The shadowy past—and present—of the Myanmar Times and Frontier
A Myanmar Now investigation exposes the role of Myanmar’s dreaded military intelligence apparatus in the creation of two of the country’s most prominent English-language publications
From the author: “Why I wrote this story?”
On a sub-zero Oslo day in December 2021, Norwegian royalty and international dignitaries gathered at city hall for the awarding of the Nobel Peace Prize to the journalists Maria Ressa and Dmitry Muratov, honoured for safeguarding freedom of expression.
Ressa opened her speech by paying homage to journalists everywhere who had given so much to report the truth and hold power to account. She then named eight journalists that embodied this sacrifice. Most had been assassinated or were languishing in prison.
Among them was one figure from Myanmar: “Sonny Swe, who after getting out of more than seven years in jail started another news group … now forced to flee Myanmar,” Ressa said.
The inclusion of Sonny Swe, who had a hand in creating two of the most prominent English-language publications in Myanmar, was the apex of years of myth-building.
Sonny Swe has been heralded as a pioneering figure in Myanmar’s media scene since he co-founded the Myanmar Times in 2000. There, the story goes, he fought censorship and pushed the boundaries of what was possible for the media under the then dictatorship, before being imprisoned for his commitment to free expression. After his release, he co-founded the weekly news magazine Frontier Myanmar, before being forced into exile by a brutal military junta that seized power in a coup in February 2021.
This narrative hides a far more complicated truth. An investigation by Myanmar Now found that Sonny Swe’s decades-long career was in fact built on a sophisticated propaganda operation devised and overseen by the upper echelons of Myanmar’s former military junta.
Myanmar Now spent a year analysing thousands of unpublished documents and corporate records and conducting dozens of exclusive interviews with people who worked closely with Sonny Swe. They show how he started out printing the military junta’s propaganda in the late 1990s, before co-founding the Myanmar Times with the backing of the regime’s feared military intelligence apparatus. Far from being Myanmar’s first independent newspaper, as Sonny Swe has portrayed it, the Myanmar Times operated as a mouthpiece for the intelligence service as it sought to shape the regime’s image overseas. Leading this operation was Sonny Swe’s father, Thein Swe, the head of military intelligence’s international propaganda office, who personally censored, edited and even provided stories for the paper.
While Sonny Swe has portrayed the Myanmar Times as fighting censorship, thousands of draft stories from its early years reveal the subtle ways that military intelligence used the paper to disseminate its messages to an international audience. Sonny Swe himself helped military intelligence in this project, even approving stories for publication on behalf of his father.
After being swept up in a purge that saw them both sent to prison, Thein Swe and Sonny Swe partnered to set up Frontier Myanmar in 2015. Corporate records exclusively obtained by Myanmar Now show Thein Swe secretly owned a stake in the magazine for several years—while also co-owning a company that supplied equipment to the Myanmar military—and expanded its business after a coup plunged Myanmar into a bloody civil war.
Although Frontier has been praised for its reporting, it too has stretched the definition of independent journalism. At times it has acted as a vehicle of the public relations company that owns it, blurring the lines between PR and independent reporting and promoting the business interests of its military-crony backers. Though its ownership structure has changed, many in Myanmar’s exiled media community remain nervous that the magazine retains connections to the new military regime that seized power in 2021.
Sonny Swe disputed Myanmar Now’s findings, saying his father played no editorial role in either the Myanmar Times or Frontier. “Your accusations are absurd,” he said.
Thein Swe did not respond to repeated requests for comment.
Former military intelligence officer Brig-Gen Thein Swe and his son, Myat Swe aka Sonny Swe (AFP, Design/Myanmar Now)
Like father, like son
Successive military juntas have ruled Myanmar with an iron grip for more than half a century. The 1990s and early 2000s were the height of power for the brutal military intelligence (MI) apparatus, whose influence extended across the country’s bureaucracy and public life.
MI were the enforcers of the largely despised junta, using an array of tactics from operating a secret network of informants to waging overt psychological warfare that spread mass fear in an attempt to maintain the military’s grip on a discontented public. They carried out arbitrary arrests and severely tortured anyone who peacefully protested or dared to criticize the regime.
Inside the country, MI enforced a draconian censorship system, ensuring hefty prison sentences for anyone seen as violating the printing and publishing law. They also played an important international role, covering up the junta’s crimes, building political support and enticing foreign investment to sustain the regime and enrich themselves. To do so, MI developed a through-the-looking-glass influence operation to portray themselves as liberal reformers, the approachable face of a regime that could—with international support—one day blossom into a disciplined democracy.
Central to this strategy was Thein Swe, one of the closest deputies to then MI chief Khin Nyunt and head of the Office of Strategic Studies (OSS), a specialised unit within the military intelligence apparatus tasked with monitoring Myanmar communities abroad and shaping the country’s image overseas. Through foreign lobby groups, PR agencies, and journalists of questionable ethics, the unit conducted carefully orchestrated campaigns to influence international perceptions of the junta and cover up the grave human rights abuses committed by the regime and MI themselves.
Thein Swe belonged to the first generation of officers who rose to prominence after the 1962 military coup that ended Myanmar’s post-independence parliamentary rule, graduating from the 9th intake of the Defence Services Academy, alongside former President Thein Sein. He swiftly rose through the ranks, serving as the military government’s defence attaché in Thailand during the early 1990s before being promoted to colonel and appointed to lead the OSS.
Thein Swe first stepped squarely into public view in June 1997, when he fronted a Yangon press briefing accusing Western governments of “aiding and abetting terrorism” under the banner of democracy and human rights.
Around the time Thein Swe was lambasting the West, his son, Sonny Swe, was finishing up an arts degree at the College of San Mateo in California. Under the then-junta, led by dictator Than Shwe, privileges such as studying abroad were only afforded to those with connections to Myanmar’s military elite. And in a country where most people lived in abject poverty, it was only those with ties to the regime who could afford to send their children abroad anyway.
Like many MI officers, Thein Swe leveraged his military background to enrich himself through technology companies, media, and business consultancies. One of his most high-profile roles was as the chairman of Myanmar Information & Communication Technology Development Corporation Public Company Limited (MICTDC), the country’s first public-private IT consortium and the institutional bridge between Myanmar’s military establishment and the country’s emerging technology sector set up in 2001.
As an economic arm of MI and the foundation of Myanmar’s digital infrastructure, MICTDC served a dual purpose, controlling the new digital economy while projecting an image of technological progress.
