From the outset, the notion of managing Myanmar looks overly intrusive. Why can’t Myanmar be left to manage itself? But the reality is that the international community seeks to shape the development of many countries around the world and, with its fragile transition, delicate peace process and sporadic sectarian violence, Myanmar is certainly one of them. Today I look briefly at two key tools used for that purpose: diplomacy and humanitarian action. How effectively are they being deployed?

It’s impossible to capture the wealth of bilateral and multilateral diplomatic engagement. One important element, though, is the UN Secretary-General’s Partnership Group on Myanmar, formed in April this year as a successor to the Group of Friends of the Secretary-General on Myanmar (created in December 2007). The major difference is that Myanmar is a member of the new body, but was not one of the 14 countries brought together in the Group of Friends. The Partnership Group can be expected to convene once or twice a year, and is no doubt helpful. To gain greater traction, though, more focused engagement is needed. Nicholas Kristof, again reporting from Rakhine State, continues to call on President Obama to speak out about persecution of the Rohingya community. I can’t see that making much difference. Rather, the US would be better advised to work with and through regional powers such as ASEAN, China, Japan and India. On this pressing issue, it’s time for all of them to step up more energetically to the plate.

It’s also difficult to keep track of cross-border humanitarian action. The best websites are maintained by the Myanmar Information Management Unit (under the UN Resident and Humanitarian Coordinator), and the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. Certainly, though, the aid business is booming in Myanmar. As this happens, it is becoming clear that at a time of great sensitivity to foreign engagement, particularly in Rakhine State, humanitarian agencies and their staffers need to perform absolutely at the top of their game. Even casual Facebook postings can trigger local resentment and undermine aid work. This is not to rule out the important function of bearing witness, but rather to hold that it must be done in careful ways that ensure aid agencies are able to retain a presence throughout the country.

Again I’m picking up on Min Zin, now scaling the heights with an excellent op-ed in the New York Times. What he writes about in this piece is pushback from civil society against intolerant Buddhist leaders sponsoring sectarian legislation through 969, Mabatha, and so on – “the people vs. the monks”. He reaches an upbeat conclusion: “The unprecedented chasm between the monkhood and the people is for now a source of tension and turmoil. But it augurs well for the country’s political and social development in the long term. The advent of a countermovement to Buddhist extremism suggests that the people of Myanmar are emancipating from traditional elites and taking a major stride toward modernity and democracy.” Well, I certainly hope so.

In this time of tension and turmoil, it’s perhaps also worth providing a historical perspective on Min Zin’s topic by looking at the position taken by Aung San. In the opening pages of a brief biography of her father, published in 1984, republished in 1991 and in the same year packaged into Freedom from Fear, Aung San Suu Kyi reports on a debate during his first term at Rangoon University (in 1933). “Aung San rose from the floor to support the motion which had been proposed by his elder brother, that monks should not participate in politics.” She writes both in the next sentence and in a succeeding paragraph that this was one of his firmest beliefs. In full, this is the later paragraph:

“It is worth noting here that the motion Aung San supported in that first debate expressed one of his lasting convictions: that monks should not participate in politics. He was to say in a speech made little more than a year before his death that to mix religion with politics was to go against the spirit of religion itself. He appealed to the sangha (the community of Buddhist monks) to purify Buddhism and ‘broadcast it to all the world so that all mankind might be able to listen to its timeless message of Love and Brotherhood till eternity … this is the highest politics which you can do for your country and people.’”

Throughout Aung San’s life, political monks broadly shared the anti-colonial views he himself espoused. Indeed, in U Ottama in the 1920s and Saya San in the 1930s, the monkhood generated the most significant nationalist leaders and martyrs of the early independence struggle. Even against this backdrop, Aung San was committed to the principled position that monks should not enter the political realm, but rather should focus on promoting love and brotherhood.

As it happens, I don’t endorse Aung San’s call for a complete separation between religion and politics. Nevertheless, I do think it’s useful to be reminded today of his purist view of the spirit of religion, and his appeal for Buddhism to focus on its timeless core message.

