Early on the morning of June 19, a group of elderly Buddhist monks, all abbots at their respective monasteries, took an hour-long flight from Yangon to Mandalay.
They were Ashin Munindra, Ashin Gunikar, and Yaw Sayadaw, senior leaders of the Shwegyin monastic order, highly respected in Myanmar for its strict adherence to the Vinaya, the code of conduct for monks in the Theravada Buddhist tradition. They had also previously held top positions in the State Sangha Maha Nayaka Committee, a state-sanctioned body of high-ranking monks.
Despite their advanced years, they were also well known for their continued role in instructing younger monks. Ashin Munindra, the abbot of the important Win Nimmita Monastery in Bago, was the author of dozens of commentaries and textbooks. Now in his late 70s, he was still giving four lectures a day to about 300 monks at his monastery.
The purpose of their trip to Mandalay, a city that is home to the largest number of Buddhist monasteries in the country, was to attend a meeting of the Shwegyin order’s central executive committee at its headquarters, scheduled for the next day.
Soon after they landed at Mandalay International Airport at around 8:30am, they were greeted by their lay supporters. Then Yaw Sayadaw, one of the most renowned Buddhist monks in the country, parted from the other two, who boarded a Toyota Hilux Surf driven by a local supporter named Kyaw Win. Instead of going directly to Mandalay from the airport, the two monks, in their distinctive saffron robes, proceeded to Kamma, a village in nearby Ngazun Township.
Ngazun borders southern Sagaing Region, from which it is separated by the Ayeyarwady River. Since the February 2021 coup, Sagaing Region has been a hotbed of conflict between regime forces and those loyal to the resistance. But the mood on that day was one of serenity. The hills visible across the river are studded with the white and golden spires of Buddhist pagodas and monasteries—a reminder that Sagaing is also known as a major centre of Buddhist learning.
Ashin Gunikar was originally from Ngazun, and so had decided to pay a visit to relatives living there. He and Ashin Munindra also took the time to inspect a new Buddhist ordination hall being built in Kamma before leaving the village at around 10:30am.
Their next destination was Tada-U, a town on the way back to Mandalay. Their plan was to stop there for a meal that had been prepared for them by their disciples. As monks, they were regularly offered food, which according to the Vinaya, they had to eat before noon.
(Some of the deadliest attacks carried out by the regime have targeted gatherings where offerings of food were made to monks and members of the public to mark the establishment of resistance administration in areas captured from the military. Across Sagaing Region, countless villages have been reduced to ashes by a junta determined not to allow any alternative to its rule to emerge within the country.)
As frequent travellers, Ashin Munindra and Ashin Gunikar were well aware of the parlous state of Myanmar’s politics and its impact on people’s lives. But like many others living in major urban centres that have been largely spared from the worst of the violence, they may have felt they could afford to ignore it. According to a common saying in Myanmar, “You remain indifferent until the flames reach your door.”
It’s also true that suffering is not seen as an aberration in Buddhism, but as something that is innate to the existence of all sentient beings. The goal of the Buddhist practice is not to avoid suffering but to transcend it, by laying a firm foundation of morality and from there attaining higher levels of realisation, until at last one reaches the state known as Nibbana (or Nirvana)—complete liberation from all conditions. And so some detachment from the situation on the ground three years into a brutal civil war might have come naturally to these two seasoned monks.
In any case, the suffering they had so far avoided—the suffering that has been senselessly inflicted on millions in Myanmar by a regime intent only on clinging to power—could not be kept from their door forever.
Lunch before noon
Soon after they set off for Tada-U, the two monks asked their driver, Kyaw Win, to close the car’s windows and turn on the air conditioning. While other parts of the country had cooled a little with the onset of the rainy season earlier in the month, Myanmar’s central dry zone was still intensely hot, and by this time of day, the heat was becoming unbearable. As the sun ascended over the arid landscape, the monks were also careful to remind their driver that lunch in Tada-U would begin at 11am, the usual time for monks to eat.
