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Journal of Democracy, Volume 26, Number 2, April 2015, pp. 86-100

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DOI: 10.1353/jod.2015.0024

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 Exits From Military Rule:
Lessons For Burma
Zoltan Barany

Zoltan Barany is Frank C. Erwin, Jr. Centennial Professor in the De-

partment of Government at the University of Texas at Austin. He is the
author, most recently, of The Soldier and the Changing State: Building
Democratic Armies in Africa, Asia, Europe, and the Americas (2012)
and How Armies Respond to Revolutions and Why (forthcoming).

The fundamental objectives of the democratization process are simi-

lar the world over: a competitive multiparty system, universal suffrage,
free and fair elections, and the like. The specific tasks of democratizers,
however, are largely dependent on the type of regime that they set out
to transform. Whether the point of departure is an absolute monarchy,
a communist state, or a military dictatorship makes an enormous dif-
ference in terms of the reforms that need to be undertaken. This essay
focuses on military dictatorships—more specifically, on the most vex-
ing problem of democratic consolidation following military rule: how to
turn an army that ruled over the state into a democratic army, one that is
supportive of democracy and is a loyal servant of the democratic state.
Today Thailand is the only country under full-fledged military rule,
but there are several others where the armed forces are, and have been
for decades, the dominant political force behind a façade of electoral
authoritarianism: The best examples are Egypt and Pakistan. This essay,
however, is intended primarily to address the situation in countries that
are currently undergoing a precarious transition away from military dic-
tatorship, such as Fiji and especially Burma. During my recent visit to
Burma, opposition figures repeatedly lamented that the generals’ partial
and tentative opening of political space since 2011 was far from “ir-
reversible.”
This notion of “irreversibility” brings up the question of whether any
army’s withdrawal from politics is ever truly irreversible. After all, even
in long-established democracies, soldiers may be tempted to interfere
in politics and, ultimately, to use their weapons against civilians. What

Journal of Democracy Volume 26, Number 2 April 2015

© 2015 National Endowment for Democracy and Johns Hopkins University Press
Zoltan Barany 87

keeps the soldiers from doing that are 1) their commitment to civilian
rule and 2) the state’s capacity to establish a system of control mech-
anisms that effectively precludes the generals’ political involvement.
Therefore, the fundamental objectives of democratizers vis-`a-vis the
military must be to cultivate officers who support democratic govern-
ment and to develop the institutional conditions that prevent the mili-
tary’s intrusion into politics.
Generals tend to relinquish political power in one of two broad sce-
narios. The first is when they are incompetent and unpopular rulers,
eventually to be replaced by an effective political opposition (as in
Greece in 1974 and Argentina in 1983). The second is when military
elites willingly transfer political power to civilians for one or more of
the four following reasons: 1) The military leaders ran the country and,
in their own minds at least, accomplished their objectives; 2) they be-
lieve that their continued participation in politics would jeopardize their
societal and institutional prestige; 3) they experience “governance fa-
tigue”—that is, having grown weary of political responsibilities, they
wish to return to the barracks; or 4) they abide by their pledge to call
free and fair elections or referendums and respect the results (as in Tur-
key in 1983, South Korea in 1987, and Chile in 1990).1 It seems doubtful
that the Burmese army, the Tatmadaw, currently fits into any of these
rubrics.
Until only a few decades ago, there were dozens of countries under
military rule, and their transitions toward democracy offer many differ-
ent examples of how newly democratizing states have brought the ruling
generals of yesterday under civilian control. Here, I briefly highlight
the experiences of South Korea (1987–2003), Thailand (1992–2006),
and Indonesia (1998–2008). I focus on cases from East and Southeast
Asia—and on the beginning stages of dismantling military rule—be-
cause these examples are especially instructive for democracy activists
in Burma. In these three countries, as in Burma, the military was histori-
cally the strongest institution, and generals saw the army as the creator
of the state and guarantor of the nation’s sovereignty. Looking at these
examples also allows us to assess three different outcomes and to con-
sider which aspects of the military’s transition can go wrong—and why
and how.

