Episode #384: Dark Signals
“As a journalist, you always hope for consequences. I mean, otherwise our reporting is meaningless,” says Bjørn Nordahl, a Norwegian investigative journalist whose team has traced every twist of Telenor’s withdrawal from Myanmar. Though he speaks with professional clarity about a subject he knows inside and out, his voice reflects the emotion of realizing that one of Scandinavia’s most admired companies, once celebrated for bringing affordable mobile communications to millions of Myanmar citizens, had become entangled with one of the world’s most brutal military regimes.
Nordahl begins the story by stressing just how positive Telenor’s reputation inside Myanmar had been prior to the coup. When the company entered the market in 2014, it shattered the state monopoly, driving SIM card prices down from hundreds of dollars to just a few. Millions gained access to mobile phones and the internet for the first time, sparking what has been described as a communication revolution. Telenor was hailed not only as a commercial success but as a symbol of the country’s democratic opening. For Nordahl, this makes the company’s subsequent unraveling all the more painful: it had once empowered civil society, but devolved into a vehicle that the junta used to trace, silence, and imprison its opponents.
Nordahl acknowledges the post-coup operating environment for Telenor was “quite a dilemma.” During the first two weeks following the takeover, the company still posted notices about shutting down networks and social media, but after February 14 it was instructed not to reveal anything more. That same day the CEO told NRK: “From now on, I can’t say anything. I can’t say anything about what we are doing and what considerations we are making in Myanmar.” Nordahl’s team then worked through more than 750 documents covering the period until Telenor’s March 2022 exit. Those records show two kinds of orders: authority shutdowns of services and direct subscriber data demands, including requests such as “We want to know the owner of this number. We want to know his address. We want to know his last location, and we want to know his call log.”
Inside Telenor, a cross-functional team of lawyers, human-rights staff, and local compliance handled each junta demand; the internal notes record that “the lawyers, they would always win the discussion every time.” When asked if any demand was rejected, Telenor “never said no.” The company’s rationale rested on two points—“we are under military law in Myanmar” and “Norwegian legislation does not come into consideration”—linked to the perceived risks facing about 700 local employees. Yet the peril of handing over such information often rivaled, or even exceeded, the risks of withholding it. For example, in June 2021, one analysis on a PDF member’s number concluded “the impact of sharing this information is extremely high,” and another, concerning a doctor close to Aung San Suu Kyi, said “it’s likely that this number will be used to support the military examinations of the criminal case against Aung San Suu Kyi.”
Telenor eventually sold its Myanmar operation to Lebanon’s M1 Group, which partnered with the local conglomerate Shwe Byain Phyu. As they prepared the handover, executives told Nordahl they explored wiping or encrypting company data with international security firms but decided against it, concluding the junta would treat that as “a hostile action” that could put local staff at risk. The real-world consequence of continuing to provide data is captured in another case Nordahl describes: a well-known politician was arrested and later killed; eighteen days earlier Telenor had supplied his call logs after a junta request, and the junta’s own documents say they used such information to “map the networks of the opposition.”
In the course of his investigation, Nordahl spoke with former Telenor employees, local civil society representatives, and international experts. Their accounts revealed how painful the exit was for staff on the ground, many of whom felt abandoned. Some had worked proudly to expand access to communication, only to see their employer walk away under circumstances that left their customers more vulnerable than before. Nordahl describes the human toll of employees worried about their own safety, customers fearful that their private data would be used against them, and activists furious at the betrayal of what had once been seen as a model corporate partner.
The scandal also reverberated in Norway, where Telenor has long been seen as an iconic national company and flagship of industry. Politicians questioned whether the government, as a major shareholder, had exercised sufficient oversight. It later emerged that Telenor held around 30 meetings with the Ministry of Trade and Commerce during the crisis. However, the content of those meetings has never been disclosed, leaving open the question of how much the government actually knew. Officials insisted it was company management’s responsibility, while civil society groups demanded accountability and transparency. For Nordahl, the episode underscores a larger truth: globalization means that decisions made in corporate boardrooms in Oslo can have existential consequences for people thousands of miles away.
In addition, the controversy now carries potential political weight at home. Nordahl points out that the Labor Party was in power both when Telenor entered Myanmar in 2014 and when it exited in 2021. He notes that the Minister of Trade and Commerce at the time is now a senior Labor leader expected to eventually take over the party. With Norway’s 2025 election approaching, he says the case could affect the campaign, and that “probably there will be people in the opposition who are very interested in this story.” He also observes that “there is already among certain politicians and certain opposition groups in Norway [a claim] that the exit of Telenor from Myanmar should be scrutinized by an independent investigation.” Nordahl adds, “I think this claim will be even stronger and probably reach another level after we have published this.”
Nordahl reflects on the personal dimension of his work. As a journalist, he has spent years reporting on Myanmar, cultivating sources and listening to the stories of those caught between military repression and international neglect. The Telenor case, he admits, was emotionally draining. For him, the sale was not merely a corporate transaction but the end of an era in which there had been hope that foreign investment might contribute to Myanmar’s democratic transition.
Looking at the bigger picture, Nordahl sees the Telenor case as emblematic of the limits of corporate social responsibility. No matter how many ethical codes or sustainability reports a multinational publishes, when confronted with raw authoritarian power, companies often retreat into pragmatism. He stresses that this is not unique to Telenor; other firms in extractive industries, energy, and finance face similar dilemmas. What matters, he argues, is whether companies are honest about these trade-offs and whether governments hold them accountable for decisions that implicate human rights.
Nordahl also highlights the resilience of Myanmar’s people through these ordeals. Despite the grave dangers they face, activists continue to document abuses, share information, and press the international community for solidarity. Many of them relied on Telenor’s networks during the years of opening, and their sense of betrayal is profound. Yet they continue to fight, demonstrating what Nordahl sees as extraordinary courage. With this in mind, he believes that one day there will be accountability for the junta’s crimes, and the record of how international companies responded will matter. His reporting, he hopes, will serve as part of that archive. He knows that some in Norway would prefer to forget the whole affair, but he insists that confronting uncomfortable truths is essential if similar mistakes are to be avoided in the future.
Asked what lessons he draws from the saga, Nordahl points to the need for greater clarity about the responsibilities of state-linked companies. Telenor is partly owned by the Norwegian government, which means that questions of accountability extend beyond the private sector. For him, the lack of decisive government intervention in the exit process reflects a deeper reluctance to grapple with the human rights implications of foreign investment. He adds that when the state is a shareholder, it also bears responsibility for the ethical consequences. As he puts it: “Why were the Norwegian government so involved when Telenor entered the country and not involved when they exited the country? I mean, it seems to be a contradiction in terms.”
Today, Nordahl looks ahead with a mixture of hope and caution. He knows that Myanmar’s struggle will be long, and that one day in the future, foreign companies may once again be tempted to prioritize markets over morals. Yet he believes the record of what happened with Telenor will stand as a warning, a case study in how even the best-intentioned corporations can falter when confronted with authoritarian demands.