Under normal circumstances, reaching their destination on time would not have been difficult. But what the monks and their driver didn’t know was that they were sharing the road with a military vehicle that was heading in the same direction. According to a leaked document seen by Myanmar Now, it was carrying the body of a soldier who had been killed in an ambush by resistance forces.
The vehicle, a Chinese-made Faw truck, looked like the sort used by construction companies to carry heavy loads. Kyaw Win made the fateful decision to try to pass it, not knowing that it was full of junta troops sent as reinforcements from the town of Kyaukse, south of Mandalay, as well as members of the pro-junta Pyu Saw Htee militia from Ngazun.
As Kyaw Win’s car sped up to overtake the truck, it was hit by a volley of bullets. He immediately pulled over to the side of the road, but by this time Ashin Munindra was already dead of a gunshot wound to the head. Ashin Gunikar and the driver both sustained non-life-threatening injuries.
Emerging from the car, Ashin Gunikar was confronted by a mob of soldiers, including some officers, who had jumped out of the truck ready to “neutralise” any surviving motorists, if need be. He then unleashed a torrent of angry words at the junta troops who stood before him. “How could you be so cruel?” he demanded to know, challenging the soldiers in a way that would likely have cost anybody else their life.
No doubt Ashin Gunikar knew that his robes gave him a degree of protection that only centuries of reverence for monks could confer. While monks are not always spared the military’s brutality, especially when they directly challenge its supremacy—as they did during the 2007 Saffron Revolution—most Myanmar Buddhists, including senior junta leaders, instinctively prostrate themselves before high-ranking members of the monastic order.
For their part, the soldiers were likely stunned when they realised what they had done. While taking human life is nothing to regime forces schooled in cruelty, killing a monk is another matter. For a moment, at least, they must have been appalled at the thought of the bad karma they had incurred.
But deeply ingrained deference soon yielded to another instinct—a soldier’s need for control. “We didn’t know you were monks. Your car’s windows were closed, so we mistook it for an enemy vehicle,” said one of the officers, defending the actions of his troops.
Since seizing power more than three years ago, the military has imposed countless new rules on Myanmar’s people, aimed at making them easier to control. An injunction to keep car windows open at all times while driving, regardless of weather conditions, was just one of them.
Later, Ashin Gunikar would recount that the soldiers were quick to take away their phones but slow to attend to their injuries. The officers in charge were already in damage-control mode, less concerned about the lives of those they had killed or nearly killed than they were about containing the situation.
Making propaganda in the old palace
Ashin Gunikar, whose robes were soaked in blood, and the driver, whose three fingers were blown off during the attack, were both forced to surrender their mobile phones. They were also told not to go near Ashin Munindra’s body.
It would be two hours before the soldiers brought the two survivors to a nearby hospital in Tada-U. From there, they were taken to Mandalay Palace, in the heart of Myanmar’s second-largest city. It was here that the regime would concoct a tale about how the monks were attacked by “terrorists” opposed to military rule.
At that point, only the victims and the real assailants actually knew the truth. To create a plausible story that they could sell to the public, the junta needed to make sure that Ashin Gunikar and Kyaw Win cooperated. And there were few better places to get them to do this than in the old palace, which also housed a notorious interrogation centre and served as the headquarters of the regime’s Central Regional Military Command.
Within the palace compound, the monk and the driver were subjected to relentless pressure by a group of military officers led by Gen. Kyi Khaing, the regional commander. They were urged to provide an account of the incident that aligned with the junta’s narrative, which laid the entire blame on anti-regime insurgents.
After hours of questioning, the junta released a video of Kyaw Win that was broadcast later that night on state-run TV. In it, he said that his car had been attacked by “terrorists” from the People’s Defence Force (PDF), the military wing of the shadow National Unity Government.
“At the exit from Kamma, PDF terrorists opened fire and … the Sayadaw died. I was seriously wounded in my left hand. The Tatmadaw is now giving me medical treatment,” he said, using the respectful term for a senior monk and the formal name of the Myanmar military.
