From Halo Halo to Milk Tea
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“This time, there is even more hope for a fundamental shift and change in [Myanmar],” says Gus Miclat, co-founder of Initiatives for International Dialogue (IID), reflecting on decades of peacebuilding and solidarity work across Asia. Speaking with deep conviction, he contrasts today’s resistance in Myanmar—led from the ground up by ordinary people and youth—with earlier cycles of elite-driven political struggles, and he insists this transformation signals “a more systemic change” ahead.
Miclat traces his activist roots to his high school years in the Philippines, where his “baptism of fire” was an unlikely fight: a student walkout against mandatory military-style haircuts. He laughs at the memory of police being called and parents dragging their children back to class, but he frames it as an early lesson in challenging authority. That rebellious impulse sharpened during the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos Sr., when martial law exposed him to “atrocities, human rights violations, the rights of people being run roughshod over.” He became a student journalist, university instructor, theater artist, organizer, and coalition-builder—ultimately helping coordinate anti-dictatorship activism through both civil society and the Catholic Church’s social justice arm.
After Marcos’s ouster in 1986, Miclat and his colleagues felt a moral obligation to share their struggle with the world so that others could learn from their successes. This led to the founding of IID in 1988, built on a framework of “South-South solidarity” that links liberation and democracy movements across Asia and beyond. Early on, IID’s work centered on East Timor, then under brutal Indonesian occupation. Miclat recalls how the rest of Southeast Asia knew almost nothing of that situation until IID and its allies organized the first Asia-Pacific Conference on East Timor in Manila in 1994, despite government attempts to ban it. The showdown drew support from the Catholic Church, and ultimately a Supreme Court ruling in IID’s favor. “We didn’t buckle,” Miclat says. “It became a media sensation.”
That moment launched the Asia-Pacific Coalition for East Timor, which he helped lead through years of advocacy, international exchanges, and civil society mobilization until Timor finally achieved independence in 2002. In recognition, the Timorese government awarded him its highest civilian honor in 2022—an acknowledgment he calls “humbling.”
In 2000, when the Philippine government launched an “all-out war” against Moro Muslim rebels in Mindanao, IID was confronted by partners who questioned why it supported struggles abroad but not its own country’s conflicts. In response, IID expanded its work into domestic peacebuilding, pushing to involve civil society in Mindanao’s peace negotiations rather than leaving the process solely to the government and armed groups. This effort helped pave the way for the transition from armed rebellion to the creation of the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region, now led largely by former leaders of the Moro Islamic Liberation Front.
Miclat says this experience forged IID’s dual identity as both a solidarity and peacebuilding organization. In Myanmar during the 1990s and 2000s, IID supported democracy movements and later worked on peace initiatives among ethnic nationalities. Since the 2021 coup, it has reactivated its advocacy in full force, combining lessons from Mindanao with solidarity networks across Asia. What sets this moment apart, Miclat remarks, is that the younger generation is taking up positions of leadership, and there is unprecedented coordination among Myanmar’s diverse ethnic and civic actors. These factors, along with what he calls a growing “culture of care” within movements—where activists look after one another’s well-being—give him optimism.
IID’s approach to solidarity blends advocacy with capacity building. To illustrate this model, Miclat describes an initiative that brought Rohingya women leaders to Mindanao to meet displaced women leaders from Marawi, a city devastated by a 2017 siege and military bombardment. Rohingya delegates, he recalls, drew strength from “the resilience of Marawi’s women,” while Marawi leaders realized that “the Rohingya issue was even saltier than theirs.” In exchanges like these, participants share strategies for survival, grassroots leadership, and engagement with policymakers, and their effects extend beyond local empowerment. In the Marawi-Rohingya meeting, for example, IID connected both groups with Bangsamoro officials, Philippine national legislators, and even ASEAN bodies in Jakarta, translating community-level experience into regional and international advocacy. For Miclat, this “balancing of the micro and the macro” exemplifies IID’s method: “Think and act locally—and globally.”
Miclat situates IID’s work within a broader struggle against authoritarian resurgence in Southeast Asia. From the Philippines’ Marcos dynasty to Cambodia’s Hun family succession, he sees a regional “dictator’s playbook” of militarization, dynastic politics, and disinformation. Activism, he insists, must evolve in response. This includes not only resisting repression but also embracing “intergenerational dialogue,” where veteran activists share lessons from the past while younger ones bring digital savvy and new ideas. He likens the mindset required for this work to a track medley of a marathon, an obstacle course, and a relay. Activists, he explains, must accept the long-term nature of the struggle, adapt to unexpected hurdles, and “pass the baton” before burning out, trusting the next generation to carry the fight forward.
The rise of social media has both empowered and complicated this activism according to Miclat. IID became a hub for the “Milk Tea Alliance,” a loose online solidarity network linking movements from Hong Kong to Myanmar. While social media amplifies voices and mobilizes support, Miclat cautions that if it isn’t done with foresight and care, the result is making people inured to crises through overexposure, such as with Gaza or Ukraine. He argues that the key is to channel viral moments into sustained, coordinated campaigns that combine digital pressure with real-world organizing and policy engagement, with a focus on people acting, rather than vying for media attention. That was what helped bring a successful outcome in east Timor. The media is attracted to a genuine people’s movement, not the other way around.
He notes that the present geopolitical climate is challenging because of the inward-turning trends in the United States and Europe, where “our people first” narratives have gained traction, along with engagements that are rooted in transactional designs. But again, he stresses the importance of forming partnerships with citizens rather than institutions or governments. In fact, throughout the conversation, Miclat’s hope is anchored in grassroots mobilization. He emphasizes that solidarity is not the domain of professionals alone.
He sees evidence of this in recent Philippine elections, where progressive forces, buoyed by youth voters, exceeded expectations despite the dominance of political dynasties. For him, such victories—however partial—are signs that “we count our blessings and try to multiply those blessings in the work that we’re doing.” Ordinary people, he says, can contribute in countless ways: writing letters to policymakers, joining local advocacy groups, or simply “engaging in respectful debate” within their own communities.
In conclusion, he stresses that even the smallest act is part of a larger, interconnected effort. Quoting a Filipino saying, he explains: “A little wound or scar in your pinky is felt by your entire body. And you need your entire body to cure that little wound.” For Miclat, Myanmar’s struggle is one such wound—linked to the fates of Mindanao, Gaza, Ukraine, and every other site of oppression. Healing any of them, he says, means healing the whole. “Of course,” he says, “it’s in our DNA to be optimistic. You pass on the baton, but you continue to accompany and share what you can. And in doing so, you make sure the struggle never stops.”