A Rose by Any Other Name
Coming Soon…
“I actually was anti-Muslim when I was in high school!” recalls Thet Swe Win, a Burmese activist who today is best known for his tireless efforts to counter hate speech and promote interfaith solidarity. Speaking candidly, he admits to being swayed by religious propaganda pamphlets, and even bullying a Muslim classmate. He frames those early transgressions as the starting point of a long, personal transformation that led him to the frontlines of Myanmar’s civil society.
The turning point came during the 2007 Saffron Revolution. As he marched with barefoot Buddhist monks in the sweltering heat, he says, “a group of Muslim people came out of the mosque and gave the Buddhist monks their slippers, and water and medicine.” For him, this moment shattered the anti-Muslim propaganda narrative he had swallowed and sparked the realization that people should not hate each other, but rather unite to fight the military.
Not long after, Thet Swe Win’s mother insisted he leave Myanmar out of fear for his safety, and because of his participation in the protests. She sent him to Singapore, where immersion in a multiethnic community continued his transformation. Working as a construction supervisor alongside Indian Hindus, Bengladeshi Muslims, Chinese Singaporeans, and fellow Burmese, he realized that there are only good and bad people in the world, not good or bad religions.
But his connection to his country never wavered. After the outbreak of communal violence in Rakhine State in 2012 and the state media broadcasts that fueled it, he and his peers felt compelled to act. Together they launched the “Blue Sticker Campaign” to push back against manufactured hatred, specifically the extremist 969 movement then gaining momentum. Their idea was simple but symbolic: on blue stickers—and later matching T-shirts—they printed the pledge, “I will not let race or religion cause a crime to happen in front of me.” The choice of blue was deliberate: 969 branded itself with orange, so they chose blue to embody a visual contrast of calm, peace, and solidarity against 969’s harsh militancy.
Yet Thet Swe Win admits that he had still not completely overcome his own prejudices regarding the Rohingya. Because of the overwhelming anti-Rohingya sentiment in society at the time, he says he felt intense pressure to not even say the word “Rohingya.” He confesses that in a large public discussion once, he once referred to them as “Bengali,” which is how the government and nationalists characterize them to deny their identity. He says he still deeply regrets this to this day. But his perspective changed because of his dealings with Wai Wai Nu, a Rohingya activist, who gradually caused him to become more curious about her community. Through her, as well as the extensive reading he did to educate himself, he learned about the actual history of the Rohingya people and eventually recognized their legitimacy as Myanmar citizens, like any other group.
In 2016, he co-founded Synergy, an organization dedicated to fostering social harmony. One of its most iconic projects was the White Rose Campaign of 2019, launched after Buddhist nationalists began harassing Muslims outside Yangon mosques. Drawing inspiration from a gesture he had seen in Paris, where Muslims handed out white roses following the Charlie Hebdo attacks, he and colleagues worked with Asia Light Sayadaw, who personally joined them in distributing roses to Muslim worshippers. Thet Swe Win recalls that some even cried when they saw a Buddhist monk offering them flowers, a simple act that carried deep meaning amid an atmosphere of hostility. Images of that moment spread across the country, sparking unplanned but powerful scenes of reconciliation. The campaign also drew hostility: the ultra-nationalist MaBaTha targeted him, police threatened arrest, and his office was raided. Still, he pressed on, convinced that building intercommunal trust was the only way to counter authoritarian divide-and-conquer tactics.
Despite the country’s tentative moves towards democratization under both the Thein Sein and Aung San Suu Kyi governments, Thet Swe Win believes neither is a particularly shining example. He accuses the NLD of presiding over ongoing atrocities, internet blackouts in Rakhine, and ultimately of defending the military against genocide allegations in The Hague. Once inspired by Suu Kyi, who was considered a moral icon, he says he “lost hope” when she and her party backed the military. He adds that the mass rallies across Myanmar in support of her stance at the International Court of Justice were a devastating demonstration of the country’s widespread moral failure. Yet his hopes were rekindled when the 2021 coup reignited popular resistance, and he became convinced that many Bamar had— finally— recognized the military as the root problem.
Thet Swe Win’s activism since the coup has taken him into ethnic minority areas, including Karen regions where he lived with villagers under constant military assault. He describes their simple, communal lifestyle juxtaposed against the terror of airstrikes and forced displacement. Witnessing this suffering left him feeling “very super privileged” and deepened his empathy for why minorities distrust the Bamar majority. Such firsthand experiences reinforced his conviction that solidarity across ethnic lines is essential for any possibility of a democratic future.
Central to his reflections is what he sees as Myanmar’s lack of moral leadership — political, religious, and cultural. For decades, he explains, politicians and religious figures alike have manipulated fear and division for their own gain. He calls out Buddhist monks in particular, who might naturally have carried moral authority, but have lost that role by participating in campaigns of fear and division. At a deeper level, he argues, Burmese society itself discourages questioning: schools, religious traditions, and family hierarchies all teach children to obey authority rather than ask “why.” This culture of silence suppresses curiosity and critical thought, leaving people vulnerable to propaganda.
Thet Swe Win believes true revolution requires dismantling these ingrained norms. He suggests that this vacuum should be embodied by individuals or by a collective voice capable of guiding the resistance with integrity, and is essential for the country’s future. “Right now, we have lost the moral leadership!” he exclaims. “Aung San Suu Kyi, we thought she might be a moral leader. But she wasn't! and she showed herself as a just a politician.”
Throughout the conversation, Thet Swe Win speaks about the need to be honestly self-reflective. Besides the personal failings he mentioned earlier, he also addresses an allegation of domestic violence. While denying the specific allegation, he admits that his domestic situation was very difficult at the time, and admits to having a part in it. He believes strongly that moral authority begins with personal accountability, even when the situation is very challenging, so activists like himself must model a higher standard. “If we want to change the society, we have to change ourselves,” he says. In the same vein, he calls for honesty about the resistance’s internal problems of nepotism, arrogance, and ineffective leadership, rather than silence for the sake of unity. Avoiding open discussion, he warns, only perpetuates dysfunction. He also touches upon the role of international solidarity, noting that “the global community should not think that elections will bring peace for Burma, it will create more chaos. It will create more divided attention among all the revolutionary groups, for sure.”
Yet he remains committed to the long struggle. He refuses exile or asylum, even as it is open to him, choosing instead to stay near Myanmar’s border to continue his work, despite the risks. In the end, he stresses again that genuine leadership must arise not from political calculation, but from ethical conviction. “The change still, it begins within, from within.”