In the wake of the devastating 7.7-magnitude earthquake that struck last week, Myanmar faces an unprecedented humanitarian crisis. The disaster has claimed over 2,700 lives and injured thousands more, with the death toll expected to rise as rescue operations continue. The disaster's impact extended even to nearby countries like Thailand.

The earthquake majorly hit the Sagaing Region and nearby areas where people are already tragically struggling with the ongoing conflict. For months, people there have been caught in the crossfire and bombardments. This existing turmoil is now making it incredibly difficult to get help to the people who need it most. Imagine being injured or losing your home, and then facing even more obstacles to getting food, water, or medical attention.

Just when things couldn't seem any worse, there are horrifying situations that the military has continued launching airstrikes in the very areas hit by the earthquake. Imagine the fear and despair of survivors, already repeatedly traumatized and vulnerable, as they hear the sound of more explosions. Human rights groups are rightly condemning these actions, pleading for an immediate stop to the violence so that aid can finally reach those who are suffering. But who can actually hold the junta military accountable?

Under intense pressure from around the world, the military regime has announced a temporary ceasefire, saying it's to allow for recovery efforts. But many are understandably skeptical. How can people trust this promise when there are still reports of military attacks? They are obstructing aid groups. They are even documenting young men who are helping on the ground, so that they can conscript these good people later.

Right now, people are desperate for the most basic things: clean water to drink, food to eat, a safe place to sleep, and urgent medical care. Aid organizations on the ground are painting a grim picture of widespread destruction and a healthcare system on the brink of collapse, with hospitals overwhelmed and supplies running out.

Time is running out. The monsoon season is just around the corner, threatening to bring even more hardship. If we don't act quickly and work together, the combined impact of this terrible earthquake and the ongoing conflict will lead to even more lives lost and unimaginable suffering for the people of Myanmar.

As the world watches, we dare ask this. Who can even take a responsibility to step in and make sure help reaches those in desperate need, without any barriers?

The Myanmar military is cruel, unaccountable and not serving the people at all. They must go anyway.

Humanity's desire to capture the essence of society in a single document manifests in constitutions. These texts are crafted with noble aspirations, genuine hopes, and faith that words can bind the future to our present conception of justice.

A constitution represents humanity's most curious invention—a document designed to outlive its authors, to speak with authority to unborn generations, and to constrain the very power it establishes. Created in moments of crisis or clarity, we hope these words may prove wiser than we ourselves could be.

Consider America's founding experiment beginning with those seductive words: "We the People." Three words performing conceptual alchemy—making the dead speak for the living and conjuring unity from discord. What faith this requires in language itself!

Constitutionalism carries quasi-religious undertones—a belief in principles transcending ordinary politics. Constitutions metaphorically create what the Greeks called a temenos: sacred space demarcated from daily affairs. In our secular age, they become secular scripture. Yet constitutional drafting contains inherent melancholy. The need for such documents acknowledges humanity's darker nature—that power intoxicates, majorities tyrannize, and today's justice may become tomorrow's oppression. Thus constitutions embody profound pessimism about human nature.

Different traditions manifest this tension differently. American constitutionalism embraces the paradox of using state power to limit state power through checks and balances. The British tradition trusts unwritten customs over codified text. Post-colonial constitutions struggle to reconcile Western frameworks with indigenous legal traditions. What unites these approaches is recognizing the need to distinguish ordinary law from fundamental principles. Constitutionalism answers Plato's enduring question: How might we be governed by reason rather than human caprice?

Yet constitutions don't interpret themselves. They require human actors to breathe life into clauses—to define "equal protection" or "due process" in contexts their authors never imagined. Herein lies the irony: documents meant to constrain human judgment ultimately depend entirely upon it.

Debates between "originalism" and "living constitutionalism" mirror theological disputes—arguments about how to read sacred texts, the relationship between dead and living, whether wisdom resides more in past or present. Nonetheless, there are more or less features of adjusting things to our lives. Take a look again to famous US Constitution. "We the People", at that time, was actually for a number of people but it today try to be inclusive.

Constitutionalism fascinates as our boldest attempt to solve time's problem in politics—creating institutions that bend without breaking, principles that endure yet adapt. Constitutions represent messages in bottles to descendants: "Here's what we learned about justice and governance. We hope it helps."

