In late September 2025, the front page of an Arakan Princess Media bulletin showed a grainy photograph of captured rifles laid out on the ground. The headline declared: “Muslim Armed Group ARSA Defeated in Maungdaw.” The language was blunt, the imagery designed to alarm. For readers across Rakhine State, the message was unmistakable: the Arakan Army (AA) was protecting them from an existential threat, and the threat’s name was the Rohingya—though rarely called that. Instead, the words were “Bengali Muslims,” “illegal migrants,” or, most often, “terrorists.”
This was not an isolated headline. From April to September 2025, Arakan Army–affiliated outlets and sympathetic news platforms like Development Media Group (DMG) and Narinjara consistently framed the Rohingya not as neighbors or fellow residents of Rakhine, but as a looming danger. Their coverage zeroed in on clashes with the Arakan Rohingya Salvation Army (ARSA) and the Rohingya Solidarity Organization (RSO), presenting these groups as Islamist extremists bent on destabilizing Arakan. For the Rohingya population caught in the crossfire, the narrative was devastating: they were erased as victims and recast as villains.
Building an Enemy
Unlike the junta’s state media, which couches its erasure in bureaucratic neutrality, the AA’s media arms often lean into communal language. Reports describe “Muslim armed groups” infiltrating villages, “Bengali militants” backed by foreign powers, and “fanatical extremists” targeting Buddhists and other minorities. In September, DMG reported that the AA had launched “clearance operations” along the Bangladesh border to root out ARSA fighters. The phrasing—“clearance operations”—is chillingly familiar to Rohingya ears, echoing the junta’s infamous justification for the 2017 crackdown that forced hundreds of thousands into exile.
By explicitly linking militancy to religion, AA-aligned media heightens communal suspicion. A Rakhine villager reading about “Muslim terrorists” is less likely to see a Rohingya neighbor as a fellow citizen and more likely to view them as a potential threat. The choice of words is deliberate. Where junta outlets often avoid mentioning religion, preferring the term “Bengali extremist,” AA narratives make the Muslim identity central.
The Rohingya as a Common Foe
For the Arakan Army, demonizing Rohingya militants serves multiple purposes. It rallies Rakhine Buddhists and other ethnic minorities under the AA banner by presenting a common enemy. It positions the AA as the protector of Arakan, not just from the junta in Naypyidaw but from supposed foreign-backed Islamist invaders.
AA commander Twan Mrat Naing made this explicit in a September 2025 interview, accusing elements of Bangladesh’s security forces of backing Rohingya insurgents in coordinated attacks. His words were echoed in AA-controlled media, which portrayed ARSA and RSO not merely as rebel groups but as pawns of external conspiracies. This framing transforms what might otherwise be seen as a localized insurgency into a broader existential struggle: the Arakanese versus alien extremists.
The effect is to fold the entire Rohingya population into the shadow of militancy. Even when civilians are mentioned, they are described as “Muslim communities” or “Bengali villages,” rarely as Rohingya and never as innocent bystanders. Their lives are overshadowed by the specter of insurgency, their identities reduced to the backdrop of someone else’s war.
Fear as a Tool
Fear is a potent instrument, and AA-aligned media wields it skillfully. Reports frequently highlight alleged atrocities by ARSA: the killing of non-Muslim villagers, the abduction of civilians, the targeting of AA soldiers. Photographs of seized weapons, bodies of alleged insurgents, and statements from commanders flood social media channels. Each story reinforces the sense of siege.
One DMG article in September described ARSA fighters “capturing and killing” a local villager during a raid, presenting it as evidence of the group’s barbarity. Another warned that militants were disguising themselves in AA uniforms to spread disinformation. These accounts, often impossible to independently verify, serve less as factual reporting and more as narrative reinforcement: the AA is under attack, the enemy is ruthless, vigilance is required.
In this climate of fear, collective suspicion spreads. Local communities are urged to report “suspicious activities” by Muslims, to avoid contact near border areas, to treat Rohingya settlements as potential nests of insurgency. For Rohingya civilians—already hemmed in by restrictions on movement, work, and education—the consequences are suffocating.
Shifts in Tone: From Inclusion to Exclusion
The Arakan Army once spoke the language of inclusion. In its early years, AA leaders promised that all ethnic groups in Rakhine, including Muslims, would have a place in their vision of self-governance. But by mid-2025, that tone had hardened. Facing renewed clashes with ARSA, AA rhetoric shifted toward uncompromising hostility.
Human Rights Watch reported that the AA was imposing policies of oppression on Rohingya similar to those long practiced by the Myanmar military: movement restrictions, forced labor, and targeted violence. Allegations emerged in August that AA shelling killed dozens of Rohingya fleeing conflict zones—charges the group denied, but which resonated with eyewitness accounts. AA-aligned media, far from addressing these accusations, doubled down on portraying Rohingya militants as fanatical aggressors.