Korea: As Good as It Gets

After a bloodless coup in 1961, South Korea (henceforth, Korea)
was under de facto military rule until 1988. In mid-1987, in response to
ongoing large-scale demonstrations, the regime reopened negotiations
with opposition parties over a new constitution and agreed to an amend-
ment calling for direct popular presidential elections. Roh Tae-woo, a
moderate general and the candidate of the ruling Democratic Justice
88 Journal of Democracy

Party (DJP), won the December 1987 election, aided by a three-way

split in the opposition bloc. The armed forces stood by during the first
peaceful transfer of power in forty years, mainly because Roh convinced
them that their position would not be threatened. Although Roh was not
the breath of fresh air that many Koreans had hoped for, he turned out
to be precisely the kind of transitional figure that is indispensable for
democratization in some countries.
Roh promoted his old military-academy classmates, thereby consoli-
dating his authority and checking potential army opposition. Officers
constituted nearly a fifth of Roh’s cabinet, and he introduced no major
military reforms. Still, during his five-year term Roh allowed increasing
parliamentary oversight of defense expenditures and ensured the gener-
als’ disengagement from politics. Democratization progressed further
when three opposition parties won enough seats in the 1988 parliamen-
tary elections to deny the DJP a majority. In the meantime, North Korea
became increasingly isolated as the Cold War came to an end, permit-
ting politicians and activists in Seoul to focus on democratization.
In 1992, prodemocracy activist Kim Young-sam was elected by a
landslide. He used his presidency (1993–98) to significantly advance
Korea’s democratization process. Most important, Kim managed to di-
minish considerably the military’s political influence by undertaking a
major purge of the army, reforming the structure of defense administra-
tion, and replacing potentially problematic generals with those commit-
ted to democracy.
Kim started out with a broad agenda of political and economic re-
forms, but his first target was the armed forces. He contacted top gen-
erals to discuss his reform proposals and, in the process, gained their
support. He neutralized potential military opposition by relying on
generals from his native city of Pusan and South Kyongsang Province,
capitalizing on regional sentiments in the armed forces. One of Kim’s
main achievements was to destroy the army’s traditional locus of politi-
cal influence—Hanahoe, an unofficial group of military officers, most
of them belonging to the Korean Military Academy’s eleventh class of
1955—by removing more than a thousand high-ranking officers. Kim
reshuffled the top fifty generals and excluded all Hanahoe members
from promotions and division commands.
In 1996, Kim succeeded in having Roh and his predecessor Chun
Doo-hwan (1980–88), along with thirteen generals, put on trial and con-
victed for large-scale corruption and for their roles in the 1979 coup and
the violent suppression of the 1980 Kwangju uprising against the Chun
Doo-hwan government. Doing so would have been unthinkable just a
few years before. At the same time, Kim reduced the authority of the
General Staff and augmented that of the Ministry of National Defense
(MND). The cumulative result of these measures was the dismantling of
the military regime’s long-established power base and the institutional-
Zoltan Barany 89

ization of civilian control over the armed forces. During Kim’s presi-
dency, the legal and organizational foundations of the defense-security
establishment were thoroughly reformed. The legislature revised laws
to bring the Defense Security Command under parliamentary oversight
and altered its chain of command to foster actual government control.
The reduction in military autonomy went hand in hand with an expanded
governmental role in the formulation of defense and security policy.

The Foundations of Success

Several factors facilitated Kim’s success in reforming Korean civil-
military relations. First, he enjoyed strong and wide public support. Sec-
ond, moderate civil society groups focused on institutional reform bol-
stered Kim’s efforts and deterred military resistance to reform. Third, a
more cohesive and professional military readily accepted the broadening
of civilian oversight. Fourth, the low level of external security threats
provided Korea with a structural condition that favored democratic re-
form and military withdrawal from politics.2 Finally, Kim’s reforms
took place during a period of strong economic growth, which allowed
him to authorize high procurement budgets that appeased a large seg-
ment of the armed-forces establishment.
It was during the following presidency of Kim Dae-jung (1998–2003)
that the process of democratic consolidation in Korea was largely ac-
complished. Unlike his predecessor Kim Young-sam, Kim Dae-jung did
not implement radical military reforms. His most important innovation
in security affairs was the introduction of the “Sunshine Policy,” which
placed relations with North Korea on a new foundation. This initiative
explicitly recognized that the path to security required reducing the inse-
curity of North Korea. The generals were understandably nervous about
the implications of this policy innovation but remained silent, even
though conservative parties vociferously opposed such a drastic shift
in foreign policy. Military elites also abided by Kim Dae-jung’s orders
to respond with restraint to violations of South Korean waters by North
Korean naval vessels.
At the same time, Kim Dae-jung took steps to mollify the armed
forces. Just four days after taking office, in a gesture aimed at national
reconciliation, he released the military leaders jailed under Kim Young-
sam. He did not discriminate against members of the Hanahoe faction,
based assignments and promotion decisions on professional qualifica-
tions, and eschewed regional favoritism. Yet it ought to be remembered
that it was Kim Young-sam’s substantive reforms and courageous posi-
tion vis-`a-vis the armed forces that enabled his successor to make mag-
nanimous gestures toward that institution.
Under Kim Dae-jung, the legislature expanded its involvement in
national-security issues and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs)
90 Journal of Democracy

