Insight Myanmar

Between Two Histories

Episode #533: “Before COVID-19 and before the Myanmar coup, I thought that ‘memory of war’ meant only World War Two inside Myanmar. But after 2021, I realized for local people the condition is like a war now.” Hitoshi Kameyama, a Japanese photographer, first came to Burma in 2005 on a photography tour. Expecting a repressive environment, he was instead struck by the warmth and friendliness of local people. This impression drew him back repeatedly, and he eventually made more than 25 trips before the pandemic, building close ties by photographing villagers and returning later with prints for them. Myanmar’s political opening after 2011 allowed greater freedom for photographers and journalists. While Japanese companies began investing, Kameyama focused on documenting memories of the Japanese occupation in World War Two. He was inspired by encounters with elderly villagers who recalled both suffering and small gestures of kindness from Japanese soldiers. In one case, a woman whose brother had been killed by soldiers still preserved a grenade and other wartime objects for decades, hoping they might be returned to Japan. Such stories led to his book Burma Myanmar Memories of War 2019–2024. The pandemic and the 2021 coup forced him to expand the project beyond historical memory. Unable to enter Myanmar, he traveled to India and Thailand, where refugees had fled. He visited Mae Sot clinics, schools, and camps, meeting displaced families and injured resistance fighters. His work began to connect past and present, showing how conflict continues to shape lives. Many of his images highlight this continuity: a child playing with a Japanese helmet, a tiny tank carried into Chin State by soldiers, ceremonies where survivors still gather to honor the dead, and a 2012 community meeting once seen as ordinary but later understood as a fleeting sign of democracy. Kameyama is critical of Japanese businesses that continue to operate in Myanmar, arguing that profits inevitably aid the junta. Reflecting on two decades of engagement, he stresses that personal bonds matter more than politics. As he put it, “It’s important to me, this personal relationship with the Myanmar people.”

The Social Contract

Episode #532: “Constitutions need power,” says Henning Glaser, a Bangkok-based lawyer working on constitutional politics in Asia. In his second appearance on the podcast, he argues that Myanmar’s constitutional problem is less about drafting the perfect text than about whether any text can bind the actors who hold force, and whether there is enough unity to sustain a shared political community. He describes the early post-independence settlement as broken at its origin, saying the promised autonomy that predated the first constitution “was never really done so from the beginning,” leaving what he calls “the original sin of constitutionalism and statehood” that still shapes mistrust. Later military-era constitutions, in his view, often functioned as cover for power rather than restraint, with the 2008 charter operating as “insurance” that preserved military vetoes and control. Glaser insists a viable constitutional state “needs a certain degree of unity,” and that unity cannot be manufactured by constitutional language alone. Federalism and peace-making become inseparable challenges, because the constitutional design question sits on top of armed realities, competing visions of federation versus confederation, and minority-within-minority tensions that do not map neatly onto territory. He also emphasizes “constitutional infrastructure” as a precondition for any genuine rule of law: courts that function, legal education that produces doctrine rather than slogans, a press able to criticize judgments, and citizens able to engage without fear. Courts can guard a constitution only if judges can rule independently and if the broader system accepts rulings without reverting to coercion. Glaser’s most pragmatic conclusion is that Myanmar may need a tentative constitution first—a minimal framework that can be implemented while institutions, doctrine, and civic capacity develop—because constitutional ambition that exceeds enforceable power risks repeating the cycle of promises made on paper and withdrawn in practice.

