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Insight Myanmar

Insight Myanmar Podcast

Insight Myanmar is a beacon for those seeking to understand the intricate dynamics of Myanmar. With a commitment to uncovering truth and fostering understanding, the podcast brings together activists, artists, leaders, monastics, and authors to share their first-hand experiences and insights. Each episode delves deep into the struggles, hopes, and resilience of the Burmese people, offering listeners a comprehensive, on-the-ground perspective of the nation's quest for democracy and freedom.

And yet, Insight Myanmar is not just a platform for political discourse; it's a sanctuary for spiritual exploration. Our discussions intertwine the struggles for democracy with the deep-rooted meditation traditions of Myanmar, offering a holistic understanding of the nation. We delve into the rich spiritual heritage of the country, tracing the origins of global meditation and mindfulness movements to their roots in Burmese culture.

Each episode is a journey through the vibrant landscape of Myanmar's quest for freedom, resilience, and spiritual riches. Join us on this enlightening journey as we amplify the voices that matter most in Myanmar's transformative era.

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#597
Yesterday · 1 hr 39 min
No Direction Home
Episode #597: Victor Chan’s life began not with a spiritual calling but with motion. Born in Hong Kong and trained in physics, he left without a fixed destination and spent the early 1970s moving across Europe and Asia along the hippie trail. “I was into sex, rock and roll and hedonism,” he says. Yet through a chance encounter in Kabul, he was introduced within a single year to three figures who would stay with him: the Dalai Lama in India, Mahasi Sayadaw in Rangoon, and Chögyam Trungpa in Colorado. Of the three, Mahasi Sayadaw left the deepest mark. Chan found formal meditation nearly unbearable, but Mahasi’s presence stayed with him for decades. The Dalai Lama made a very different first impression: when Chan arrived in Dharamsala in 1972, road-worn, unwashed, and dressed like a wandering hippie, the future Nobel laureate could barely suppress his laughter. Later, Tibet itself became Chan’s great field of movement. Entering during a brief window of looser restrictions in the early 1980s, he walked far beyond the usual routes, reaching monasteries, pilgrimage circuits, and remote artistic sites that had survived the Cultural Revolution. What drove him was not money or institutional backing, but compulsion, curiosity, and a nomadic instinct he still cannot fully explain. That work led to the Tibet Handbook, a vast guide documenting places, histories, and routes that were almost unknown to outsiders. It also brought him into the orbit of scholars like Michael Aris and, through those circles, into early contact with Aung San Suu Kyi, long before her political emergence. In later years, Chan’s attention shifted toward another kind of movement: conversation. Through public events and intimate dinners, he came to value not instruction or mastery, but the exchange itself—an active, searching encounter between people, ideas, and worlds, forged in travel, risk, attention, and lifelong restlessness.
#596
Thursday · 1 hr 59 min
Return to Sender
Episode #596: “I needed to find another way... through research, writing, education, mentoring, community work,” says CS Kyaw, a Myanmar-born doctor turned development researcher now based in Australia. She argues that Myanmar’s future depends not only on financial support from abroad but also on social remittances, the transfer of knowledge, skills, values, and relationships across borders that allow displaced Myanmar people to continue contributing even when returning home is unsafe. Originally trained in medicine and public health, Kyaw worked in Myanmar’s nonprofit sector before receiving an Australia Awards scholarship to study development at the University of Melbourne. Her work convinced her that health could not be understood through medicine alone. While serving as an outreach doctor, she saw neighboring villages with strikingly different access to education and healthcare because of unequal resources and opportunities. The experience led her to see well-being as inseparable from broader social and political conditions. The 2021 military coup became another turning point. It overturned her plans and forced her to ask how she could continue serving Myanmar when she could no longer do so safely inside the country. That question led her toward research, education, mentoring, community work, transnationalism, and social remittances. Now living in Australia as an asylum seeker, she identifies as a “transmigrant,” someone whose identity and responsibilities continue across borders. Kyaw puts these ideas into practice by volunteering with refugee and migrant women through the River Nile Learning Centre, co-founding Mohinga Hub for Myanmar diaspora communities, and teaching through Spring University Myanmar, while acknowledging the funding, security, and volunteer challenges these initiatives face. She also reflects on tensions between Myanmar communities inside and outside the country, the decolonization of language and knowledge, and the importance of local voices in education, research, and advocacy. Throughout the interview, she returns to the values that unite her work—dignity, equality, knowledge, community, and freedom. Asked to describe Myanmar’s future in one word, she says, “hope.”
