The Spirit of Disobedience
“Every day in Myanmar, people are living in constant fear: fear of air strike, fear of artillery, fear of arbitrary arrest, fear of extra judicial killing. As long as the military is in power, the country will not be in peace, and the suffering will continue in front of our eyes! Only eradicating this junta and building the federal democracy will bring stability, not only to Myanmar, but also to the region and to the world.”
These stark words from “Alex”– a Burmese activist currently in exile and who wishes to remain anonymous– express the brutal reality of Myanmar under military rule. His insightful analysis serves as a critical lens through which to understand the military’s calculated move towards what he labels a “sham election,” just a strategy to solidify their iron grip under the guise of legitimacy.
Since the coup on February 1, 2021, the statistics paint a horrifying picture: over 6,000 lives extinguished, more than 22,000 detained, and a staggering 3.5 million displaced internally. The military’s atrocities extend to the torture and killing of civilian advocates and political party members, while daily airstrikes, like the recent one on a Sagaing school that claimed 20 young lives, sow terror. Democratic leaders, including Aung San Suu Kyi and President Win Myint, remain illegally imprisoned, and the very concept of freedom has evaporated. “There’s no freedom of expression in the country,” says Alex. “Wearing a flower can even amount to a crime. So in this context, how can we expect a free and fair election?” His message, delivered with an urgent clarity, represents a direct appeal to the international community, urging them to see beyond the façade.
The military’s paradoxical pursuit of a sham election while simultaneously trampling on the rule of law often perplexes observers. Why undertake such an elaborate charade when power has already been seized? Alex, too, has grappled with this question. His understanding points to a modern phenomenon where present-day dictators “always wear this coat of democracy or federalism” to seek the veneer of legitimacy. This theatrical display serves a couple purposes: it allows their supporters to believe they are still aligned with international norms,, and it attempts to save face on the global stage, portraying themselves as a legitimate government worthy of securing diplomatic recognition. Drawing a parallel to George Orwell’s 1984, Alex described this strategy as “doublespeak,” where heinous actions are cloaked in virtuous rhetoric.
Alex views the junta’s decision to hold the election in 2025 as a calculated, strategic move. That year is when a legitimate election would have occurred under the democratic transition. His belief is that the military viewed the 2010 elections as a test of how much control it could relinquish while still remaining in control. This small opening led to the 2015 elections, the results of which shook the military to its core; in this understanding, the coup in 2021 was a violent attempt to reclaim its power, a direct response to the “democratic system” veering too far from the military’s control. The proposed 2025 elections are thus a renewed attempt to manage this political dynamic, seeking to restore a military-dominated “civilian” government that can secure international recognition and exploit internal divisions without risk to its authority.
The military’s most recent census collected complete data from 145 townships, and partial data from 120 others. This information served as a preliminary assessment of its electoral viability; by mapping regional demographics, the military can identify potential strongholds of support for itself and its proxy parties as well as areas of significant opposition or resistance, and allot resources accordingly, including where it needs to intensify propaganda or coercion. Alex’s own analysis indicates that the military could confidently hold elections in 176 townships, primarily in key urban areas like Yangon, Mandalay, and Naypyidaw, where their control remains strongest; the resistance controls the other 90 included in the census data.
Moreover, the 2008 Constitution provides for a minimum threshold of just 33% of all Parliamentary seats to form a new government. Because 25% of the seats are already held by military appointees, the junta would only need to win 8% more to be able to form a new government. Alex believes that this makes the likelihood of a sham election even more probable because so few results would need to be faked to achieve “legitimate” government control.
Alex foresees the potential for a heavy reliance on “advanced” or early voting by the junta, a tactic also employed by the military in 2010. It offers the military several strategic advantages over traditional, single-day polling. For one, it fragments voting over an extended period and across multiple, potentially less scrutinized locations, making it easier to control turnout and manipulate results. It will also enable them to manufacture a seemingly good turnout, as widespread, public participation at polling stations on a single day will be unlikely, given the pervasive insecurity and the people’s resistance. Alex predicts the military will employ various forms of intimidation, like forced voting, or by providing incentives, like paying individuals to vote. He also believes that international media access will be severely restricted, with only closely aligned nations like Cambodia, Russia, Belarus, India, and China invited to observe, to at least put on a small show of international validation. In sum, he notes the military will “definitely try to manufacture any election outcome they want, any electoral environment they want. They are trying to lie to the world, to the country, that’s what they have been doing since day one.”
Inside Myanmar, the National Unity Government (NUG), Ethnic Resistance Organizations (EROs), and People’s Defense Forces (PDFs), which have united under the National Unity Consultative Council (NUCC), have launched a resolute anti-sham election campaign to counter the junta’s attempts. They are actively urging voters to boycott the elections, and appealing to local political parties to abstain, many of whom, according to Alex, are mere opportunists who won a combined total of just 8% of the seats in the 2020 elections. The NLD, having been illegally abolished, cannot participate in the elections.