Let me be clear. The effectiveness of a constitution goes beyond its written words, depending heavily on the practical mechanisms established for its enforcement. While judicial review, citizen oversight, and independent commissions are designed to uphold constitutional principles, their success varies significantly across different political landscapes. In established democracies like Germany, judicial review has proven effective, but in less stable nations, it's often undermined by authoritarianism or corruption. Citizen oversight and independent commissions can be ineffective due to apathy or resource scarcity. Legislative manipulation, like in Myanmar, also disgustingly weakens constitutions. Cultural, historical, and political factors hinder constitutional success. Achieving tangible governance from constitutional principles requires constant vigilance, strong institutions, and active citizens, recognizing the inherent difficulty of humans enforcing rules on themselves.

At our most honest, we recognize constitutions as acts of faith—in language, reason, and principles that might transcend history's vicissitudes. They embody our highest aspirations while acknowledging our deepest fears. In a changing world, they offer the comforting illusion of constancy—fixed points from which to build just societies.

The concept of "135 ethnic group" is said to aim to demonstrate multi-ethnic and multi-cultural coexistence and unity, but in reality, it is a political concept intended to deconstruct indigenous nations and assimilate them under a single national identity, that of the Bamar/Myanmar. It is a concept that reduces political heritage to cultural groups.

In his book, "The Conditions of Diversity in Multinational Democracies," political scientist McRoberts states that many countries tend to reduce their internal nations to "ethnic groups" rather than recognizing them as national communities. In Myanmar, successive authoritarian regimes have used similar strategies. For example, in Myanmar, large ethnic groups that were previously ruled by monarchies were given the name "major ethnic groups," but this term was never clearly defined. General Aung San himself attempted to define this term in conjunction with "Nation," but stated that a proper Burmese dictionary was needed for a satisfactory definition.

The list of 135 ethnic groups has many problems. For example:

1. The detailed division of Karens into White Karen, Sgaw, Mon Karen, etc., means that it can no longer be called a list of national communities (Nations).
   
2. The Chin ethnic groups are counted up to 53 types, conflating languages and parental lineages.
   
3. Some ethnic groups have overlapping names with two different designations.
   
4. The forced counting of the Bamar ethnicity as 9 types, is considered a matter of astrology, as 1+3+5=9. (to align Burmese astrology The Holy Number of 9)
   
5. This list is neither a list of national communities, nor a list of ethnic groups, nor a list of languages, and cannot be clearly defined.
   

The political existence of this concept has led to several consequences:

1. To fragment indigenous groups formations/to aid in "divide and rule."
   
2. To make national communities with their own political formations loyal only to the Union of Myanmar.
3. To create narrative stories for central government legitimacy.
4. To reduce the self-determination and historical rights of indigenous peoples under the name of "Bamar also being an indigenous ethnicity."
5. To assimilate the distinct characteristics and cultures of indigenous peoples.

Professor James C. Scott states that indigenous peoples, not only in Myanmar but elsewhere, have devised various methods to resist the dominance of mainstream culture and central governments since ancient times. They have developed their own writing systems. This action enables:

1. The preservation of their culture and language.
2. Freedom from state control.
3. Strengthening of distinct characteristics.
4. Becoming a symbol of resistance against the state's standardized writing system.
5. The ability to resist state centralization and information gathering.
   

Indigenous peoples' writing systems play a more important role than just a simple communication tool. It becomes a unique form of political resistance. Literature serves social purposes:

1. Cultural purposes:
   • Recording and preserving the history and traditions of the ethnicity.
   • Passing on traditional culture and arts to future generations.
   • Enabling systematic teaching and learning of the mother tongue.
   • Preserving unique identities and symbols.
2. Political purposes:
   • Resisting the cultural assimilation of the central government.
   • Symbolizing self-determination and freedom.
   • Promoting unity within the ethnicity.
   • Freeing from state information control.
3. Social purposes:
   • Building a communication network within the ethnicity.
   • Exchanging knowledge and ideas.
   • Educating future generations.
     
   • Strengthening the unity of the social community.

The concept of "135 ethnic groups" is a political weapon intended to weaken indigenous peoples by fragmenting them and reducing their political rights. This is not a personal problem but an institutional problem.

The main points here are:

1. Attempts to assimilate the unique identities and political heritage of ethnic groups often encounter resistance.
2. This resistance is not only the right thing to do but also a moral choice.
   
3. Indigenous peoples tend to find innovative ways to protect their rights.
   
4. Literary culture can be an important weapon for political liberation.
5. Mechanisms that strengthen ethnic unity and national identity play an important role in the political struggle and are unavoidable moral resistances.

