“If I were China”: A different way of thinking about Myanmar

There is an old saying: “When the wise point at the moon, the fool looks at the finger.” For five years, much of the debate on Myanmar has focused on the finger – who supports the junta, who condemns it, and who remains silent. The moon, however, represents the strategic interests driving those decisions.

Myanmar’s democratic movement speaks with remarkable moral clarity, documenting atrocities, and appealing to the international conscience. Yet governments frequently respond with indifference or contradiction.

Perhaps we are asking the wrong question.

Instead of asking why the world has not done more, perhaps we should ask: “What if governments are behaving exactly as their strategic interests predict?”

This is not a defence of engagement over pressure. It is an argument that effective advocacy requires strategic literacy: understanding the raw incentives of the governments we seek to influence.

This is crucial because the nature of Myanmar’s struggle is evolving. Alongside the military conflict, an equally consequential contest is unfolding over diplomatic legitimacy. Unable to secure domestic acceptance, the junta is incrementally accumulating international validation. Recent engagement by regional powers, continued humanitarian coordination under ASEAN’s Five-Point Consensus, and deepening diplomatic and military ties (Opens in new window) with partners such as Russia illustrate how legitimacy can gradually accumulate without formal recognition ever being declared. The next phase of Myanmar’s struggle may not be won solely on the battlefield, but also on the diplomatic front.

To contest this, advocates must adapt by tailoring their message directly to the audience’s interests.

If I were Beijing, my first concern would not be democracy. I would worry about border instability, the security of pipelines connecting Yunnan to the Indian Ocean, and Belt and Road investments. Crucially, I would also recognise that the military junta has failed to guarantee this stability. The explosion of cyber-scam syndicates targeting Chinese nationals along the frontier proves the junta is a liability. For Beijing, pragmatism (not principle) is forcing a recalculation of who can actually secure the border.

If I were New Delhi, I would regard Myanmar as inseparable from China’s growing regional influence, cross-border insurgencies, connectivity projects, and the strategic balance in the Bay of Bengal. If I were Dhaka, my overriding concern would be the enormous humanitarian and political burden of hosting displaced people from Rakhine State.

Meanwhile, Southeast Asian neighbours view the crisis entirely through immediate survival metrics: Bangkok prioritises border trade, migration, and energy security; Singapore focuses on financial stability; and Jakarta and Kuala Lumpur weigh ASEAN’s credibility. Further afield, Washington views Myanmar through the prism of Indo-Pacific competition with China, while Moscow sees an opportunity to challenge Western influence.

None of these perspectives necessarily ignores human rights. But none begins there.

Governments decide whether to act based on whether doing so advances their own interests. This is the reality of international relations, and it applies just as much to middle powers like Australia.

Supporting Myanmar’s democratic aspirations aligns perfectly with Australia’s strategic interests. Myanmar has become an epicentre of cyber-enabled organised crime (Opens in new window), human trafficking (Opens in new window), and narcotics production (Opens in new window). Framing the country solely as a humanitarian crisis risks overlooking why it matters to Australia’s own security.

Rather than asking why regional capitals have adopted different approaches, advocates must ask how they can better align their advocacy with those priorities without compromising their principles.

In practice, this means tailoring the message to the listener’s specific vulnerabilities. When engaging Beijing, advocacy must bypass abstract democratic ideals entirely. It should focus on proving that the junta’s ongoing instability is an active liability to China’s core interests. Crucially, advocates must demonstrate to a deeply pragmatic Beijing that the democratic coalition possesses the institutional cohesion and capability to manage a transition smoothly, dismantle criminal syndicates, and protect foreign investments far more effectively than a failing military junta.

Understanding another government’s interests is not an act of capitulation. It is the acquisition of leverage.

Bypassing democratic rhetoric to speak the language of realpolitik does not mean abandoning justice and accountability. It simply recognises that in a contested Indo-Pacific, moral arguments only carry weight when they are tied to a state’s fear of instability or its desire for advantage. Influence begins where sentimentality ends.

Myanmar’s future will ultimately be determined by the courage and resilience of its people. But international support will be shaped by the calculations of governments.

Moral courage remains indispensable. In an increasingly contested Indo-Pacific, strategic literacy may prove just as essential.