AFTER a landmark election ended half a century of military rule in her country, university lecturer Zar Chi Nway believed education was the key to its future. She felt proud to help shape the next generation.
But five years ago this month, the generals again usurped power.
Now Myanmar’s university system is in shambles. The lecturer makes her living by crocheting clothes, small figures and bags to sell online.
“This is what post-coup Myanmar has done to us,” says the 37-year-old, who once taught philosophy at the prestigious Mandalay University.
“It not only took our jobs, it took our identities.”
As civil war rages between the military and pro-democracy forces in much of rural Myanmar, residents of the country’s urban core have largely escaped the violence. But they have been plagued by soaring inflation, high unemployment, shortages of goods, daily blackouts and a crippled health care system.
In neighbourhoods where troops crushed protests five years ago by shooting demonstrators in the head, residents now focus on surviving day by day. Drug use, HIV, street muggings and suicide are all on the rise, according to former officials who worked for the ousted government. Among the city’s poorest, old women and young children beg in the streets. Hidden from view, many women resort to prostitution.
Five years of military rule has isolated Myanmar from much of the world. It ranks as one of Asia’s poorest and least-educated nations. Nearly half of Myanmar’s population was living below the national poverty line by the end of 2023, according to a United Nations report, “A Disappearing Middle Class.”
“The future of our country and the future of our young people have been completely crushed under military boots,” says Yar Zar, a former DJ who spent three years in prison for protesting the junta takeover. “Before the coup, Myanmar was a country full of promise and a joyful place to live. Now, it has become the exact opposite.”
Junta’s course correction
A former British colony, Myanmar gained independence in 1948, but the army has run the country for most of its existence.
In 2010, the ruling generals decided to open the country and, in a scenario similar to today, held elections in a bid for legitimacy. Opposition parties boycotted that vote, and a military-backed party won easily.
But in a surprising turn, the new government headed by President Thein Sein, a former general, permitted the proliferation of cellphones, let foreign journalists enter the country and held free elections in 2015. When the opposition National League for Democracy won in a landslide, he handed over power peacefully.
All of this was too much liberalisation for the remaining generals. And after the pro-democracy party won again in 2020, they seized power on Feb 1, 2021, and arrested many of the newly elected leaders, most of whom remain in prison today.
As part of its effort to turn back the clock, the regime now systematically disrupts cellphone communications, including social media and messaging apps, and requires that SIM cards be registered with authorities. Virtual private networks, or VPNs, used to bypass the restrictions are outlawed.
In December and January, the junta staged elections in which opposition parties were banned and only residents in military-controlled areas could vote. As expected, the military-backed party won again.
“The whole reason for the coup and this election is that they see things went wrong under President Thein Sein,” says Richard Horsey, a longtime political analyst who lived for many years in Yangon. “This election is about rerunning the process and fixing Thein Sein’s mistake.”
Myanmar’s people have paid a huge price for the military’s course correction.
Unable to defeat rebel forces made up of ethnic and pro-democracy armies, the junta dispatches fighter jets acquired from Russia and China to bomb civilian targets, including hospitals, schools and temples.
With a boost from China, the military gained ground last year against some rebel forces, including wresting control of the important mining city of Mogok, renowned for its rubies and sapphires.
By conservative estimates, more than 7,700 civilians have been killed since the military takeover. According to the United Nations, more than 3.6 million have been displaced within the country and 1.6 million more have fled the country, including many young men who fear conscription into the army.
Many of the displaced have moved to the safety of the two largest cities, Yangon and Mandalay, increasing problems of overcrowding.
Grim life
Even for those not directly affected by the fighting, life under military rule has been grim.
As a teenager, Yin Min Nwe found work before the coup at one of Yangon’s many garment factories. It gave her hope that she could make a future for herself.
“Myanmar felt full of energy and possibility,” she says.
“Young people were optimistic, businesses were growing, and there was a strong sense that the country was slowly moving forward.”
But soon after, in part because of international sanctions, the garment industry collapsed. She was one of hundreds of thousands of workers – mostly women – who lost their jobs.
“Everything changed overnight,” says Yin Min New, now 22. “Fear replaced optimism. People no longer talk about future plans, only about survival. What remains is a country living under constant fear, where even hope has become a risk.”
Thousands of checkpoints have been set up on the main highways and on city streets, where soldiers stop travelers and demand identification. People trying to leave the country can be blocked from boarding flights even when they have a valid passport.
Overnight curfews imposed for nearly five years on Yangon and Mandalay were lifted only weeks before the election.
Corruption has become widespread as the police and soldiers demand bribes to avoid arrest over minor infractions and serious crimes, many residents say.
The military has targeted doctors and other medical workers, seen as leaders of the opposition movement, arresting more than 900 and killing 168, according to Insecurity Insight, which tracks attacks on health workers.
Prescription drugs have become increasingly difficult to find, which can mean death for patients who are chronically ill, says Dr Kyaw Zin, a medical doctor who owns a drugstore in Mandalay. Running a pharmacy does not mean saving lives, he says. It means constantly telling people why the drugs they need are not on his shelves.
“Five years after the coup, I no longer feel like a doctor who heals,” he says. “I feel like a witness to slow, preventable deaths.”
In Mandalay, military rule has upended the life of Ye Yint Aung, once a popular traditional dancer.
Today, he makes a living cooking spicy noodle dishes at one of several street stalls he operates. He is often recognised at his new job but he misses his days as a local celebrity.
“We who once stood at the very top of Myanmar’s traditional performing arts never dreamed that one day we would be selling food on the street like this,” he says. “Five years after the coup, I no longer count my life in performances, only in days of survival.” — ©The New York Times Company