Therefore, in the future of indigenous peoples, they will continue to strive to build a modern and developed federal democratic system while preserving their unique identities. Their culture and literature will continue to play an important role in this journey.
Infographic courtesy from "The Art of Not Being Legible" by Piers Kelly.

Recently, it has become common to declare democracy in retreat, citing the rise of populist leaders and democratic authoritarians. However, a deeper examination reveals a more complex picture. Democracies—including the United States—continue to function within their constitutional frameworks. The election of figures like Donald Trump and other populists worldwide does not necessarily signal the decline of democracy itself but rather exposes a widening disconnect between political institutions and public needs.

One key driver of this disconnect is the growing chasm between governing elites and the everyday experiences of citizens. Political institutions—parties, bureaucracies, and traditional norms—often appear distant and unresponsive. Economic inequality, fueled by globalization and technological change, has deepened public alienation. This detachment extends beyond material concerns: many feel like mere cogs in an impersonal system, stripped of purpose in their work and communities. This isolation epidemic manifests in addiction crises, declining civic engagement, and growing cynicism about governance. When wealth and power concentrate in the hands of a few, people naturally question whether their leaders truly act in the public interest.

Another critical factor is the nature of political representation. Elected officials, caught in a cycle of campaigning, fundraising, and party maneuvering, often appear more accountable to their own agendas or special interests than to their constituents. This perception erodes trust in democratic processes and creates fertile ground for populists who promise to "return power to the people."
The rapid pace of information dissemination further complicates the landscape. Traditional institutions struggle to keep up with the volatility of public discourse. Social media amplifies outrage over reasoned debate, accelerating polarization. Meanwhile, repeated failures to address socioeconomic problems deepen disillusionment. When standard democratic mechanisms appear ineffective, people seek alternatives. This shift is evident in the increased reliance on judicial intervention on administration, declining trust in legislatures, and the appeal of "effective" democratic authoritarians who claim to bypass bureaucracy in pursuit of decisive action.

Crucially, even when electorates choose authoritarian-leaning leaders, these decisions often occur within democratic frameworks. Those who romanticize democracy as inherently self-correcting should take note: democracy is not a panacea. It has never been flawless, and to recognize its limitations only now is shortsighted. Democracy must be constantly recalibrated, guided by a shared vision of the common good, liberty, security, and rights. It is childish to think that democracy is always good and it is not democracy if it is not delivering. At the same time, the Iron Law of Oligarchy reminds us that even well-intended institutions, when left unchecked, can be captured and exploited. Continuous scrutiny and the development of public reason are essential.

Rather than framing the current moment as a straightforward democratic decline, we should recognize it as a fundamental institutional disconnect. Misdiagnosing the problem invites misguided solutions. Democracy is not merely about adhering to elite-defined norms; it must reflect the genuine aspirations of the majority while safeguarding the rights of the people and the minority. Democratic voting alone does not ensure good governance. To sustain democracy, we must systematically refine institutions to serve the public, reconnect with communities, and integrate both the rule of victors and the consent of the defeated. Romanticizing the word "democracy" is not helping but seeing the flaws and working on it can help. These principles, more than nostalgic defenses of democracy’s past, should guide its future.

During the colonial era, the term "Burmanization" was initially used by the British as a simple process. It aimed to make the administrative machinery more practical for locals by utilizing the Burmese people and customs. However, over time, this process evolved into a more complex and deliberate strategy. Today, Burmanization refers to a pressured process of imposing Burmese identity across the entire country, forcing indigenous nations to prioritize Burmese history, identity, and way of life. It has become a state-sponsored process of pressuring non-Burmese cultures, languages, political heritage, and symbols to exist under the dominance of Burmese heritage and culture.
The core of Burmanization cannot be separated from centralization. Centralization refers not only to political power but also to monopolizing the authority to use violence, monopoly of economic power, and monopoly of control over historical narratives. Through these methods, power becomes concentrated in the hands of the military and a few elites. The state that promotes Burmanization policies uses culture as a tool to strengthen their authority.
When Burmanized, non-Burmese indigenous peoples become Burmese, but may not be fully so. This increases social capital for the Burmese population. Speaking Burmese and having Burmese identity becomes economic capital and value. Burmese people understand the language of the law better and have more advantages. They dominate in culture and history. A Burmese person doesn't need to validate their existence. The history taught in school doesn't differ much from what they learn at home. Social networks, friends, understanding, and processes like taking matriculation exams in Burmese language or obtaining ID cards are accessible without much effort. These benefits exist to varying degrees.
The methods of Burmanization range from literature, video, music, art, and educational materials to establishing social "standards" and "routines." Additionally, migrant workers and economic influences support this process. In this way, the state suppresses indigenous ethnic identities and appropriates their traditional cultures. As a result, indigenous nations become disconnected from their history, economically disadvantaged, faced with land seizures and human trafficking, and socially fragmented.
Burmanization not only changes cultural expressions but also transforms the basic infrastructure of society. It weakens traditional governance systems and removes challenges to state sovereignty, making it easier to resolve legal issues related to land and resources. When the state seizes land, people are trafficked while seeking work in other countries. When working in other regions, the weak are trampled like in the law of the jungle. As indigenous peoples' rights weaken, the state gains easier access to natural resources like minerals, timber, and water. This leads to economic exploitation and resource extraction.
Let's list some points:

