“I had a conversation with a group of journalists from Mercosur, Brazil especially and also Argentina, Uruguay […] and one question was “you’ve developed your continent, you’ve industrialised and now you come lecture us that we have to do it differently” and my answer was “for the EU, for the premise of our development and international partnerships, is that if our partners do well, so do we”.

These words were spoken last week at the EU’s Green week. All panelists made it clear our economy would not exist nor be able to sustain itself if not for the natural resources on which it relies. At the same time, who is capable of financing this transition? Public funds alone are not enough, and the investment gap needs to be filled by private investors who need reliable indicators of returns on investments. This is especially relevant when considering the majority of investments come from pension funds and other forms of private funds.

Spending in positive nature schemes, or limiting investments in projects that have a negative impact, is crucial to avoid exacerbating conflicts or crises linked to resources (i.e. water, lithium, and more). Building a positive nature economy is not only vital to a sustainable economy (an economy which can sustain itself in the years to come), but to geopolitical security as well. It is within this framework that the words at the top keep bothering me, because they glossed over the real challenge the EU’s environmental diplomacy is facing.

As well-intentioned as I’m convinced these words were, they reinforce a false duality which sees European countries as promoters of sustainable development (i.e. the “good guys”) and Latin American governments (in this case, but any Global South country could fit here) as greedy actors chasing the easy money coming from resources’ exploitation (i.e. the bad/oblivious ones).
It is true that the EU benefits from stable and prosper partner markets. Still, what this glosses over is that natural degradation in Latin America often involve European capital, European demand and European actors. For example:

• European companies still export toxic pesticides banned in the EU to low and middle income countries, including Brazil (the 2nd largest importer) and Mercosur countries. Brazil’s President Lula even said that pesticide companies exert pressure on Brazilian lawmakers, “contributing to a weaker regulatory environment” (as reported by Human Rights Watch). In 2020 the EU pledged to “lead by example” and put an end to these practices, but so far has not managed to do so due to the political shifts in the European Parliament. For the moment, it is member states (among these France, Denmark, the Netherlands, and others) that are pushing for the EU’s to respect its commitment to ban hazardous pesticides. Ironically, exports have increased since the EU’s 2020 promise. Manfredi, the Commission’s Director for the Environment department, claims the EU is working on the case and adds that it is “the sovereign responsibility of the importing third countries to assess and decide”. I’m not sure whether this cuts it for an institution who aims at positioning itself as the global leader in environmental protection and the first climate neutral continent.

• EU banks still make significant profit by investing in companies linked to deforestation practices and the ensuing illegal activities, such as land-grabbing, slave labour and other human rights abuses. Moreover, the EU’s sustainable finance framework (the SFDR), conceived to help investors make informed choices, does not contain mandatory exclusions for deforestation risk. Funds promotes as being aligned to the Paris Agreement, or even “Global Sustainable Food and Water”, can and have held stocks in companies engaging in deforestation. In the second quarter of 2025 alone, nearly $9 billion in so-called green investments were channelled into food and agribusiness companies rated as having high to critical deforestation risk. The Commission’s proposed revision of the SFDR would also lift the obligation for entity-level disclosures on harmful environmental impacts, meaning asset managers will no longer have to report on the negative impact generated by the businesses they invest in at the firm level (though product-level disclosures would be retained for certain fund categories). If this revision comes into force, individual investors would have a harder time knowing whether their money is being invested in funds dedicated to environmental protection, or in stocks of companies profiting from deforestation, or both at the same time. Just as the governments of the countries where deforestation and abuses occur have a responsibility to stop them, the EU too must rectify its policies on financial transparency and take action against the companies financing illegal practices in partner countries.
  