Thein Swe also played a leading role in Bagan Cybertech, an IT firm run by one of Khin Nyunt’s sons and other military intelligence officers. His daughter, Marlar Blackwood, was involved in the company’s marketing and public relations.
As Thein Swe’s star was rising in MI, Sonny Swe started expanding the family’s reach in Myanmar’s media scene and using it to spread military propaganda. In 1997, the family acquired a printing house that was previously owned by the astrologer of Myanmar’s former dictator General Ne Win. Two former senior editors who worked with Sonny Swe described it as a family business; his sister is the current contact for the company.
Under the family’s ownership, the Yangon-based Meik Kaung Press printed newspapers and books for the regime. The same year the Swe family acquired the printing press, it secured a major contract to print Mandalay Daily, a propaganda newspaper owned by the junta-controlled Mandalay City Council, where MI had significant influence. The paper primarily reprinted propaganda from national state-run newspapers, which it could monetise locally through advertising.
Meik Kaung also printed numerous works of MI propaganda, starting with a 1998 book of papers from the office led by Thein Swe. The following year it printed the book, Why Did U Khun Sa’s MTA Exchange Arms for Peace? through a project supervised by Major Aung Zaw, an MI officer and close associate of Thein Swe, and heavily promoted by the junta. In 2002 and 2004, Sonny Swe printed two more books, one of which was full of anti-Thailand nationalist rhetoric written by the military Colonel San Pwint.
Despite evidence that Meik Kaung printed regime propaganda, Sonny Swe denied the company had any link to the intelligence services. He has publicly stated that he got the Mandalay Daily contract “accidentally” and told Myanmar Now he “never did a project for MI” while working there.
“It was a commercial printing house. My clients were from the private sector,” he said.
Over the years, Sonny Swe has also used Meik Kaung to build his own personal mythology. He has often said he worked at a “regional newspaper” in the early stages of his career, omitting that Meik Kaung was owned by his family. And while he has waxed lyrical about his love of printing in interviews, he has never mentioned that his company printed state propaganda for Myanmar’s second-largest city and MI.
At the same time as it was churning out publications for the regime, Meik Kaung also became the vehicle for Sonny Swe to set up the newspaper that would form the foundation of his reputation as a defender of free speech.
In 2000—the year the European Union sanctioned Thein Swe for his role as a “Member of the Office of the Chief of Military Intelligence,” along with Sonny Swe and his wife—the family co-founded the Myanmar Times. They used Meik Kaung Press as the investment vehicle for their controlling 51% stake in Myanmar Consolidated Media, the company that owned the paper in partnership with Pyone Maung Maung, a minor celebrity and one of Thein Swe’s close friends, according to two former senior editors at the paper.
Pyone Maung Maung is the son of retired navy officer Lt-Col Tin Tun and at the time was working on several IT projects led by military intelligence chief Khin Nyunt and Thein Swe. He also owned Innwa bookstore, which distributed the Myanmar Times.
Sonny Swe said that he and Pyone Maung Maung put in an equal amount of money into the Myanmar Times, totalling around US$37,000. Sonny Swe said his portion was funded with money earned from his printing press business.
Neither Thein Swe nor Pyone Maung Maung responded to repeated calls seeking comment.
The other 49% of Myanmar Consolidated Media was owned by three Australians—Ross Dunkley, who would become its long-time editor-in-chief, and Bill and Harold Clough, who had built their fortune in mining, construction and energy and now had ambitions to break into Myanmar’s oil industry.
By early 2000, Meik Kaung’s printing presses were churning out thousands of copies of the Myanmar Times a week, alongside books written by MI officers and senior figures in Myanmar’s military regime.
A newspaper like no other
By 2000, Myanmar’s ruling military junta led by Senior-General Than Shwe was facing fierce criticism from media established by former activists in exile, including the Democratic Voice of Burma in Oslo, Delhi-based Mizzima, and the Irrawaddy, operating from Thailand. By exposing the military’s extrajudicial killings, forced labour, use of child soldiers and other abuses, these outlets greatly complicated the regime’s efforts to launder its international image.
While the junta already had an English-language newspaper, the New Light of Myanmar, it was derided for its crude propaganda. It was clear to many in the regime that state media was not up to the task of influencing international opinion in their favour. And so the Myanmar Times was born.
The paper was first proposed by Dunkley, a veteran of the newspaper business who had experience working with authoritarian regimes from publishing the Vietnam Investment Review. During trips to Myanmar, he built up contacts among people linked to MI who could help him, including Thein Swe, Sonny Swe, and Pyone Maung Maung. The idea for the newspaper got the blessing of MI chief Khin Nyunt during a meeting on a golf course owned by MI-linked crony Serge Pun.
“Colonel Thein Swe introduced me to General Khin Nyunt, and General Khin Nyunt said, ‘Oh, here’s our man.’ I got a bit of a laugh over that,” Dunkley told Myanmar Now in an interview in Perth, Australia.
Khin Nyunt could not be reached for comment.
The Myanmar Times project was backed by the highest echelons of the regime. Dunkley and multiple other sources said Than Shwe personally approved the idea. According to a book written by a military officer from that time, the junta leader had wanted to improve Myanmar’s image through the media since facing widespread criticism during a trip to the United Nations in the 1990s.
Oiling the political wheels
While the junta saw the Myanmar Times as a way to influence international opinion, for the paper’s Australian backers it was a means to access commercial opportunities in Myanmar.
Dunkley said his partners, Bill and Harold Clough, who had become rich through mining, oil and gas, and construction, had decided to invest in the paper as a means of accessing the wealth of natural resources available in the country.
“I emphasised that having a media presence would open political doors for us to pursue bigger projects. On that basis Bill Clough and his father Harold Clough became my partners,” said Dunkley.
The Cloughs also invested in the Swe family themselves. Soon after meeting Sonny Swe, Dunkley said Bill Clough also sponsored education expenses for his son at the exclusive Scotch College in Perth.
Those investments paid off a few years later when Bill’s company Twinza—which operated out of the Myanmar Times’ office in Yangon—secured an oil and gas exploration contract in Myanmar.
In 2006, the junta awarded an offshore oil and gas contract to Twinza Oil. At the contract signing ceremony in the Myanmar capital Naypyitaw, Dunkley said a junior minister told him the contract was largely thanks to the Australian contribution to the Myanmar Times.
Harold Clough died in 2022. His son, Bill Clough, could not be reached for comment.