“The big question in Burmese politics these days is whether the military will allow Aung San Suu Kyi to run for the presidency.” With these words, Min Zin opens his latest article on Foreign Policy‘s Democracy Lab blog. His view is that permission, withheld by article 59f of the constitution, will not be granted. I have no reason to challenge Min Zin’s judgment, which seems as sound in this piece as in everything else he writes. Instead, what I want to do is take a quick look at a matter that will confront Myanmar long after a possible Aung San Suu Kyi presidency has ceased to be a live issue. I also want to consider how she might therefore play the political game that will continue to unfold over the next 18 months.

In 1994, Juan J Linz kicked off an important political science debate by publishing a lengthy essay entitled “Presidential or Parliamentary Democracy: Does It Make a Difference?” He held that it does. Specifically, he asserted that parliamentary democracy is preferable to presidential – because it is more likely to engineer political stability. Indeed, the argument is explicit in the title of the book in which the essay appears: The Failure of Presidential Democracy. A sentence on page 44 about the virtues of parliamentary systems is especially relevant to Myanmar: “In a multiethnic society without an absolutely dominant group supporting one party and obtaining an absolute majority, a parliamentary system would offer the possibility of coalition formation and consociational type of agreements, which could provide a flexible response to ethnic conflict.” As is the way with all debates in political science, Linz’s conclusion is contested. But there is still considerable support for the proposition that parliamentary systems are the better bet for divided societies – not winner takes all (as in presidentialism), but big tent accommodation of disparate interests (as in parliamentarism).

Of course Myanmar has a hybrid political system in which a direct parliamentary election builds a platform for an indirect presidential election. (There is also the further hybridity introduced by military appointees, but for today that need not be an issue.) Crucially, though, the system remains fluid, and could be shaped in a variety of ways once constitutional reform takes place. An “imperial” presidency is quite conceivable. So too is a parliamentary system with a powerless “figurehead” presidency. The events of the next few years are likely to determine which path the country takes.

Back, then, to Aung San Suu Kyi. Last year she stated publicly that she would like to be president, and at no point since has she signaled a change of mind. Yet a better strategy would surely be to run for the speakership of the Lower House, and from there seek to guide Myanmar in the direction of a parliamentary system. Speaker Thura Shwe Mann has already demonstrated the position’s considerable potential. Following on, the NLD leader would be well placed to expand the powers of parliament still further. Moreover, article 59f has no bearing on election to the speakership.

None of this is an argument against constitutional reform, which remains necessary. Rather, it is an argument for identifying the path of institutional development most suited to Myanmar, and placing the formidable figure of Aung San Suu Kyi firmly on it.

The high priests of R2P clustered in global advocacy groups have a marked tendency to interpret its policy implications in the grandest possible manner. I’ve written before about GCR2P, but it’s worth looking again at the “necessary action” it specifies for Myanmar. The list given in the latest issue of R2P Monitor, dated May 15, 2014, is this: citizenship for the Rohingya; accountability for rights abusers; safe return of IDPs to their communities; unhindered humanitarian access; a comprehensive plan for inclusive reconciliation; constitutional reform to address the needs of ethnic minorities; creation of an independent judiciary. As a set of work tasks, it’s nothing if not formidable.

But does the notion of R2P endorsed at the 2005 World Summit require such an expansive interpretation? This is the core doctrine (from paragraph 138 of the outcome document): “Each individual State has the responsibility to protect its populations from genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing and crimes against humanity.” Nothing is said though about how states should go about doing that, which opens the door to a wide range of policy scenarios. Consistent with the core doctrine, thick and thin versions of R2P can be developed.

The version specified by GCR2P for Myanmar is clearly at the thick end of the spectrum. Moreover, there are sound reasons for taking a position there. Essentially, this list would deliver sustainable R2P, rather than merely stopgap measures that risk a return to mass atrocity crimes. In an ideal world, the full set of policies would therefore be quickly implemented, and for the foreseeable future populations throughout Myanmar would be protected from extreme forms of human rights abuse.