The tension is there, and it is inevitable considering that the EU (as much as I’d like it to) is still not a unitary actor. As much as Commission officials might sincerely support environmental protection, a wide array of European actors lobbying in favour of exploitative projects still exist. While internally we can distinguish among them, to external countries both of them are “Europe”. Sadly, the same institutional architecture that creates sustainability guidelines is the one that enables negative nature spending to prosper. This is a structural contradiction that should be tackled, one that can negatively affect the stability of regional cooperation and harm the credibility of the EU’s environmental diplomacy. Perhaps the way to approach this should not be a call to accept European lectures, but taking a step back and framing cooperation as a truly horizontal effort that acknowledges the existing contradictions between sustainability guidelines and the projects that are currently bringing revenue to businesses and investors.
What the EU’s diplomacy needs at the moment, particularly towards Mercosur and other Global south countries, is not better marketing but concrete willingness to apply environmental standards consistently across its own economic relationships.

References

Bergoënd, Alice. “EU drifts away from promise to stop exporting toxic pesticides”. Euractiv, Accessed June 12, 2026. https://www.euractiv.com/news/political-shift-in-brussels-clouds-toxic-pesticide-export-ban-pledge/

Foodwatch. “EU-Mercosur: Trade First, Standards Later.” Foodwatch, n.d. Accessed June 12, 2026. https://www.foodwatch.org/en/eu-mercosur-trade-first-standards-later.

The Guardian. “EU Chemical Firms Plan to Export Rising Quantities of ‘Toxic’ Pesticides, Documents Show.” September 23, 2025.

European Commission, Directorate-General for Financial Stability, Financial Services and Capital Markets Union. Commission Simplifies Transparency Rules for Sustainable Financial Products. Brussels: European Commission, November 20, 2025. https://finance.ec.europa.eu/publications/commission-simplifies-transparency-rules-sustainable-financial-products_en

Global Witness. “Banks Make $26 Billion in a Decade of Financing Deforesting Companies.” Global Witness, July 2024. Accessed June 12, 2026. https://globalwitness.org/en/campaigns/forests/banks-make-26-billion-in-a-decade-of-financing-deforesting-companies/.

Greenpeace International. “Banks Must Stop Funding Illegal Amazon Deforestation, Prosecutor Says After Greenpeace Brazil Report.” Greenpeace International, August 22, 2024. Accessed June 12, 2026. https://www.greenpeace.org/international/press-release/67706/banks-must-stop-funding-illegal-amazon-deforestation-prosecutor-says-after-greenpeace-brazil-report/.

Human Rights Watch. “The EU’s Double Standard on Toxic Pesticides.” Human Rights Watch, October 10, 2025. Accessed June 12, 2026. https://www.hrw.org/news/2025/10/10/the-eus-double-standard-on-toxic-pesticides.

Buenos Aires Times. “How the EU and Mercosur Agro-Powerhouse Brazil Differ on Pesticides.” Buenos Aires Times, n.d. Accessed June 12, 2026. https://www.batimes.com.ar/news/economy/how-the-eu-and-mercosur-agro-powerhouse-brazil-differ-on-pesticides.phtml.

Shin, Steven, and Haejin Jung. “Toxic Inequities: The Global Health Burden of Pesticide Exports to Low- and Middle-Income Countries.” Global Health Management Journal 8, no. 3 (2025).

Voxeurop. “Greenwashing the Amazon: Billion-Dollar Sustainable Funds Bankrolling Deforestation.” Voxeurop, 2025. Accessed June 12, 2026. https://voxeurop.eu/en/greenwashing-amazon-billion-sustainable-funds-bankrolling-deforestation/.

2026 had a strong start, with Washington launching the first direct intervention on Latin American soil since the invasion of Panama in 1989. The mission, deemed a “law enforcement operation” by US President Donald Trump, saw the bombing of Venezuela’s capital Caracas and the subsequent capture of dictator Nicolas Maduro. Later transported to New York, he awaits trial in the United States for his alleged complicity in drug trafficking. Shortly after, the operation expanded into Ecuador, with United States forces participating in bombings and military actions against local drug cartels. The proximity of the operations to Colombia’s borders prompted heated exchanges between Trump and Colombian President Gustavo Petro, who was accused of supporting Maduro’s narcostate. Overall, this escalation suggested a renewed interest in the war on drugs from Trump’s administration. However, a closer look at Trump’s relations with Latin American politicians reveals a close proximity to Juan Orlando Hernández, Hondura’s former right-wing authoritarian President, condemned to 45 years in prison by a US court for his involvement with drug cartels.