became more influential in public discussions of defense matters. He

furthered the cause of civilian control in 2001 by establishing a presi-
dential-advisory body to deliberate on a broad range of national-security
issues. This new National Security Council was composed of the presi-
dent; the ministers of unification, foreign affairs, trade, and defense; the
director of the National Intelligence Service; and the senior presidential
secretary for national security and foreign affairs.
Needless to say, Korea is a prosperous and ethnically homogenous
country and, as such, very different from the others discussed in this es-
say. Still, the Korean experience of bringing the military under civilian
control is helpful for democrats in Burma and elsewhere because it rep-
resents the “gold standard,” the near-perfect outcome that ought to be
striven for even if it is likely to be unattainable for the foreseeable future.
What are the major components of this success story? The Korean
president has the right both to command and to administer the armed forc-
es. As in most advanced democracies, the defense ministry is responsible
for general policy, management, organizational matters, and public diplo-
macy relating to defense and security issues. All uniformed personnel are
subordinate to the defense minister. The Joint Chiefs of Staff, meanwhile,
deal with military practice and the implementation of policy. In the case
of natural disasters, local or national administrators can ask the military
for assistance. In national emergencies, the president and parliament must
agree before the president can declare a national emergency and ask the
defense minister to mobilize the armed forces.
Korea’s legislature, the National Assembly, has gradually become
an independent and influential political institution, active in monitoring
the armed forces and influencing the formulation and implementation of
national-security policy. The parliamentary committee on defense is a
full participant in setting, examining, and supervising the MND’s budget,
which is ultimately decided by parliamentary vote. There has been no evi-
dence of any serious misappropriation of funds inside the military, in part
perhaps because the MND maintains an experienced auditing department.
Another explanation for the absence of a serious fraud problem is that
Korea’s military professionals are reasonably well paid, allowing them
to maintain middle-class lifestyles. Officers are prohibited by law from
working for defense firms for five years after their retirement—an excel-
lent example of a lesson that long-consolidated democracies could learn
from a relative newcomer to their ranks.

Thailand: The Generals Leave . . . and Then Return

Since 1932, there have been dozens of coup attempts in Thailand,
at least twelve of them successful. Between 1989 and 1991, 60 percent
of the members of the upper house (the Senate) of the Thai National
Assembly were active-duty military officers, and eleven of the 46 min-
Zoltan Barany 91

isters were retired armed-forces personnel. Thailand’s democratization

process began in the wake of Black May, when the Royal Thai Armed
Forces (RTAF) lost much of their social esteem and political capital for
having brutally suppressed a popular uprising in May 1992. The protests
were actually rooted in the February 1991 coup d’état and were sparked
by five promilitary parties’ in parliament appointing as prime minister
General Suchinda Kraprayoon, the coup’s leader, who was not himself
an elected member of the legislature. Within days, the RTAF-supported
government was forced to resign, and a nearly decade-long (1992–2001)
period of hesitant democratization began.
In the months following the uprising, Anand Panyarachun’s civil-
ian caretaker cabinet (May–December 1992) achieved what few thought
possible: Anand removed high-ranking officers implicated in the 1992
massacre and transferred others, including the army’s commander-in-
chief, to positions of lesser power and diminished access to politics. The
vacant positions at the top of the RTAF hierarchy were filled with com-
petent but politically passive generals, a move that spurred the RTAF
toward greater professionalism.
One of the new legislature’s first actions was to pass a constitutional
amendment that restricted the premiership to elected members of parlia-
ment, thus preventing generals from entering politics directly. Further
changes limited the power of the 225-member Senate, all royal appoin-
tees, to initiate debates against the government and to vote on no-con-
fidence motions, thus preventing military elites from gaining control of
the legislature. In addition, major laws that granted the armed forces
extraconstitutional powers in crises were repealed or modified.
The two civilian governments of Chuan Leekpai (1992–95 and 1997–
2001) managed to significantly reorder Thai civil-military relations by
reducing the army’s influence on elite recruitment and policy making,
decreasing the generals’ prerogatives in setting foreign policy, and halt-
ing the practice of active-duty officers serving in the cabinet and the
Senate. The representation of retired military personnel in the Senate
also was greatly reduced. The 1997 financial crisis paved the way for
Chuan to return for a second stint as prime minister. He once again
added the defense portfolio to his prime-ministerial responsibilities and
pushed the military toward a variety of reforms designed to curb its
autonomy.
Despite these successes, the army remained a central political force,
in large part because it was never depoliticized; it was merely “willing
to pretend to accept limits and controls, on condition that it remained
unreformed.”3 The civilian government was not in a position to demand
major concessions from the RTAF and did not shut out the army from
politics. The RTAF managed to retain its dominant position in the for-
mulation of national-security policy, partly because the legislature did
not have effective defense-security committees and partly because both
92 Journal of Democracy

