Before February 1, 2021, if someone had asked me whether the military would stage a coup, I would have said no. I would have just thought it was another empty threat. Min Aung Hlaing had even said just a day before that there were no plans to abolish the 2008 Constitution. But when the coup actually happened, I wasn’t surprised either. We already knew they could do anything. If you read between the lines, you will notice that the only thing they ruled out was abolishing the Constitution—not that they had guaranteed they wouldn’t grab power. And under the 2008 Constitution, wasn’t it impossible to stage a coup without scrapping it? In reality, they managed to do it in just a matter of days.
Once the coup happened, people erupted. They were devastated. They saw it as democracy being stolen through sheer force. But let’s take a moment to really think—had we actually achieved democracy? Was the 2016–2020 period truly democratic rule? We often analyze things through comparison. Compared to the SLORC era, the SPDC era, or previous military regimes, the period after 2010—especially from 2015 to 2020—brought much greater freedoms. It’s like a person who has been carrying a ten-basket load on their back suddenly having five baskets removed—it feels significantly lighter. Compared to a time of absolute repression, the past decade of partial civilian rule certainly seemed like a time of limitless freedom.
During the 2015 election, I was incredibly excited. Having lived under military rule all my life, I longed to experience civilian governance, even if only for a short while. That’s why I cast my vote with great anticipation in 2015. When we won, I was overjoyed. The day the new civilian government was sworn in was filled with indescribable happiness. It was the day I felt, for the first time, that our country was no longer under military dictatorship. But that joy didn’t last long.
Not long after the NLD government took office, doubts started creeping into my mind. It wasn’t about anything specific—just the fact that they were operating within the constraints of the 2008 Constitution. Like many others, I had opposed the Nargis Constitution of 2008. I had also boycotted the 2010 elections. But when things started improving under U Thein Sein, and he introduced some reforms indeed, I thought maybe having something is better than having nothing at all. That’s why I fully supported Auntie [Aung San Suu Kyi] and her party’s participation in the 2012 by-election. When they won by a landslide, it became clear that by 2015, they would secure the majority and form a government.
I genuinely believed that the military was gradually withdrawing from politics. That’s why they executed their exit strategy so precisely. After 2015, as long as the incoming civilian government negotiated properly with the military, it would be a win-win situation. At some point, the military would completely withdraw from parliament, like in Indonesia. Not immediately, of course—it would take time. That was something Dr. Nay Win Maung and others like him had been predicting even before 2010. Back then, I didn’t believe it, but by 2012, I had come to accept that possibility.
However, certain events made me question not only the 2008 Constitution but also the military’s true intentions. These included the communal violence in Rakhine in 2012, the Swan Arr Shin groups that never disappeared, and the increasingly ambiguous stance of Thein Sein and Min Aung Hlaing. Old news reports will show that before the 2015 election, Daw Suu had requested a meeting with Min Aung Hlaing but was denied. It was only after winning the election that she was granted an audience. What reassured me, though, was how clean the 2015 election had been. The power transfer was also smooth. While there were tensions between civilian and military MPs while discussing the draft State Counsellor Law, the military didn’t outright reject the position, which gave me a sense of relief.
But over time, my doubts about civilian governance under the 2008 framework grew. The reasons were plenty, but deep down, I felt the military was never truly committed to democratic transition. If that were the case, then democracy under the 2008 Constitution was flawed from the outset. The pro-military ultranationalists’ accusations against the NLD leadership and their attempts to frame them as “nation-destroying” are reflective of a deeper issue within Myanmar’s political landscape. The pairing of the democratic party with the military under the 2008 Constitution can be likened to an inauspicious or ill-fated marriage in Burmese astrology—ဓမ္မာသောက. Just as unions between individuals born on incompatible days (such as Saturday and Thursday, or Friday and Monday) are doomed to fail, so too was the partnership between the NLD and the military fated to collapse. It was an ill-fated journey from the beginning. Think about it: a government elected by the people that has no authority over the military, no control over the police—what can it actually do? The police and military, as armed institutions, are the enforcers of the law. They are a government’s true instruments of power. Without them, the government is effectively crippled. From the start, an NLD-led government under the 2008 framework was bound to be ineffective.
The military has never genuinely wanted to relinquish power or truly detach itself from politics. Instead, it has cleverly used the 2008 constitution to maintain control, attempting to create an illusion of change while continuing to govern. Therefore, whether the military stays in power as a dominant force or in collaboration with other military-aligned parties, if it succeeds in establishing power, there’s no real issue with 2008. The military, the 2008 constitution, and those pro-military parties are “birds of the same feather.”
However, in practice, a party that does not represent the people has very few chances of rising to power as long as the election is fair and clean. On the other hand, a party that the people support (the NLD, for instance) cannot truly implement real reforms within the constraints of the 2008 framework. Additionally, the NLD itself had weaknesses, both in capacity and competency, both as an institution and individually. Nevertheless, the NLD tried to make real reforms more than the U Thein Sein administration did. It challenged the military directly and began to encounter conflicts with them.
The military, in its attempt to maintain its sphere of influence and control, began pushing back. In parliament, they consistently opposed decisions they disagreed with, often referring to these as “democratic bullies”. Outside of parliament, various groups—like pro-military parties, Ma Ba Tha and alike—conspired to weaken the NLD government’s authority, particularly under the banner of “protection of race, religion, and national identity.”