These developments raise questions about the sincerity of Trump’s crackdown on drug cartels, and cast doubts on whether this constitutes a wider strategy to reinforce Washington’s influence on domestic Latin American politics.

The Mar-a-Lago Tapes
Despite being deemed a scandal of historic proportions by various news outlets in Latin America, Hondurasgate is still relatively unperceived in the ocean of updates on global turmoils. The news first broke out between the last days of April and early May 2026 on Canal Red Latinoamérica, with the publication of private recordings following a meeting in Trump’s Mar-a-Lago resort between Hernández, the US President, Argentina’s President Milei, and Israel’s Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. Hernández is heard discussing a new influx of foreign investments in Honduras, and sounds optimistic about the chance of being reinstated as President thanks to the support of the above mentioned heads of state. The plan included the establishment of a new US military base in Honduras, the promotion of “private development” areas and investments from US intelligence companies working on Artificial Intelligence. The ultimate goal, as revealed in the audios, appears to be the creation of a bloc of right-wing governments backing US’ hegemony in Latin America, Honduras being among the first together with Argentina. Hernández’s reinstatement serves the wider purpose of destabilising progressive governments in the region, such as Sheinbaum’s Mexico, Lula’s Brazil, and Petro’s Colombia.

Washington’s meddling in Latin American states’ governments is deeply entrenched in the history of the region. Indeed, following the designation of drug cartels as “foreign terrorist organisations” by the United States, President Sheinbaum declared “this cannot be an opportunity for the United States to invade our sovereignty”.1 Comments by the United States on political matters or internal security issues are received with suspicion and distrust by Latin American states because they evoke memories of violent interventions, coups and power asymmetries. Perhaps due to these historical legacies, the majority of the public easily supported the veracity of the recordings’ forensic verifications. What struck is the open amicability between Trump and Hernández, whose curriculum is not so distant from Maduro, if not for their diverging political inclinations. Indeed, the former Honduran president was deemed a “Narco-dictator” from his fellow citizens, who faced widespread human rights abuses after the 2017 protests sparked by irregularities in the elections that led to Hernández’s second term. He was then prosecuted in the US for his involvement within a drug trafficking scheme which brought 400 tonnes of cocaine into the country, and was quoted by prosecutors saying he wanted to “shove the drugs right up the noses of the gringos” (although Hernández has since denied ever saying this).2 Still, Trump pardoned his 45 years sentence, arguing Hernández was a victim of political persecution and that he had been “treated very harshly and unfairly”.3

Oil and Democracy in Venezuela

Many have pointed at Venezuela’s oil reserves as the real motivation behind Trump’s intervention, rather than a real interest in the flow of drugs into the United States or, as others have cited, the restoration of a true democratic process in the country. Indeed, these hopes were crushed when Trump approved Maduro’s vice-president Delcy Rodriguez as Venezuela’s new President. Despite repeatedly stating the illegitimacy of Maduro’s government, Trump’s administration was willing to mend fences as long as Rodriguez cooperated in favour of US interests. Venezuela resumed shipping oil supplies to Israel and the USA shortly after, while stopping exports to Cuba (shippings resumed during the last weeks of February, after receiving green light from Washington).

All things considered, counter-narcotics objectives, just like the noble purpose of protecting democratic processes, appears secondary to broader geopolitical goals. Some have deemed Trump’s actions a continuation of President Monroe’s 1823 interventionist policy over Latin American states, wryly calling it “Donroe Doctrine”. Indeed, both Maduro’s and Hernández’s cases, as well as the negotiations ensued from the Venezuelan power vacuum, suggest that Trump is preparing to rebuild Washington’s stronghold over the region.

Breaking down Trump’s erratic treatment of politically diverging narco-dictators reveals a broader scheme redefining the (perceived) norms of legality, sovereignty and international law’s application.