Overall responsibility for the Myanmar Times came down to the OSS, led by Thein Swe, who by 2001 had been promoted to brigadier general. While his family’s printing press churned out hard copies of the paper, the online edition was hosted on the MI-controlled website Golden Land, alongside MI propaganda and the Ministry of Information-run New Light of Myanmar newspaper. Sonny Swe acted as the Myanmar Times’ deputy CEO, overseeing the paper’s advertising.
The Myanmar Times drew criticism from exiled media for its close relationship to MI. In 2005, The Irrawaddy published an article saying reporters and editors at the paper “saw Dunkley as merely the junta’s apologist, saying he was committed to promoting the cause of Gen Khin Nyunt and military intelligence rather than any grand notions of press freedom.”
But the newspaper’s ties to MI were largely invisible to its target audience of diplomats, international NGOs and UN staff. The fact that it was presented as a private media outlet like any other gave the propaganda it was publishing credibility, while foreign readers were lulled by its glossy format, Western journalistic style and familiar subject matter.
Myanmar Now reviewed thousands of published and unpublished stories written for the Myanmar Times between 2000 and 2004. Most of them are a mixture of entertainment and local gossip alongside statements from government ministries filled with junta messaging. Written in a style presentable to foreign readers, they contrast starkly with the unsubtle propaganda published in junta-run state media. Combined with other efforts to spread the junta’s message, they helped to create a softer image for a regime long notorious for its brutality.
Adding to the illusion of independence, the Myanmar Times was given licence to write about topics that were forbidden to other media, such as forced labour or democracy icon Aung San Suu Kyi. This gave the newspaper credibility with foreign readers, while providing MI with a platform to broadcast its take on sensitive issues.
“Often the Myanmar Times would be used by the government as its mouthpiece to respond to some international criticism or sanctions, or whatever it may be,” explained Dunkley.
“It was very obvious that the Mirror newspaper and the New Light of Myanmar were unable to fulfill that task…. So by de facto, the Myanmar Times started to become very much a … forum in which the military could try and project [its] real opinion on what was happening.”
Through the Myanmar Times, the junta attempted to further the narrative that MI were liberal reformers as part of a strategy to drive international engagement with the regime. While the OSS kept its direct involvement in the project largely hidden, it was able to promote this narrative by supposedly taking a softer approach to censorship for the publication, in contrast with the more hardline stance of the Ministry of Information.
In reality, this was a false distinction. The strict censorship guidelines enforced by the Ministry of Information’s Press Scrutiny Board were in fact issued by MI, not a rival hardline faction, according to media publishers and senior editors of other private outlets. Underlining the link, a week after the Myanmar Times was launched, MI chief Khin Nyunt appointed one of his trusted subordinates, Colonel Myint Thein, as director of the Printing and Publishing Department at the Ministry of Information.
Yet the narrative that the Myanmar Times represented a new frontier in Myanmar’s media landscape gained traction with international media. For instance, an Australian documentary about the newspaper in 2011 took the line that “influential liberals supported [the] newspaper because they wanted reform.”
Four years later, an article written by the Southeast Asian PR firm Vero, weeks before the launch of Sonny Swe’s successor publication, Frontier Myanmar, said the paper had “unbelievable press freedom” because it operated under the auspices of MI, meaning it “circumvented regular scrutiny from the Press Scrutiny Board, which falls under the MI’s rival office.” The article was written by Pawares Wongpethkao and does not cite any sources. When contacted, Wongpethkao, who has since left Vero, denied that he wrote the article and said that Vero put his name to it. Vero’s CEO Brian Griffin said the article was written to “inform and share information with clients” and there was “no intention to influence a narrative regarding publishers”.
Thein Swe himself furthered the narrative of MI as reformers, presenting himself as the face of this more progressive approach to the media. In an Asiaweek article published in 2000, just before the launch of the paper, he said “the Myanmar Times will be different, more flexible… Our policies should be, will be, more liberal. We cannot go backwards.”
But behind the scenes, the newspaper’s operations were far from independent of the regime.
A different type of censorship
When the Myanmar Times was launched in 2000, the junta operated one of the world’s strictest censorship systems. All publications had to submit copies to the Press Scrutiny Board of the Ministry of Information, whose officers would review every word. Sometimes stories were moved or cut, and even whole editions could be rejected without explanation. It was a laborious process that could take days, leading to fierce competition among publishers to be the first to get their stories out.
“We had to submit 30 pre-publication copies of our magazine to the Press Scrutiny Board,” said the former editor of a private magazine published in the early 2000s. “It was a huge task to re-design the magazine if there were stories rejected by the censorship board.”
Sonny Swe has long claimed that the Myanmar Times went through a similar process, saying the paper would often tussle with the censors in its efforts to push for free speech. In a 2017 TEDx talk, he told the audience that “everything has to [be] run by the censorship board. If they don’t like one word, they would reject the whole story. But it was a fun challenge for us.”
He later told the British Council’s Voices Magazine that the paper spent “the first four years bargaining and pushing boundaries with the censorship board,” describing how they “negotiated the one-word rule; we asked the board to delete one paragraph, rather than the entire article.”
Asked for details of how this process worked, Sonny Swe said the Myanmar Times’ stories were approved by a special “censorship committee” set up by junta leader Than Shwe, composed of cabinet members and heads of MI departments, Thein Swe among them.
But Myanmar Now could find no evidence that such a body ever existed. Dunkley denied the Myanmar Times was censored by a committee, saying everything was handled informally between him and Thein Swe. “Nothing [was] formally established by degree or gazette. No, no editorial board established or anything like that,” he said.
This less formal relationship allowed MI to shape the Myanmar Times’ coverage in more insidious ways. OSS officers not only put a red line through politically sensitive content, but actively ensured it presented the image of Myanmar they wanted: the regime was reforming, the junta sought international engagement, the country was modernising and open for business.
For one thing, the paper was given exclusive access to information not available to other publications. According to Dunkley, the Myanmar Times was the only outlet that was allowed to accompany junta officials on official overseas trips. Thein Swe and his OSS staff also routinely provided tips and story ideas to the paper’s journalists, as well as arranging interviews with senior regime figures, including intelligence chief General Khin Nyunt.
At times, the MI even provided stories for publication, which they used to disseminate their version of politically sensitive events.
A detailed breakdown of what appears to be the Myanmar Times’ income statement seen by Myanmar Now shows the paper made regular payments to MI, listed under “censorship fees and expenses”. Dunkley said the paper paid a few thousands dollars a month to MI as “tea money”—Myanmar slang for a bribe—since so many OSS officers were working on the paper.
Even the Myanmar Times’ IT systems appear to have been used to keep reporters on-message.