Unorthodox Inquiries

Episode #531: “The laws that govern the monks’ organization were written before 1988, during a one-party dictatorship! In the Sangha organization, you cannot have different voices… everything comes from the top-down. If you say anything unorthodox, your writing will be censored.” U Pandita explains the challenges within Myanmar’s Saṅgha, where rigid hierarchies and censorship laws stifle independent thought and research. He critiques the authoritarian governance of the monastic order, noting that senior Buddhist monks resist change because they benefit from the status quo. Monks lack autonomy, and dissenting voices face severe consequences, including disrobement or legal action. He contrasts his current freedom in Sri Lanka with the restrictions in place in Myanmar, where his academic work would be censored, and he would be in danger. He highlights how the Saṅgha’sinability to modernize perpetuates problems like corruption, and silence around controversial topics. He also criticizes the Sangha’s role in promoting nationalist and anti-Islamic sentiments, driven by the military’s claim of “protecting Buddhism,” which he dismisses as a self-serving excuse. U Pandita delves into Buddhist ethics. His academic work challenges the idea of universally fixed precepts, and believes that ethical standards depend on societal and cultural context, using the precept of sexual misconduct as an example. This perspective, he admits, is unconventional and may surprise and even unsettle many traditional and religious Buddhists. Reflecting on Myanmar’s identity as both a source of spiritual wisdom and a nation embroiled in conflict, U Pandita attributes its current struggles to historical cycles of power and aggression. He expresses concern over the military’s exploitation of Buddhism, which distorts its teachings and erodes public trust in the monastic community. While acknowledging the resilience of Myanmar’s Buddhist traditions, he warns of the risks posed by political turmoil and the resulting decline of the public’s faith in monks. U Pandita advocates for research as a means to revitalize Buddhism’s intellectual tradition and bridge gaps between Myanmar’s heritage and global audiences. He believes a progressive, inclusive approach can ensure Buddhism remains relevant and meaningful in contemporary society.

Quick on the Draw

Episode #530: “I don't want to live under fear, obeying [the military]. I could survive, but would be in fear, like every movement I would feel I don't have freedom, and I think I don't want that for myself,” says JC, a Karen illustrator and activist now based in the Netherlands. Raised in Yangon, JC was unaware of Myanmar’s civil war due to school propaganda. Only after moving to Thailand to be near her father did she learn the extent of ethnic conflict and oppression. Seeing refugee camps and hearing stories of the Karen struggle left her angry and determined to understand more. JC earned a communications degree in Bangkok and initially envisioned a career in journalism. A political science course taught by a former prisoner, combined with life among marginalized migrant workers, deepened her sense of purpose. She returned to Myanmar during its brief democratic opening, working with a civil society group serving Karen communities. That optimism collapsed with the 2021 coup. Turning to illustration after protest and journalism became too dangerous, JC found a new outlet for storytelling. “By doing illustration, I feel like I'm contributing,” she says. Inspired by editorial art, she developed a minimalist, emotionally expressive style. Her illustrations accompany stories of trauma and displacement, including one of a pregnant woman who lost twins while fleeing war—a piece she says still haunts her. Creating pieces like this take an emotional toll, however, and she often needs to take breaks between pieces to reground herself. JC’s art bridges personal and political experience, offering a visual language that speaks across cultures. she says, “Emotions are universal,” and her work often introduces Myanmar’s crisis to unfamiliar audiences. Still in legal limbo, she draws to stay connected. “Since I cannot be there physically, it’s a way of me to stay contributing,” she says. “I wish [people] don’t forget about Myanmar.”

Staying the Course

Episode #529: Daniel Dodd is one of the two center teachers at Dhamma Patapa, a Vipassana meditation center in Georgia in the tradition of S.N. Goenka. Alongside his work as a meditation practitioner and teacher, he has built a career in community organizing, nonprofit leadership, and federal service focused on low-income communities. But it has not been an easy journey. Dodd was born in Brazil to a Colombian mother and an American father. The family later moved to the United States, and much of his childhood unfolded in rural Maine after his parents separated. His mother raised three children on a homestead without plumbing, where daily life required endurance and adaptability. His adolescence and early adulthood were marked by confusion and drift: He struggled in school, barely graduating, and began drinking and smoking marijuana, uncertain about his future, an angry and agitated young man. A period teaching English in Bogotá during Colombia’s violent drug-war years broadened his outlook but did not resolve deeper internal struggles. After a painful breakup left him feeling unmoored, he took a ten-day Vipassana retreat. The experience proved transformative, and meditation gradually became the organizing center of his life. Rather than turning away from society, the practice deepened his awareness of suffering’s personal and social dimensions. That perspective guided his later work organizing low-income communities and eventually serving at the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. For Dodd, meditation does not remove concern about injustice; it changes how that concern is carried. As he reflects near the end of the conversation, “We’re all kind of trying to figure these things out and become better people as we’re sitting and living our lives.”