#595
Tuesday · 1 hr 7 min
At The Checkpoint
Episode #595: Salai Vanni Bawi, a Chin researcher focused on migration, refugees, and transnational repression, speaks about how the country’s crisis extends beyond its borders into a system that continues to shape the lives of displaced people even after they have fled the country. For example, in Thailand, individuals passing through Bangkok airport may be detained and interrogated, sometimes finding that authorities already possess detailed information about them. The presence of Myanmar embassy officials during questioning suggests further coordination. However, outcomes vary: in Bangkok, visibility and legal support may prevent deportation, while in border areas such as Mae Sot, enforcement is harsher and more unpredictable. Charges like illegal entry or human trafficking can be used to justify detention or pressure detainees, sometimes reframing political cases as criminal ones. Corruption further shapes outcomes, as bribes may determine whether someone is deported—an outcome that can lead to imprisonment, forced conscription, or death. At the same time, local relationships and informal arrangements can allow limited movement, showing that authority is negotiated as much as enforced. Vanni Bawi situates these regional dynamics within a broader structural problem: the way international engagement with Myanmar is still overwhelmingly organized around state-to-state relations. In practice, this means external actors continue to prioritize engagement with the military regime—treating it as the primary interlocutor—while the resistance and ethnic groups remain largely excluded. He argues this is not simply a political choice but a built-in limitation of conventional foreign policy frameworks, which are not designed to engage meaningfully with non-state actors. What is missing, he argues, is sustained and direct engagement with the actors actually shaping events inside Myanmar. Without incorporating these perspectives into regional and international dialogue, any attempt at resolution will remain fundamentally incomplete.
#594
Monday · 1 hr 19 min
A Course in Progress
Episode #594: “We fumble through life a little bit, and we end up doing different kind of things.” Arthur Nichols uses this modest explanation for a life that has now been shaped by Vipassana for fifty years. At eighty-three, he has spent four decades conducting courses in the tradition of S. N. Goenka and helped establish the practice across Latin America. Yet he refuses to describe his path as heroic, carefully planned, or inherently wiser than the lives other people build. Nichols was teaching at a university in Atlanta when he took leave in 1975 and traveled overland to India. A book by Jiddu Krishnamurti opened his interest in living differently, and travelers later directed him toward a vipassana meditation course in the tradition of S.N. Goenka. He soon joined the first students at the newly opened Dhamma Giri center in Igatpuri, visited U Ba Khin’s International Meditation Centre in Rangoon, sat long courses, and was appointed one of the very first assistant teachers in 1986. Although he repeatedly considered returning to academic work, conducting courses and maintaining twice-daily practice gradually became his full-time life. Beginning in Venezuela in 1994, Nichols worked across Brazil, Argentina, Chile, Peru, and much of Latin America, often conducting retreats in temporary rented sites before permanent centers existed. He learned Spanish and Portuguese for the courses and watched small local groups develop into a regional network that has held thousands of retreats. He credits neither persuasion nor personal leadership for that growth, but the pāramīs (or spiritual potential) that he believes draw people toward practice when their time ripens. Nichols also resists presenting total dedication to meditation as a prescription. A monk, a parent, a professional, and a course server may each follow a different path. And in Burma, where war and displacement are now making sustained practice all but impossible, he offers no easy spiritual answer to abject physical suffering. At eighty-three, he continues to meditate, answer questions, and travel where courses need him. The work has expanded across continents, but his own measure remains deliberately small: practicing sīla, following right speech, and staying dedicated to this path.
#593
August 21 · 1 hr 30 min
Most Favored Regime
Episode #593: “Why are values included in international trade?” Arianna Bondi’s research begins with that question, but Myanmar turns it into a problem of limits. A PhD candidate at McGill University studying international political economy, Bondi examined how the European Union tried to promote human rights through trade policy, focusing on Myanmar’s place in the EU’s Generalized System of Preferences. Her study, completed in 2020 at Johns Hopkins SAIS in Bologna, looks at the period before the 2021 coup. That timing matters; Myanmar had been brought back into the EU’s Everything ButArms trade scheme in 2013 after preferences were withdrawn in 1997 over forced labor concerns. The policy was supposed to support development while encouraging respect for international standards. Bondi found that this created two different tools: positive conditionality, through engagement and market access, and negative conditionality, through the threat or use of withdrawal. Her interviewees saw little evidence that withdrawal had produced human rights change. Negative conditionality could send a signal, but it risked punishing workers while failing to reach the military structures responsible for the gravest abuses. Positive conditionality seemed more promising, especially in the garment sector, where EU-linked trade could improve wages, standards, and opportunities for largely female workers. But that success remained narrow. It could touch factory floors more easily than constitutional power, military violence, or the Rohingya crisis. Bondi’s account keeps returning to mechanism. Human rights cannot be treated as one broad category that trade either improves or fails to improve. The question has to be which right, which sector, which actor, and which channel. EU policy also carried other motives: business access, regional influence, concern over China, and member-state interests. That makes the application of values uneven. Myanmar leaves the trade instrument under pressure. A tariff preference may help workers, a withdrawal may make a statement, and neither may reach the institution doing the most harm.