Wai Phyo Myint, who joined the Myanmar Times as a teenager, said she was summoned to management’s office in 2004 and accused of searching for “sensitive” terms online. She was shown two pages detailing email accounts, passwords she had used, and her internet search history, which included queries about child soldiers in Myanmar. Management reprimanded her and urged her to stick to “happy stories,” such as fashion and clothing, she said.
Dunkley said that the Myanmar Times’ IT services were supplied by Bagan Cybertech, an internet service provider linked to military intelligence.
“I employed some IT people that had some association… with the MI,” he said, though he denied they were surveilling the newspaper’s journalists. “I don’t think they were doing anything out of the ordinary.”
‘Happy stories’
Internal documents and the testimony of former staff show how Thein Swe ran a sophisticated MI operation to influence international opinion through the Myanmar Times—sometimes with the help of his son.
Reporters reviewed thousands of pages of draft Myanmar Times stories from 2001 and 2004 to understand how this worked day-to-day. As well as sensitive political stories, they include numerous unpublished articles on seemingly uncontroversial topics that Thein Swe blocked because they did not fit the positive image of Myanmar that MI wanted to project.
One spiked draft from May 15, 2001, criticised the replacement of natural illumination with fluorescent lighting at Bagan, where Khin Nyunt was spearheading controversial efforts to restore the ancient capital’s temples. Another included a photo of a rural woman carrying fabric on her head that Thein Swe deemed offensive for portraying the country as “backward.”
In other cases, OSS edited articles to fit their narrative. One, from February 2001, praised the regime crony Thein Tun, who later took the controlling stake in the Myanmar Times. He was originally quoted saying, “In our country, it is rare to find educated people capable of developing high-end marketing and business strategies for a company such as ours.” The MI removed the word “educated,” seemingly not wanting to imply Myanmar was a country of uneducated people.
Dunkley said most of the content in the Myanmar Times was reviewed by Major Than Naing, the personal staff officer of Thein Swe and the paper’s official publisher. More sensitive stories regarding the junta’s position on international developments and front-page stories would be reviewed by Thein Swe himself. In rare cases, they would be taken to Khin Nyunt for approval.
The extent of Thein Swe’s influence over the paper, which has never before been revealed, can be seen in edits and comments on articles submitted to OSS and shared with Myanmar Now. Many of the draft stories have notes addressed to “Colonel Thein Swe”— or simply “Colonel”— some seeking approval to publish or asking questions.
See a file of Myanmar Times draft stories with notes from the military intelligence during their review process
Jayne Dullard, who provided the draft stories from when she worked as an editor at Myanmar Times from 2001-2002, said she soon got to know Thein Swe well. She said they spoke “every single day” during her 13 months on the job and the pair dined together on more than one occasion. She said Thein Swe gave her the nickname “Lady Jayne,” in reference to the Lady Jayne brand of hair products.
“We had to be in this uneasy dance. Sometimes he would crack jokes and he was like a cute old guy. Other times he would be very unhappy. Sometimes he would scream and yell at me,” she said.
“I remember, one day, him screaming at me: ‘Damn, you are trying to destroy my country. I will not let you destroy my country.’ He went crazy. He genuinely believed that.”
Dullard recalled going through one story on the phone with Thein Swe about garment factories, one of the most important industries in Myanmar. A marked-up draft of the article shows the subtleties of his censorship: while the story is allowed to retain its original angle regarding a downturn in the industry, references to specific political issues, such as the International Labour Organization’s criticism of Myanmar and the mention that major European clothing company Zara had stopped orders, were cut out.
Long-serving Myanmar Times journalist, Win Kyaw Oo, who recently passed away, described his own experience of Thein Swe’s influence in a Facebook post in 2023. He told a story from his early days as a reporter there, when a mention of bribery was cut from an article he wrote about traffic police. When he questioned Dunkley about the change, the editor-in-chief told him to go downstairs to talk to Thein Swe.
Thein Swe, Win Kyaw Oo wrote, told him to “just eat your rice and live quietly.”
Sonny Swe admitted his father was involved in the censorship process, but denied that he had any influence over the Myanmar Times’ editorial process.
“My father was often the one who censored the front page. He also checked some of the articles that were faxed over, although I very much doubt he had time to read many of them. This censoring was done outside the newsroom, usually at the War Office,” he said.
At times, the draft stories show Sonny Swe took on the role of censor on behalf of OSS. Several of the articles include notes saying “Ok (via Sonny).” Both Dullard and Dunkley confirmed Sonny Swe sometimes gave final approval on the authority of his father on less sensitive stories.
Sonny Swe did not respond to questions about his own role as a censor.
A massacre reduced to a traffic dispute
In other cases, MI went beyond censoring and shaping the Myanmar Times’ portrayal of the country, instead inserting entire stories in the paper. Some were prominently placed on its front page as part of a far more sophisticated propaganda operation than the Ministry of Information-run New Light of Myanmar.
One clear example of this came on May 30, 2003, when a mob carried out a brutal attack on a convoy of leaders from the National League for Democracy (NLD) opposition party, including Nobel Laureate Aung San Suu Kyi, travelling from Monywa to the town of Depayin in Sagaing Region. At least 70 party members and supporters were killed in the assault.
At the time, the junta’s strict censorship regime meant no privately owned newspapers apart from the Myanmar Times were able to report on the deadly violence. One editor of a Myanmar news magazine said they were blocked from publishing anything about the incident by the censorship board. The Myanmar Times, by contrast, was used to disseminate MI’s version of events.
That Friday evening—when Myanmar Times editors typically received approvals for the upcoming Monday edition—the editor on duty in Yangon, Geoffrey Goddard, was waiting for a fax from Brig-Gen Thein Swe, whom he referred to as “BG.”
“I was working that night, waiting for the newspaper to be approved,” Goddard recalled. “Then Thein Swe called me and said, ‘You have to change the front page,’ and gave me a little story that had to go on about what happened [in Depayin].”
When the story was published the following Monday, June 2, it carried the headline: “Motorcyclists from NLD shock town.”
The article claimed residents of Budalin—a town en route to Depayin—were “in a state of shock and fear” when NLD supporters “ignored a request from the town’s elders to respect traffic regulations.” It described the pro-democracy activists as unruly motorcyclists, parroting a junta statement issued on the evening of the incident that was carried in state media, but presenting it as independent reporting.
Thus what later came to be known as the Depayin massacre—the deadliest assault on pro-democracy activists since widespread student protests rocked Myanmar in 1988—was reduced to a traffic dispute caused by NLD supporters. This contrasted sharply with coverage in media based outside of Myanmar, which reported on the deaths.
