Insight 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.”

When The Window Closed

Episode #528: Ola Elvestuen has devoted his political career—and much of his life beyond politics—to tackling the most urgent environmental and societal challenges facing the global community. A member of Norway’s Liberal Party since 2013, he has served as Minister of Climate and the Environment and held several high-ranking positions in both local and national government. As a young man in the late 1980s, Elvestuen witnessed a world in upheaval: the fall of the Berlin Wall, the ousting of Ferdinand Marcos in the Philippines, and Myanmar’s 8888 Uprising. The latter left a particular mark on him and many in Norway, embedding the Burmese struggle deep within Norwegian politics and foreign policy. During the democratic opening of the 2010s, Norway emerged as an important player, pairing diplomatic support with investments in critical industries such as hydropower, oil and gas exploration, and telecommunications. Yet Elvestuen points to a defining controversy in 2022, when Telenor—Norway’s majority state-owned telecom giant—sold its Burmese operations to entities with close ties to the junta, effectively handing over sensitive user data. The decision drew sharp criticism from activists and rights groups who warned of the dangers for dissidents, journalists, and civil society. When the military launched a coup in 2021, Elvestuen watched with dismay, arguing the international community should have reacted immediately and forcefully. “The demonstrations that were held were incredible,” he says, “but they did not get the support that they should have gotten in the early days!” For Elvestuen, the path forward is clear: only a federal democracy can secure Myanmar’s future, and Norway must play a meaningful role in supporting it. He argues that sustainable environmental initiatives should progress alongside the political struggle, pointing to Myanmar’s extraordinary biodiversity and the severe climate threats it faces. In closing, Elvestuen reminds listeners that the urgency of Myanmar’s situation extends far beyond its borders. “That is what we [Norway and the West] had to do with Ukraine,” he says, “and that is also the position that we should have with the revolution in Myanmar.”

Forced to Vote

Episode #527: Nay Chi, a senior researcher with the Myanography project, describes Myanmar’s post-coup election as an exercise in coercion rather than public choice. Drawing on reports from community researchers across the country, she says most people were not interested in voting and did not believe the process would change anything. What moved them was pressure: warnings tied to conscription, threats at checkpoints, loudspeaker announcements, and the wider fear created by a military already known for violence. As Nay Chi puts it, “people are forced to vote,” a phrase that strips the election of any democratic pretense. That pressure took different forms depending on the place. Displaced families were told that relatives of military age could be taken if they did not vote. Government staff were steered toward military-aligned parties. Travelers were questioned about voter registration. Even where no direct order was given, people understood what refusal might invite. The point was not to persuade them politically, but to make participation feel safer than refusal. The structure of the election reinforced that logic. Candidates had to report campaign movements and materials in detail to military authorities, and even where local ethnic parties won seats, Nay Chi says the most important positions still flowed toward military-backed figures. For many communities, the result was something already assumed in advance. “We cannot even imagine our future,” she says, describing a public that no longer sees voting as a path toward representation. What followed was not relief. Community researchers reported that conscription pressures intensified after the vote. Families kept paying money to try to shield sons from recruitment, often unsuccessfully. Young men hid in forests. Parents rushed children away after exams, fearing military abduction into forced conscription. In that atmosphere, the election quickly faded behind the larger struggle to stay safe, fed, and out of military reach. Nay Chi’s argument is blunt. The election did not reconnect people to politics or representation. It extended a system in which procedure is used to mask force, and in which international recognition would only deepen the sense that the suffering imposed on Myanmar’s people can be turned into paperwork and accepted as normal.

A Rose by Any Other Name

Episode #526: “I actually was anti-Muslim when I was in high school!” recalls Thet Swe Win, describing how he was influenced by nationalist propaganda in his youth. But his involvement in the 2007 Saffron Revolution began to change him. Marching with barefoot monks, he witnessed Muslims come from a mosque to give them water, medicine, and slippers. “We do not have to hate each other, but we have to unite and fight back the military,” he realized. His mother, fearful for his safety because of his participation in the protests, sent him to Singapore. Immersed in a multiethnic workplace there, he gradually shed lingering prejudices, concluding that there are only good and bad people, not good or bad religions. Returning to Myanmar, he resumed activism after anti-Muslim violence erupted in Rakhine State in 2012 and spread to other towns, stoked by state television propaganda. In response, he and his peers launched the “Blue Sticker Campaign” to counter the extremist 969 movement and its hate speech. Still, he confesses that the anti-Rohingya propaganda he had absorbed throughout his life left him with lingering bias toward that community—until Rohingya activist Wai Wai Nu drew him into her campaigns and encouraged him to learn their history, which ultimately reshaped his perspective. Later on, Thet Swe Win founded Synergy, an organization dedicated to fostering social harmony. One of its well-known initiatives was the White Rose Campaign of 2019, where Buddhists offered roses to Muslims facing harassment. The gesture spread nationwide as a symbol of solidarity. His activism has drawn threats from MaBaTha, harassment by police, and raids on his office. Yet he remains firm in his resolve, and has refused to leave the region. Thet Swe Win insists Myanmar’s future requires moral leadership, curiosity, and accountability. “The revolution without the political leadership or the moral leadership will be a chaos,” he warns. For him, real change “begins within, from within.”

Knocking on Malaysia’s Door

Episode #525: Heidy Quah, founder of Refuge for the Refugees in Kuala Lumpur, describes her work supporting migrants and refugees in Malaysia, particularly those fleeing Myanmar. She began volunteering at a refugee learning center at eighteen and was transformed by what she witnessed, particularly seeing children on the verge of losing their only access to education because of funding shortages. From that moment, she committed herself to ensuring refugees could access basic rights such as education, healthcare, and dignified livelihood. Quah’s organization now supports dozens of refugee learning centers, shelter homes for trafficked and abused women, and a livelihood initiative which enables refugee women to earn income through craft production. She emphasizes restoring dignity and agency, not charity or pity. Quah recounts harrowing stories of new arrivals—young people fleeing forced conscription, sexual violence, and the killing of family members—who survive perilous overland journeys to reach Malaysia. Many arrive already indebted to smugglers, having borrowed heavily to finance their escape. Despite deep physical and psychological trauma, they often must begin working almost immediately, driven by the urgency of repaying those debts and protecting the families they left behind. A central concern for Quah is the contradiction she observes in Malaysian society: strong public advocacy for Muslim refugees in distant conflicts, such as Gaza, yet hostility toward refugees trying to live locally, like the Rohingya. She notes that Rohingya refugees in particular face racialized prejudice tied to skin color and stereotypes about cleanliness or criminality. For her, the deeper issue is selective empathy—why compassion extends across oceans but falters at the shoreline. Throughout her work, Quah centers storytelling, representation, and hope. She believes lasting change comes when affected communities speak for themselves and when advocacy preserves dignity rather than reinforcing victimhood.