#592
August 20 · 1 hr 49 min
Meditating beyond the Benevolent Dictator
Episode #592: In this, the 7th installment of a series of discussions with Jonathan Crowley, a former longtime practitioner and assistant teacher in the Goenka Vipassana tradition, he reflects on his decades-long relationship with the Goenka Vipassana tradition. For many years he believed the technique was complete, consistent, and capable of carrying a diligent student all the way to liberation. The emotional rewards of early practice reinforced that certainty, and the culture’s strong discouragement of outside study made alternatives seem unnecessary. Only later did he realize how those conditions prevented him from seeing the limits built into the system itself. A turning point came when he started reading the suttas. He saw that key concepts—in particular, vedanā, saṅkhāra, jhāna—were taught in ways far narrower than their Canonical meanings. Vedanā was treated almost exclusively as physical sensation, rather than the full affective tone of experience. Saṅkhāra became a simple “reaction” rather than the broad field of conditioned formations. And jhāna, central to the Buddha’s description of the path, was omitted entirely. These gaps shaped the expectations of long-course students, who were told that deep meditation would unfold through patient observation of bodily sensations alone. Without strong samādhi, however, the clarity needed for deeper insight never develops. He links these doctrinal limitations to cultural ones: a spectrum of fundamentalist tendencies, discouragement of inquiry, fear of “confusion,” and a social environment where silence and equanimity become tools of conformity. Yet he also speaks with affection for what the practice gave him and hopes his reflections give others permission not to abandon the tradition, but to think more freely within and beyond it.
#591
August 18 · 1 hr 59 min
Ground Control
Episode #591: “The war may end, but for years and years, landmines indiscriminately will kill and maim people, quite often children, as well as farm animals, long after the act of fighting has ended.” Ken Maclean, a cultural anthropologist and human-rights fact-finder, traces Myanmar’s landmine crisis from early-2000s interviews with prisoners forced to walk ahead of soldiers through suspected minefields to the political obstacles that still prevent systematic clearance. His central concern is not only what mines do when planted, but what they continue to control after troops leave. During research in 2013–14, possible refugee return from Thailand exposed the lack of safe routes, reliable maps, or an agreed authority for mine action. Military units, ethnic armed groups, and villagers used different mines for battle lines, camp perimeters, resource sites, roads, and community protection. Lightweight devices shifted in rain and soil, old mines remained live, and armed groups sometimes dug up and reused them, leaving no side with a dependable record of contamination. Removing a device can cost hundreds of dollars or more, even when it cost only a few dollars to make. A low-cost tractor fitted with a spiked hedgehog roller cleared some flat farmland in Karen State, but formal standards, ceasefire fears, and rivalries prevented the experiment from expanding. Mine-risk education faced its own contradiction: material that taught civilians to recognize booby traps could also teach fighters how to build them. Maclean still argues that multilingual risk education should be broadcast nationwide as immediate harm reduction. Peace would not settle who controls clearance or owns the land made usable. A national mine-action center could centralize authority in ways ethnic organizations reject, while clearing profitable roads and towns first could favor elites over refugees and displaced families. With conflict now dispersed and contamination no longer confined to the borderlands, Maclean sees no logical place to begin. Even if fighting stopped, the mines would continue to shape movement, livelihood, and return for decades.