In the non-ideal world in which we live, however, the Myanmar government is either unable or unwilling to undertake anything more than a small fraction of GCR2P’s work tasks, and bimonthly insistence that it address everything will only become more and more grating. For GCR2P, stationed near the top of the R2P hierarchy, there is perhaps no alternative but to keep issuing the list regardless. For everybody else, though, there is no need to remain tied to such a very full understanding.

Rather, a thinner version can be developed to take account of contemporary political reality in Myanmar. At a minimum, R2P requires that all people be protected from the four mass atrocity crimes. To deliver on that, which tasks from the GCR2P list are essential? I would prioritize unhindered humanitarian access, make this the focus of all immediate lobbying efforts, and leave for a later day other “necessary action”. By putting to one side, for now, contentious issues such as Rohingya citizenship, it might be possible actually to become an effective force for change inside the country.

R2P focuses on safeguarding individuals from the very worst that can befall them in life. Thick versions must seek to engineer sustainable reform. But there is also a place for thin versions designed to ward off looming catastrophe and edge communities in the direction of lasting change further down the line.

Part of the problem in Rakhine State is that the more outsiders throw up their hands in horror at what’s going on, the more (Buddhist) insiders develop a siege mentality and cast themselves as victims of an uncomprehending world. UN statements, GCR2P monitors, HRW reports, MSF testimony, high-profile commentary and the entire panoply of global reaction (including this blog if it’s read in western Myanmar) all have the counterproductive effect of boosting local hostility to foreign engagement. What to do when even talking the talk inflames the situation?

For sure outsiders are not about to take a collective vow of silence. Neither should they. The international community has a rock-solid legitimate concern for human rights the world over, and cannot be expected to fence off Rakhine and let events there simply take their course. The issue, then, is not how to close down global interest, but rather how to try to make it more understandable and, hopefully, more acceptable to people on the receiving end. There are at least two tasks here.

The first is boosting local awareness of the foundations of global engagement. IR 101 teaches that state sovereignty, enshrined in the UN Charter, is the organizing principle of international society. However, there are circumstances in which even that core principle can be overridden. One set appears in chapter VII of the Charter, dealing with threats to the peace, breaches of the peace, and acts of aggression. Another set features in paragraphs 138 and 139 of the 2005 World Summit outcome document, dealing with the responsibility to protect.

Chapter VII is not currently relevant to the situation in Rakhine State, but R2P certainly is. Endorsed unanimously by UN member states, it provides for international engagement in cases of four mass atrocity crimes: genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing, and crimes against humanity. I wonder: Do people across the country know that Myanmar is a full signatory to R2P? Do they have any sense of how the four mass atrocity crimes are generally defined? Have paragraphs 138 and 139 of the 2005 World Summit outcome document (totaling little more than 250 words) been translated into local languages? It strikes me that a major public information campaign needs urgently to be conducted.

The second issue is yet more difficult. By itself, abstract awareness of R2P principles is not likely to change much inside Rakhine State. Rather, there also needs to be a committed attempt to spread real grassroots understanding. R2P has minimal purchase – just the four mass atrocity crimes. Within that limited realm, though, it mandates that protection be provided not simply to citizens, but actually to populations. All people, including those who are alien or stateless, must be safeguarded from these crimes. This aspect of today’s global R2P norm needs to be spoken the length and breadth of the country – by politicians, religious figures, civil society workers, community leaders, teachers, and many others.

So much more can be done to talk about R2P in Rakhine State, and localize a conversation currently conducted above all in New York, Geneva and key parts of the humanitarian diaspora. Moreover, unless this is done, and done quickly, the international community really cannot say it’s tried its best to deliver on the core R2P mandate in Myanmar.