This hardening of tone reveals a grim truth: the Rohingya’s political utility to the AA has expired. Once tolerated as potential constituents, they are now cast as expendable enemies, useful only as a foil for the AA’s nationalist agenda.
Mirror Images: Junta and AA
On the surface, the junta and the AA are bitter enemies. The military routinely brands the Arakan Army as insurgents, while the AA fights to carve out autonomous control in Rakhine. Yet when it comes to the Rohingya, their narratives converge. Both deny the Rohingya identity, both portray them as “illegal Bengalis,” both link them to terrorism.
The difference lies in emphasis. The junta frames Rohingya violence as an internal terrorist problem undermining national stability. The AA frames it as a communal and religious threat to the Rakhine people, allegedly backed by foreign forces. But in both cases, the result is the same: the Rohingya are stripped of humanity and reduced to a problem.
This convergence is dangerous. It means that regardless of who gains ground in Rakhine—junta forces or the AA—the Rohingya remain scapegoats. There is no competing narrative within Myanmar’s media ecosystem that affirms their rights or acknowledges their suffering. Instead, the choice is between two forms of vilification.
The Human Silence
What is striking in AA-aligned media is the absence of Rohingya civilian voices. Nowhere are the stories of families trapped between AA checkpoints and ARSA raids. Nowhere are the testimonies of villagers who have lost children to shelling or fled homes in fear. Instead, Rohingya lives appear only as footnotes to insurgency, stripped of individuality, drowned in the rhetoric of militancy.
Imagine a Rohingya farmer in Maungdaw, his land confiscated by shifting authorities, his movements restricted by both junta patrols and AA checkpoints. He hears on local radio that ARSA fighters are “Muslim terrorists” threatening the land, and he wonders how long before suspicion falls on him. Or picture a Rohingya mother in a refugee camp in Bangladesh, scrolling through Narinjara’s online updates. She reads that “Bengali militants infiltrated the border,” and she knows that, back home, her relatives will be seen through that lens. For her, media narratives are not abstractions; they are lived dangers that shape whether her family can survive.
The Strategic Utility of Demonization
Why does the AA invest so heavily in these narratives? The answer lies in politics. By portraying Rohingya insurgents as dangerous outsiders, the AA legitimizes its own military buildup. By framing itself as the defender of Rakhine against Islamist extremists, it seeks to unify diverse ethnic communities under its banner. By accusing Bangladesh of collusion, it positions itself as a bulwark not only against the junta but against regional meddling.
This demonization also provides cover for abuses. If the Rohingya are seen as proxies of terrorists, then restrictions on their movement can be justified as security measures. If they are cast as outsiders, then denying them land rights or political participation becomes easier. In short, propaganda serves as both shield and sword: it protects the AA from scrutiny and sharpens its power over territory.
Global Silence and the Diaspora Response
Outside Myanmar, these narratives are increasingly challenged. Human rights organizations document abuses, Rohingya diaspora outlets publish testimonies, and international media highlight the humanitarian crisis. But inside Myanmar, AA-aligned narratives dominate the Rakhine information space. Internet restrictions, intimidation of independent journalists, and the sheer reach of AA propaganda ensure that alternative voices remain muted.
For Rohingya diaspora media, the challenge is immense. How to counter deeply entrenched propaganda within Rakhine itself? How to tell stories that rehumanize the Rohingya when their very name is denied? These questions underscore the importance of platforms like Rohingya Khobor, which seek to reclaim narrative power.
Toward a New Narrative
The AA has built an identity around protecting the Rakhine people, but true protection cannot come through the scapegoating of another minority. If the AA aspires to governance, it must grapple with the reality that Rohingya are part of Rakhine’s fabric. Erasing them, or branding them en masse as militants, may serve short-term military objectives but will condemn the region to endless cycles of mistrust and violence.
A different narrative is possible. One where insurgents are recognized as distinct from civilians. One where Rohingya suffering is acknowledged alongside that of Rakhine Buddhists and other minorities. One where the language of “Muslim terrorists” is replaced by stories of shared humanity and mutual survival. But that narrative will not come from AA media as it currently exists. It will have to come from courageous journalists, grassroots communities, and the Rohingya themselves.
Conclusion
Between April and September 2025, Arakan Army–aligned media waged a relentless campaign to cast Rohingya as enemies of convenience. With each headline about “Muslim armed groups,” with each photograph of seized weapons, with each statement about “terrorist infiltration,” they deepened suspicion and hardened divides.
For the Rohingya, the cost is profound. They are denied recognition by the junta, vilified by the AA, and silenced in their own homeland. Their humanity disappears beneath layers of propaganda.
The world must not accept this erasure as inevitable. Media narratives are not immutable; they are constructed, and therefore they can be contested. To challenge the AA’s narrative war is to insist that the Rohingya are more than the labels imposed upon them. They are not merely “Bengalis,” not merely “Muslims,” not merely “problems.” They are people—farmers, teachers, mothers, children—whose stories deserve to be told in their own names.
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