#590
August 17 · 2 hr 27 min
The Feminine Mystique
Episode #590: Chie Ikeya’s work on colonial Burma began almost by accident. Trained as a historian and originally planning to study the Japanese occupation, she found herself in Yangon waiting for archival access that never came. In the meantime, she read Burmese newspapers and periodicals from the early twentieth century, where the notion of the “modern woman” appeared again and again as a source of fascination, fear, hope, and moral panic. Her later work, Refiguring Women, Colonialism, and Modernity in Burma, follows that figure through education, print culture, nationalism, consumer desire, sexuality, Buddhism, and race. In colonial Burma, women’s education expanded sharply, especially through missionary schools, and opened paths into medicine, law, teaching, journalism, and public life. Yet those openings also made women symbolic terrain. Their clothing, schooling, work, marriages, sexuality, and public presence became ways for others to debate whether Burma was becoming modern, losing itself, resisting colonialism, or protecting the nation. Ikeya complicates the familiar claim that Burmese women traditionally enjoyed high status. Certain legal rights around property and marriage were real, but rights on paper did not erase domestic violence, social control, class inequality, or the difficulty of forcing law into practice. The claim that Burmese women needed no feminism also carried political force: it could defend Burma against colonial arguments for “uplift,” while feeding a wider ideology of Burmese Buddhist exceptionalism. That ideology later shaped debates over intermarriage, religious belonging, anti-Muslim politics, and the boundaries of the nation. Ikeya does not treat exclusion as only state propaganda. It is diffuse, historical, and embedded in ordinary assumptions about who belongs, who does not, and whose presence must be regulated. Yet she also refuses to make violence the whole record. “Burma has not always been like this,” she says. Alongside histories of estrangement, she asks historians to recover the quieter histories of affection, belonging, and difficult intimacy that rarely survive in the archive.
#589
August 14 · 1 hr 19 min
Port of No Return
Episode #589: The AAS Conference in Vancouver brought together thousands of scholars and practitioners focused on Asia, with Burma emerging as a key topic amid its ongoing crisis. Insight Myanmar Podcast was invited to record on site, capturing a series of short, real-time conversations with participants and sharing these perspectives with a wider global audience. This is the second of a four part series, and features two guests. First up is Ponpavi Sangsurasdej, a Thai historian of modern Burma. She studies the years around independence not as the inevitable birth of a nation, but as a struggle among rival political futures, where communists, socialists, and ethnic minority leaders were all attempting to shape what a free Burma might become. The problem, she argues, is that later nationalist history flattened that contested moment into a far cleaner story than it was, since “we only focused decolonizing movement that were successful,” pushing other anti-colonial visions to the margins. In her telling, Burma’s history cannot be reduced to a single Burman-centered trajectory, especially given Rangoon’s role as a transnational hub of ideas, ideologies, and political networks, where categories like communism or decolonization carried unstable meanings across different actors and contexts. Rather than replacing one dominant narrative with another, she returns to sidelined figures and failed negotiations, asking who was excluded and how labels like collaborator or nationalist concealed deeper fractures. Those omissions, she suggests, continue to shape the distrust and fragmentation that define Burma today, where “there’s no easy, simple answer to it,” only the ongoing work of tracing how these narratives were formed and what was lost when one version prevailed. Next up is Wenxu Zhang, a historian of the Indian Ocean world. He examines Rangoon in the interwar period as a cosmopolitan port caught between global connection and social fracture, focusing on the 1930–31 riots to understand how Chinese diaspora communities experienced that instability. What began as labor conflict during the Great Depression escalated into broader violence, where anti-colonial sentiment, economic distress, and opportunistic attacks blurred together, leaving Chinese merchants increasingly vulnerable despite their partial cultural integration. Zhang resists reducing the events to a single narrative, showing how British, Burmese, and Chinese perspectives framed the same violence as revolution, nationalism, or banditry depending on position, while for those on the ground, the sense that society was becoming unstable remained the dominant reality. He situates this moment within a larger shift toward a more inward Burmese nationalism, where identity hardened and cosmopolitan fluidity receded, leaving behind traces still visible in Yangon today—a city that retains the physical remnants of its global past, even as the networks and vitality that sustained it have largely disappeared.
#588
August 13 · 2 hr 42 min
Missing, Presumed Extinct
Episode #588: Historian Douglas Ober began questioning the standard history of Indian Buddhism while traveling to Bodh Gaya, Sarnath, and other sacred sites in his twenties. The dates he found on buildings and inscriptions did not fit the familiar sequence in which Buddhism vanished, European scholars rediscovered it, Anagarika Dharmapala revived it, and B.R. Ambedkar restored it in 1956. His research led him to argue that “this idea around Buddhism’s disappearance from India is kind of a modern myth, and I call it a kind of useful fiction.” Ober does not deny the collapse of monasteries, patronage, and literary production after the thirteenth century. He instead recovers evidence that extinction language excludes: Buddhist images produced into the seventeenth century, manuscripts copied by devotees near Bodh Gaya, and continuing pilgrimage networks linking India with Nepal, Tibet, Sri Lanka, Chittagong, Arakan, and Burma. Colonial scholarship further narrowed the record by recognizing textual, monastic forms while treating yogis, borderland communities, and mixed traditions as doubtful or irrelevant. The Bay of Bengal becomes central to this longer history. Rakhine monks and patrons moved through Bengal and northern India; U Chandramani studied with Mahavir, helped establish a Buddhist rest house at Kushinagar, and later officiated Ambedkar’s mass conversion of Dalits at Nagpur. Ambedkar’s movement therefore emerged from a century of anti-caste Buddhist organizing and transregional monastic connections, even as his rationalist Navayana Buddhism transformed inherited doctrines around karma and rebirth. After independence, Nehru placed Buddhist symbols at the center of Indian statecraft through the dharma wheel on the flag, the Ashokan lion capital, and relic missions across Asia, including Burma. These objects carried genuine devotion and political purpose at once. Ober’s history leaves both forces intact: Buddhism survives not outside politics, but through people and institutions repeatedly deciding what it means, who may claim it, and what power can do in its name.