the National Assembly and the government lacked individuals with sol-
id defense-related expertise.
These shortcomings, in turn, compelled civilians to rely on the RTAF
for advice, meaning that the government still needed to court the army
and obtain its support. The armed forces’ internal reform failed because
no one forced them to implement it. More specifically, the RTAF effec-
tively fended off governmental schemes that it found unacceptable, such
as initiatives aimed at raising efficiency and cutting the number of gen-
erals without actual responsibilities. At the same time, the military read-
ily put into practice other government-backed reforms that happened to
match the RTAF’s own plans—such as force reduction— thereby creat-
ing the impression of a compliant institution.
In January 2001, Thaksin Shinawatra, one of Thailand’s most success-
ful entrepreneurs, became prime minister after leading his new party Thai
Rak Thai to a massive electoral win. Under Thaksin, the gradual process
of reducing the military’s political clout was reversed. He endeavored to
transform the armed forces into his own power base by granting them a
number of new privileges and restoring several old ones. Most important,
he increased the military’s budget and hastily approved its procurement
list for 2005–13. Although the RTAF’s representation in the legislature
was lowered, Thaksin compensated the top brass by appointing 85 gener-
als to the prestigious position of advisor to the prime minister.
That Thaksin’s leverage over the armed forces turned out to be ephem-
eral was his own fault. Notwithstanding his many conciliatory gestures
toward the RTAF, he enraged the generals by repeatedly interfering in the
army’s promotion procedures in order to solidify his support base. Either
failing to discern or choosing to ignore signals of the deep-seated displea-
sure that his actions provoked among army elites, Thaksin continued to
appoint supporters and even family members to top RTAF posts. These
dangerous measures ultimately brought down not only Thaksin’s own re-
gime but, more broadly, civilian rule in Thailand. In September 2006, fol-
lowing several months of public protests, instability, and political maneu-
vering, the military staged a bloodless coup while Thaksin was out of the
country. The underlying reason for the prime minister’s overthrow was
his persistent meddling with promotions and resolute efforts to restructure
the military leadership.4 Nevertheless, the coup enjoyed the backing of the
business community, intellectuals, social activists, and the media.
Once back in power, the generals regained their position in policy
formulation and implementation, monopolized the policy areas of para-
mount concern to them (national security and foreign policy), and im-
posed limitations on media freedoms. The junta banned political parties
and demonstrations until July 2007, and a new National Legislative As-
sembly, with heavy military and police representation, drew up yet an-
other constitution (to replace the 1997 Constitution) endorsed by the top
brass. Since then, three more elected governments have been removed
Zoltan Barany 93

from office—two of them by military coup, the last in May 2014—and

Thailand is once again being ruled by its armed forces.5

Indonesia: A Pleasant Surprise

In February 1998, the effects of the Asian economic crisis, combined
with the widespread corruption of Suharto’s 33-year-old regime, unleashed
massive protests that turned into riots costing more than a thousand lives
in Jakarta alone. Following protracted negotiations with politicians and
military leaders, Suharto resigned in May and was succeeded by his vice-
president, Bacharuddin Jusuf Habibie. In June 1999, Indonesia held its
first free elections in four decades; three months later, the new legislature
elected a civilian president, Abdurrahman Wahid (1999–2001).
Post-Suharto presidents have been interested in reforming civil-mil-
itary relations to varying degrees. Nevertheless, they all have depended
heavily on their personal relationships with leading generals and have
left the task of reforming the army largely to them. One might condemn
Indonesia’s defense reform for the minimal civilian participation in it.
Yet one could also argue that political leaders were actually wise to stay
out of the nitty-gritty of reform: As the generals were allowed to for-
mulate and implement changes themselves, the military automatically
acquired “ownership” of the reforms and was therefore more likely to
respect them. Even so, the reform process has been anything but linear,
as it has reflected the fluctuations of broader political developments.6
During Habibie’s seventeen-month term, civil-military relations
changed considerably. His close relationship with Commander-in-Chief
Wiranto and other military leaders, who made the decision to depoliti-
cize the military and redefine its role, eased the army’s acceptance of the
reforms. The most significant among them were the armed forces’ sepa-
ration from the police; the end of the practice of promoting active-duty
military officers to nonmilitary jobs; and, more generally, the substan-
tial shrinking of the army’s political influence. In addition, the number
of parliamentary seats assigned to officers was cut, the generals apolo-
gized for past human-rights abuses, and a number of the most notorious
officers were dismissed. In 2000, the military’s name was changed from
ABRI (Republic of Indonesia Armed Forces) back to TNI (Indonesian
National Armed Forces), and in an important symbolic move, the top
brass declared the army’s political neutrality.
Under Wahid, the TNI’s political position further weakened. He selected
a civilian defense minister, appointed reformist generals to senior military
posts, and supported the prosecution of officers for their alleged human-
rights violations. What proved to be most damaging for Wahid’s political
longevity was his repeated interference in the military’s promotion process.
(This same miscalculation contributed to Thaksin’s undoing in Thailand.)
All in all, civil-military relations took a step backward during Wahid’s
94 Journal of Democracy