That was all he said. His account contained no sequence of events, just an accusation that would soon be revealed to be utterly untrue.
Perhaps as a reward for his cooperation, Kyaw Win’s phone was returned to him. He used it to send a text message to his family, assuring them that he was fine. But as the junta’s lies began to unravel, he was not heard from again, and his whereabouts were still unknown one week after the incident.
Ashin Gunikar was not as willing to comply with the junta’s demands. Nevertheless, he was allowed to leave Mandalay Palace so that he could travel to Bago with the body of Ashin Munindra, which was taken back to Win Nimmita Monastery for his funeral.
By the time he reached Bago on June 20, conflicting accounts had already begun to emerge from local sources casting doubt on Kyaw Win’s terse statement. These doubts were further reinforced by a leaked letter from the department of religious affairs in Mandalay, which clearly stated that the attack was carried out by “security troops on patrol” and made no mention of anti-regime forces.
It was later that day, while addressing a large group of monks who had assembled to pay respects to Ashin Munindra, that Ashin Gunikar finally broke his silence. As the dead monk lay in a clear coffin of glass and metal, shaded by ceremonial white umbrellas, Ashin Gunikar delivered his devastating account of what actually happened the day before, and how the regime had attempted to force him to lie about it.
“They kept giving me cues about what to say, to tell the story they wanted me to convey. But I stuck to the truth. I made sure that my account remained completely consistent,” said the senior monk.
Several mourners at the monastery recorded the entire speech on their phones, livestreaming it on Facebook. It could not have looked worse for the regime, which has routinely denied the atrocities its troops have committed and used internet blackouts and other means to suppress information about its crimes. For many in Myanmar it was a cathartic moment, relieving them of some of the trauma they have felt after being forced to stifle their own horrific stories of abuse at the hands of their oppressors.
Admission of guilt
For once, the regime could not simply deny the facts, which were now clear for all to see. So the next day, June 21, the regime’s spokesperson, Maj.-Gen. Zaw Min Tun, issued a statement acknowledging that the perpetrators of Ashin Munindra’s murder were, indeed, junta troops. He added that a thorough investigation would be carried out, and also attempted to offer some justification, noting that the regime had found it difficult to eliminate a network of resistance groups operating in the area.
This was an admission not only of the junta’s culpability in killing a senior monk, but also of its failure to bring an area just a few dozen miles from Mandalay under its control. In its propaganda, the regime had always maintained that Myanmar’s civil war was confined to its fringes, in predominantly ethnic areas along its borders. While this was largely true before the coup, it was no longer the case now, as wide swathes of the country’s heartland, populated mostly by members of the ethnic Bamar majority, were now among the most heavily contested.
There was some speculation immediately after these revelations came to light that Myanmar’s monks might take to the streets in protest, as they did during the Saffron Revolution. But that seems unlikely, given that monks rarely resort to public displays of defiance. While they may sometimes use their moral authority to call attention to some injustice, for the most part, they prefer to remain aloof from politics, in accordance with the rules of the Vinaya. This was true during the era of British colonial rule, and is still the case today.
This fact may be why the regime allowed Ashin Gunikar to go to Bago, even after he refused to lie about the shooting incident. Indeed, some wonder why the junta didn’t just murder him and the driver, rather than running the risk of having its fabricated account of the attack exposed. The generals who held him at Mandalay Palace may have simply been counting on Ashin Gunikar to avoid taking a confrontational stance on what happened.
Beyond this, however, it is likely that the regime has handled this case with especial care because of the close relationship between its leader, Senior General Min Aung Hlaing, and the chair of the Shwegyin order, Ashin Nyanissara—popularly known as Sitagu Sayadaw.
Since the coup, Sitagu Sayadaw has become one of Myanmar’s most controversial monks, often appearing next to Min Aung Hlaing in a show of approval for his regime and its overthrow of the country’s elected civilian government.