Framing military actions on foreign land as “law enforcement operations” serves a double purpose. By doing so, Trump justifies and downsizes the scale of the events that went down in Caracas in the eyes of the public. Disregarding the mechanisms of international law, he legitimises the extension and application of US law over a sovereign country, ultimately establishing himself as the supreme authority over the American hemisphere. Inserting such operations into a wider framework of countering international criminal organisations create the perception of a benign ruler doing “whatever it takes” to protect the well-being of his country, and potentially its neighbours. Nonetheless, the duality of these operations (namely, Maduro’s abduction compared to the release and apparent lobbying in favour of Hernández) suggest Trump’s anti-drug discourse is both a (domestic and international) securitisation strategy useful to consolidate support from his MAGA base, and most of all a geopolitical instrument which depicts the entire region as a subject — either directly or by proxy — to US rule.

Geopolitics of Humiliation?

The treatment of María Corina Machado, the leader of Venezuela’s opposition, attests to this dynamic. Washington created a power vacuum by removing Maduro, and forced Venezuela to fill it according to its preferences. For weeks, Machado campaigned to be recognised as the rightful President by Trump, even proposing to relinquish her Nobel prize. The media portrayed her as willing to bend over backwards just to please Trump, hopeful to be assigned a term as President from a foreign actor, and thus when he refused to do so stating she “lacked the respect from Venezuela’s society to lead the country”, the blow to Machado’s credibility struck even harder. It is hard to look at this and not think that humiliation constitutes a key in Trump’s geopolitics. He went on to grant powers to Rodriguez, but with the conditionality to cooperate with US interests. For a politician whose career developed in close proximity to Maduro, accepting such a deal means losing ground towards regime supporters and opponents alike: she is simultaneously a former complicit of the regime’s crimes, a traitor to her party’s stances, and a subordinate to US rule. Whatever the perception of local politicians becomes, the constant variable is Trump, and thus Washington, emerging as the uncontested regulatory power over foreign, sovereign countries.

National security as Strategic Pretext

Similar to what happened during the Cold War period, with US administrations weaponising the “red scare” to intervene in Latin America and remove elected left-leaning and socialist governments, the war on drugs becomes a strategic pretext to extend Washington’s influence in a time when ideological divides are much more subtle. Trump’s actions might be theatrical, but they are part of a long-standing “realpolitik” tradition that regard Latin American states as a buffer zone for economic and security purposes. This explains why international actors are expected to turn a blind eye to Trump’s expansive employment of military force abroad, and why the judiciary officers are expected to be hard on Maduro while their actions against strategic US allies are easily overturned. Allowing Hernández back in Honduras, potentially working in favour of his return to office, together with the stronghold over Venezuela and the developments over the control of Panama’s canal grant the US significant control over a strategic area for resources and international trade routes. By leveraging local allies, such as Milei in Argentina, it’s expected Trump will attempt to extend Washington’s presence over the entire region to counter the growing ties that local governments are establishing with China. This becomes even more critical in a time of growing turbulences in the Middle East, with consequences reverberating on US and global economy. Diversifying the oil resources over which Washington has direct control is critical to lessen the pressure stemming from the closing of the Strait of Hormuz. While not likely to make up for the entire demands of oil in the case of a worsening of negotiations, controlling regions rich with resources is key to build discourses showcasing US power, and keeps public morale from deteriorating.

A Hierarchy of Sovereignty

Interpretations of Trump’s strategy aside, the contradiction between Maduro’s prosecution and Hernández’s rehabilitation reveals a broader principle. Sovereignty, in this framework, is not treated as a universal right but as a conditional privilege. Leaders who align with Washington’s strategic priorities may receive protection despite allegations of criminality or democratic backsliding. Those who obstruct those priorities become legitimate targets of legal, economic or military coercion. The latest developments in Latin America represent a return to a hierarchical model of sovereignty that many trusted to be outdated, which grants fully autonomy to some states (i.e. those who have the means to impose their power, or “hard power”) and subjects others to external arbitration.

