27 September, 2025.
On a humid evening in Yangon this past April, the glow of Myanmar’s state-run broadcaster flickered across tea shop walls. The anchor read the news in a steady, bureaucratic tone: “The State Administration Council reaffirmed its longstanding position that there has never been an ethnic group known as ‘Rohingya’ in Myanmar’s history. Displaced persons from Rakhine State are encouraged to cooperate with the government’s repatriation process.” The patrons in the tea shop sipped silently, accustomed to the language. To them, this was the official line—calm, matter-of-fact, and yet profoundly violent in its erasure.
For the Rohingya, that one sentence encapsulates a lifetime of marginalization. Between April and September 2025, Myanmar’s national newspapers, television networks, and junta-controlled outlets churned out hundreds of such reports. Some spoke of diplomacy and humanitarian efforts; others warned of “Bengali terrorists” and “illegal migrants.” None, however, recognized the Rohingya for what they are: an indigenous people of Arakan with centuries of history. Instead, the state media’s narratives—carefully crafted, endlessly repeated—worked to deny, delegitimize, and dehumanize.
Language as a Weapon
The power of language in Myanmar’s official media cannot be overstated. During these six months, the country’s major state-backed dailies—Myanma Alinn, Kyemon, and the English-language Global New Light of Myanmar (GNLM)—systematically avoided the word “Rohingya.” Instead, they replaced it with “Bengali,” a term that in Myanmar’s popular lexicon implies an illegal Muslim migrant from Bangladesh.
On April 5, GNLM reported on junta chief Min Aung Hlaing’s speech at the BIMSTEC Summit. The article quoted him directly: “There has never been an ethnic group known as ‘Rohingya’ in Myanmar’s history.” The line was presented as uncontroversial fact, without counterpoint or historical context. For readers inside the country, it reinforced the state’s version of reality. For Rohingya, it was yet another reminder that their very existence is being written out of the nation’s story.
This denial is not accidental. It is central to the junta’s propaganda strategy. By stripping the Rohingya of their name, state media severs them from claims to citizenship, land, and belonging. Without recognition, every demand for rights can be dismissed. What emerges instead is the picture of a people rendered stateless not only by law but by language itself.
The Repatriation Mirage
Interestingly, Myanmar’s state press did not ignore the Rohingya issue entirely. In fact, repatriation became a frequent headline between April and September. GNLM and other outlets reported extensively on meetings with UNHCR and Bangladeshi officials. They described the verification of “180,000 displaced persons” as a milestone. MRTV broadcast footage of transit camps being readied in Rakhine State, presenting these as symbols of the regime’s goodwill.
But behind the façade of humanitarian concern lay a different story. These reports consistently framed repatriation as a gift of the state rather than a right of the Rohingya. They never implied recognition of citizenship. Instead, they spoke of returnees undergoing “scrutiny” and “verification” to ensure they were genuine residents. More tellingly, whenever delays in repatriation were mentioned, the blame was placed squarely on “terrorists” in Rakhine State—coded language for the Arakan Rohingya Salvation Army (ARSA).
In effect, state media managed to spin even humanitarian coverage into propaganda. The junta appeared as magnanimous and cooperative, while the Rohingya themselves were portrayed as obstacles to their own return, either because of “terrorist elements” among them or because of “foreign pressure” from human rights groups.
Casting Rohingya as a Security Threat
If repatriation coverage was wrapped in neutral-sounding diplomacy, other stories carried a sharper edge. Repeatedly, state media linked the Rohingya issue to terrorism and extremism. Reports dredged up the 2016–2017 attacks on police posts and blamed ARSA for triggering the mass displacement that followed. Ministry of Foreign Affairs statements, republished in national newspapers, insisted that ARSA had “impelled and threatened residents to abandon their villages,” turning the narrative of ethnic cleansing on its head.
Television was even more explicit. Myawady TV and MRTV ran segments showing weapons caches allegedly seized from ARSA fighters. Mugshots of captured “Bengali extremists” were broadcast alongside commentary about “terrorist acts funded from abroad.” Such visuals etched an enduring association in viewers’ minds: Rohingya equals danger.
Religion, though less overt, was always in the subtext. Officials claimed the conflict was “not due to religious or ethnic implications”—a statement that paradoxically confirmed how central those implications were. By repeatedly describing ARSA as Islamist and foreign-backed, the junta reinforced the perception that the Rohingya were outsiders bringing alien ideologies into Myanmar.
