Distinguish the Person from the Policy
This is a story about a life caught between personal conviction and human connection.
I was born and raised within the elite social circles of the Myanmar Socialist Programme Party (BSPP) era, surrounded by high-ranking officials and their families. However, my worldview shifted in the seventh grade. After reading about the "Bourgeois Revolution" in my history book, I realized that the government’s official philosophy—the "System of Correlation of Man and His Environment"—was nothing more than empty rhetoric. Despite being a direct beneficiary of that privileged world, I chose my convictions over comfort. I left my home, moved into the Thayet Taw Monastery, and joined the movement against the regime.
One defining moment occurred when the "People’s Pearl and Fishery Enterprise" was besieged by protesters. Among those trapped inside were Director General Major Han Tun and Director Major Myint Lwin—men I had grown up respecting as uncles. Using our influence as student leaders in Ahlone Township, my comrades and I provided them with a security detail and brought them safely to my own home.
In that moment, I lived the lesson that would define my life: You must distinguish the person from the policy. It was a complicated reality; at that time, my own father was the Party Chairman of Kyauktada Township and a Director at the Department of Fisheries.
After the 1988 uprising, I faced intense suspicion from my fellow revolutionaries. While serving on the Western District Security and Organizing Committee, Military Intelligence contacted my father to summon me for a meeting. When I later discovered exactly who within my own movement had informed on me, the sense of betrayal was so profound that I had to step away from activism for a time.
That pain still resurfaces today. Based on everything I have endured, I want to emphasize to those in the current revolution: Distinguishing "the person" from "the system" is vital. I say this because I see the current military regime attempting to use these same psychological traps to sow distrust against leaders like Captain Nay Myo Zin and several of my friends.
History shows us that even in the heat of war, humanity can survive:
In Myanmar: Before the 1963 peace talks, when rebel leader Thakin Than Tun fell ill in the jungle, his rival General Ne Win had life-saving medicine dropped to him by plane.
In the U.S. Civil War: President Abraham Lincoln famously visited wounded Confederate soldiers in hospitals. He didn’t view them as enemies to be hated, but as brothers who had lost their way.
In World War I: During the 1914 "Christmas Truce," German and British soldiers stepped out of their trenches into "No Man’s Land." They traded gifts, sang carols, and played soccer. Their commanders ordered them to kill, but the men chose a moment of peace as fellow human beings.
In the current civil war in Myanmar, I stand firmly with the resolve to fight until the end. Yet, my heart is heavy. Among the new generation of officers on the opposing side, I see faces I watched grow up. For me, this war feels like being forced to amputate one's own hand to save the body. It is a necessary struggle, but the pain is deeply personal.


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