#587
August 11 · 1 hr 18 min
Abandoning the Barracks
Episode #587: Su Thit, the founder of Spouses of People’s Soldiers, frames military defection in Myanmar less as a single brave act than as an extended struggle against survival math. Leaving the institution means losing salary, housing, rank, and the thin protection that comes with uniform. Staying can mean remaining inside a system that demands obedience to violence. She describes the decision to defect as the hardest part of her own life—everything afterward is hardship with consequences: exile, scarcity, psychological strain, and the persistent ache of being unable to return home. In her account, the main barrier for those considering defection is not ideology but logistics—how to eat, how to earn, where to live once the military salary and accommodation vanish. Fear is reinforced by internal punishments: prison terms for running from the compound and even harsher consequences for fleeing a frontline battalion. Against that pressure, motivations vary. Some refused the illegality of coup initially. Some run because they do not want to die. Some remain inside for years because a parent’s illness or family needs make departure feel impossible, even while quietly feeding information outward. Su Thit’s organization operates as a set of practical supports meant to turn defection from a leap into hunger into a survivable transition. She describes arranging accommodation and food, supporting families with children in forest conditions, and providing monthly basic assistance from the Thai border—growing from dozens of families to now over 200. She argues spouses are a crucial leverage point inside the military household, and she invests heavily in testimony-driven media meant to weaken indoctrination. “If we can remove their brainwashing, at least they will not kill the civilians,” she says, treating reduced violence as a minimum gain even when full transformation is slow. The work expands into conscription cases as well, with families pleading for help to retrieve young men sent to the front line. Success depends on reach—knowing the area, having resistance links, being close enough to act. What remains, for her, is endurance under constraint and the insistence that defectors and their families—often undocumented, underpaid, and exhausted—still do not go back.
#586
August 10 · 3 hr 25 min
Tales of the Tape
Episode #586: This is the sixth installment of our ongoing discussions with Friedgard Lottermoser. Drawing on decades of firsthand experience with Sayagyi U Ba Khin and other teachers, she offers a different account—one that sits alongside the established narrative and quietly complicates it, grounded in her own lived experience rather than directly opposing what came later. Friedgard begins with a historical episode during the 1948 Karen insurgency, recounting how, in hopes of keeping Rangoon safe, U Ba Khin undertook a rigorous vow—living on rice and salt while continuously reciting protective Pāḷi texts—for seven days, after which the threat to the city subsided. While she stops short of claiming causation, she emphasizes this as an example of the power of strong determination (adhiṭṭhāna) in Burmese Buddhist practice. This theme was reinforced in her own life, where she herself made three such vows—to fully learn from her teacher, to avoid any marriage that would obstruct practice, and ultimately to ordain as a bhikkhuni. A central tension in this discussion is the contrast between lived experience and later narratives about lineage and the technique’s “pristine purity.” Friedgard notes that U Ba Khin rarely emphasized lineage; in Burma, claiming descent from Ledi Sayadaw would have been unnecessary, even absurd, since he influenced so many modern Burmese Vipassanā traditions. Instead, U Ba Khin presented himself simply as an experienced teacher whose authority rested on results, not pedigree. She further challenges the idea of an unbroken, exclusive lineage by pointing to historical evidence. Ledi Sayadaw, for example, appears to have developed his meditation practice largely through study and experimentation rather than direct transmission from a single teacher. This undermines the claim of a singular, preserved technique passed unchanged from the Buddha. Friedgard suggests that Goenka’s emphasis on lineage and purity emerged partly from the exigencies of context—adapting teachings mainly for Indian and Western audiences and in order toestablish legitimacy. While she acknowledges Goenka’s success in spreading meditation globally, she raises concerns about inaccuracies, institutional rigidity, and the use of tapes, which she feels limited teacher autonomy. Ultimately, she returns to a pragmatic view: the effectiveness of practice—not claims of lineage—is the only meaningful proof of a tradition.