• Land seizure and territorial control - Abolishing indigenous peoples' land rights makes it easier for the state to seize land.
• Resource extraction rights - Unclear land regulations allow the state and companies to easily extract natural resources.
  
• Removing power challenges - Replacing traditional governance systems reduces forces resisting state control.
  
• Political centralization - The state can consolidate power without negotiating with autonomous groups.
• Simplified legal system - Using a single official system eliminates the need for contracts with multiple ethnic groups.
• Cultural and language abolition - The country's costs for maintaining diverse languages and cultures decrease.
• Social identity control - The state's categorization of ethnic groups reduces their collective resistance.
• Labor force - Indigenous peoples enter low-wage jobs and support the basic economic foundation, yet their labor isn't adequately recognized.
  
• Reduced ethnic land rights - Weakened cultural memories make it harder to reclaim lost lands.
• Normalizing Burmese influence - The state's singular identity becomes normal, and ethnic diversity is left behind.
  
• Weakening resistance movements - Cultural discontinuity breaks resistance based on historical foundations.
• Propaganda in education - The state's education system replaces indigenous knowledge with state values.
• Buddhist Nationalists - Dominant Buddhism is used to reinforce state and Burmese dominance.
  
• Reducing social welfare costs - Integration reduces social welfare costs that would be needed for separate responsibilities.
• Cultural appropriation and exploitation - As ethnic cultures weaken, their cultures can be reproduced and marketed for tourism.
• Military reinforcement - People integrated into mainstream Burmese politics can provide manpower for the military, either as individual soldiers or as Border Guard Forces (BGF).
• Narrative control - The state rewrites history and portrays an inward-looking colonial-like system of domination as historical progress.
• Reducing international criticism - A formally unified society can reduce international criticism regarding minority rights violations.
• Legal absorption under private ownership - Collective ownership moves toward private ownership for cronies and large businesses, supporting economic development.
• Tax options expansion - The integrated population increases tax revenue.
  
• Reducing social cohesion - The collapse of traditional support systems increases dependence on the state.
• Cultural homogenization - A single culture is easier for bureaucrats to manage.
• Reducing language revival costs - The state no longer spends on supporting multiple languages.
• Developing state branding - A unified narrative allows simpler representation of the state globally.
• Weakening indigenous systems - Traditional legal systems are replaced by the state's legal system.
• Aggressive urban expansion - Cities become centers of economic dependence and control.
• Shifting resistance to private life - Ethnic political identity changes into a traditional custom.
• Paternalistic legitimacy - The state portrays its legitimacy and exploitative actions as a "legitimate" mission.
  
• Fragmenting indigenous unity - Creating divisions among indigenous peoples into smaller ethnic groups weakens their collective action.
• Role of international organizations - A uniform society projects an image of stability and progress internationally.
• Some indigenous people accept Burmese identity for survival, but most engage in armed resistance to protect their culture and political heritage. These internal conflicts create misunderstandings and tensions between the Burmese majority and ethnic minorities. Additionally, the separation of seven divisions creates Burmese leadership and Burmese accountability fragmented, with the military becoming the only unified political power holder. Everything else becomes power competition with the military, with no accountability to the Burmese public.
  

In reality, the main beneficiaries of Burmanization are not ordinary citizens but the economic elites and state elites. The military expands its power and profits, using this process to gain economic benefits. Those connected to the group receive uncompetitive economic opportunities, and Burmese politicians use paternalistic legitimacy to build power. International organizations also find it easier to work with a centralized state rather than multiple ethnic groups. It benefits the elites the most.
Burmanization is a strategy that uses cultural diversity as a weapon for political and economic control. It is a tool of centralization used by authoritarians to simplify administration, control resources, and rewrite narratives, while eliminating the identities of ethnic groups. While this system appears to benefit the Burmese public to some extent, elites gain benefits, the military creates its legitimacy by showcasing civil war, recruits soldiers, and seeks economic profits. These eventually harm the Burmese public as well. In Myanmar, this problem is an open wound that needs to be addressed.