What struck Goddard most when Thein Swe called that Friday night was his tone. Despite being a senior intelligence officer, he acted as though he knew nothing about the killings.
“He sounded very angry. I wondered if it was possible that that was true—that military intelligence didn’t know about it,” Goddard said.
Reflecting on his experience at the Myanmar Times, Goddard noted he was already familiar with censorship systems after having worked as a copy editor in the English department at Radio Beijing.
“I was inside the Chinese propaganda machine when it was dealing with one of its biggest challenges since liberation, actually” he said. “I left Beijing on a Qantas evacuation flight two or three days after the Tiananmen massacre. So working in a censorship system was nothing new to me. I just accepted it.”
Only after the 2021 coup, when leaked military documents began circulating, did it become clear how much MI knew about the Depayin massacre ahead of time. A report dated May 19, 2003, from Military Intelligence Unit No. 1 in Mandalay, detailed the mobilisation of 300 members of the junta-backed Union Solidarity and Development Association, disguised in civilian clothes and placed on standby to attack the NLD convoy. Khin Nyunt also revealed in his autobiography that he received reports from MI units about the developments that led to the Depayin attack.
This was just one instance among many in which MI dictated the Myanmar Times’ coverage, according to former editors—challenging Sonny Swe’s claim that the paper’s reporting was merely constrained by censorship.
As in the response to the Depayin massacre, this included MI stories placed on the front page disguised as journalism. At other times, Col. Hla Min, an MI officer who was then also the junta’s spokesperson, would publish content in the Myanmar Times using a pseudonym.
Dunkley said the Myanmar Times had a verbal agreement to allow the intelligence service one page per issue to publish their own stories and opinion pieces. He conceded that this appeared to be unethical, but said the paper had no choice but to accept the MI’s content and help turn it into stories that would be palatable to its international audience.
“Often the military intelligence were giving us stories which we would write … because they were unable, basically, to write these things with the flavor required,” he explained.
At times, Dunkley said, the paper even acted as an informal editing service for the junta’s English-language propaganda. He said he personally rewrote the military’s “four causes” slogans—a widely used set of junta messages that were published in every book, newspaper, film and outside all state buildings for two decades—to make them sound “a little bit more upbeat in English.”
When presented with a draft of this story, Marius Dragomir, the director of the Media and Journalism Research Center, said the Myanmar Times fit the definition of a “private captured paper”—a nominally independent publication that is informally controlled by state institutions—which are common today in countries like Hungary, Turkey, Azerbaijan and Cambodia, among others.
“These are media companies that are not directly funded or governed by state bodies, but whose editorial line is indirectly controlled and steered by … government bodies,” Dragomir explained.
“The evidence that you provided indicates that this was indeed a sophisticated propaganda operation that included state narratives alongside possibly factual news stories. This can be a very effective way of delivering certain propaganda narratives.”
Sonny Swe did not respond to questions about whether the Myanmar Times functioned as a “captured” newspaper.
A direct line to D.C.
As the MI’s English-language mouthpiece, the Myanmar Times’ coverage was frequently used to counter international criticism of the regime’s most egregious human rights abuses. Sometimes the gap between propaganda and reality was striking.
Although Khin Nyunt and his MI agents had shut down Myanmar’s universities and jailed thousands of students for even the mildest acts of dissent, in the pages of the Myanmar Times the MI chief presented himself as a benevolent policymaker seriously interested in improving education.
In a January 2001 interview with the paper, he spoke about “raising the level of studies to international standards” and fostering “all-round education”—even as the regime banned student unions, literary clubs, debates, and sports activities on university campuses, systematically crushing the intellectual and social life of an entire generation.
Rather than being carried in the junta’s drab state-run newspapers, the interview was published in the Myanmar Times in a glossy, colourful format, aimed to appeal to the paper’s target audience of diplomats and other foreigners under the guise of independent journalism.
Through the Myanmar Times, MI also sought to deflect international criticism of one of the most defining human rights issues in Myanmar at that time—forced labour, which resulted in the passing of a historic International Labour Organisation (ILO) resolution for action against the country in 2000.
By that time, the regime had formally established army units composed of prison convicts, who were deployed as porters and human shields on the frontlines. It also began using massive numbers of prisoners as forced labourers in quarry sites, primarily to support state infrastructure projects and the emerging crony-linked construction sector. Thousands died because of these practices, with the toll peaking in 2001 and 2002.
Most publications were barred from writing about such a thorny issue for the regime. But as part of MI’s attempts to turn international opinion against the ILO resolution, the Myanmar Times published an opinion piece in May 2001 titled “Myanmar and the forced labour issue.”
The piece concedes that forced labour is a “reprehensible practice,” but then goes on to claim that it was no longer widespread in Myanmar, except in a few “isolated instances.” The piece even sought to justify the practice, citing Myanmar’s “geo-political situation, with long borders to protect, a large military presence to maintain throughout the land, troublesome activity on the Myanmar/Thai border not to mention the continued war against narcotic drugs.”
It includes what reads like an appeal to the international community to “support Myanmar in its effort to completely stamp out such practices, not continue or tighten other sanctions on the country,” and advises ILO members that they would “do well to abandon negative pressures” on the country at an upcoming conference in Geneva.
The piece, purportedly written by a Swiss health consultant called Gerald Moore, mirrored a narrative put out by MI on the issue of forced labour, including a book first published by junta spokesperson Hla Min in 1997.
According to Andrew Selth, an international security expert focussed on Myanmar, the country’s intelligence agencies have long engaged in information warfare — not only by closely monitoring the media, but also by actively manipulating it to serve the regime’s interests.
“[Myanmar’s intelligence apparatus] not only maintained a close watch on the newspapers and magazines published inside Myanmar, but actively exploited them by planting stories slanted towards the government and against Aung San Suu Kyi and the NLD,” Selth wrote in a 2023 report for Griffith University in Brisbane, Australia.
“The agencies also had a role in the publication of numerous outlets themselves, the English-language Myanmar Times being an obvious example.”
The military intelligence’s PR campaign did not stop there. In 2002, MI hired the DCI Group, a Washington, D.C.-based lobbying firm tied to the Republican Party, to burnish the regime’s image abroad and portray the intelligence wing as a moderate faction. Both Thein Swe and junta spokesperson Hla Min acted as key interlocutors in communications with the firm.
