Crime and Disbursement
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“To have my daughter summarily decide that I was complicit in genocide, I really had to think through again my logic for taking the position that the World Bank should stay. It sent me on a lot of soul searching.”
It was 2017 in Yangon. Ellen Goldstein, the World Bank Country Director for Myanmar, was faced with a moral and professional quandary. She was at the epicenter of a nation grappling with a nascent democratic transition, tragically overshadowed by the escalating Rohingya crisis. As a Jewish woman whose heritage carried the weight of historical persecution, the accusations of complicity in genocide struck with a particularly personal force. The reflection comes from her account in Damned If You Do, where she recounts the moment her own daughter challenged her moral position, and much of the conversation that follows draws from this book.
The World Bank had recently approved a $200 million grant to Myanmar's civilian government treasury. However, with the military's mass atrocities unfolding in Rakhine State, Goldstein confronted a critical question: should the funds be disbursed? Providing $200 million to a government implicated in widely condemned human rights abuses, not yet labeled genocide, felt to many, including Goldstein, like sending the wrong signal. This agonizing internal conflict highlighted the inherent tension within international development agencies, forcing them to balance technical mandates and contractual obligations—while also wanting to be a force for democratic reforms— with the moral imperatives of humanitarian crises.
Goldstein ultimately decided against the disbursement. This decision, and the political fallout it triggered, profoundly impacted her career, eventually leading to her departure from the World Bank in 2019. Despite this personal cost, she viewed her decision as a small, yet significant, victory for the future of foreign aid.
Goldstein's journey to Myanmar spanned over three decades at the World Bank. She joined at a young age, steadily rising through a predominantly male-dominated hierarchy to head World Bank offices across the Balkans, Africa, and South Asia. Her appointment to Myanmar in 2017 symbolized the country's growing international importance, placing her at the heart of a nation brimming with both promise and formidable challenges.
Upon her arrival in Yangon, Goldstein found herself at the helm of what was then the World Bank's fastest-growing aid program. Initial optimism, fueled by Myanmar's re-engagement with the global economy and its democratic aspirations, brought an influx of technical and financial resources. Drawing on extensive experience with transitioning economies, the World Bank initially focused on liberalizing Myanmar's command-and-control system. Reforms like exchange rate liberalization, banking system modernization, and opening up telecommunications yielded significant positive results, contributing to annual economic growth and tangible improvements in social welfare.
However, Goldstein quickly recognized that this progress masked deeper, systemic issues. She observed, “It was not necessarily enough to just focus on reducing poverty in an aggregate sense in Myanmar.” This is because the benefits of economic growth were not reaching the most severely deprived—ethnic minorities in remote highlands and regions like Rakhine State. Their poverty, she says, was not merely due to remoteness or lack of infrastructure, but was deeply rooted in “systematic exclusion, discrimination and abuse of civil liberties and human rights.” This realization fundamentally challenged the World Bank's traditional mandate, forcing Goldstein and her team to confront an uncomfortable truth: their success in generating nation-wide growth could, paradoxically, bypass those most in need because the underlying issues were not purely economic, but political and societal.
The decision to withhold the $200 million in 2017 became a catalyst for a significant shift in the World Bank's strategy. Rather than withdrawing entirely—as some called for—the institution fundamentally changed its approach. They stayed engaged but focused on other areas, such as projects for social inclusion in conflict areas, specifically for severely deprived ethnic minorities. Goldstein asserts this strategic pivot was, and remains, “the right strategy for Myanmar,” aligning efforts more closely with the genuine needs of all its people.
This evolution extended beyond Myanmar. A broader strategic shift occurred within the World Bank's approach to fragile and conflict-affected states. A new overarching strategy emerged, with a core principle: “never disengage, to stay engaged, but to try to engage in ways that could drive forward the right values or the right kinds of development that we need to see in those states,” says Goldstein. This institutional learning, borne from the harsh realities of Myanmar, represents a significant victory for Goldstein's advocacy.