Today’s anniversary of the June 4, 1989 Tiananmen massacre is being marked in Beijing by repressive silence, around the world by scattered memorials, and in Hong Kong by the steadfast concern for human rights and democracy that for years has been a signature identity.

Yesterday afternoon I attended a campus screening of Portraits of Loss and the Quest for Justice, filmed by the Tiananmen Mothers and produced by Human Rights in China. The 22-minute video is interspersed with footage from a remarkable 50-day democracy movement, when up to one million people gathered in Tiananmen Square to press for political reform. Mainly, though, it focuses on ordinary, unarmed citizens caught up in the events of June 3-4, and that night killed by soldiers in or around Tiananmen: a truck driver aged 33, a chef aged 20, a trainee in international trade aged 19, a mechanic aged 20, an engineer aged 30. It promotes the Tiananmen Mothers’ cause of truth, compensation and accountability.

Linked to the video are five new interviews with victims’ families recently uploaded to the HRiC website. Running to about 5 to 10 minutes each, they bear further witness to the callousness of official action, and reinforce the call for international society to support demands for justice in China.

As usual, I will this evening attend Hong Kong’s annual June 4 candlelight vigil in Victoria Park, Causeway Bay – a fabulous world city at its very best. In the long run, Hong Kong’s greatest contribution to China will hopefully come from torch-bearing activism of this kind.

Win Maw Oo and Jiang Jie Lian were probably born in the same year. They did not know each other, but they shared the same fate: both were murdered by the military for promoting democracy. Win Maw Oo was 16 when she joined the 1988 uprising in Burma. Jiang Jie Lian was 17 when he participated in the 1989 Tiananmen protests in China.

Maw Oo’s mother Khin Htay Win begged her daughter not to join Rangoon’s pro-democracy movement. Jie Lian’s mother Ding Zilin locked the door when the military started firing at citizens on the night of June 3. Maw Oo’s reply was: “If they dare to shoot, then we dare to die.” Jie Lian vowed that if the university students were killed, the secondary school students would stand up. Both gave their lives for their dreams.

In the aftermath of the Tiananmen massacre, critics of the Chinese Communist Party were persecuted. Victims’ families testify that they were pressured by the government to confess to having failed to stop their children from taking part in the “riot”. Some were even forced to change the cause of death on the death certificate. While most of the families who lost loved ones feared to speak up, Ding Zilin searched for other families to document the death toll. In 2000, the group became the Tiananmen Mothers, formed to demand truth, reparation and accountability from a government that has sought by every available means to expunge its atrocities from the public record. To hide their crimes, the authorities have frequently interrogated and detained some of the Tiananmen Mothers. They even bar them from mourning their children in public.

In Burma amid partial democratization, commemoration of the 88 uprising is no longer prohibited. However, justice has not yet been done. Article 2 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights stipulates that states have an obligation to ensure effective remedy for victims of human rights violations. This entails equal and effective access to justice, adequate, effective and prompt reparation for harm suffered, and access to relevant information concerning violations and reparation mechanisms. None of this has yet happened in Burma.

More than 25 years on, the pain of victims’ families is still there. Nevertheless, the parents are not calling for revenge. By telling the truth, Khin Htay Win and Ding Zilin are simply continuing the struggles of their children. Ultimately, though, it is only by building democratic institutions that Burma and China can deliver justice and prevent the repetition of gross human rights violations.

Debby Chan is a PhD candidate at the University of Hong Kong.

New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof is this year devoting his annual “win-a-trip” reporting journey to Rakhine State, traveling with student journalist Nicole Sganga from Notre Dame University. Thus far, Kristof has published two op-ed articles, and both he and Sganga have blogged their experiences through the newspaper’s website. Broadly I very much welcome this high-level global exposure.

Kristof’s first article draws attention to apartheid in Myanmar – an apartheid “more appalling” than South Africa’s because it “deprives members of one ethnic group even of health care”. He argues for robust American diplomacy, and especially for President Obama to make more use of his rather large stock of political capital. “We should work with Japan, Britain, Malaysia and the United Nations to pressure Myanmar to restore humanitarian access and medical care… Myanmar seeks American investment and approval. We must make clear that it will get neither unless it treats Rohingya as human beings.”