According to the contract, MI paid DCI US$340,862 for its services. Hla Min, alongside DCI staff, met officials from the Heritage Foundation, a think-tank linked to the Republican Party, and members of the US Congress. The firm also issued press releases and conducted presentations to the editorial boards of US newsrooms.
The Myanmar Times routinely covered topics that MI deemed important to the regime’s relationship with Washington, which DCI then relayed to members of the US Congress. These stories highlighted the junta’s cooperation with the United States on key issues, such as reporting on the burning of seized drugs to buttress the junta’s anti-narcotics campaign.
DCI Group, which recently signed a new contract with Myanmar’s current military regime, did not respond to a request for comment.
By controlling the narrative through both a domestic media outlet and foreign intermediaries, Khin Nyunt’s intelligence apparatus made significant headway in its efforts to normalise military rule in Myanmar. Many foreign diplomats believed MI represented a “moderate” force within the junta and saw the Myanmar Times as a legitimate, independent newspaper, rather than an instrument for propaganda.
“The collaboration with DCI helped ease the pressure on the military government at the time,” Aung Lynn Htut, a former senior military intelligence officer who served at the Myanmar embassy in Washington, DC, in the early 2000s, recently wrote in a social media post.
The fall from grace
That impression only deepened when then-prime minister Khin Nyunt and his deputies were ousted in October 2004. Thein Swe and Sonny Swe were caught up in the purge.
Sentenced to more than 100 years in prison on multiple charges of corruption and theft, Thein Swe was incarcerated in Myingyan Prison in central Myanmar—held in the same block as political prisoners who had previously been tortured in MI interrogation centres and sentenced to long terms.
One of the few civilians caught up in the MI purge, Sonny Swe was sentenced to 14 years in prison. Like all who were arrested at the time, the junta concocted offenses to justify the lengthy prison terms—in Sonny Swe’s case, they included violations of the junta’s emergency law that had exempted the Myanmar Times’ from approval by the Press Scrutiny Board.
The Myanmar Times was left relatively unscathed by the crackdown when Thein Swe and Sonny Swe were arrested. No one else at the paper was detained, and the junta even continued publishing the Myanmar Times on its government portal.
Dunkley, who retained his stake in the paper after 2004, said the junta was keen for it to remain open. When the Swe family were forced to sell their shares, he said the general who had led the purge of Khin Nyunt told him the regime would find a new partner to take over their stake, eventually settling on junta-linked crony Tin Tun Oo.
“The government said that they wanted the Myanmar Times to continue, but that we would have to have a new partner,” Dunkley said.
Sonny Swe was released from prison in 2013, after eight and a half years, followed by his father the following year. Both were pardoned in amnesties that signalled the MI purge was over and its former officers were no longer considered a threat.
Even after his incarceration, Thein Swe retained his loyalty to the military, seen in his business interests and social media posts. Asked by reporters at the prison gate whether he regretted his actions, he replied curtly: “History will decide. No comment.”
He and his son returned to a country that had undergone a dramatic transformation—emerging as a quasi-democracy where the military still held key levers of power, but was presiding over rapid reforms that were reshaping the country.
Pre-press censorship was abolished and there was a blossoming of private media. Greater press freedom increased space for public discourse, and there was a notable decline in the climate of fear, marking a clear departure from the dark, oppressive years of rule under previous military juntas. For Sonny Swe, these changes presented a new world of opportunity.
“I got back to newspaper publishing straight away. Crazy right?” he said in his 2017 TEDx talk.
“Turning my long-lasting dreams into reality, it’s my favourite part. Looking for the right partner, building the team and seeding the new publication is a lot of work… Giving everything that I have and keep on fighting, it’s where I am at now.”
The birth of Frontier Myanmar
After a failed attempt to regain control of the Myanmar Times and the collapse of a Mizzima daily newspaper venture he joined, Sonny Swe launched news magazine Frontier Myanmar in 2015. That year Aung San Suu Kyi’s NLD party won the first ostensibly free elections in generations, heralding a period of unprecedented optimism for the future of Myanmar’s media industry.
Like the Myanmar Times, Frontier primarily targeted English-speaking readers and even hired many former Myanmar Times managers and staff. It soon gained a good reputation among expatriates for its coverage of business and politics.
But, like the Myanmar Times, it also disguised the true role that Thein Swe and Pyone Maung Maung played behind the scenes.
Frontier was originally published by Myanmar company Black Knight Media, which was controlled by two entities: Singapore-registered Salween International Pte Ltd and Myanmar-registered M Media International Company Limited.
Founded in 2013, M Media was initially owned equally by Sonny Swe and Pyone Maung Maung, the former co-investor in the Myanmar Times, according to shareholder documents seen by Myanmar Now.
Sonny Swe said Pyone Maung Maung got involved with M Media because Thein Swe was still in prison and legally the company was required to have two directors. He said Pyone Maung Maung never invested any money in M Media, and it is unclear if he did from the ownership documents.
“Pyone Maung Maung didn’t want to be involved in Frontier because he was pursuing other businesses and no longer had an interest in the media industry,” Sonny Swe said. Pyone Maung Maung did not respond to requests for comment.
After its establishment, M Media issued new shares and Thein Swe became a co-owner, according to shareholder documents. One year after Frontier’s launch, Pyone Maung Maung exited the company and transferred his shares to Sonny Swe’s brother, Nay Lin Aung, according to Sonny Swe.
It has never before been revealed that Thein Swe and Pyone Maung Maung once part-owned Frontier through M Media. None of the Frontier journalists that Myanmar Now spoke to said they were aware the pair were investors in the magazine, including one of its current co-owners and former editor-in-chief, Thomas Kean.
There were hints that the pair played a role behind the scenes, however. At the Frontier Myanmar launch event in Yangon, Pyone Maung Maung and Thein Swe are pictured seated behind Sonny Swe. One former editor of the magazine, who did not want to be named, said Thein Swe was a frequent presence in the office and advised Sonny Swe on the business.
A 2017 Frontier story about the Myanmar Times contained a brief note stating that Thein Swe was a board member of Black Knight Media, Frontier’s owner. This is the only mention that Thein Swe had any relation to the publication that Myanmar Now could find before he stepped down as a director the following year.
Sonny Swe acknowledged Thein Swe’s previous connection to Frontier but said his father “never played any part in editorial decisions or discussions. Even in corporate matters, his former role as a director was always very passive.” He said Thein Swe stood down as a director of Black Knight Media in 2019 because Frontier “wanted to develop a membership programme and also seek grants from international donors,” which could be complicated by his presence.
