Toward a New Society and a New Country

On Democracy

Published on February 7, 2025
by  Saw Lahkbaw

If the virtue of democracy lies in the power of the numerical majority, it becomes ill-suited for Burma, where noisy, aggressive factions dominate the discourse, drowning out more quiet voices. The tantalizing promise of democracy flickered briefly during the short-lived period of semi-democracy under the 2008 Constitution in the second decade of the 21st century. In this brief window, the country experienced the good, the bad, and the ugly of democratic governance. Unprecedented economic development unfolded within a decade, fueled by international aid and diplomatic support. Yet, this progress came at a cost: it legitimized the central government’s oppression of ethnic armed resistance. The international community downgraded these groups to mere rebels, treating them as enemies of the state and obstacles to national progress. Democracy demanded they ceasefire—or cease to exist.

Tocqueville and John Stuart Mill warned of the tyranny of the majority, a persistent threat even in well-meaning democracies. Sir Roger Scruton echoed this caution succinctly: “Majority opinion may be wrong; majority desires may be wicked; majority strength may be dangerous.” Democracy, hailed as the pinnacle of fairness, equality, and collective decision-making, reveals its flaws when put into practice. 

Democracy is only as strong and virtuous as the people who uphold it. In the second decade of the 21st century, Burma briefly flirted with democracy, but it was during this so-called democratic dawn that the genocide against the Rohingya unfolded—initially described by the United States as a textbook example of ethnic cleansing and later officially recognized as genocide. In a land where Buddhism is venerated, Burmese Buddhist nationalists intensified the suffering of over three-quarters of a million displaced people, wielding social media as a weapon to spread hatred. In the digital age, what happens online is both public and permanent—racism, once a shadow, is now immortalized. Democracy, once the beacon of hope Burma had long awaited, stands tarnished.

Democracy flourishes on a sound constitution, institutions, an engaged citizenry, and a commitment to democratic norms among the elite. In the U.S.A., these pillars form a formidable barrier against the prospect of a coup. Even if a fanatic president were to reject electoral results and attempt such an act, the discipline of the U.S. military and the steadfast adherence to democratic principles by military leaders and the broader establishment would prevent it. The deeply ingrained respect for democratic norms serves as a safeguard, ensuring that even in times of crisis, the democratic order endures.

In both principle and practice, the U.S. is not a pure or a direct democracy. The U.S. president is not directly elected by the people. The framers of the Constitution, wary of the volatility of direct democracy, created the Electoral College—a system where citizens vote for electors who then select the president. This structure is less an expression of pure democracy and more an embodiment of a republic, designed so that cooler heads, as the framers intended, might prevail.

Further distancing itself from direct democracy, the U.S. Supreme Court, one of the government's three branches, is composed of justices who are neither elected by the public nor accountable to them. Nominated by the president and confirmed by the Senate, these justices serve for life, wielding power that can shape the nation for generations. Their rulings influence every facet of American life—economy, social norms, political policies. In many respects, these unelected officials act as de facto rulers, their decisions capable of overruling even the president. This lifetime tenure, designed to ensure impartiality and continuity, also concentrates immense authority in the hands of a few, far removed from democratic oversight.

Yet, it may be this concentration of unelected power that keeps the U.S. stable. The Supreme Court, despite its detachment from democratic processes, retains the public’s trust. When the Court speaks, the nation listens, even when the rulings are contentious. This deference to the Court’s authority is particularly striking, given its occasional forays into the political arena, including elections.

The 2000 U.S. presidential election serves as a stark example. Democrat Al Gore won the popular vote, but a contested count in a single state led the Supreme Court to intervene, ultimately awarding the presidency to George W. Bush, despite Gore's majority. This episode, where a few justices determined the outcome of a national election, echoes Thailand’s 2023 election. There, Pita Limjaroenrat of the Move Forward Party won the popular vote, yet it was a select elite and the monarchy that decided who would govern, bypassing the will of the people.

History offers a grim reminder: many authoritarian leaders ascend not through violence but through the democratic processes they later undermine. The extreme case of Nazi Germany, where Adolf Hitler rose to power through the ballot box, is often cited as a warning. Yet closer to home, we find equally telling examples. Malaysia's Mahathir Mohamad and Singapore's Lee Kuan Yew, both regarded as authoritarian in their governance, were elected through democratic means. Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi rose to power through democratic means, but when her leadership was threatened by political and legal challenges, she declared a state of Emergency, unleashing a wave of repression against the opposition to consolidate her authority.

These leaders, though different in their methods and legacies, underscore a paradox at the heart of democracy: the electorate’s power to choose leaders who, once in office, may dismantle the freedoms that brought them to power. It is a reminder that while democracy is a safeguard against tyranny, it is not invulnerable to being used as a gateway to it. Or a country needs to be ruled by a stable few than the popular masses. 

