Myanmar’s mockery of democracy by Mary Long

The generals in Naypyidaw have always known how to stage a spectacle. From grand parades of tanks rolling down gleaming boulevards to the eerie calm of censored media broadcasts, Myanmar’s military has long been an expert in the art of control. Now, they’re attempting their boldest performance yet, an election that pretends to embody democracy while strangling it behind the curtain.

As political parties in military-run Myanmar kicked off their election campaigns this week, the irony could not be more bitter. In a country where dissent is silenced with bullets, where entire regions are engulfed in civil war, and where millions are displaced or in hiding, the generals want the world to believe that a December 28 vote will somehow grant them legitimacy. This is not an election. It is theater, one with a script written in fear and censorship, directed by those who once promised “stability” through a coup d’état.

Military spokesman will likely hail the upcoming polls as a “step toward national unity.” They will speak of “reconciliation” and “order.” But what kind of unity can exist when political opponents are jailed, journalists are hunted, and whole provinces are too dangerous to host a single polling station? What kind of reconciliation can be achieved when dialogue is replaced by airstrikes?

In reality, the election serves only one purpose: to cement the junta’s hold on power. It is a cynical attempt to give a democratic mask to an authoritarian face. The ruling generals know they have lost all domestic credibility. Their 2021 coup toppled the civilian government led by Aung San Suu Kyi and plunged the country into chaos. Since then, they’ve faced not just international condemnation, but a fierce and resilient resistance movement, one that refuses to bow.

Unable to win hearts, the military now seeks to win headlines. By organizing an “election,” they can claim a veneer of legitimacy, something to wave before regional allies who prefer stability over justice. But beneath the official rhetoric, the truth is grim: the country is in pieces, and ballots will be cast if they are cast at all, under the shadow of the gun.

For most Myanmar citizens, politics no longer means campaign posters or rallies. It means fear. It means checkpoints, burned villages, and the knowledge that speaking out can lead to imprisonment or worse. Thousands of civilians have been killed since the coup, many more detained, and entire towns have been reduced to ashes in the junta’s brutal efforts to suppress opposition.

How, then, can one speak of an election? How can votes be counted when voices are crushed? The simple answer is they can’t. But the generals will still hold one, because the appearance of democracy is useful. They know the international community, fatigued by years of crisis, may be tempted to accept even the faintest gesture toward normalcy. And they are counting on that fatigue.

The junta’s so-called election is not designed for the people of Myanmar. It is designed for those outside the country for governments, investors, and regional blocs that would rather not confront the moral weight of the military’s crimes. It is a performance for an audience that prefers to look away.

Myanmar’s journey toward democracy has always been fragile. The years of partial civilian rule that preceded the 2021 coup were far from perfect, but they represented a flicker of hope, a tentative step toward something freer, fairer, and more accountable. That flicker was extinguished when the generals stormed back into power.

Now, with Aung San Suu Kyi imprisoned, the National League for Democracy banned, and any credible opposition driven underground or into exile, the upcoming election offers no real choice. The parties allowed to campaign are either loyal to the military or too weak to challenge it. Even if ballots are printed and boxes are placed, the outcome is already decided. The generals will “win.” They always do.

But this victory will be hollow. The real Myanmar the one outside the military’s control, will not accept it. Across jungles and villages, resistance groups, ethnic armies, and ordinary citizens continue to fight not for power, but for dignity. They are building, in fragments and whispers, the idea of a different Myanmar one that the junta cannot control, even if it cannot yet be seen.

What happens next depends, in part, on how the world responds. The United Nations has already warned that the election could deepen Myanmar’s crisis. Yet warnings, as history shows, rarely move the powerful. The generals have weathered condemnation before. Sanctions are inconvenient, not existential. What truly threatens them is isolation, the refusal of nations to recognize or engage with their sham proceedings.

And yet, some will. Realpolitik always finds excuses. Some regional powers will call the elections an “internal matter.” Others will claim that “engagement” is more effective than pressure. Each polite handshake and quiet meeting will serve as another thread in the junta’s cloak of legitimacy.

It is a tragedy that the people of Myanmar must once again watch their future reduced to diplomatic theater. The same generals who killed democracy now wish to resurrect it, as a puppet, dangling from their strings.

Democracy, in its purest form, is about voice, the right to speak, to choose, to hope. In Myanmar today, those voices are drowned by artillery and fear. The December election will not change that. No matter how many posters are printed or slogans repeated, no real democracy can exist where freedom itself is forbidden.

So let the generals campaign. Let them hold their rallies, count their ballots, and declare their victory. History will record what this truly is not an election, but an elegy for the democracy that could have been.

And somewhere, beyond the smoke and silence, the people of Myanmar will keep fighting for a vote that counts, and a future that belongs to them, not to the bayonets that guard the ballot box.

Democracy cannot be declared by decree, nor legitimized by force. It must be lived, chosen, and believed. And until that day comes for Myanmar, every ballot cast under the shadow of the gun remains nothing more than a lie dressed in ink.