References

Alvarado, Abel and Lemos, Gerardo (2025). Mexico’s Sheinbaum vows to protect national sovereignty as US cracks down on cartels in its territory. CNN World.

Buschschlüter, Vanessa and Graham, Chris (2026). US and Ecuador forces launch operation to fight drug trafficking. BBC.

Grant, Will (2026). Honduran ex-president controversially pardoned by Trump speaks to BBC. BBC.

Hondurasgate (2026). How we verify the leaked Hondurasgate audios: protocol, forensic engine and public dossier. https://hondurasgate.ch/investigaciones/forensic-verification-leaked-hondurasgate-audios

Kurmanaev, Anatoly; Pager, Tyler; Romero, Simon and Turkewitz, Julie (2026). How Trump Fixed On a Maduro Loyalist as Venezuela’s New Leader. New York Times.

Middle East Eye (May 2026). Leaked recordings allege US-Israeli destabilisation plot in Latin America.

Olson, Jared and Horowitz, Noah. (2025). TRUMP FREES EX-PRESIDENT OF HONDURAS, RIGHT-WING “NARCO-DICTATOR” CONVICTED OF DRUG TRAFFICKING. The Intercept.

Parraga, Marianna (2026). Venezuela resumes exports of diluted crude oil after 15-month pause - document. Reuters.

Rodríguez, Andrés (2026). ‘Hondurasgate,’ the alleged US and Israeli interference plot to destabilize Mexico and other progressive governments. El País International.

Sherwood, Dave and Parraga, Marianna (2026). Clock ticks in Cuba as Trump cuts off Venezuelan oil. Reuters.

Yousif, Nadine (2025). What was Honduras ex-president convicted of and why has Trump pardoned him?. BBC.

Welcome to the first publication of Cartographies of Power. From financial systems to conflict zones, from institutions to informal networks, this newsletter traces the architectures that shape inequality, development, and international order.

This first piece examines women’s role in Myanmar’s resistance to military rule. What emerges is the centrality of material, localised, and low-tech practices often rooted in care work to evade the growing presence of digital control.

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Since the military coup in 2021, more than 93000 conflict deaths, 3.68 million displaced people and 30 thousand civilian arrests have been registered in Myanmar.1 The humanitarian crisis only worsened following last year’s earthquake, deemed the deadliest in the world, with the convey of disaster relief efforts made more complex by the ongoing civil war.2 With rising geopolitical tensions seeing the direct involvement of powerful actors, such as the US and other Western countries, Myanmar’s case risks becoming a forgotten crisis — particularly in the European media space.

The celebration of a “Pre-Thingyan week” in Brussels aimed at countering this and ensure Myanmar remains visible. Promoted by the EU, the event allowed diaspora members to showcase their country’s real essence through the sharing of food, local crafts, and lived experiences. Accompanied with talks on women’s emancipation, resistance and international collaboration, the event’s panels served not only as a reminder of the military regime’s crimes, but also as an insightful perspective of what modern authoritarianism’ could entail, particularly in relation to AI.

In Myanmar, you may die, but not by starvation

I first attended the week’s panel on the 1st of March, when I had the chance to meet chef Yin and hear about women’s role in shaping food and identity in Myanmar. The notion that transpired was that more complex than a simple mean of nourishment, food can act as a means to build identity and facilitate the transmission of heritage. Women, through their role as primary caregivers, play a central role in preserving their communities’ cultural consciousness despite the many challenges they face when pursuing professional and personal autonomy — something not pertaining exclusively to the culinary world. Still, women play a significant role in Myanmar’s resistance networks, with over 5700 female political prisoners in the country: a historical record.3

Resistance is not always composed of grand, heroic gestures. More often, mundane acts of civil disobedience are the principal drivers of widespread, systemic change connecting the population. In this sense, food and resistance are closely interlinked. Feeding those in need is the first step to promote community unity, the founder of the Sisters2sisters NGO explained the following day. This is particularly relevant in a country like Myanmar, where community gatherings and social exchanges are heavily reliant on food-sharing. Chef Yin recounted how people ask “have you eaten yet?” to greet each other, or say “what are you cooking?” when walking in someone’s house. She quoted a common Burmese proverb going “In Myanmar, you may die, but not by starvation” while outlining how regardless of worsening economic constraints, people are inclined to share their meals with peers and newcomers. This linguistic overview exemplifies the impact generated by women who, by welcoming younger generations in their households, create networks that challenge the regime’s propaganda, as well as the patriarchal ideology that allowed the junta to hoard its power.

