dead tree,” sustained temporarily by external support but lacking long-term viability.
Circling back to the scam centers, Tun Aung Shwe acknowledges that economic collapse and forced conscription have driven some civilians to seek work in these operations. He stresses, however, that most labor within scam centers is coerced and that public awareness is growing rapidly. He expresses confidence that cooperation between Myanmar’s population and international actors will leave diminishing space for these criminal networks. He emphasizes that effective responses must include international criminal accountability for military leaders and coordinated regional law enforcement. Moreover, dismantling military rule and building a federal democratic union would, he argues, reduce transnational crime and contribute to long-term regional stability.
In closing, he says, “No one believes the Myanmar military today. People in Myanmar say there is no more negotiation, no more dialogue, because the military lied again and again.”