Military’s Puppet Poll: Myanmar’s Democracy Reduced to a Grim Spectacle

Paul Riverbank, 12/26/2025Myanmar's election is a military-orchestrated spectacle, offering neither real democracy nor hope for citizens.

Talk to residents, and the sense is clear: This vote, far from ushering in a brighter era, seems unlikely to touch the stubborn realities on the ground. “It’s not so much an election as a performance,” remarked a teacher from Mandalay, who asked not to be named for fear of repercussions. She remembers the last election, five years gone now, as chaotic but electric — people queued at dawn, hopeful and determined. Those memories do not reflect today’s mood.

The coup of 2021, let’s not forget, was justified by the military with claims of mass voter fraud — claims swiftly dismissed by international observers. What followed was a cascade: pro-democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi was given a lengthy prison sentence; her party, the National League for Democracy, was dissolved after refusing to submit to new legal demands. Richard Horsey from the International Crisis Group summed it up bluntly: “These elections are not credible.” The parties that once clinched victory after victory are now little more than footnotes, erased by decree.

Streets that once rang with peaceful protest are now too dangerous for such displays. Demonstrations evolved into open conflict — one that is now as much a civil war as a protest movement. Whole swathes of Myanmar, including large ethnic regions, sit beyond the army’s reach, meaning substantial parts of the map are simply left out of this election. The numbers are stark: of 330 townships, fewer than a third will see polling stations. Three million people are displaced, many caught between shifting battle lines and battered checkpoints.

Seen from the outside, the generals’ strategy is plain. With one hand they’re orchestrating the ballot, with the other, crushing dissent. They hope a new parliament dominated by the pro-military Union Solidarity and Development Party — the country’s old guard in new civilian clothing — will lend legitimacy that direct military rule no longer enjoys. The rules for candidates are stricter than ever. Criticism can mean jail. Most opposition parties have either been banned or are boycotting the process, rightly fearing for their safety and integrity.

The real test, of course, is not whether a vote takes place, but whether it means anything. Amnesty International and the United Nations have issued grave warnings — more than 22,000 political prisoners, and over 7,600 civilians dead at the hands of security forces. Whatever gloss the military gives this election, “intensified violence, repression, and intimidation” is how the U.N. Human Rights Office describes the runup.

And yet, the generals push forward — almost stubbornly. There are official tallies: roughly 5,000 candidates pursuing more than 1,100 seats, but in truth, many of those races are foregone conclusions. “It’s about conferring a civilian veneer to what remains essentially military control,” says Horsey. This approach, though widely questioned by much of the world, finds quiet acceptance from Myanmar’s powerful neighbors. Stability, according to China, India, and Thailand, is still the currency of diplomacy — and the charade of democracy, however thin, keeps deals alive.

Left unaddressed are the millions of citizens for whom these proceedings mean little more than another chapter in loss. Families separated, homes abandoned, voices quieted by fear. For them, the election promises neither peace nor renewal. And outside observers, while divided on how best to respond, seem united on one point: the generals’ grip on power, at least for now, has only tightened. The world may yet witness an election in Myanmar, but whether anyone should mistake it for democracy is another matter entirely.

For the people of Myanmar, the act of voting has always wound its way between hope and hardship. But as the new election looms, even that fragile hope feels elusive. It’s the first since the dramatic events of 2021 — the year the generals upended democracy and let tumult flood back into everyday life. Banners touting multiparty politics have appeared, to be sure, but evenings in the neighborhoods outside central Yangon still pulse with tension and unease.Talk to residents, and the sense is clear: This vote, far from ushering in a brighter era, seems unlikely to touch the stubborn realities on the ground. “It’s not so much an election as a performance,” remarked a teacher from Mandalay, who asked not to be named for fear of repercussions. She remembers the last election, five years gone now, as chaotic but electric — people queued at dawn, hopeful and determined. Those memories do not reflect today’s mood.The coup of 2021, let’s not forget, was justified by the military with claims of mass voter fraud — claims swiftly dismissed by international observers. What followed was a cascade: pro-democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi was given a lengthy prison sentence; her party, the National League for Democracy, was dissolved after refusing to submit to new legal demands. Richard Horsey from the International Crisis Group summed it up bluntly: “These elections are not credible.” The parties that once clinched victory after victory are now little more than footnotes, erased by decree.Streets that once rang with peaceful protest are now too dangerous for such displays. Demonstrations evolved into open conflict — one that is now as much a civil war as a protest movement. Whole swathes of Myanmar, including large ethnic regions, sit beyond the army’s reach, meaning substantial parts of the map are simply left out of this election. The numbers are stark: of 330 townships, fewer than a third will see polling stations. Three million people are displaced, many caught between shifting battle lines and battered checkpoints.Seen from the outside, the generals’ strategy is plain. With one hand they’re orchestrating the ballot, with the other, crushing dissent. They hope a new parliament dominated by the pro-military Union Solidarity and Development Party — the country’s old guard in new civilian clothing — will lend legitimacy that direct military rule no longer enjoys. The rules for candidates are stricter than ever. Criticism can mean jail. Most opposition parties have either been banned or are boycotting the process, rightly fearing for their safety and integrity.The real test, of course, is not whether a vote takes place, but whether it means anything. Amnesty International and the United Nations have issued grave warnings — more than 22,000 political prisoners, and over 7,600 civilians dead at the hands of security forces. Whatever gloss the military gives this election, “intensified violence, repression, and intimidation” is how the U.N. Human Rights Office describes the runup.And yet, the generals push forward — almost stubbornly. There are official tallies: roughly 5,000 candidates pursuing more than 1,100 seats, but in truth, many of those races are foregone conclusions. “It’s about conferring a civilian veneer to what remains essentially military control,” says Horsey. This approach, though widely questioned by much of the world, finds quiet acceptance from Myanmar’s powerful neighbors. Stability, according to China, India, and Thailand, is still the currency of diplomacy — and the charade of democracy, however thin, keeps deals alive.Left unaddressed are the millions of citizens for whom these proceedings mean little more than another chapter in loss. Families separated, homes abandoned, voices quieted by fear. For them, the election promises neither peace nor renewal. And outside observers, while divided on how best to respond, seem united on one point: the generals’ grip on power, at least for now, has only tightened. The world may yet witness an election in Myanmar, but whether anyone should mistake it for democracy is another matter entirely.