The U.S. democracy presents itself as a vibrant system, with election campaigns stretching over months, turning the political process into a spectacle of engagement and participation. Yet beneath this facade, American politics is increasingly divisive, angry, and steeped in a pervasive sense of disillusionment. Every issue, no matter how mundane, is politicized, and the atmosphere becomes charged with sensitivity. In professional settings—whether in workplaces or service offices—politics is often treated with the same caution as religion, a private matter best left unspoken to avoid conflict. This reflects a deeper undercurrent in American society, where the topics meant to unite and advance public discourse are now sources of tension and division.

In Burma, those seeking political solutions often dream of a diluted power structure, where no single strong leader exists, hoping that by dispersing authority, they can stave off the rise of authoritarianism. The vision of a federal democracy—a democratic federal Burma—has become a beacon for many. Yet, in the pursuit of weakening centralized power, there is a danger of creating a leadership so fragmented and feeble that it cannot function effectively. What Burma may truly need is not a dilution of power, but a strong, capable leadership—one that is firm enough to guide the nation with conviction yet wise enough to listen, bridging divides rather than deepening them with weak leadership. A strong leader could provide the coherence necessary to unite diverse voices in a federal structure, balancing strength with inclusivity.

Democracy may still be a distant hope for Burma, even if the current military dictatorship toppled. The deep-seated divisions and widespread distrust in democratic institutions will not simply vanish with the fall of a single regime. The journey to true democracy demands far more than the absence of dictatorship; it requires a radical transformation of the political culture—a process that may take far longer than a generation.

Burma’s future might necessitate an interim period of strong, principled leadership, someone capable of uniting the country and laying the groundwork for a more inclusive and resilient democracy where each group participates with its own autonomy. Perhaps what Burma needs is another leader like Aung San, but one who is both genuinely committed to bringing together the diverse peoples of Burma and who has the longevity to see this vision through. This leader must not only inspire but also earn the trust needed to navigate the complexities of building a democratic future from the fractured present.

Toward a New Society and a New Country

If Burma is to embrace democracy, a genuine democracy, with a flourishing multicultural society with a vibrant multi-party electoral system that accommodates every individual with mutual respect, two fundamental conditions must be met:

First, the complete dismantling of the Myanmar Tatmadaw (the Burmese military) is essential. This entity must be officially declared and recognized globally as a criminal organization, much like the Nazi Army (Wehrmacht) and the paramilitary SS (Schutzstaffel) were after World War II, or how Japan's Imperial Army was disbanded and demobilized. The Burma Tatmadaw, after all, was born under the shadow of the Japanese fascist army during WWII and is now widely referred to by democratic movements as "Pat-sit sit tat," meaning the fascist army. Until it is abolished and held accountable for its crimes, any true democratic progress will be obstructed.

Second, the symbolism that props up domination and embodies the Burmese psyche and old regime must all be obliterated. This includes the three towering statues claimed as Burmese kings—A-Naw-Ra-hta, Ba-Yint-naung, and A-Long-Payaa—who supposedly founded the three major dynasties. These statues, much like Saddam Hussein's statue in 2004, must be pulled to the ground and crumbled into pieces, as they represent an oppressive past. Recently, Bangladesh dismantled statues of its founding father Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, symbolically ending his legacy’s hold on the nation. The three stupas stand as projection of lies, insults, and intimidation toward the country’s diverse population. The country's name itself, "Burma" or "Myanmar," which symbolizes Burmese domination, must be changed—a proposal non-Burman ethnic leaders have alluded to on multiple occasions. The state seals with two lion serjant, emblems that represent only Burmese, and flags rectified by Tatmataw, national anthem that represent the old regime must be replaced with new symbols that reflect a fresh spirit of unity and respect for human dignity. 

Before WWII, the German national anthem included the lines "Germany, Germany above all, above all in the world, when it always, for protection and defense, brotherly stands together" in the first stanza, and "Unity and justice and freedom for the German Fatherland! After these let us all strive, brotherly with heart and hand!" in the third stanza. However, after the war, only the third stanza was legally retained as the national anthem, symbolizing a deliberate shift away from nationalist sentiment toward the ideals of unity, justice, and freedom. Even in a culturally homogenous country like Germany, with its shared language, history, intellectual tradition, and ethical values, this change was made to embrace a new identity and set of values for the future.  

Unless these two minimal conditions are met, hold on democracy, Burma will remain a land of curses, bound in perpetual conflict and marked by an inherent disrespect for human life and dignity. One ethnic group’s desire to dominate the whole country will continue to plague the land. Unless the Burmese democratic forces have the courage to take these bold steps toward creating a truly new country, staying together is accepting old abuse. Democracy built on the crumbling foundations of the old regime, upheld by the same broken system, outdated institutions, feudal psyche, flawed constitution, and hollow symbolism, is destined to fail—just as February 1, 2021, so brutally proved. The past cannot birth a future of freedom; it only drags the nation back into the same cycle of repression and betrayal.