By now, I am sure that you have been familiar about LGBT Pride—and many of you may have even celebrated it. Just as we take pride in our existence, today I wish to speak about Indigenous Pride.

To stand as an indigenous person and to embody resilient indigenous identity goes far beyond clinging to ancient views or merely belonging to an ethnic group. It is about carrying a deep history, robust traditions, and the generational heritage of a land that has, for countless generations, nourished its people. It encompasses not only the physical sustenance of working the land and the spirituality attached to it but also the political heritage of deep-rooted connections. In essence, the indigenous mark is like a precious gem that has survived countless challenges and relentless attempts by the powerful to erase it. It is a carefully developed strategy of resistance.

For indigenous peoples, the land is more than just a place to live. Every individual must construct narratives to explain who they are, and the land is the very life force of the indigenous story. Unlike how nation-states view land merely as a project, a site for tourism, or a space for economic development, the mountains, rivers, and forests are imbued with the memories of ancestors, echoes of past battles, and traces of victory. They are invested with the beliefs and traditions passed down through generations. The land teaches us about nature, balance, and respect. When outsiders try to seize or alter the land, indigenous peoples have stood firm to protect it—protecting the very rivers of life that flow from it.

Whenever authoritarian power rises, the first line of meaningful resistance is in one’s “habitat.” The indigenous habitat embodies this very idea. Within it, the ways of living, music, arts, and storytelling are essential elements of indigenous identity. Even when the state sponsors collective visions and attempts to appropriate indigenous lifestyles or impose other ways of life, these traditions are far more than mere cultural practices. They are, first, methods of transmitting wisdom and history from one generation to the next, and second, strategies of resistance. Every song, every legend, every tale carries the spirit of defiance against the erasure of the past and a hope for the future.

Some prominent indigenous leaders have, when confronted by the encroachment of hegemonic powers or the appropriation by other cultures, chosen not to confront with weapons but to craft new writings and discourses—a point some historians note. For ages, authoritarian governments and groups around the world have sought to silence indigenous voices and erase cultural markers. In America and Canada, in earlier times, children were forcefully taken to boarding schools in an attempt to strip them of their identity—sometimes to the point of near genocide. They believed that by controlling indigenous lands and traditions, they could secure dominance over nature and people. Yet indigenous peoples have stood resilient and proud. Among all forms of resistance, the most decisive is the proud assertion of one’s indigenous identity—declaring, “You cannot control us with the tyranny.” This, in its own subtle way, is a powerful challenge to the arrogance of those in power.

What we often hear are old, outdated ideas clinging to obsolete beliefs. Some ask whether certain cultures have lost touch with these old ways—and indeed, they are aware of them. Nowadays, some indigenous leaders are even welcoming LGBT identities within their homes, and we see signs proclaiming “a safe space free from domestic violence.” The question then is: who gets to revise what is old? From an indigenous perspective, isn’t it a matter of self-determination? When external forces, like domineering patriarchal figures, claim “we will fix you,” the indigenous response is to reject such interference. When the power of self-determination lies with the people, then if they choose to change, that is natural; if not, they will stand up and protest, entering the struggle for human rights—just as in other nations.

Today, indigenous peoples include those who are educated and have studied abroad. They integrate traditional practices with modern ideas. In facing modernity, many continue to hold fast to their roots and political heritage rather than compromising for superficial gains. Indigenous networks in America, for instance, are striving to teach others the importance of living in harmony with nature, rooted in their cultural heritage. Although in earlier times people saw themselves as the lifeblood of nature, with the shift from agrarian to industrial modes of production, attitudes changed—people began to dominate and exploit nature, seeking fleeting pleasure. Yet even amid a rapidly changing world, global indigenous networks continue to emphasize respect for both the land and humanity.

Every indigenous artwork, every tale, every festival speaks to something deeper. They remind us that power is not solely the domain of money or those who hold conventional authority. Their legitimacy is intricately tied to history, to the strength of communities, and to the will to protect what is sacred. To stand as an indigenous person—even if others label you as “the other,” exclude you, or reduce you to a decorative symbol during national celebrations—is to hold a pride that endures the oppressive weight of authoritarian domination. It is a call for even more visible networks among those who have suffered, a call for political solidarity. Under the banner of “indigenous,” it is not about everyone being the same, but about celebrating the diverse streams that flow together. Simply put, both “Unity in Diversity” and “Diversity in Unity” are vital for embracing our multifaceted nature.