On the weekend after Ashin Gunikar disclosed the details of what happened on June 19, Sitagu Sayadaw arrived at the Win Nimmita Monastery to join who had gathered there to pay their respects to Ashin Munindra—and to ensure that the cause of his death didn’t lead to a rift between Myanmar’s monks and its military.
To do this, he delivered a sermon on the importance of forgiveness, reminding the assembled monks of the Buddha’s teaching about “tolerance being the most important and valuable of all virtues for the Sangha,” or monastic order.
This was very much in line with the spirit of Buddhism, and so was easy enough for all present to accept. But when the senior monk went further and said that, given the deep divisions in Myanmar society, it was “imperative to maintain the unity between the ruling government and the Sangha,” it created more of a stir.
While the monks present duly repeated the word “Sadhu,” meaning “well done,” three times at the end of the sermon, members of the public were much less impressed with these conciliatory words. While he remains a commanding presence, even in his late 80s, Sitagu Sayadaw’s stature as a moral leader has been much diminished by his association with a brutal regime.
In his sermon, he also sought forgiveness from his fellow monks for not being able to attend Ashin Munindra’s funeral. He explained that he was scheduled to undergo a medical check-up in Switzerland, where he would also stay for a while “for recreation.”
Many saw this as an evasion—an attempt to avoid being drawn any further into the mess that the military had created. He even mentioned that the hospitals in neighbouring Thailand were no longer suitable for him because they attracted too many Myanmar nationals, suggesting that he knew he could no longer be certain of the adulation he once received from his compatriots.
A show of contrition
The entire saga culminated on June 24 with a personal apology from Min Aung Hlaing, delivered to the monks of Win Nimmita Monastery by senior junta officials. After humbly prostrating themselves before the monks, the officials read out the message from Myanmar’s most powerful general.
In it, Min Aung Hlaing reiterated the justification for the incident that had already appeared in state media. He then went on to make the same appeal to unity that Sitagu Sayadaw had made, invoking the time-honoured principle of maintaining an unbreakable bond between the ruler of the nation and its spiritual leaders.
Once again, the whole episode was broadcast live on Facebook, which has become something of a weapon in the hands of those intent on challenging the junta’s monopoly on truth. One senior monk who listened to Min Aung Hlaing’s self-justifying lecture on the proper place of monks could be heard remarking that the incident was indeed tragic—and would not be forgotten.
For most Myanmar Buddhists, this response suffices to put the matter to rest. Few expect a monks’ uprising, as most believe that those who take the robes have one simple and yet extremely difficult task—to lead exemplary lives, so that others can also find their way to liberation from the afflictions that arise from attachment.
There is, of course, some room for monks to weigh in on temporal matters. In 2021, in the immediate aftermath of the coup, a number of senior monks took the rare step of issuing a statement that said the military takeover had destroyed the future of the country and its younger generation, and appealed to all parties to resolve the crisis with compassion, wisdom, and loving-kindness.
Ashin Munindra was one of the signatories of that statement, which went unheeded by a regime that responded to nonviolent protests with a show of force that left hundreds dead and ignited a nationwide conflagration.
Meanwhile, true to its nature—and not to its words—the junta has shown no real inclination to forgive those who challenge its rule, even now. In the days after Sitagu Sayadaw made his remarks urging monks and the public to refrain from judging the military too harshly for killing Ashin Munindra, the regime made a number of arrests targeting online critics of the monk’s comments.
It has also again blamed “PDF terrorists” for the shooting death of another monk, this time in Mandalay Region’s Myingyan Township, a short distance southwest of Ngazun. The official account of this incident accuses an unspecified armed group of opening fire shortly after midnight on June 23 on a vehicle that was carrying the assistant abbot of a local monastery and other passengers. In this case, no one has come forward to contradict this account.
While the regime routinely denies responsibility for its crimes, Ashin Munindra believed that breaking the cycle of violence that Myanmar has descended into was the responsibility of all.
“We have so many preaching monks and so many Buddhist monasteries in Myanmar. And yet, very few take these Buddhist virtues seriously, which is why all these miseries in our country persist,” he lamented in a public talk before his death.
