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On Saturday, thousands took to the streets of Yangon, calling for a return to democracy and the release of those arrested.
Early last Monday, Myanmar’s nascent democracy came to a shuddering halt. After two relatively free and fair elections, and a decade of reforms, the military abruptly turned back the clock—arresting dozens of senior leaders, activists, and others, including state counsellor and de facto leader Aung San Suu Kyi. At 8 a.m., military-owned TV stations announced that a state of emergency had been declared, with the Tatmadaw, Myanmar’s armed forces, taking power for one year.
If the coup was shocking, it was not altogether surprising. In 2008, when the military drew up a new constitution as part of a “road map to democracy,” it baked in both its partial power within a civilian government and the terms by which it might wrest it back fully. Over the intervening years, the international community, particularly the Obama administration, was willing to accept this and countless other Faustian pacts as it sought to counter China in Southeast Asia. Long engaged with the intricacies of Myanmar, President Biden—in office for all of two weeks—now faces a daunting foreign-policy test.
In and around Myanmar, rumors of an impending coup had been building for weeks. The November 8, 2020, election had seen Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy (NLD) party win, again, by a landslide, faring far better than many expected and offering a strengthened mandate to the young civilian government. Before the final results were even fully tallied, the military-backed Union Solidarity and Development Party began crying fraud and called for new elections.
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The Tatmadaw initially distanced itself from such efforts, but quickly changed course. By late January, the military insisted it had found 8.6 million instances of voting irregularities—claims disputed by the country’s electoral commission. Speaking at a press conference just days before the newly elected lawmakers were to form the new government, a military spokesman declined to rule out the possibility of a coup.
What happens when a managed democracy becomes unmanageable? This was not a question Myanmar’s generals were prepared to explore.
The way the bloodless coup unfolded suggested a well-planned takeover. Two days before the arrests, the Tatmadaw released a statement stressing its intention to uphold the constitution and its respect for a multiparty democracy. Though many outside Myanmar interpreted that as a signal a coup was off the table, in hindsight it appears to have been more an easing off the pedal—an effort to calm popular fears that could turn unsettling. Disruptions to the internet began at 3 a.m., an hour before the coordinated arrests took place. But even those remained sporadic and intermittent—enough to send an alarming signal of power, but not enough to cause chaos. By midweek, the generals had announced their first batch of new ministers and appointments, a comprehensive list that included a formerly outspoken critic of the military.
Then, too, the foundations undergirding a return to military rule were already positioned throughout the constitution, which reserves a quarter of parliamentary seats for the military, along with several key ministries. In this way, since the 2015 election, Myanmar has managed to operate as an ideal managed democracy: one in which elections do take place but the military remains quietly in control.
What happens when a managed democracy becomes unmanageable? This was not a question Myanmar’s generals were prepared to explore. The NLD in its first term had avoided passing legislation that could contain the military, but its gains at the polls could well have emboldened lawmakers to press for more control. There may have been concerns that a public too accustomed to democracy, even an imperfect one, might grow bolder in its calls for a check on the enormous power of the Tatmadaw—which earns billions through its business holdings, and continues to carry out brutal campaigns across resource-rich ethnic-minority areas. Some have suggested it was a matter of wounded pride, or even simply a result of the personal ambitions of Senior Gen. Min Aung Hlaing, who heads the military and would have reached mandatory retirement age this year.
Still, despite the NLD’s excellent showing, the military was poised to maintain significant power, leaving many to wonder why it would bother with the Sturm und Drang of a coup. A more pertinent question might be: Why not?
Myanmar could look to neighboring Thailand, where five years of a military junta and a subsequent rigged election failed to sully its international relationships; or to Cambodia, where arrests and the dissolution of the opposition in the lead-up to the July 2018 election resulted in little more than strongly worded statements of concern. (While Cambodia did lose some of its EU tariff preferences, the process took more than two years, a timeline the generals might be considering as they insist new elections will be held within the year.) Jammu and Kashmir remains under lockdown with communications limited, 18 months after Delhi unilaterally stripped the autonomy of its only Muslim-majority state. Vietnam recently handed down its longest sentences yet to a trio of independent journalists. China has successfully forged ahead with its brutally repressive controls of Hong Kong. And of course, in the U.S., Trump may be out of office, but the specter unleashed by his enablers is only growing in power.