When one declares, “I am indigenous, a member of the Indigenous/First Nations,” it is a proud defiance against those who try to coercively reshape cultures or appropriate political legacies. It is a testament to a history, a land, and a habitat that remain unbowed amid oppression. This pride is not a boastful display; rather, it is a beacon of hope for all those who resist authoritarianism—a reminder that “we can endure.”

Myanmar’s conflict is deeply intertwined with the absence of an overarching power structure capable of serving as a responsible coordinator in state-building, the lack of an accountable state, and the inherent discord in national reconciliation. The country’s long history of conflict and political instability is rooted in a perpetually fragmented governance structure. The so-called “governments” that have wielded state authority have often been nothing more than factions engaged in power struggles rather than fostering true unity.

Throughout successive eras, the political arena has been dominated by two major factions locked in constant power struggles—for instance, between AFPL (Socialists) and the Communists, between military and the Communists, between the military government and the NCGUB, between the military government and the NLD, between the USDP and the NLD, and between the military council and the NUG. This persistent discord at the intersection of political and military power has entirely prevented the emergence of a trusted central authority that could govern responsibly. In fact, the initial foundation of the country was negotiated by the Burmese based on the guarantee of "sense of honor, sense of respect" as described by General Aung San and later the contracts and constitutions which all failed ultimately. Consequently, long indigenous liberation struggles have been impacted by these conflicts and left without a reliable collective body to coordinate discussions and advance shared political objectives. The State of Myanmar has thus evolved into not a normative state, but a prerogative and a mafia state.

Today, Myanmar remains historically split between three major parts - military elites which has been entrenched, statist civilian political groups who wants to assimilate the whole countries and the indigenous liberation fronts who have been struggling to defend their political heritages. The military and the statists are vying for control of so-perceived of "nation-state". Meanwhile, the Indigenous struggle is not a monolithic group but these groups all take their pride in resistance against the forced assimilation. One group has maintained a reciprocal dynamic that undermines the legitimacy and administrative capacity of the other. Traditionally, the military has seen itself as the sole guardian of unity, favoring a centralized, nationalist model of the state dominated by Burmese cultural characteristics. On the other hand, although civilian politicians support democratic transformation, they have failed to comprehensively address the deep-rooted grievances of internal nations necessary to forge a more robust political unity. In this environment—where ethnic  armed groups are divided by myriad differences and competing power centers—it becomes nearly impossible to chart a strong political roadmap.

Because the indigenous nations do not accept the coerced nation-state formation, they also reject the constitutional framework, thereby remaining insurgent forces. Lacking a central authority capable of responsibly mediating these insurgencies, it has become entirely unfeasible to engage in meaningful coordination and dialogue with the liberation fronts. For example, the Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement (NCA) and its related accords, along with subsequent political dialogues, have collapsed again. Armed insurgent groups find themselves not only facing a state that consistently lacks an accountable negotiator authority, but also confronting divergent priorities between military and civilian leaders that prevent effective consolidation of power. As a result, they must contend with governments and military regimes that have no genuine interest in ending the internal conflict. In particular, the military is not inclined to sincerely put an end to the civil war.

Radical Security Sector Reform is a must and military that operates like a state withing state and only knows how to bomb has to end. In the meantime, we all must answer one crucial question - How do we set up an accountable state from this prerogative criminal mafia state?

Myanmar’s revolution is marked by visible struggles, but beneath the chaos lies a quieter, more personal battle: the search for self-change. For generations, a military-dominated, patriarchal system has shaped everyday life, making transformation a challenging task. This uprising is not only political—it also calls on individuals to rethink their lives, beliefs, and actions.

Rapid shifts in ideas and social norms force many to wear masks in public, creating a gap between their true selves and the personas they present. This tension causes discomfort and even psychological distress. While many speak of starting fresh, old habits and deep-rooted beliefs die hard. It’s easier to let go of material possessions than to abandon a lifetime of conditioning. People rebel to build a better future, not to erase their past. Fear of rejection often forces individuals to hide their true thoughts, leading to a performance that strays from genuine conviction.

This pretense undermines trust and unity. When everyone seems to be acting, real connections fade and communication becomes just another performance. Even leaders risk becoming mere figureheads, struggling to guide a population that is not fully authentic. In this way, the nation itself risks turning into a stage for these constructed personas.