#585
August 7 · 2 hr 10 min
An Umbrella Policy
Episode #585: “We can’t go back to the normal life, because our country is not even normal,” says Tone Tone, a former psychology student from Yangon, describing how Myanmar’s 2021 military coup shattered any hope of remaining apolitical. In this conversation she is joined by Liberia, a civil engineering graduate who became a strike organizer, and together they recount how violence transformed them from ordinary students into underground activists willing to risk prison and death. Before February 1, 2021, neither had political ambitions. Tone Tone was finishing university and helping with her family’s silk-screen printing business, and Liberia had completed an engineering degree and was pursuing further vocational training. When the military detained elected leader Aung San Suu Kyi and seized power, both joined peaceful street protests in Yangon, believing public resistance might restore democracy. That belief eroded as soldiers began shooting demonstrators. In December 2021, Tone Tone witnessed troops ram a vehicle into protesters, killing and injuring friends. Liberia shifted from humanitarian COVID relief work to organizing flash mobs through the Yangon People’s Strike, using small, cell-based groups to avoid detection. On August 8, 2022—the anniversary of the 8-8-88 uprising—they staged their most iconic act: four black umbrellas printed with the Burmese numeral eight, photographed near Sule Pagoda under heavy security. Days later, Liberia was arrested, interrogated, and sentenced to three years of hard labor in Insein Prison. Tone Tone narrowly avoided arrest but endured psychological torture when soldiers beat her parents in the background while they called her on a phone. Both eventually fled Myanmar. From exile, they continue supporting underground actions and fundraising through the umbrella symbol. Acknowledging fatigue but rejecting compromise with the military, they insist resistance continues. Their message remains urgent: “Please help to save Myanmar!”
#584
August 6 · 1 hr 53 min
Strong Determination
Episode #584: Lora Roy, a longtime Vipassana meditator in the S.N. Goenka tradition, reflects on a lifelong effort to live truthfully from direct experience rather than fear, social expectation, or rigid authority. She traces that orientation back to childhood, when her authoritarian father’s controlling approach pushed her inward. Isolated for long periods, she developed habits of reflection and self-observation while struggling with anger and emotional suppression. As an adolescent, she deliberately forced herself to become more socially engaged, and later, while studying architecture, a professor’s insistence that meaningful design required genuine self-knowledge deepened her determination to understand herself more fully. After university, she traveled through Europe seeking freedom from inherited identity and social conditioning. Although she had begun exploring spirituality through figures such as Ram Dass, Roy says she still lacked a practical way to work with emotional suffering, until she encountered Vipassana meditation through Joseph Goldstein and Sharon Salzberg. “Oh, my God, this is what I've been waiting for all my life!” she recalls thinking during her first retreat. Meditation gave her a method for observing experience without reacting impulsively, and she committed herself intensely to the practice. She later became deeply involved with S.N. Goenka’s tradition, admiring both his power and his humanity while also recognizing the emotional intensity and rigidity that emerged within the growing organization. Roy’s later training in whole systems design shaped how she interpreted those developments. Drawing on both meditation experience and systems thinking, she argues that institutions often begin with genuine insight but gradually become rule-bound and protective of identity. Reflecting on changes within the Goenka organization, she explains that authoritarian tendencies emergeincrementally because people feel protected by belonging to a shared worldview. Yet she continues to speak with gratitude about what the practice gave her. Now in her eighties she describes meditation less as a strict discipline than as an integrated way of living grounded in openness, self-knowledge, and compassion.
#583
August 4 · 1 hr 32 min
Ground Rules
Episode #583: “If you can maim them, you can get multiple people off of a battlefield, and it’s also a terror tactic as well.” Collin Mayfield, an American journalist and documentary filmmaker, spent months with the resistance group People’s Defense Force Zoland in western Myanmar’s Chin State in 2023 and 2025. During his second trip, he stepped on an M14 mine near a former resistance police checkpoint, losing part of his foot and nearly his left eye. The blast exposed a weapon whose damage extends far beyond the explosion, consuming evacuation teams, scarce medicine, repeated surgeries, rehabilitation, and years of care. Mayfield had already seen that toll when a PDF-Zoland soldier underwent an emergency amputation on a plastic tarp in the forest. Across Chin State, residents warned him away from mined ground, soldiers lived with missing limbs, and even retrieving a wandering animal could force a family to gamble its survival. The regime’s mines do not merely obstruct fighters; they punish villages sympathetic to the resistance and drain the clinics, schools, and local institutions resistance groups are trying to sustain. After Mayfield was wounded in late 2025, it took hours to reach a clinic where staff amputated part of his foot under an epidural. Limited antibiotics could not contain the infection, and the wound became black and necrotic. An exceptional intervention by American and Indian authorities allowed him to reach a hospital in Aizawl, where doctors removed more infected bone and told him another week in Myanmar likely would have killed him. Most Myanmar survivors have no comparable route out. Treatment and physical therapy in Poland have allowed Mayfield to walk, hike, and run again, although pain, imbalance, embedded shrapnel, and further surgery remain. A disabled friend now transports supplies with a prosthetic leg, but a replacement spring alone costs roughly $3,000. The mine did not end either man’s contribution; it left both dependent on care that remainsinaccessible to countless survivors while the military continues laying the weapons.