presidency because his meddling in the TNI’s internal affairs created an

opportunity for military leaders to reclaim some of their political influence.
The next president, Megawati Sukarnoputri (2001–2004), daughter
of founding president Sukarno, was heavily indebted to the generals for
helping to get her elected. In return, she became their reliable friend in the
presidential palace. She rewarded several retired officers—many of them
reform skeptics—with key positions in her administration. Arguably the
most important appointment Megawati made, however, was that of Susilo
Bambang Yudhoyono. Yudhoyono was a retired lieutenant-general from
the TNI’s reformist wing who served as coordinating minister for security
and political affairs and was responsible for ensuring domestic stability
and civilian control over the military. Megawati reduced the authority of
the defense ministry as the executive’s primary institutional link to the
military, instead depending more on personal connections to leading gen-
erals. The result of this practice, in combination with other political and
institutional concessions to army elites, was a sharp diminution of civilian
control over the TNI and a corresponding upsurge in military autonomy.
Being disliked by the military top brass was probably an electoral
asset in Yudhoyono’s successful bid to succeed Megawati as president.
Partly because of his relatively weak standing with military elites, few
major reforms in the defense ministry and the TNI were implemented
during his tenure (2004–2014), yet the quality of Indonesian civil-mil-
itary relations markedly improved. Under Yudhoyono, the legislature
became more assertive, though its all-civilian Armed Forces Committee
still does not have full oversight of the military’s budget. A number of
NGOs and government think tanks emerged that generated public dis-
cussion of defense-security affairs and kept a critical eye on the military
establishment. Even so, the legislature does not, as a general rule, take
advantage of the considerable defense expertise located in such organi-
zations by consulting their staff. During Yudhoyono’s presidency, the
army’s political privileges were further curtailed: Unelected military of-
ficers could no longer hold parliamentary seats, ambassadorships were
closed to active armed-forces personnel, and military courts were sub-
ordinated to the Supreme Court. Yudhoyono succeeded in improving
soldiers’ conditions, procuring some big-ticket weapons, and reducing
factionalism within the top brass (by, among other things, not meddling
in high-level promotions). Moreover, military affairs, shrouded in se-
crecy under Megawati, became far more transparent.
Although much has been achieved in democratizing Indonesia’s mil-
itary politics, several problems remain. The head of the TNI reports
directly to the president, not to the defense minister, and the defense
ministry is still staffed primarily by officers rather than civilians. The
top brass retains a dominant role in the formulation of national-securi-
ty policy. Many officers have not been held accountable for their past
human-rights abuses. Perhaps the biggest problem, however, is the con-
Zoltan Barany 95

tinued involvement of the TNI in the national economy, allowing its

political influence in villages, towns, and districts to endure.
Instability—political, economic, and social—was the chief attribute
of the setting in which the post-Suharto transition began. It must be
recognized, then, that concessions to the armed forces, traditionally the
country’s most important political actor, had to be made in order to en-
sure that the process of democratization would not be reversed. Keeping
the TNI’s budget low while at the same time proscribing its economic
activities would have been tantamount to taking away soldiers’ live-
lihoods. Indonesia’s generals agreed to a significantly reduced politi-
cal role and the erosion of many of their privileges. They would have
been hard-pressed to tolerate the loss of their business interests without
some sort of protest or mutiny, which the country’s nascent democracy
might not have survived. Army elites appear to be satisfied with the
current political situation, but the peace between civilians and soldiers
is predicated on the latter’s continued rent-seeking activity, albeit on a
much smaller scale. The appropriate time to force the military out of the
economy will come when the defense budget is able to maintain the TNI
without its having to rely on external sources of revenue.
On the whole, Indonesia’s post-Suharto transition has been a pleas-
ant surprise.7 Despite secessionist challenges, the country has not disinte-
grated; interethnic relations, particularly the occasionally tense nexus of
the Indonesian majority with the small but financially powerful ethnic-
Chinese minority, have not come unhinged; and the Muslim majority,
by and large, has not been radicalized. Instead, the Indonesian case has
shown that in a multiethnic and multireligious society incremental po-
litical reforms and elite-driven compromises can prevent polarization and
lead to constitutional reform and, in time, democratic consolidation. Even
though the generals’ political role has been sharply diminished, they have
not only refrained from attempting a coup, but have gradually accepted
a position in Indonesian politics that, aside from a few remaining flaws,
is more or less compatible with democratic civil-military relations. The
July 2014 presidential election, which brought to power civilian politician
Joko Widodo, only confirms this assessment. Perhaps nothing demon-
strates better the TNI’s new place in the political landscape than the fact
that it played no consequential role in the 2014 contest.