The future now feels uncertain and confusing. Information becomes unreliable, disconnected from genuine beliefs and facts, which only deepens moral fatigue and psychological distress. When people cannot accept change as a natural part of life, it triggers identity crises and further suffering.

It is essential for each person to pause and reflect—to realign their personal lives, beliefs, and actions. If you stand for justice and change, ask yourself: do your everyday choices and habits truly reflect those values?

Revolution demands participation, but it also calls for cultivating an authentic self, free from pretense. True change happens not only in the world around us, but also within ourselves.

Democracy, often hailed as the pinnacle of political systems, has long been celebrated and romanticized for its ability to give voice to the people and protect individual rights. However, the notion of a "perfect democracy" is a dangerous illusion that can hinder genuine progress and reform. To truly improve democratic systems, we must first acknowledge that democracy, like any human-designed institution, is inherently flawed and requires constant scrutiny and refinement.

The idea of democracy as a flawless system can lead to complacency and a reluctance to address its shortcomings. This idealization can blind us to the very real issues that plague democratic societies, such as voter suppression, the influence of money in politics, and the marginalization of minority voices. By recognizing that there is no perfect democracy beyond human design, we open ourselves to the possibility of continuous improvement and adaptation.

One of the most significant shortcomings of modern democracies is the growing inequality that often persists despite democratic processes. Economic disparities can lead to political imbalances, where wealthy individuals and corporations wield disproportionate influence over policy-making. This undermines the fundamental principle of "one person, one vote" and can result in policies that favor the elite at the expense of the broader population.

Another critical issue is the vulnerability of democratic systems to manipulation through misinformation and propaganda. The rise of social media and the rapid spread of information have made it easier than ever to sway public opinion through false or misleading narratives. This challenge to the informed citizenry that democracy relies upon highlights the need for robust education systems and media literacy programs.
The tyranny of the majority is another inherent flaw in democratic systems that must be acknowledged and addressed. Democracy has two parts: "Rule of the Majority" and "Consent of the Lost". Especially in Myanmar, "Consent of the Lost" is neglected. Without proper safeguards, pure majority rule can lead to the oppression of minority groups and the erosion of individual rights. Recognizing this shortcoming allows us to implement checks and balances, constitutional protections, and other mechanisms to ensure that democracy serves all members of society, not just the majority.

Furthermore, the short-term focus often encouraged by polarized electoral cycles can hinder a democracy's ability to address long-term challenges such as climate change or demographic shifts. Politicians may prioritize immediate gains over sustainable, long-term solutions to curry favor with voters. Acknowledging this limitation can lead to discussions about how to incorporate long-term planning into democratic governance. The complexity of modern governance also poses a significant challenge to the ideal of direct democracy. As societies become more intricate and interconnected, the issues facing governments become increasingly complex. This can lead to a disconnect between the electorate and the decision-making process, potentially undermining the very principle of popular sovereignty that democracy is built upon.
Let me also list some of the "assumptions" among the people, especially in Myanmar.

• The assumption that the people will be able to elect and appoint those who can best work for them.
• The assumption that those appointed by the people will work best for the people.
• The assumption that those appointed to the three branches of government will control the other branches, even from their own positions.
• The assumption that the majority of the public will make the best decisions for the country's interests, based on rational thought.
• The assumption that the minority will accept the decisions of the majority, even if they disagree.
• The assumption that giving victory to the majority will lead to a stable political system.
• The assumption that the government will be able to meet the needs of the people.
• The assumption that one-person-one-vote is the best way to represent the various peoples and proportions of a nation.

To address these and other shortcomings, we must foster a culture of continuous improvement in our democratic systems. This involves encouraging critical thinking and open debate about the strengths and weaknesses of our institutions. It requires a willingness to experiment with new forms of civic engagement, such as citizens' assemblies, to complement traditional representative democracy.

Education plays a crucial role in this process. By promoting education for human agency and social unity as well as critical thinking skills, we can create a more informed and engaged citizenry capable of recognizing and addressing the flaws in their democratic systems. This educated populace is essential for holding leaders accountable and pushing for necessary reforms.

The "iron law of oligarchy" states that all forms of organization, regardless of how democratic they may be at the start, will eventually and inevitably develop oligarchic tendencies, thus making true democracy practically and theoretically impossible, especially in large groups and complex organizations. We have no choice but to strengthen transparency and accountability mechanisms to combat corruption and ensure that democratic institutions serve the public interest. This includes robust freedom of information laws, protection of human rights defenders, independent oversight bodies, grievance and accountability mechanisms and protections for whistleblowers.