This evolving philosophy also carries a crucial message for Western liberal democracies: “We really need to adapt to a multipolar world and approach these situations with humility in that we have only limited financial, political, and moral clout, and we should not disengage,” Goldstein says. She argues that disengagement leads to a complete loss of influence and the ability to shape global outcomes.
Another critical lesson Goldstein gleaned from her Myanmar experience was the necessity to move beyond the traditional, state-centric foreign aid model. For her, Myanmar demonstrated the need of working below the national government level, directly engaging with non-state and local actors. This need became even more acute following the coup. Considering this, Goldstein advocates for creative engagement strategies, asking: “how should we be engaging with the parts of the country that are controlled by the junta without doing business with the junta, and at the same time, how do we support resistance and the people who are living in the areas that are controlled by the resistance movement?”
While acknowledging the continued presence of UN agencies and a smaller World Bank office in Yangon, operating under strict limitations and often requiring logistical engagement with the military for humanitarian grant execution, Goldstein stresses that this is by no means business as usual. The core challenge, she asserts, lies in “how we organize ourselves to support the parts of the country that are not under [State Administration Council, or SAC] control.” She openly questions whether enough is being done to support the resistance, both politically and militarily, especially as the traditional aid architecture faces a moment of breakdown and chaos.
Beyond structural changes, Goldstein also advocates for a fundamental shift from focusing solely on electoral politics to embracing the broader concept of democratic governance. Foreign aid interventions, she believes, must lean into the hallmarks of democracy, including participation, transparency and accountability. Myanmar's decades-long suffering, she argues, stems from an inadequate attention to these crucial areas. This reframing suggests a more holistic, values-driven approach to development that honors the agency of citizens and builds resilient governance from the ground up, rather than relying solely on top-down state structures.
While new, informed strategies for foreign aid and development are important, Goldstein consistently emphasizes that behind them lie the decision-makers and leaders. “Individuals matter and leaders matter. What gets messaged from the top is remarkably important,” she states. This conviction fueled her disappointment with Aung San Suu Kyi, whom Goldstein perceived as not fully utilizing her influence during the Rohingya crisis. Despite her limited direct power over the military, Goldstein believes Aung San Suu Kyi never understood how much she could use her standing to sway public opinion. This perceived failure to leverage her moral authority contributed to a “slow cooling in our [the World Bank’s] enthusiasm or conviction that the civilian government would or could act in ways that could justify continued support,” Goldstein says.
Conversely, Goldstein draws immense inspiration from the courage and resourcefulness of individuals within Myanmar. She recalls ministers with whom the World Bank had an “excellent rapport,” who were genuinely in favor of addressing the Rohingya situation and promoting community-driven development in ethnic states. While these ministers had to balance their progressive inclinations with political realities, their willingness to engage offered a glimmer of hope. Even more powerfully, Goldstein celebrates the accomplishments of individuals within the resistance movement, who have achieved “way beyond what I think most of the world felt that they could accomplish in trying to oppose the military junta.” These individuals, fighting against overwhelming odds, demonstrate that “even in the most constrained situations, complicated conflict ridden environments, there are individuals who want to do something positive and who are able to motivate and mobilize others to do it.” This belief reinforces Goldstein's broader philosophy: the human element, both in leadership and grassroots mobilization, is indispensable in the pursuit of justice and development.
Goldstein's experiences in Myanmar illuminate the need for a more adaptable, nuanced, and morally grounded approach to foreign aid. Her journey shows the political nature of development work, the essentiality of engaging with non-state actors, and the power of individual leadership within complex local contexts. Her personal soul searching was not merely a private reckoning; it became a catalyst for broader institutional change. Her legacy in the World Bank serves as a reminder that to truly make a difference, global aid must be flexible, courageous, and deeply rooted in a genuine understanding of the people it aims to serve.