What to Do, What to Avoid

The critical task for democracy activists, once the armor of military
rule begins to show some chinks, is to usher the army out of politics. If
the armed forces played a role in overseeing the economy or participated
in business activities, they need to be removed from that sector as well. A
new institutional framework must be erected for democratic civil-military
relations, in which civilian control over the military is balanced between
96 Journal of Democracy

the executive and legislative branches. During the transition period, pru-
dent democratizers should prepare for coup attempts, political interfer-
ence, and mutinies from disgruntled segments of the armed forces. Gener-
als, particularly in countries where they
retain significant political leverage, will
In democratic transitions want concessions from the new regime
from military rule, swift such as a voice in politics (especially
and drastic changes are in the formulation of defense, security,
inadvisable because they and foreign policy), immunity from
prosecution for their past misdeeds, pro-
might provoke the ire of
fessional autonomy, and large military
those for whom regime budgets as well as the authority to con-
change means the loss of trol their allocation.
power and privilege. One factor that can be exceedingly
auspicious for successful democratiza-
tion is the presence of inspired and in-
spiring leadership. Of the three cases considered above, Korea and Thai-
land were fortunate to have had at the helm Kim Young-sam and Chuan
Leekpai, respectively. The Indonesian case, however, shows that even
without visionary leaders (and in a socioeconomic context far less propi-
tious than Korea’s), democratization can move forward if politicians in
key places understand the possibilities and limitations of their political
environment.
Building a clear and unambiguous institutional framework and pro-
viding the armed forces with a transparent political environment ought
to be a key objective of democratizers. Constitutions should be clear
about the chain of command in peacetime, wartime, and cases of na-
tional emergency. Acceptable political activity by active-duty, reserve,
and retired armed-forces personnel must be clearly defined: Should they
be able to vote, join political parties, appear in uniform at political ral-
lies, run for office? Those political activities deemed acceptable must
be clearly regulated, and the consequences of noncompliance must be
consistently applied. Transparency reduces insecurity, builds trust, and
helps to eliminate scheming and rumor-mongering.
In democratic transitions from military rule, swift and drastic changes
are inadvisable because they might unnecessarily provoke the ire of those
for whom regime change means the loss of power and privilege. Follow-
ing a gradualist approach that favors coalition-building and a willingness
to make acceptable compromises is usually a more prudent way to pro-
ceed. In countries where the armed forces retain some political clout and
public esteem after withdrawing from power, it is especially important
not to antagonize them needlessly by overly rapid reform programs de-
signed to reduce their autonomy and perquisites. The inability or refusal
of politicians to compromise when necessary or to cut the generals some
slack on issues of minor importance may alienate officers who otherwise
Zoltan Barany 97

would be willing to subordinate themselves to civilian control. In other

words, strategic compromises can enhance the prospects of successful
civilian control over the armed forces and democratic consolidation.
There is a direct correlation between vigorous parliamentary participa-
tion in defense and security affairs and democratic civil-military relations.
Consequently, enhancing the legislature’s clout—by increasing the author-
ity of its defense committee(s) and encouraging or even requiring it to make
a substantive contribution to deliberations pertaining to the armed forces—
should be a priority for democracy activists. One issue that democratizers
should avoid compromising on is the elimination of parliamentary seats set
aside for military representatives. Yet giving the legislature too much power
over the armed forces can result in an unbalanced institutional arrangement.
Giving legislatures too dominant a role over the army can hamper expedi-
tious political decision-making and compromise the armed forces’ essential
functions in a democracy as able and ready defenders of the democratic
state and as active and useful participants in military alliances.
Independent civilian defense experts, NGOs, and journalists focusing
on security issues can play a beneficial role in advising elected offi-
cials and the public about military affairs. Their involvement encour-
ages transparency and promotes trust among society, the state, and the
armed forces. Guaranteed media freedoms are not just a requisite of
democratic civil-military relations; without them, democracy cannot be
consolidated. Both in the school system and in military colleges and
academies, students, trainees, and cadets should be taught about the ap-
propriate role of the armed forces in a democratic state and society.
The state must make an effort to teach its citizens from early on in their
formal education that the army’s role is limited to protecting them from
foreign threats, providing assistance following natural disasters, and, if
possible, assisting international peacekeeping operations.
The thoughtful sequencing of defense reforms can be exceedingly im-
portant in ensuring the military’s compliance and cooperation. Consulting
with democratic-minded senior officers regarding the details and order of
reform signals the state’s willingness to consider the perspective of the
armed forces and can be expected to foster an agreeable inter-institutional
climate. Military elites who are consulted by the state are more likely to
take ownership of reforms, even if they do not agree with every single
measure, than those who are cut out of the loop. The state should oversee
the promotion of the most senior members of the armed forces, but politi-
cians should not interfere with routine promotions in the lower ranks, nor
should they meddle in military education, training, and professional con-
cerns unless these are in conflict with basic democratic values.
It is usually smart policy for civilian politicians to highlight their
appreciation of the military by attending ceremonies, awarding medals,
and praising soldiers as exemplifying the most noble virtues of the na-
tion. States and societies make considerable sacrifices to maintain their
98 Journal of Democracy