Like language conveys meaning, food communicates the feelings and experiences intertwined with the messages shared. By ingesting food, you absorb a piece of someone’s heritage and draw closer to their personal history. Using food as the fil rouge was an intentional choice, said the representative of the EU Delegation to Myanmar, in charge of the event’s organisation. Consuming Burmese black tea sweetened with palm sugar crystals and gin thoke, the public connected to the daily struggles recounted by diaspora members at a deeper level. Sentiments of fear for family, friends and Myanmar’s future resonated more profoundly. Indeed, once welcomed by a community, it is natural to feel a duty towards their legacy and personal histories. In many ways, the kitchen is the epicentre of the revolution. It is the place where political and cultural ideas take shape, and food is often the most captivating pamphlet — not just at home, but also abroad.

Kitchen and Bedrooms are the epicentre of the revolution

In highly normative contexts such as authoritarian regimes, personal life is as regulated as the political sphere. The surveillance of bodies, gender norms and intimacies ensure the regime’s survival by dictating hierarchy, visibility and agency. Although not always pursued through a coherent political strategy, authoritarian regimes reinforce their legitimacy by employing rhetorics built on gender stereotypes and biases.4 Populist rhetorics are particularly effective because, as outlined by Thinzar Shunlei Yi, anti-feminist sentiments are widespread and transversal in most societies, not just by men and soldiers, but also by women who were socialised to conform with patriarchal notions. Gender-based violence is the fuel that allows the regime to reproduce itself, by encouraging women to perform their “biological” and “patriotic” duty to be child bearers, wives and housekeepers; and by repressing deviant voices —namely, feminists and people challenging the hierarchical binary imposed by traditional gender norms, such as LGBTQ+ people, through torture and murder. Kitchens are apparently innocuous spaces: they allow women to hide behind a normative performance, while providing them with the opportunity to teach inclusive language and subversive notions to others.

Autocratic regimes heavily rely on the politicisation of “traditional family values” and attempt at making these palatable to women, especially those in privileged socioeconomic positions —something that happens in democratic countries as well.5 This is likely due to women’s influence in familial relations, who are often central to the success of mass movements and political agendas alike.6 Studies show how women drove forward most of the last decades’ cultural and political revolutions. Democratic transitions and anticolonial movements benefited greatly from women’s abilities to mobilise communities, employ diversified innovative and culturally-sensitive techniques and persuade their opponents. A notable example in Myanmar’s case is what came to be known as the “Sarong Revolution” in 2021, with women hanging traditional feminine clothes and sanitary products in public spaces to play on soldiers’ superstitions, effectively buying time for protestors’ to escape persecutions.7 Another way women contribute to the resistance is by persuading their husbands and male relatives to defect and “do the right thing”. This is the case in Myanmar, with women reminding soldiers that they’re fighting against their own friends and family members, but it is also part of a consolidated practice across the majority of mass movements in the past few decades.8 The prospect of social shaming (i.e. “I will tell your mother about this”) or prolonged periods of noncooperation in housekeeping and sexual activities proves itself effective in bringing down a system relying on the invisibilised free labour of half the population to sustain itself.

Indeed, revolutions are not unleashed by selective killings, but by instilling systematic changes.

