Episode #334: Exit Wounds
“Well, it’s been exhausting. It’s been exhausting for a variety of reasons!”
With this opening reflection, James Rodehaver, head of the UN Human Rights Office on Myanmar, sets the tone for a conversation that lays bare the compounding crises gripping the country: a devastating earthquake, an unrelenting military campaign, and a staggering failure of both regional and international response.
Rodehaver has spent nearly three decades investigating human rights violations across conflict zones, but he finds the convergence of catastrophe in Myanmar, both natural and man-made, uniquely grim. The recent earthquake, he explains, struck a population already reeling from the fallout from the military coup, which has included more than four years of widespread violence, mass displacement, and economic collapse. And rather than pausing hostilities in the disaster's wake, the military has only escalated attacks, as they have launched over 100 strikes within nine days of the quake! Even more appalling, many targeted rescue operations and civilians trapped in the rubble.
This cruelty, Rodehaver stresses, is consistent with the military’s long-standing strategy to weaponize suffering and impede humanitarian aid to populations they deem enemies. Areas most devastated by the quake, such as Sagaing, remain cut off, while the junta is trying to publicly brand the catastrophe as the “Mandalay Earthquake,” in order to channel the focus of aid distribution to regions under its control. These tactics underscore the military's calculated efforts to control narratives, aid flow, and ultimately the fate of the country's most vulnerable citizens. The UN’s Emergency Relief Coordinator visited recently, but the military's position—that it does not want the country “overrun with foreigners”—has stymied most foreign aid efforts. The regime also insists that all humanitarian operations comply with the 2022 Associations Law, effectively sidelining independent civil society groups.
All this echoes Cyclone Nargis in 2008, Rodehaver says, when the military similarly delayed and obstructed aid. But now, conditions may be even worse: less international leverage, less regional willpower, and even more aggressive restrictions. Adding to the peril is the military’s attempt to use the aid crisis to garner international legitimacy, posing for photos and attending diplomatic summits while civilians lie dying in collapsed homes through their neglect.
Beyond the military’s overt barriers to effective and equitable aid distribution, civil society had already been gutted by the coup and its aftermath, with many skilled Burmese having fled or in hiding. This has dire consequences for humanitarian relief in the wake of the earthquake. For example, in areas like Sagaing, rescue efforts are largely in the hands of poorly equipped, untrained volunteers. “You cannot take a group of normal people and just say, ‘Okay, you find people buried under tons of rubble,’” Rodehaver exclaims. Moreover, the lack of trained rescue workers, proper equipment, and access to medical care is exacerbated by military restrictions and paramilitary attacks. These selfless volunteers also have to work under the shadow of military surveillance and threat of arrest, or worse. There are even credible reports of young people attempting to help others in quake-stricken areas only to be conscripted by the military or taken for forced labor in conflict zones. So aid workers must balance saving lives with their own survival, as well as protecting recipients from being targeted through their involvement.
When asked about international funding gaps—particularly in light of the dismantling of USAID and a broader decline in humanitarian aid—Rodehaver is blunt: “I’m not hopeful.” The UN had aimed to provide $1.1 billion in support for over six million people, which Rodehaver notes is just a fraction of the nearly 20 million in need. Yet even that modest target now seems unreachable due to restricted access, donor fatigue, and concerns that assistance could inadvertently legitimize the military. At the same time, the UN has been adapting. Localization—the practice of working through local organizations—once seen as an idealistic goal, has become a practical necessity, though in severely constrained form. Operating informally or through unregistered partners helps sidestep military channels that block aid from reaching those most in need. This also increases the safety of both foreign and local aid workers. Yet even these improvised networks are now being pushed to the breaking point. Some UN agencies have needs-assessment teams on standby, ready to deploy, but access still hinges on military approval. And then, international attention it itself fleeting, shaped more by political caution than humanitarian urgency.
Another disturbing development, drawn from the military’s anti-humanitarian toolkit, has been its use of paramotors. These are nearly silent paragliders flown by individuals and used to drop explosives from low altitudes, and are particularly effective—and terrifying—because of their precision. Unbelievably, paramotors have recently been used to strike rescue workers and civilians in earthquake-hit zones.
Rodehaver turns his attention to the military strategy behind the junta’s continued offensives. He believes it sees the chaos of the earthquake’s aftermath as an opportunity to break the Sagaing-led resistance once and for all, counting on despair and disarray in opposition-held areas to sap morale. The military’s media blackout in these regions supports this goal, by cutting off flow of information, thwarting real-time reports, and hindering coordination with aid providers.
A ceasefire was declared by the military after the earthquake, and is set to expire on April 22. But in Rodehaver’s view, it is a “fiction at best,” as military violations have continued unabated. Still, he believes in pushing for renewed and credible ceasefires, not because the military can be trusted, but because even flawed ceasefires can provide brief openings to deliver aid and initiate political talks. But meaningful progress, he argues, will require concerted international pressure—both financial and political—and a unified resistance front within Myanmar.
Returning to the topic of international engagement, Rodehaver describes how the fragmented nature of Myanmar’s resistance movement has undermined progress. Without a clear political platform or representative entity, it becomes difficult for global actors to be able to replace the junta at the table. Many regional players, used to consensus-driven diplomacy, are paralyzed in the absence of a recognized counterpart. Thus, a dual failure persists: the military lacks legitimacy, and the resistance lacks cohesion.
As a possible solution, Rodehaver envisions a broad based political platform where the various anti-junta actors can meet to hash out where their humanitarian and political demands and concerns overlap. With trusted regional facilitators and creative confidence-building measures, such a meeting might be very productive and create a foundation for moving forward. But trust is essential. “You’re not going to be able to kill your way out of this crisis,” he says, calling for de-escalation grounded in shared principles and practical steps. Still, he holds out hope that with enough data and compelling evidence, a new narrative might break through the indifference. Myanmar’s crisis, he argues, is not just a political or military struggle, but a moral one. If the international community can understand and publicize the extent to which aid is being systematically weaponized and obstructed, it may finally be moved to act.
As the conversation draws to a close, Rodehaver becomes personal. Speaking directly to those inside Myanmar and in the diaspora, he expresses profound admiration. “Their courage and unflappable will to keep on resisting tyranny... has been inspirational. It’s been a reason to keep going, despite the numerous frustrations that me and my team face.”