On a patch of uneven ground near the Irrawaddy River, retired Lieutenant-General Tayza Kyaw, an aspiring member of parliament, addressed an audience, promising them a brighter future.
He is the candidate for the Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP), the political entity backed by Myanmar’s military, in the Aungmyaythazan constituency of Mandalay.
The attendees, numbering between 300 and 400, held branded hats and flags, but many wilted under the afternoon heat, with some visibly dozing.
Children played among the rows of chairs. Many families present were victims of the earthquake that severely impacted Mandalay and its environs in March, and they appeared to be hoping for aid. They dispersed immediately after the rally concluded.
This Sunday marks the first opportunity for the people of Myanmar to vote in an election since the military coup nearly five years ago, an event that triggered a devastating civil war.
However, the poll, repeatedly delayed by the ruling junta, is widely denounced as a sham. The National League for Democracy, the nation’s most popular party, has been dissolved, and its leader, Aung San Suu Kyi, remains imprisoned in an undisclosed location.
Voting, scheduled in three stages over a month, will be impossible in many war-torn regions. Even in areas where voting proceeds, it is overshadowed by fear and intimidation.
When the BBC attempted to gauge public opinion at the Mandalay rally, party officials intervened. One official explained that attendees might say the wrong thing, lacking experience in speaking to journalists.
The presence of numerous plain-clothes military intelligence officers underscored this apprehension. In a dictatorship where criticizing the election on Facebook or using the word “revolution” is criminalized, even staunch supporters of the military-backed party feared the consequences of allowing a foreign journalist to ask uncensored questions.
This same fear was palpable on the streets of Mandalay. At a market stall selling fresh river fish, customers declined to comment on the election. “We have no choice, so we have to vote,” one said. The fish seller urged us to leave, stating, “You will bring me trouble.”
Only one woman dared to speak candidly, requiring a private meeting and anonymity to share her perspective on the election.
“This election is a lie,” she asserted. “Everyone is afraid. Everyone has lost their humanity and their freedom. So many people have died, been tortured, or fled to other countries. How can things change if the military remains in power?”
She stated she would not vote, acknowledging the inherent risks in that decision.
In July, military authorities enacted a law criminalizing “any speech, organizing, inciting, protesting, or distributing leaflets in order to destroy a part of the electoral process.”
Earlier this month, Dr. Tayzar San, an early organizer of protests against the 2021 coup, became one of the first to be charged under this law after distributing leaflets advocating an election boycott. The junta has offered a reward for information leading to his arrest.
In September, three young individuals in Yangon received sentences ranging from 42 to 49 years for posting stickers depicting a bullet and a ballot box together.
“Co-operate and crush all those harming the union,” read a large red poster overlooking families and couples strolling under the old red-brick walls of the royal palace in Mandalay.
In this threatening environment, a free vote is virtually impossible.
Yet, junta leader Min Aung Hlaing appears confident that this election, where voting will be absent in as much as half the country, will provide the legitimacy he has failed to secure during his five years in power.
He even attended a Christmas mass in Yangon’s cathedral, condemning the “hatred and resentment between individuals” that lead to “domination, oppression, and violence in human communities.”
This statement comes from a man accused by the UN and human rights organizations of genocide against Muslim Rohingyas, whose coup ignited a civil war that, according to ACLED data, has claimed 90,000 lives.
Min Aung Hlaing’s election gambit has the full diplomatic backing of China, which, despite being a one-party state, is providing technical and financial support for this multi-party exercise. It is likely to be reluctantly accepted throughout Asia.
His army, recently equipped with Chinese and Russian weaponry, has been regaining ground lost to opposition forces. He likely hopes to include more reconquered territory in the third stage of the election at the end of January.
With Aung San Suu Kyi and her NLD absent, his USDP is all but assured victory. In the last free election in 2020, the USDP won only six percent of parliamentary seats.
Some observers note Min Aung Hlaing’s unpopularity even within his regime and party, where his leadership is questioned. He will likely retain the presidency after the election, but his power will be somewhat diluted by the resumption of parliamentary politics, albeit without most of the parties that won seats in 2020.
China views the election as a potential off-ramp, a way for the military to extricate itself from the destructive deadlock caused by the coup.
Even a short distance from the apparent peace of Mandalay, the deep scars of Myanmar’s civil war, which is far from over, are evident.
Across the Irrawaddy River lies the temple complex at Mingun, once a popular tourist destination. Reaching it involves a short drive along a riverside road, but for the past four years, this area, like much around Mandalay, has been contested territory, with volunteer People’s Defence Forces controlling villages and ambushing army convoys.
Reaching Mingun required navigating multiple checkpoints. We negotiated passage with the local police commander in a tea shop.
A young man visibly burdened by the weight of his position, he carried a revolver in the back of his trousers, and two even younger men, perhaps boys, carrying military-issue assault rifles acted as his bodyguards.
He explained he had to carry these weapons simply to move around the village.
His phone contained images of his adversaries: young men, poorly dressed, with an assortment of weapons likely smuggled from border regions or obtained from fallen soldiers and police. One group, the Unicorn Guerrilla Force, was his toughest opponent. They never negotiated, he said. “If we see each other, we always shoot.”
He added that the election would not be held in most villages to the north. “Everyone here has taken sides in this conflict. It is so complicated and difficult. But no-one is ready to compromise.”
After an hour, we were informed it was too dangerous to proceed to Mingun, as the PDFs might not recognize us as journalists.
There is little evidence of compromise from the military leaders who overthrew Myanmar’s nascent democracy and now seek to revamp their regime with a veneer of quasi-democratic legitimacy.
When questioned about the appalling civilian casualties since the coup and the air strikes targeting schools and hospitals, General Tayza Kyaw placed blame entirely on those who opposed the military takeover.
“They chose armed resistance,” he stated. “Those who are with the enemy cannot be viewed as the people, according to the law. So, they are just terrorists.”
Residents of Mandalay say this election lacks the vibrancy of the 2020 election. Rallies have been scarce. Only five other parties are permitted to challenge the USDP nationwide, and none possesses its resources and institutional support. Turnout is expected to be low.
And yet, driven by fear of retribution or exhaustion from the civil war, many Burmese people will still cast their ballots, regardless of their sentiments toward the election.
“We will vote,” one woman said, “but not with our hearts.”
Additional reporting by Lulu Luo
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