The Algorithm rapes first

“It was a digital coup before it was a physical one”, stated Shunlei Yi. She recounted how a week prior to the coup, the militia produced a hate speech campaign which later allowed for the identification of activists, journalists and political opponents, most of whom were young women. Targeted users, or those who decided to speak up against digital harassment, were identified and arrested following the junta’s installation in the government. Since then, the Burmese regime has made extensive use of diversified surveillance systems, from social media watch to AI-powered facial recognition reliant on Russian and Chinese technologies. Resembling a digital version of a Panopticon, the junta employs a “Person Scrutinisation and Monitoring System” (PSMS) which through a capillary network of terminals tracks citizens and feeds into a national identity registry.9 However, PSMS is not the only weapon the regime operates in its attempt to subjugate Myanmar’s population. So far, the regime’s arsenal of digital weapons include a national database encrypting biometric and household information, the obligation to link SIMs with national IDs, a “China-style national firewall” and an informal network of social media channels (especially on Telegram) populated with regime supporters and lobbyists.10 As Thazin Aung stated, “with AI-enhanced cameras, real-name SIM identities and facial recognition feeding a central database, the state can identify, match and flag citizens before protests can even form”.11 Around fifty thousand individuals have been targeted by state surveillance systems and while the digital tools play a central role, the regime still depends on human intelligence to enforce their repression tactics. Indeed, doxxing (the circulation of individual’s identity, physical address and private information online) is one of the regime’s preferred tools, with many users being located, arrested and tortured as a result of the collaborative efforts of users in these channels.12

Online platforms thus become fundamental to legitimise the military junta, by acting as tools to propagate authoritarian discourses and connect those willing to engage in intelligence support and violent acts. In particular, the digital space —as well as other technologies employed by the military— become drivers and facilitators of gender-based violence.13 Women and LGBTQ+ activists are targeted with sexual harassment campaigns, potentially automated by AI, as well as with the creation of non-consensual intimate materials.14 By feeding into the group dynamic of regime supporters, social media channels allow the exchange and planning of tortures and repression tactics, while AI serves as an additional tool to expand the reach and repercussions of the planned tortures. Namely, the creation and spread of deepfakes exhorts victims to retreat from public activities, and demoralises resistance networks by harming individuals’ reputation. Moreover, cross-referencing data obtained through PSMS, the national database of SIMs, and other surveillance systems allows violence to easily spill over into the physical domain. Regime supporters and authorities can organise punitive expeditions, which most often concretise in sexual assaults, sexualised torture, rape, kidnappings and murders.15

Enabling oppressors to identify civilians is not the only way in which the digital sphere facilitates gender-based violence. Indeed, domestic violence has registered a sharp increase since the military coup.16 The targeting of feminist activists, as well as the extensive violence perpetrated by authorities against women and civilians actively discourages survivors to report domestic violence in fear of further abuses and victim-blaming.

What does the Burmese regime’s reliance on AI and social media mean for global democracy and human rights? And what does food have to do with resisting algorithmic authoritarianism?

The crimes perpetrated by the military junta offer several points of reflection. While AI is often acclaimed for the potential benefits it can bring to humanity, such as optimised working conditions, better safety systems, innovative medical treatments and many more, comparatively scarce thought is given to its downsides’ pervasiveness. Myanmar’s case is a local expression of the threats posed by AI-enhanced surveillance to democracy and justice, and far from being a unique phenomenon.

Indeed, the Burmese junta imports the necessary technology required to track citizen from foreign providers , namely Russia and China.17 While presenting an extreme example due to the absence of accountability and oversight bodies, the shift towards digital authoritarianism is not exclusive to Myanmar and countries outside “the West”. Intensity differs, but Western democracies too make use of data collection systems and surveillance softwares. While most of these practices have so far not resulted into widespread social control, there have been several instances showing how democratic processes and citizens’ privacy were impacted by data collection strategies. Notable examples of scandals in democratic countries include Snowden’s leaks or Cambridge Analytica’s mistreatment of Facebook users’ data to influence elections in the US and UK.18 These events were met with widespread outrage: aside from each case’s technicalities, most people understood a new business model was consolidating, one that saw a cooperative approach between private and public bodies to surpass the limits of traditional marketing.