Kristof’s overlapping second article looks in more detail at the denial of health care to Rohingya communities. “What we found is dangerous tension and some malnutrition, but by far the biggest problem is medical care. More than one million Rohingya are getting little if any health care, and some are dying as a result.” He spells out the distinctiveness of the Myanmar situation. “Look, I’ve seen greater malnutrition and disease over the years — in South Sudan, Niger, Congo, Guinea — but what’s odious about what is happening here is that the suffering is deliberately inflicted as government policy. The authorities are stripping members of one ethnic group of citizenship, then interning them in camps or villages, depriving them of education, refusing them medical care — and even expelling humanitarians who seek to save their lives.” Identifying this as “an affront to civilization”, he again calls for greater US engagement. “Please, President Obama, find your voice.”

As I said, I applaud this focus on the plight of the Rohingya people. I hope the New York Times columns and blog posts will be widely read. I certainly agree that global diplomatic resources need to be mobilized more fully in response to a deepening crisis. At the same time, I worry about the hint in Kristof’s first article that sanctions might need to be reimposed. Generally, I feel there’s still more to be said and done. For now, then, I simply want to draw attention to Kristof’s initiative. Later in the week, I’ll return to the situation in Rakhine State.

In the week of Narendra Modi’s swearing in as Indian prime minister, I’m reminded of a classic work of political science – Samuel P Huntington’s Political Order in Changing Societies, published nearly half a century ago in 1968.

In particular I’m thinking of a brief passage on India (on page 84 of the book), in which Huntington explores the apparent paradox that the country in the late 1960s was “the epitome of the underdeveloped society”, and at the same time “in terms of political institutionalization … far from backward”. This is what he writes:

“A well developed political system has strong and distinct institutions to perform both the ‘input’ and the ‘output’ functions of politics. India entered independence with not only two organizations, but two highly developed – adaptable, complex, autonomous, and coherent – institutions ready to assume primary responsibility for these functions. The Congress Party, founded in 1885, was one of the oldest and best organized political parties in the world; the Indian Civil Service, dating from the early nineteenth century, was appropriately hailed as ‘one of the greatest administrative systems of all time.’ The stable, effective, and democratic government of India during its first twenty years of independence rested far more on this institutional inheritance than it did on the charisma of Nehru.”

The rest of the former Raj was not so fortunate, and Burma’s democratic experience in the early years of independence was certainly very different. Its dominant political party was young and poorly organized, and its civil service was a weak and fragile offspring of the ICS. Even its charismatic leader had been assassinated. Still today, Myanmar does not have strong and distinct institutions to perform the input and output functions of politics.

“Too often we forget how lucky we are to go to school.” It’s corny, I guess, but it also expresses an important truth. It’s how French director Pascal Plisson opens his lovely 2013 film Sur le chemin de l’école. The 75-minute documentary celebrates education simply by tracing the route to school taken by four children and their friends and siblings.

Jackson, 11, lives in a remote part of Kenya and twice a day walks with his younger sister 15 kilometres through savannah filled with dangerous animals. The journey takes two hours. Carlito, 11, lives in the Patagonian wilds of Argentina and twice a day rides on horseback with his younger sister 18 kilometres through the high plains. The journey takes an hour and a half. Zahira, 12, lives in a distant part of Morocco and twice a week treks with two friends 22 kilometres through the Atlas Mountains. The journey takes four hours. Samuel, 13, lives in a fishing village on the Bay of Bengal in southern India and, not having use of his legs, is twice a day pushed by two younger brothers 4 kilometres in a decrepit wheelchair. The journey takes an hour and a quarter.

In Myanmar, roughly half of all children aged 11-13 do not attend school. An appropriately subtitled version of this inspiring movie would make for terrific viewing at free public screenings in cities, towns and villages across the country.