Alex discusses the fact that the international community is divided on the legitimacy of the proposed elections: while Western countries are unlikely to legitimize them, nations like Russia, China, and Cambodia almost certainly will. A more nuanced category, which Alex terms “middle countries,” includes regional players such as Thailand, India, Japan, Korea, and Vietnam, alongside the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) as a bloc. These are states whose positions are driven by a complex interplay of economic interests, geopolitical concerns, and a desire for regional stability, rather than a clear ideological alignment with either the junta or the democratic movement. India, for instance, has offered technical support to the military’s Election Commission. But regardless of the diverse and often self-serving stances of international actors, Alex remains convinced that elections will not alter the course of the resistance. He firmly believes that having gained momentum over the past four years, it will continue its fight to defeat the military and convince the international community to deny the junta any form of legitimacy, whatever their present position on elections.
The National Unity Government (NUG)'s 2020 electoral mandate remains valid even in exile, Alex stresses, because it represents the people’s will, which has only strengthened since the military annulled those electoral results through its coup. He asserts that the structure of the 2008 Constitution will be overturned and replaced by democratic forces because it is a military creation, and does not represent the will of the people.
The second guest features Wunna, and he describes how on the morning of February 1, 2021, a friend drove to his house and frantically woke him up, shattering an eerie silence: the internet had been cut, the phone lines dead. To see what was happening, they drove together to Naypyidaw’s municipal guest houses, where members of Parliament were staying. The sight that greeted them was chilling: soldiers surrounding the area and MPs under house arrest, preventing the first session of the new parliament from convening. “I couldn’t even describe how I felt that day,” Wunna recalls, the memory still raw. They were essentially at Ground Zero, witnessing the initial, calculated moves of a coup that would plunge his nation into chaos.
In the immediate aftermath, Wunna felt adrift like most Burmese, unsure how to navigate the sudden collapse of their nascent democracy. The widespread, popular disorientation was acutely understood by Wunna, whose civil service experience before the coup in 2015 offered a unique, if painful, insight into the deep-seated frustrations of the Burmese people and ultimate fragility of the country's democratic project. He had started his work full of hope, only to find the agency dominated by ex-military personnel who, he says, “were trying to control the elected civilian government,” subtly but relentlessly undermining the democratic transition from within. His persistent disagreements with these entrenched forces led to his being branded as “a disobedient person” and ultimately resulted in his dismissal. Wunna knew that the lurking, menacing shadow of the military had never truly lifted.
For Wunna, the coup, while shocking in its violence, was also a blunt revelation of a truth he already knew: that the military's control was never truly relinquished, making the national sense of disorientation post-coup a tragic culmination of years of suppressed influence. But within days, protests erupted in Mandalay and Yangon, and civil servants began the Civil Disobedience Movement (CDM). Inspired by their bravery, Wunna and four friends decided to act. They arranged safe houses and transportation for civil servants fleeing Naypyidaw, providing food and discreet assistance. “We kept it low profile,” Wunna explains, aware of the dangers in the administrative capital. He even used his personal bank account for donations, though it was frozen later.
As the military deployed more soldiers and checkpoints, the risks escalated, forcing Wunna to leave Naypyidaw and return to his native village. Yet, the continued internet blackout there, coupled with nearby clashes, made it impossible to continue his efforts. Now faced with the grim possibility of forced conscription or being used as a human shield, Wunna made the agonizing decision to leave Myanmar. “Until [then], I couldn't imagine that I would not be able to go back to Myanmar. I will not be able to see my family and friends. I still couldn’t imagine that scenario,” he confesses, his voice tinged with the loss shared by countless exiles.
Despite the immense personal sacrifice and the uncertainty of return, Wunna clung to a powerful conviction. “We started this revolution from nothing, and now we have something. So we still have the opportunity to prevail in this revolution,” he says. “Of course, there are situations that I cannot control, so I’m trying not to think more about those kinds of things I cannot control. There are many thoughts that come to mind, but I try not to think more about those situations, and I do what I need to do.” This philosophy of focused action and resilience has become his anchor in the storm until he returns to his country.
Reflecting on the past four years, Wunna acknowledges the initial skepticism from the international community regarding the People’s Defense War. “What should we do to avoid the military oppression, the military’s killings and human rights violations?” he asks rhetorically. “What at the same time do we do to restore democracy? What suggestions do you have for us?” The silence that usually followed his questions underscores the impossible dilemma faced by the Myanmar people. Yet, he goes on to describe how the resistance movement has blossomed into something remarkable. “The beauty of our revolution is we can hear many voices from various actors from Myanmar,” he affirms, seeing it as a practice of freedom of expression amidst crisis.
Wunna observes a tendency for external actors to interfere, perhaps unintentionally, with the delicate political landscape among democratic forces. He emphasizes that while constructive criticism is welcome, it should be accompanied by tangible suggestions, and not impossible demands. In particular, he cautions against public criticisms that might inadvertently benefit the military or create divisions among democratic actors, advocating instead for private, respectful dialogue. He futher stresses the importance of policy advice to the National Unity Government being accompanied by practical support for implementation. Wunna also expresses concern about competing political ideologies in academic and international forums, arguing that theories “should be applied for the sake of the people, not to prove that your theory is the righteous one.”
In a world where democracy faces global attacks, Wunna’s final message resonates with an urgent call to action. He implores the international audience to “be part of our history in defending and nurturing democracy.” He acknowledges the grim possibility of failure, but still sees a triumphant future: “I believe that you will be able to say proudly that you participated in Myanmar’s revolution and we prevailed in the revolution. Do not overthink and just do what we need to do! And together, we will win!”