Before 2015, the military and its allies had engaged in various forms of political sabotage and manipulation, targeting different sectors of society. Even after the NLD came to power, similar activities continued. However, the NLD could not counter these groups effectively because the Ministry of Home Affairs, which oversees the police force, was controlled by the military. While the police force pretended to follow the government’s commands, in reality, they were aligned with the military’s interests, as seen in cases involving the murder of U Ko Ni, the arrests of Wa Lone and Kyaw Soe Oo, and others.
The worst instance of this was in 2016 and 2017, during the military’s actions in Rakhine, which revealed that the NLD government was essentially powerless. Despite this, Daw Aung San Suu Kyi defended the “country” [read ‘the military’] in front of the International Court of Justice (ICJ), which gave her domestic support, but internationally, her reputation suffered significantly.
At that point, I clearly saw the situation: the NLD, led by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, had failed. It had entered the political killing field and had already lost. In 2020, the NLD would likely win again, but this was not a cause for celebration—it was a misstep. Even though the NLD was supposed to be initiating more genuine reform, it eventually ended up making compromises with them (they compromised too much in some cases though they shouldn’t have). The compromises were so extensive that the NLD became heavily criticized. Despite that, the military’s stance remained unchanged: they didn’t want to lose power.
The military’s attitude is clear: they will not relinquish their hold on power—never, ever. The NLD, despite its rhetoric, could never work within the military-dominated system to bring about true reform. The military's priority has always been to maintain its control, and as long as the military remains in power, the NLD cannot bring about any significant change.
Politics
Engaging in politics means seizing power. The difference lies in whether power is seized through lawful means or through forceful action. Without power, nothing can be done. In countries where democracy is firmly established, politicians strive to gain power through legal and rightful channels. However, in countries like Myanmar, where systems are fragile, power is often seized by both lawful and unlawful means. In Myanmar, the only group that truly controls significant political power is the military. After 2010, civilians were granted some authority, but the real power still resides with the military, which did not entrust any party or faction with authority that would dismantle the military’s grip. If they were given power, they would be forced to follow the path laid out by the 2008 Constitution. Why? Because from the outset, the 2008 framework was flawed—it was a flawed foundation built on a warped principle, and it cannot yield genuine democracy.
In 2015, the NLD was able to win the election by a landslide, followed by a peaceful transfer of power, but that was merely a performance designed to maintain the military’s control while giving the illusion of democracy. The so-called “disciplined democracy” in Myanmar is merely a façade created to preserve the military’s power. No party can ever be fully aligned with democratic values if they are tied to the military. Any attempt to bring together a party that favors democracy will only result in a superficial “marriage” that doesn't lead to real change.
This division means that after five years, the country is still caught in a cycle of division and conflict.
What can be done?
Though the coup is something that cannot be accepted lightly, one must consider the possibility that without seizing power, both the military and the NLD will continue to clash, bringing more problems. As mentioned earlier, a flawed foundation cannot endure, and sooner or later, the flaws will inevitably manifest. In the end, looking at the situation from the best perspective, the collapse of the military’s 2008 framework and the disintegration of its purported “disciplined democracy” is not a loss. It’s an opportunity to truly see the truth.
Some might say that “politics is becoming more masculine now,” but I would rather not put it that way—women wouldn’t like that expression. It’s more accurate to say that politics is now in a state of conflict—no longer the deceptive “honeyed life,” but more like a place where people are caught between the sweet illusions and harsh realities.
Another positive aspect is that the people are waking from their dreams. Over the last five years, many Myanmar citizens were trapped in a misguided belief that democracy was within reach. In 2015, when the NLD won, and when Daw Aung San Suu Kyi became a pivotal figure, the majority of the public thought that democracy was finally within their grasp. Ordinary people, instead of engaging in political discourse, focused on their daily lives, thinking their “mother” (Suu Kyi) would solve all their problems. For them, the idea of democracy was an illusion—a dream they hoped would come true, and they lived in the fantasy of it.
However, people are beginning to wake up. They realize that the true face of politics has not yet arrived. The same citizens who once dreamed of a prosperous, democratic future are now realizing the need for a deeper change. They understand that in order to truly shift the situation, they must shift from passive reliance on the system to active participation. The people have begun to demand change in a way they never did before.
This may seem like a small change, but it’s a good one. It’s better than remaining dormant in the illusion of democracy. Yet, even now, the military continues to hold power, and the people’s newfound resolve is only the beginning. In order to reach the desired goal, a long and determined struggle lies ahead, with much political maneuvering and patience required.
As the Burmese allegory suggests, “A wound with pus under it cannot be healed only by applying ointment and plaster. It can only be treated properly by cutting the upper surface in order to force the pus out, so that the wound will heal with new flesh.” This metaphor emphasizes the need for a deeper, more fundamental shift in Myanmar’s political dynamics, rather than relying on superficial solutions. The failure of the NLD-military union underscores the necessity for a more transformative approach, one that addresses the underlying problems rather than merely masking them.
The period from 2011 to 2020 was like applying ointment and plaster to a wound with pus beneath the surface. From the outside, it might have seemed that the wound was healing, but inside, the infection was festering. Myanmar’s issues are like that pus-filled wound—it can’t be healed by superficial measures. It requires deep intervention, a proper “cutting” to let out the infection, so that the wound can heal with new flesh. Now, the wound has burst open, and the country must continue the painful process of treating it from the core, not just applying superficial fixes.
The key is not to despair over the difficult situation. Instead, we must accept that in order for the country to heal, we must address the underlying issues. The people must recognize that true healing will only come when they confront the real problems and reject the cosmetic solutions that have been offered up until now. To truly heal Myanmar, a much deeper intervention is needed—one that might bring pain but ultimately lead to a healthier and stronger nation.
Related This revolution is about more than who governs Myanmar
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