Today, the commodification of users’ data is commonly acknowledged — in part, it is regarded as a side effect of internet usage to be expected, a price to be paid to engage in digital fora. At the same time, institutions take more and more steps to protect citizens’ right to privacy. It is likely the EU’s GDPR regulations would not have been pursued with the same urgency had these scandals never come to light. However, it would be a mistake to believe Western countries have ditched surveillance systems relying on data aggregation altogether. A growing number of governments, including EU member states, are signing deals with Palantir: a US-based company offering AI-powered data analytics primarily for security and intelligence purposes — something raising questions on Europe’s professed commitment to technological and data sovereignty.19

Although drawing a direct comparison with Myanmar would be premature, it is important to recognise Palantir’s technologies are already being employed in ways that raise serious concerns for civil liberties in Western democracies. In the US, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) —an agency widely criticised for its abuses ranging from the violent repression of protesters to the disappearance of migrants and US citizens — relies on Palantir’s data analytics platforms to track presumed migrant movements, automate deportation process, and create dossiers on “deportation targets”.20

These developments should prompt a wider debate about the conditions we are allowing governments to create. By remaining complacent toward collaborations with companies such as Palantir, we risk enabling an erosion of due justice and democratic processes. Palantir sells the idea of improved defence and security, however this comes at the expense of the very principles of democracy by promoting a shift from reactive to predictive governance. Citizenship is datafied, and thus commodified, enabling governments to identify dissent even before potential protesters step outside their homes. When considering the philosophy of the company’s founder, the potential implications of these partnerships become even more troubling: “I think technology is this incredible alternative to politics, we can try to unilaterally change the world without having to constantly convince people […] who are never going to agree with you”.21

The purpose of these technologies and of the ensuing violence they facilitate, which disproportionately impact on the most vulnerable segments of society (i.e. women, LGBTQ+, migrants, etc) is the acquiring of disciplinary power. While algorithms do not create societies’ discriminatory structures, they can widen and accelerate their impact by pushing dissenting voices to retreat from the public debate and remove visibility on issues deemed not urgent. The difference between Myanmar and countries that have not yet experienced an authoritarian spill-over lies in the political, legal and civil society measures that constrain the use of these technologies.

In this context, the importance of relationships and solidarity networks is evident. Food is just one of the tools that can create spaces favouring political education that exude, at least partially, from algorithmic control. This does not mean that citizens should retreat from online public spaces, quite the contrary. By strengthening everyday social structures of education, participation and resistance, communities can build the collective capacity necessary to hold institutions accountable and demand technologies that protect democracy and justice, rather than harm them. The regime’s political agenda is sustained by the inequality it perpetuates through its oppressive tactics, by reiterating patriarchal notions and limiting the civil participation of dissidents or heterodox individuals. Food, and the activists that share it with those who need it, are essential to the creation of a “geography of survival”. These are intended as spaces where the social, physical and political dimensions co-exist and influence each other, and allow for the reproduction of survival conditions such as shelter, food, and bodily safety.22 Authoritarian regimes inherently entail the politicisation of the everyday, due to the importance placed on population’s ordering and disciplining. In fact, when defining the concept of “biopolitics”, Foucault described pre-modern sovereigns as entities exercising power by wielding the “right to kill”, and thus granting the “right to life” to subjects. The Burmese junta reliance on disciplinary power appears in the frequently used slogan “Only the army is mother. The army is father”.23 The spectacle of death and torture is vital to amplify the public’s reception of the regime’s authority. As Mbembe explains, “necropolitics” or the ability to define which subjects are disposable, constitute sovereigns’ primary power.24 Building on surveillance capacities and investing in AI softwares aims at amplifying these powers, ideally building a governance system where people are identified and localised even prior to these individuals taking concrete resistance actions. Acting as a contrary force to those who can “grant the right to life”, building a “geography of survival” is the greatest threat to authoritarian power. Food and the corollary context that comes with it constitute not only a concrete lifeline, but also an hindrance for authorities who aim to discipline society by controlling daily practices and basic necessities. Most importantly, they lay the foundation for the reproduction of contrary ideas, notions and networks. The regime can track individuals with AI, but it is far more difficult to track how ideas circulate among civilians, especially if these travel in a gin thoke salad.