“Having the name of someone who had previously been sanctioned on your company documents wasn’t going to make it any easier to attract support—people may have believed that he had some role in Frontier’s operations,” he said.
Frontier did not reveal its links to the man who used to lead the MI’s international propaganda operation to donors who funded the paper’s efforts to move to a membership model.
The Copenhagen-based International Media Support said it had no knowledge of Thein Swe’s role and stressed it would never knowingly partner with media outlets with links to authoritarian actors. Similarly, the Washington, D.C.-based International Center for Journalists (ICFJ) stated it was not informed of Thein Swe’s alleged role as a co-founder and shareholder, noting that its own due diligence checks of Frontier had raised no issues.
The Swiss-based Fondation Hirondelle said it was not aware of Thein Swe’s former role, but added this would not deter it from continuing to fund Frontier. “Our mandate is not to investigate the ownership structures of partner media outlets, but to support the quality and independence of their journalistic production,” said a spokesperson.
Lisa Brooten, a professor at Southern Illinois University and expert on Myanmar’s media, criticised donors who dived into funding the sector after the NLD came to power without understanding the powerful interests involved.
“Many [new] funders with little experience in the media sector rushed in, working to curry favor with the military in order to pave the way for future investment in the country,” she said. “Many did not consult with those media support organisations that had long been working on the ground, so … the major financial support for the sector during this period was arguably devoted to working with the military to establish a ‘public media’ sector.”
Frontier and the shadow of Thein Swe
In 2021, a new junta seized power. On February 1, the military launched a coup to overturn the landslide victory of the NLD in elections the previous year. The NLD leadership and members of parliament were arrested, and millions took to the streets in protest.
The military’s brutal suppression of pro-democracy demonstrations swiftly spiraled into civil war, which continues to rage across much of the country today. Thousands of people have been killed and millions displaced by what has become one of the world’s most violent conflicts.
After seizing power, the junta launched a broad crackdown on independent journalists, raiding their offices, revoking licences, outlawing media organisations and throwing anyone who criticised them in prison. Many fled abroad, once again setting up operations outside Myanmar to cover events in the country from exile.
Although Frontier has never been officially outlawed by the junta, like many independent media outlets, its journalists have faced persecution from the new military regime. At least two of its journalists were arbitrarily detained, one of whom was brutally interrogated, and its newsroom now operates out of Thailand.
But no action was taken against Black Knight, its office or its owners, who were able to leave Myanmar through Yangon airport without issue. Leaked documents show Sonny Swe was able to keep Black Knight Media alive in Myanmar, at a time when other outlets were forced to shut down. Although profits have plummeted in the wake of the coup, the company is still active, according to the corporate registry, with the last annual return submitted in November 2025. Several of its back office staff still work inside Myanmar.
Nonetheless, control of Frontier was transferred to Boomerang Media, a Singapore-based company controlled by Sonny Swe, in 2021. Sonny Swe did not respond to questions about the reasons for this decision.
The change of ownership failed to quell growing concerns about Frontier’s links to Thein Swe, who had started working with the new junta. In December 2022, a group of humanitarian and human rights experts withdrew as speakers from an aid conference organised by Frontier due to security concerns regarding the magazine’s ties to the former MI officer.
In response, the magazine released a statement officially confirming for the first time that Thein Swe had been a director of Black Knight Media, but denying he had any links to the current junta, led by Senior-General Min Aung Hlaing, the defence forces’ commander-in-chief.
Those assurances were called into question two years later when Thein Swe, now 80, and former junta spokesperson Hla Min toured China on behalf of the Paragon Institute—a secretive think-tank close to the junta. During the trip he reportedly discussed Myanmar’s “national security” and the deployment of private Chinese security firms, preparing the ground for Min Aung Hlaing’s first visit as junta leader a week later.
Former MI officers Thein Swe and Hla Min toured China in October 2024 and August 2025. (Photos: Taihe Institute; Benefm)
As the controversy grew, Frontier again tried to reassure readers. In a statement published in November 2024, the magazine admitted Thein Swe had been a director of Black Knight Media but emphasised that he “has no position, involvement or financial stake in Frontier.” Weeks later, Sonny Swe put out another statement saying he was “totally unaware” of his father’s work with the junta and was “really shocked when I read about it.”
But evidence uncovered by Myanmar Now shows that Thein Swe retained his links to the military throughout most of his time as a director of Black Knight Media.
In 2016, corporate registry data shows he and Pyone Maung Maung set up a company called Delta-X Solutions with Khin Nyunt’s former personal secretary, Col. Tin Oo. The company supplies equipment to the military’s Directorate of Defence Procurement, according to a leaked document shared with Myanmar Now. Former military intelligence officer Col. Myint Oo is also listed in Myanmar’s corporate registry as a director in the company.
The firm was established in the office of SoutheastNet Technologies (SEANET), one of Pyone Maung Maung’s companies that provides satellite internet and IT-related services.
A former employee said Delta-X began supplying equipment to the military in 2018. Following the 2021 coup, the document shows the company re-registered with the military’s Directorate of Procurement, expanding their business from the supply of “Communication Equipment and Spares” to include “Marine Machinery Equipment and Spares.”
Myint Oo insisted that Delta-X had not conducted any business since its registration when contacted by Myanmar Now. Sonny Swe said he had never heard of Delta-X.
Amid the controversy about his father, Sonny Swe has stepped back from Frontier. In December 2024, he announced he would step down as the CEO of the magazine. A few months later, he quietly transferred his shares in the company that controls Frontier, Singapore-based Boomerang Media, to former Bangkok Post editor-in-chief Pichai Chuensuksawadi.
Pichai now owns 93% of the shares in Boomerang Media; the other 7% is owned by Frontier’s editor-at-large and a former editor of the Myanmar Times English edition, Thomas Kean.
Sonny Swe still has links to Frontier, however. According to an internal source, Frontier’s operations remain intertwined with Boomerang Network (Thailand), a company he owns with Pichai.
Blurring the lines
Like the Myanmar Times, hidden interests—albeit of a different sort— have clouded Frontier Myanmar’s journalism. Whereas Sonny Swe’s previous venture was secretly operating an influence campaign for MI, Myanmar Now’s investigation shows Frontier has acted as a vehicle to promote the business interests of its backers.
Black Knight Media, which was Frontier’s publisher until 2021, was also simultaneously operating as a PR firm for a businessman with links to military intelligence. Black Knight was part-owned by Singapore-based Salween International, previously part of the Salween Group, which handled PR for the Yoma Group, a conglomerate run by Serge Pun, one of Myanmar’s most high-profile tycoons.