armed forces. Marginalizing military officers by not asking their advice

regarding defense or foreign policy is irresponsible and a waste of pub-
lic resources. The military can serve many important roles apart from
protecting the state from external threats—monitoring and controlling
the country’s air space and coastal waters, providing help in natural di-
sasters, offering humanitarian assistance and disaster relief abroad, and
participating in international peacekeeping operations. These activities
make soldiers feel useful and enhance their public image.

A Hard Road for Burma

The predicament of Burmese democracy activists today is far more
difficult than what their counterparts in Korea, Thailand, and Indonesia
faced. The Burmese military, the Tatmadaw, has been in power for a lon-
ger period (since 1962); its domination of politics and public life has been
far more overpowering; and its penetration of the national economy and
control of society have been far greater than in any of the three cases dis-
cussed in this essay. Corruption is also much more pervasive in Burma,
and it permeates political, societal, and commercial exchanges on every
level—Transparency International’s 2014 Corruption Perception Index
ranked Burma 156th out of 175 countries.8 For decades, the generals vir-
tually isolated the country from the outside world, making it unusually
challenging for foreign governments, NGOs, and companies to provide
assistance. The 1988 and 2007 antiregime uprisings revealed that the op-
position—owing in part to the military government’s decades-long brutal
suppression of dissident activity—was divided and unable to extract ma-
jor concessions from the regime. As the Indonesian experience shows, a
united opposition greatly reduces the generals’ ability to successfully re-
sist pressures for reform. Unfortunately, the Burmese opposition remains
deeply divided among urban-intellectual elites, traditional social activists,
the student movement, and groups based on ethnic and religious identity.
Since 2010, the junta has introduced some limited political and eco-
nomic reforms and, according to its supporters at least, is “publicly
committed to building a ‘modern developed democratic nation.’”9 Nev-
ertheless, democracy activists are correct to argue that these changes
are easily reversible and reflect the generals’ interest in avoiding for-
eign economic sanctions and escaping international isolation rather than
any enthusiasm for democratization.10 The only realistic course open to
democratizers in Burma is to unite disparate opposition groups, forge
a substantive alliance with marginalized ethnoreligious minorities, and
patiently but steadily pressure the generals toward further reforms until
entirely free and fair elections can decide the country’s political destiny.
Four years into the democratization process, the military continues to
dominate Burmese politics and business, and it is hard to see why it would
give up its hold on power. In fact, the generals’ plan—a limited political
Zoltan Barany 99