Within its own borders, the military’s genocide against the Rohingya barely prompted an international response, pointed out Wai Hnin Pwint Thon, a human rights activist with Burma Campaign UK, whose father was among those arrested last week. Min Aung Hlaing, she said, would likely be making similar calculations and finding them in his favor.
Thus far, she said, “we’ve seen a lot of statements but really very little action from the international community. That’s why we’re asking the EU to sanction military companies. They will change only if their pocket is targeted.”
Coups Past and Coups Present
The military is no stranger to taking and holding power. In 1958, after just a decade of postcolonial democratic rule, power was transferred to a caretaker government under Gen. Ne Win. Though elections were successfully held two years later, the military seized power in 1962, the start of a repressive junta that would maintain control for decades. As COVID-19 continues to decimate economies and turn nations ever more inward, Myanmar’s generals couldn’t have picked a better moment.
But 2021 is not 1962. Myanmar’s economy today relies on significant foreign direct investment, global trade, and billions from international development banks. For better or for worse, the internet has become a critical tool for mass mobilization. Meanwhile, five million among the 37 million qualified to vote in 2020 were first-time voters. Though they have grown up hearing the stories of the brutality under which their parents and grandparents lived, they have experienced a vaguely democratic country for most of their young lives and are unlikely to relinquish it quietly. The older generation, in turn, are hardened fighters—long accustomed to placing their lives on the line for the sake of democratic freedoms.
Already civil disobedience campaigns are spreading widely and rapidly, encouraged by the NLD. (It should be noted that there is some painful irony in that effort, given how the party spent its time in power arresting peaceful critics of the government and criminalizing free expression.) Teachers, health care workers, airline staff, and countless other civil servants have held walkouts. Youth activists have launched online campaigns. Civilians have begun coordinated nightly demonstrations, banging pots and pans from balconies, while activists have begun sporadic protests. Scores have already been arrested, and the military has blocked Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram—moves likely to push even more people out into the streets, said Wai Hnin Pwint Thon. “The more they increase restrictions, the more frustrated the population will be.”
While calls are mounting for an international response, it is unclear what that might look like. The Biden administration has termed it a coup, which triggers restrictions on aid funding—though scant money goes directly to the government anyway. Four senior generals, including Min Aung Hlaing, have faced targeted U.S. sanctions since 2019 in response to the Rohingya massacre; the list could well be expanded, but the impact is likely to be minimal. The other sorts of sanctions foreign nations might consider, like throttling trade preferences, would be difficult to enact without hitting the country’s most vulnerable—already among the poorest in the region and struggling doubly under the economic blow of COVID-19. Campaigners have urged targeted sanctions against military-owned businesses, many of which are now being boycotted within Myanmar, and some of which have now seen their international partners cut ties.
“The emphasis is on targeted sanctions such as on the leadership of the Myanmar military, and now we would also ask on the cabinet members and SAC who are current of former officers of the military,” said Manny Maung, Myanmar researcher for Human Rights Watch. “This is essentially to cut off any income to military-owned businesses in the immediate prospect. I’m keenly aware of unintended consequences on Myanmar people but a coup situation does not help Myanmar people at all—the military’s actions are at the core of denying them their rights and liberties including economic prospects.”
The U.N. Security Council called for the release of Suu Kyi and senior leaders, though China and Russia blocked language condemning the coup and many are eying what financial or supporting role Beijing might play (though the relationship is far from simple). A U.N. arms embargo, meanwhile, is unlikely to garner support from either country.
As the so-called international community mulls its response, time may be running out. On Saturday, thousands took to the streets of Yangon, calling for a return to democracy and the release of those arrested. The military responded with a nationwide internet shutdown. On Sunday, those protests swelled to tens of thousands. Thus far, the demonstrations have been relatively small and the reaction nonviolent. But if history is to be a guide, that state of affairs may not last long.
“The risk in the coming days to journalists and activists is that they will be targeted, and rounded up,” said Maung. “Dawn raids on civilians were a common occurrence in previous junta years, and we’ve seen them practicing this now on higher profile civilians. It’s a chilling thought that they can come for you at any time, not just if you’re out protesting.”