​In conclusion, the path to improving democracy lies not in pursuing an unattainable ideal of perfection, but in the ongoing process of recognizing and addressing its shortcomings. By acknowledging the limitations of human-designed systems, we can approach democratic reform with humility, creativity, and a commitment to continuous improvement. Only through this honest and critical approach can we hope to create more just, equitable, and effective democratic societies that truly serve the needs of all citizens.

Myanmar has been embroiled in one of the world's longest-running civil conflicts since its independence in 1948. At the heart of this conflict lies the struggle for self-determination and recognition of diverse national identities within the country. 

It is crucial to understand that the term "ethnic groups" in Myanmar fails to capture the depth and complexity of the identities involved in Myanmar's conflict. Instead, we must recognize these entities as distinct nations, each with its own history, culture, language, political heritage and worldview. This perspective aligns with the idea that Myanmar is not merely a country of diverse ethnicities but a land of multiple nations coexisting within internationally recognized borders. Each of these nations has its own aspirations for self-governance and recognition of their unique identity within the broader Myanmar state. Myanmar's Civil War is essentially internal "nations" resisting forced assimilation of "state" for the sake of their agency.

The fight for ethnonational liberation in Myanmar has its roots in the country's colonial history and the subsequent centralized rule imposed by the Bamar-dominated government after independence. Myanmar is a failed nation state project left by the British. The various nations within Myanmar have long sought greater autonomy, political representation, defending political heritage and protection of their cultural and linguistic rights.
​
Key aspects of the ethnonational liberation struggle include:

1. Armed resistance: Many nations formed their own armed groups, such as the Karen National Union (KNU) and the Kachin Independence Army (KIA), to fight for their rights and protect their territories.
2. Political movements: Alongside armed struggle, political organizations have emerged to advocate for the rights of their respective nations through non-violent means.
3. Cultural preservation: Efforts to maintain and promote unique languages, traditions, and cultural practices in the face of perceived "Burmanization" policies.
4. Economic control: Demands for greater control over natural resources and economic development within their traditional territories.

Multinational federalism offers a promising framework for addressing the root causes of Myanmar's civil war while respecting the aspirations of its diverse nations. This approach disables the tyranny of majority, equalizes political bargaining power and then recognizes the multinational character of the state and seeks to accommodate various national identities within a unified political structure.

Key features of multinational federalism that could benefit Myanmar include:

1. De-centering power: Granting significant autonomy to subnational units based on national identities, allowing for self-governance in areas such as education, culture, and local administration.
2. Power-sharing: Ensuring representation of all nations in central government institutions, including the legislature, executive, and judiciary.
3. Protection of minority rights: Constitutional guarantees for the rights of internal nations and ethnic groups and provisions for their participation in decision-making processes.
4. Resource sharing: Equitable distribution of natural resources and revenue between the central government and subnational units.
5. Cultural and linguistic rights: Official recognition and promotion of diverse languages and cultural heritages throughout the country.

Implementing multinational federalism in Myanmar will face several challenges:

1. Resistance from centralized power structures: The military and some Bamar political elites may resist decentralization of power.
2. Defining boundaries: Demarcating territories for each nation could be contentious, especially in areas with mixed populations.
3. Balancing unity and diversity: Striking the right balance between national autonomy and maintaining a cohesive state.
4. Trust-building: Overcoming decades of conflict and mistrust between various nations and the unaccountable state.
   

Despite these challenges, multinational federalism offers significant opportunities:

1. Sustainable peace: Addressing the root causes of conflict by recognizing and accommodating diverse national identities.
2. Inclusive development: Empowering local communities to drive their own development agendas.
3. Cultural preservation: Safeguarding the rich tapestry of languages, traditions, and worldviews that make up Myanmar's diverse society.
4. Democratic consolidation: Fostering a more inclusive and representative political system that reflects the country's multinational character.

The recognition of Myanmar as a multinational state, rather than merely a multi-ethnic one, is crucial for understanding and addressing the underlying causes of its protracted civil conflict. Multinational federalism offers a promising framework for accommodating the aspirations of diverse nations while maintaining the territorial integrity of the state.

By embracing this approach, Myanmar has the potential to transform from a battleground of competing different nationalism into a harmonious union of nations, each contributing its unique strengths to the country's development and prosperity. While the path to implementing such a system will undoubtedly be challenging, it represents a viable and potentially transformative solution to ending Myanmar's long-standing civil war and building a more inclusive, peaceful future for all its nations.