opening that would allow them to continue leading the country with “a
veneer of legitimacy” and a constitution that would “enshrine their key
role in politics”11—has worked so well that they have managed to stall key
reforms with little more than mild rebukes from abroad. The 2008 Consti-
tution protects the military from being held accountable for past wrongdo-
ings, disqualifies opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi from running for
president, and reserves 25 percent of parliamentary seats for Tatmadaw
appointees. Given that 75 percent of parliament is needed to approve con-
stitutional amendments, this creates a veritable “constitutional bunker”
for the military. (It is useful to recall that the former military regimes of
Thailand and Indonesia also set aside legislative seats for their own ap-
pointees, although Korea’s military regime did not.)
One ray of hope for Burma’s opposition is the rift that is said to
have developed among the regime’s three main leaders—Senior Gen-
eral and Commander-in-Chief Min Aung Hlaing, President Thein Sein,
and speaker of the lower house of parliament Shwe Mann (the latter
two both are retired generals) They disagree about whether the mili-
tary-backed ruling Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP),
whose chairman is Shwe Mann, can be relied upon to safeguard the
Tatmadaw’s interests. The military has tended to follow the presi-
dent’s reform initiatives, but in recent months Min Aung Hlaing has
assumed tougher policy stances, particularly regarding ceasefire talks
with armed ethnic groups.12 Thein Sein, however, seems to agree with
Min Aung Hlaing that Burma is “not ready” for a reduced military role
in the legislature, while the USDP—whose members must compete
to be elected—recently offered conditional support for altering the
constitution’s amendment clause (Article 436 of Chapter XII), which
requires a minimum vote of 75 percent in the legislature to amend the
2008 Constitution. 13 It is quite possible, that one of these three men
will be elected president in late 2015: Thein Sein may well decide to
stand for the office again; Shwe Mann announced his candidacy long
ago; and Min Aung Hlaing, in a number of recent interviews, has re-
fused to rule out his own candidacy.
For the Tatmadaw, Thailand’s political trajectory has obvious appeal,
and Min Aung Hlaing openly praised the Thai generals during his visit
to Bangkok shortly after their May 2014 coup.14 For pragmatic Burmese
democracy activists, however, Indonesia, with its admittedly imperfect
outcome, is the example to keep in mind and aspire to emulate. Yet it is so-
bering to remember that even in Indonesia the threat of democratic reversal
remained very real during the 2014 presidential-election campaign, sixteen
years after the reform process began.15 The situation in Burma today is
much more challenging than Indonesia’s was in 1998. Realistic Burmese
democracy activists therefore ought to be prepared for a lengthy struggle.16
Considering Burma’s postindependence history, the Tatmadaw’s enduring
political and economic dominance, and the weaknesses of the country’s
100 Journal of Democracy

democratic opposition, there are ample reasons to doubt that the generals
will withdraw from politics in the foreseeable future.

NOTES

1. Zoltan Barany, The Soldier and the Changing State: Building Democratic Armies in
Africa, Asia, Europe, and the Americas (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012), 39–42.

2. Jongseok Woo, Security Challenges and Military Politics in East Asia (New York:
Continuum, 2011), 113–14.

3. Duncan McCargo and Ukrist Pathmanand, The Thaksinization of Thailand (Copen-

hagen: Nordic Institute of Asian Studies Press, 2005), 129.

4. Ukrist Pathmanand, “A Different Coup d’État?” Journal of Contemporary Asia 38

(February 2008): 130–32.

5. Pavin Chachavalpongpun, ed., Good Coup Gone Bad: Thailand’s Political Develop-
ment Since Thaksin’s Downfall (Singapore: ISAS, 2014).

6. Marcus Mietzner, Military Politics, Islam, and the State in Indonesia (Singapore:
ISAS, 2009), 2.

7. See Donald Horowitz, Constitutional Change and Democracy in Indonesia (New

York: Cambridge University Press, 2013).

8. See www.transparency.org/cpi2014/results. See also Kyaw Kha, “Thein Sein Ad-

mits Corruption, Bribery Are ‘Chronic’ in Burma,” Irrawaddy, 22 August 2014; and
Thomas Fuller, “Myanmar’s Opening Up Hasn’t Loosened Graft in Courts,” New York
Times, 24 October 2014.

9. Maung Aung Myoe, “The Soldier and the State: The Tatmadaw and Political Liber-
alization in Myanmar Since 2011,” South East Asia Research 22 (June 2014): 233.

10. Author’s interviews with democracy activists and opposition politicians, Rangoon,
1–5 October 2014.

11. Kyaw Zwa Moe, “Burma’s Democracy: Just What the Generals Ordered,” Ir-
rawaddy, 1 January 2015.

12. Min Zin, “Return of the Myanmar Military?” New York Times, 17 November 2014;
and Phuong Nguyen, “Myanmar’s Military Still a Wild Card as Elections Loom,” South-
east Asia from Scott Circle (Center for Strategic and International Studies newsletter), 5
February 2015, 2–3.

13. See “President Rejects Constitutional Reform Dialogue,” DVB Multimedia Group,
20 January 2015; and “Myanmar Not Ready for Reduced Military Role in Parliament:
Army Chief,” Channel News Asia, 20 January 2015.

14. “Thailand and Myanmar: Traditional Rivals Now Brothers in Arms,” Straits Times
(Singapore), 14 July 2014.

15. See Marcus Mietzner, “How Jokowi Won and Democracy Survived,” Journal of
Democracy 25 (October 2014): 111–25.

16. See, for instance, Kyaw Yin Hlaing, ed., Prisms on the Golden Pagoda: Perspec-
tives on National Reconciliation in Myanmar (Singapore: NUS Press, 2014).