Between Guns and Ghosts
Coming Soon…
“It is, at times, it's quite heavy!”
These are the words of James Rodehaver, the head of the UN Human Rights Office on Myanmar, reflecting on the emotional burden of bearing witness to mass atrocity. His decades-long career in human rights—in Sierra Leone, the Balkans, Syria, and now Myanmar—has taught him to navigate repression and conflict; but what he encountered in Myanmar, both before and after the 2021 coup, marked a uniquely tragic turn.
Perhaps the first thing to share about the UN Human Rights Office’s Myanmar team is that they are not allowed to operate in Myanmar, much to Rodehaver’s chagrin, as the regime does not allow them access inside. And so from across the border, they are charged with monitoring ongoing (as well as past) human rights violations, advising other UN agencies, and assisting civil society. Since the coup, its work has focused primarily on violations of International Humanitarian Law (IHL), the targeting of civilians, and the legal and institutional collapse across Myanmar. It’s a far cry from what Rodehaver had expected of the post when he initially joined. Back then, during the latter stages of the democratic transition, he was hoping he would oversee post-conflict work, such as working on issues like transitional justice. Instead, the coup shattered that reality, and he found himself heading a team tasked with documenting the Myanmar junta’s escalating atrocities.
Rodehaver draws disturbing parallels between Myanmar and the Syria governed by the Assad regime. He characterizes both countries as “very fractured,” with an extremely repressive and violent military apparatus. But he says Myanmar’s situation is even more complex, with its many ethnic fault lines and historical trauma, made worse by the recent betrayal of democratic aspirations many had hoped would stabilize the country.
When asked about the anger many Burmese feel toward UN agencies engaging with the military junta, James Rodehaver acknkowledges that frustration as being “completely understandable.” He explains that some UN agencies choose to engage with military authorities to secure access and protection for humanitarian operations, even though such engagements are “wholly unsatisfactory.” He clarifies that similar engagement is occurring behind the scenes with other actors, such as the NUG, CRPH, and ethnic armed organizations—but these interactions are not publicized, often at the request of those groups, in order to protect humanitarian workers. He stresses that UN engagement with the military should always include "tough messages" demanding they uphold their obligations to protect civilians and warning of future accountability for ongoing violations.
When asked about accusations that the military is blocking aid to conflict zones and that international systems continue to rely on military-controlled channels rather than local actors, Rodehaver explains the situation is far more complex than a matter of preference. He states that UN agencies consistently request access to areas controlled by resistance forces, but the military explicitly denies permission and threatens to stop or confiscate aid shipments that attempt to cross front lines. The only alternative would be to deliver aid across international borders, but Myanmar’s neighbors have so far been reluctant to allow large-scale cross-border operations. As a result, aid delivery to those most in need often relies on informal, limited, and unsatisfactory routes. While not denying the concerns about aid diversion or inequity, Rodehaver underscores that the real obstacle is the lack of viable pathways, not a deliberate choice to favor the junta.
Rodehaver then turns to the Human Rights Office’s findings about the year 2024—it was the deadliest year for civilians since this crisis began. Nearly 2,000 verified civilian deaths, over 62% from “indiscriminate use of heavy weaponry,” including airstrikes, artillery, and drones—all launched by the Myanmar military. He notes that “there are huge territories throughout Myanmar that are essentially information black holes,” so the death toll may be much higher. And while ethnic armed organizations and the PDF target civilian officials, family members of civilian officials and military officials, the vast majority of verified civilian deaths—over 6,300 since the coup—have been at the hands of the military.
He ticks off more disturbing facts: runaway inflation, mass youth flight, unemployment, conscription, the collapse of civil services, and hunger affecting over 15 million people, and “over 75% of the population estimated to be just at or below the poverty line … close to 20 million people just in core humanitarian need.” And all this coincides with a dramatic reduction in international aid. Because functional civil society—hospitals, medical clinics, service provision, food distribution, immunization efforts—has largely disintegrated, Rodehaver offers a bleak assessment: “You're going to have people having to ask really horrific questions, like, where should aid be targeted?”
When asked how international stakeholders respond to his passionate advocacy, Rodehaver replies with evident frustration: “I hear a lot of ‘I'm very sorry, but policy has been made elsewhere.’” He feels a sense of passivity around aid and Myanmar, and believes that an opportunity to make a huge difference by leveraging political pressure and economic funding is being lost, for no other reason than a general lack of political will.
Some of the problem, he concedes, may lie in a failure of narrative—something for which he takes partial responsibility. “We have not told a compelling enough story,” he says. He reflects on how limited access, restricted communications, and competition for scarce resources have led to fragmented reporting and poor coordination among agencies. International media, he notes, rarely enters the country, despite 70% of it being accessible. He suggests that a more strategic, collaborative approach to sharing information—across UN bodies, civil society, and media—could help ensure the scale of the crisis and the resilience of the people are better understood.
Still, his office faces real limitations: small teams, remote work, and no access inside the country. So they do what they can, including conducting IHL training with resistance groups and civil society—often through local partners or remote sessions. Rodehaver emphasizes that communities must understand the rules of war so they can hold armed actors accountable for how they behave: “They know what they can demand and how they should be behaving.” Practical protections—like evacuation planning in villages or teaching civilians how to identify landmines and unexploded ordnance—are also part of the effort to reduce harm and raise awareness.
Regarding communication with the military regarding aid delivery and other matters, Rodehaver is not optimistic. He says that communications often need to be written because face-to-face meetings are hard to arrange, unlike with EAOs. In fact, he notes, “I've been told before that whenever the issue of human rights comes up [with the regime], it's the quickest way to end the meeting!”
Rodehaver also speaks to the toll that this crisis has taken on him, personally. He admits to feelings of helplessness, especially needing to work remotely. “Probably the worst aspect of all of this for me is the fact that my team and I are not in the country… able to make eye contact, to share their pain, to form that, that very human bond of empathy.”
Yet he finds solace and strength in the resilience of Myanmar’s people. “These people have withstood countless abuses and sacrifices and have endured and they deserve so much better.” He stresses that neutrality does not mean silence: “We pick the side of the victims.”
In the end, he says, “I try to take that into account every day and really try to remember who I'm working for and why I'm working for them. And that, to me, is the best way to cope with the nature of this crisis.”