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.