#582
August 3 · 2 hr 21 min
Open Source Awakening
Episode #582: “If you're having weird meditative experiences, I'll be happy to talk to you about those for free. I won't even take a donation.” Daniel Ingram, a physician, meditation teacher, author of Mastering the Core Teachings of the Buddha, and cofounder of the Dharma Overground, has spent nearly three decades creating language and support for contemplative experiences that can be mistaken for pathology, exaggerated into attainment, or silenced by Buddhist institutions. His concern began with lucid dreams, blissful states, energetic surges, and an out-of-body experience during childhood and adolescence. He hid them from his pediatrician father, who later admitted that he might have responded in a harmful way. Intensive retreat practice in the 1990s made the phenomena reproducible, but the decisive moment came at the Malaysian Buddhist Meditation Center, where an old recording of a Burmese monk described the sequence Ingram had just undergone. Burmese insight maps transformed private confusion into a path that others had already observed. Those maps also placed him in conflict with Western meditation communities that discouraged open discussion of stages and attainments. Ingram accepts that maps can produce scripting, competition, and inflated claims, but argues that silence leaves practitioners isolated and clinicians unprepared. His book and the Dharma Overground created public spaces for experiences that conventional settings often refused to name. After a 2003 retreat with the younger Sayadaw U Paṇḍita, he claimed arahantship as a permanent loss of belief in a separate subject, while acknowledging that fear, irritation, and desire still arise—a result that conflicts with strict readings of the Theravāda ten-fetter model. Ingram now supports research intended to bring physicians, psychologists, neuroscientists, and contemplative practitioners into the same inquiry. Rather than resolve doctrinal disputes through authority alone, he proposes testing advanced practitioners under controlled conditions to see whether classical claims about the eradication of fear, anger, and desire can be observed. The maps once helped him survive territory that seemed unintelligible; he now wants medicine and Buddhism to submit their competing explanations to the same unresolved experiment.
August 1 · 52 min
Bonus Episode: Shake It Off
In this bonus episode, we share a special online fundraiser for Better Burma led by Richmond Heath, a certified TRE (Tension and Trauma Releasing Exercises) provider and trainer based in Australia, whose full conversation on Episode 514 explored the meeting point between meditation, trauma, spontaneous movement, and the body’s own intelligence. In this conversation, Richmond moves from theory into practice, guiding participants through an accessible introduction to the exercise. Richmond explains that stress and trauma do not live only in memory or thought; they also appear as patterns in the muscles, breath, and nervous system. He reframes shaking and trembling not as symptoms to suppress, but as instinctive recovery responses the body uses to come out of fight, flight, freeze, or shutdown. Drawing on TRE, polyvagal-informed language, and examples from other cultures, he invites participants to understand the body not simply as the place where trauma is stored, but also as the place where release and regulation can begin. The heart of this event is experiential. Richmond carefully leads attendees through a guided tremor session, continually emphasizing safety, choice, self-regulation, and the importance of stopping whenever the body needs rest. Participants are encouraged to listen deeply, move slowly, and allow the body’s natural intelligence to unfold without forcing anything. The episode closes with reflections on how TRE might support communities affected by Myanmar’s violence, and a hope that future funding could bring this training directly to local caregivers, educators, organizers, and border communities who need it most right now. Please consider making a donation of any amount to support our continued programs!