Erasure by Omission
Perhaps the most insidious aspect of state media’s coverage was what it left out. Nowhere in the newspapers or TV broadcasts of these months could one find a story of an ordinary Rohingya family struggling to survive in camps. No human-interest piece described the hardships of statelessness, the trauma of displacement, or the dreams of young Rohingya children.
When Cyclone Mocha struck, coverage focused on government relief efforts, but Rohingya survivors were almost invisible in the reporting. When international organizations called for accountability, state media ignored or dismissed their statements as biased propaganda. In this silence, Rohingya suffering was erased from the national consciousness.
The Political Use of Repatriation
Why did the junta suddenly highlight repatriation in April 2025? Analysts suggest it was a calculated move. After years of being condemned as perpetrators of genocide, the military regime sought to rebrand itself as a responsible actor. By announcing that 180,000 “displaced persons” had been verified for return, the junta hoped to appease neighboring countries and reduce international pressure.
Domestic media dutifully amplified this narrative. GNLM hailed the verification process as proof of Myanmar’s “commitment to humanitarian principles.” MRTV aired smiling footage of officials meeting with UN representatives. Yet, on the ground, not a single large-scale return took place. By September, the same outlets were blaming insurgents for the lack of progress, conveniently deflecting responsibility.
The message was clear: if Rohingya remain in limbo, it is not the junta’s fault. It is the fault of terrorists, of foreigners, of anyone but the state itself.
The Propaganda Machine and Its Audience
One might ask: does anyone inside Myanmar actually believe this? The answer is complicated. Many Burmese citizens, conditioned by decades of propaganda, have internalized the narrative that the Rohingya are “illegal Bengalis.” For them, state media’s language simply echoes what they already think. Others may be skeptical but remain silent, wary of challenging a powerful military that tolerates no dissent.
The more important point is that state media is not designed to persuade skeptics. It is designed to normalize erasure. By consistently denying the Rohingya name, by presenting repatriation as a benevolent gesture, by linking the community to terrorism, the junta’s propaganda creates an environment where sympathy becomes difficult, where empathy is drowned out by suspicion.
The Human Cost
Amid all these narratives, the Rohingya themselves remain voiceless in Myanmar’s public sphere. Imagine being a Rohingya teenager in a refugee camp in Bangladesh, watching a clip from MRTV on a smuggled phone. The screen shows officials preparing for “displaced persons” to return, but it never calls you Rohingya. The anchor warns of “terrorist threats,” and you realize that in the eyes of your homeland, you are forever suspect.
Or picture a Rohingya elder in Maungdaw, still inside Myanmar. He reads Myanma Alinn and sees his people described as “illegal immigrants.” He remembers his grandfather’s stories of life in Arakan before the British arrived, yet today the paper tells him he has no roots here. That dissonance—the lived history of belonging versus the official denial—is the wound state media keeps deepening.
Why It Matters
Some might argue that state propaganda is predictable and therefore unremarkable. But its impact is profound. Narratives crafted in official media shape public opinion, influence policy, and provide cover for atrocities. When newspapers deny the existence of the Rohingya, they prepare the ground for exclusionary laws. When television equates Rohingya with terrorism, it justifies military operations that target civilians. When humanitarian stories erase Rohingya voices, they make suffering invisible to the wider public.
This matters not only for Myanmar’s future but also for how the international community engages. If the only version of events available inside the country is the junta’s, then external pressure becomes even more vital. Silence in response to propaganda risks normalizing it.
Toward a Different Story
What would a different narrative look like? It would begin by naming the Rohingya—by acknowledging them as a people with history and rights. It would tell stories of families, not just of militants. It would recognize the trauma of displacement, the resilience of communities, and the aspirations of youth. It would frame repatriation not as a favor granted by the state but as a fundamental right.
Such narratives already exist—in Rohingya diaspora media, in refugee-led storytelling initiatives, in international coverage. But until they penetrate Myanmar’s domestic discourse, the state’s erasure will continue to dominate.
Conclusion
Between April and September 2025, Myanmar’s state-run media waged a quiet war of words against the Rohingya. Sometimes the assault was overt—branding them “Bengali terrorists.” Sometimes it was subtle—speaking of “displaced persons” without names. Always, it served the same purpose: to deny recognition, to cast suspicion, to erase.
For the Rohingya, this is not just about headlines. It is about the right to exist, to belong, to be heard. As long as state media continues to erase them, the struggle for recognition remains unfinished. The world must remember that behind every phrase in those newspapers and broadcasts lies a real human life—waiting to be acknowledged, waiting to be seen.