Pun’s business empire encompasses everything from real estate and banking to food and whisky. Though he has cultivated a reputation as an independent businessman, Myanmar-watchers have long disputed that image. Dunkley said he was aware of Pun’s business links to Khin Nyunt when he pitched the idea for the Myanmar Times to the MI chief on a golf course owned by the tycoon.
“They knew each other very well,” Dunkley said, adding that Khin Nyunt had given Pun land in Yangon for his real-estate development projects.
Linking Pun’s businesses to Sonny Swe’s magazine was Sylvia Saw McKaige, Frontier’s co-founder and co-CEO alongside Sonny Swe, and the CEO of the Salween Group and spokesperson for Yoma Strategic Holdings. Former Frontier employees said the line between the magazine and Black Knight’s PR operations was often blurry: staff from the PR business would pass on corporate invites to the editorial team and Burmese journalists would work on translations for Salween Group. McKaige was even given a journalists’ byline on an article about a former military general that Frontier published in 2016.
Pun and McKaige did not respond to requests for comment.
Frontier provided an array of positive exposure for Yoma’s businesses from the month it started publishing. When Yoma Strategic Holdings opened the first branch of KFC in Myanmar on July 7, 2015, Frontier’s front-page story stated that “those yearning for Western fast food rejoiced.” The story made no mention of the fact that McKaige, Frontier’s co-CEO, was also the media spokesperson for KFC and Yoma, or that Black Knight Media had handled the PR for KFC’s launch in Myanmar.
Between 2019 and the 2021 military coup, Frontier ran numerous stories promoting Seagram’s whisky by Pernod Ricard, Little Sheep Hotpot, YKKO, Yoma Micro Power, and Auntie Anne’s — all Yoma businesses. They appeared as ordinary news features but came with no bylines and read like advertorials, quoting executives and praising corporate expansion.
A former editor at Frontier Myanmar said the magazine sometimes published “news-like” PR content in both the Burmese and English editions, in most cases without any disclaimer. He said the same was done at the Myanmar Times and merely continued at Frontier in the same fashion.
Marius Dragomir, the director of the Media and Journalist Research Centre, said media organisations that are “controlled by companies that have interests in other industries, especially PR, [should] be overly transparent” about their owners.
The Swe family’s ties to Serge Pun didn’t end when Singapore-registered Boomerang Media took over publishing Frontier in 2021. Corporate records show the company’s address was listed as a house inside a residential complex in Yangon developed by Pun, where both Sonny Swe and Thein Swe lived until 2021.
Sonny Swe denied any conflict of interest in its coverage of Serge Pun’s businesses and said he leaves disclosures to the editorial team. “Serge Pun wasn’t a shareholder, wasn’t funding directly and wasn’t involved in our operations at all,” he said. “Like our coverage of business in Myanmar in general, I believe that Frontier’s coverage of Serge Pun and his companies has been independent and critical.”
Kean, Frontier’s former editor-in-chief and current co-owner, said the stories about Yoma businesses were just “short news items and sometimes derived from press releases or rewrites of stories in international media.”
Kean himself fell foul of the conflicts of interest with Frontier’s backers when he penned a feature about Pyone Maung Maung and his satellite internet business. The piece, which listed the different prices and bandwidths of the service, came after Sonny Swe attended the company’s launch party and posted on Facebook that Frontier would be the first customer.
Kean said he was unaware that Pyone Maung Maung was a shareholder in M Media, which co-owned Frontier, when the magazine published the feature in July 2016. “It should have had a disclosure,” Kean told Myanmar Now, adding that Pyone Maung Maung had transferred his shares in M Media three months later.
Pyone Maung Maung did not respond to repeated requests for comment.
The Swe family also used Frontier to promote their own business interests. Evidence obtained by Myanmar Now shows Sonny Swe’s sister and her husband set up a business consultancy called Myanmar Bureau Advisory in 2012, where Thein Swe became managing director after he left prison. Sonny Swe is listed as “media partner,” touting his role running Frontier.
Sonny Swe and his sister did not respond to requests for comment about Myanmar Bureau or its clients.
Frontier’s trust deficit
Despite the many questions swirling around Sonny Swe’s media interests in Myanmar, his international reputation has remained largely untarnished.
After the 2021 coup, he became a prominent spokesperson for Frontier Myanmar on the international scene, speaking at industry events, writing opinion pieces, and appearing on Maria Ressa’s podcast. In July 2025, Frontier donor Fondation Hirondelle released a video interview with him which it described as “a reminder of the importance of journalism in the face of the challenges of freedom of expression.”
Among the community of exiled Myanmar media, however, concerns have been growing about Frontier since Thein Swe toured China on the junta’s behalf. Journalists and activists say they have become nervous about using Sonny Swe’s Chiang Mai co-working space for exiled media, known as Greenhouse, because of his father.
The Greenhouse co-working space is owned by Boomerang Network (Thailand), a company in which Sonny Swe continues to act as CEO.
Wai Phyo Myint, the former Myanmar Times reporter who now works for digital activist group Access Now, said she objected when her organisation proposed holding an event in the co-working space.
“I told my colleagues that while I personally like Sonny, my past experience made clear the risks involved,” she said. “Now that Thein Swe has resurfaced in China, my organisation is grateful we didn’t go through with it.”
In connection to Frontier, Sonny Swe also runs a less well-known business producing intelligence reports using a custom-made tool originally developed to monitor hate speech. Today, the company collects information on what people are saying online for its clients, which Sonny Swe has publicly stated include government embassies.
Sonny Swe did not respond to questions about the business or its clients.
Pichai, who took over as Frontier’s owner this year, has also raised eyebrows due to his meetings with members of Myanmar’s junta.
“I continue to meet many former, and if possible, current government officials from many countries including Myanmar, to keep up to date with developments,” he told Myanmar Now. Pichai refused to say who he met in the regime, citing source confidentiality—while also admitting that he is no longer working as a journalist.
Sonny Swe rejected any suggestion that Frontier has ties to Myanmar’s junta and said he was worried about the “rumours” being circulated.
The question marks over Frontier’s MI and other connections have left many in Myanmar’s exiled media wary. Toe Zaw Latt, secretary of the Thailand-based International Press Council Myanmar, of which Frontier is a member, said the lack of transparency has created a “dilemma” for the community.
“We want to allow their current staff members to participate in our activities, because we believe everyone should be included,” he said. “Still, many of us are deeply concerned about security. We’re worried that our personal information might somehow end up in the hands of intelligence through Frontier.”
From the investigation