#581
July 31 · 1 hr 43 min
Never Break the Chain
Episode #581: Tin Tin Htar Myint, a medical epidemiologist based in France who has worked in vaccines for more than two decades, describes Myanmar’s immunization collapse as a problem of governance as much as medicine. Before 2021, she argues, the national program had been expanding in concrete ways, adding vaccines that could reduce childhood pneumonia and diarrhea and protect girls from HPV. Then the coup shattered the human infrastructure that makes routine immunization possible. Health workers joined the Civil Disobedience Movement, hid, fled, or were arrested, and the country’s vaccine system became a set of reported numbers that no longer match the conditions on the ground. Tin Tin points to official coverage figures that appear to rebound after 2021, but says they cannot be reconciled with the reality of airstrikes, displacement, and villages trapped behind checkpoints. In surveys she describes from Sagaing, the most isolated areas show catastrophic “zero dose” rates for children born after the coup—no BCG, no DTP, no MMR—while villages near large cities can still manage partial coverage because access exists and parents take risks to reach it. Some organize ad hoc “vaccination trips,” moving groups of children through military checkpoints to get a shot and return home. For her, the downstream damage is already visible. She describes signs of vaccine-preventable outbreaks appearing again through social media reports, and she that tuberculosis is resurging rapidly in places with limited detection and no reliable drug supply. The collapse does not stop at vaccines. Tin Tin argues that immunization normally arrives with basic care packages, health education, and family planning, and that when the program breaks, those services break too, driving rising pregnancies, miscarriages, and the reemergence of sexually transmitted infections. The most painful detail she offers is also the simplest proof of what is missing. “They still carry the vaccine booklet of their children.”
#580
July 30 · 2 hr 15 min
The Missing Self
Episode #580: Professor P. L. Dhar, a longtime Vipassana teacher in the S.N. Goenka tradition, reflects on his life-long spiritual journey. A decade immersed in Vedanta and other Indian traditions, along with a meditative and devotional practice, helped him develop deep concentration. Yet he gradually became dissatisfied, wondering whether these practices investigated reality deeply enough. Then a series of crises transformed his spiritual search. Political violence in India, the assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, the Bhopal disaster, and most importantly the death of his young son in 1985 pushed him into profound grief and self-doubt. These events moved him to enroll in one of Goenka’s ten-day Vipassana courses, where he discovered a form of practice that seemed to reach levels of suffering he had not previously been able to address. Over the next several years he devoted himself intensely to Vipassana, completing long retreats, becoming a teacher, and eventually helping introduce meditation programs into Delhi’s Tihar Jail, one of India’s largest and most notorious prisons. He regards the Tihar project as a remarkable demonstration of meditation’s transformative potential. Yet it was connected to an issue that concerned Professor Dhar. He had always been troubled by Goenka’s frequent criticisms of other spiritual traditions, and indeed, some Tihar inmates were very angry when they heard them. Goenka responded by removing the offending parts and adding in more positive messaging, which were very well received in Tihar. Yet for whatever reason, these revised Hindi versions were not used other than at the Tihar courses. Later, as Dhar gained more responsibilities within the organization, he also became concerned that institutional growth, hierarchy, and status were receiving more attention than deeper questions about liberation. His most significant concern was around anattā, the Buddhist doctrine of not-self. Professor Dhar explains that while years of practice gave him a deep experiential appreciation of impermanence, he eventually concluded that neither the Goenka technique nor the culture surrounding it sufficiently examined how the sense of self is constructed, nor was there much enthusiasm within the organization for doing so. While he remains forever grateful to Goenka, these concerns led to his departure from the organization in 2010. Since then, his investigationsinto non-self have led him to believe it is the key link between meditation practice and liberation.
#579
July 28 · 1 hr 42 min
Rangoon Calling
Episode #579: “I did not expect to be conversing in Urdu with someone in Yangon.” Bilal Hassan, a Pakistani creator and doctor, traveled to Burma after noticing how much of Karachi’s everyday culture carried unexplained Burmese traces: khao suey, family names, old songs about Rangoon, and stories no one could quite complete. His trip began as a search for those missing links, but Yangon gave him something more complicated than recognition. The city felt to him like the place where South Asia and Southeast Asia meet, with Urdu-speaking caretakers at Bahadur Shah Zafar’s shrine, Surti and Memon mosques tied to Karachi business families, Tamil and Chulia Muslim institutions, halal food, and Burmese Muslim cuisine shaped by migration. Yet those familiar traces existed inside a post-coup country marked by checkpoints, fuel shortages, surveillance, airport controls, and a visible gap between wealth and hunger. A roadside woman near Bago had only white rice to offer, while a hotel buffet back in Yangon complete with French champagne cost dozens of dollars. The deepest tension came through Muslim life itself. Downtown Yangon looked visibly Muslim in ways Bilal had not expected, but when the subject of Rohingya was broached, it changed the air in the room. Some Muslims distanced themselves; others admitted fear and sadness but refused to keep speaking. Bilal came to see Muslim communities as connected, careful, and guarded, maintaining names, food, language, and religious life while learning how not to stand out. He left resisting both tourist denial and headline simplification. Burma was not only a war zone, not only a beautiful country, and not only a forgotten extension of South Asian memory. It was all of those at once, and the connections he found could not be separated from the silences people used to survive.

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