What is the Case to Authorize US Military Force in Burma?

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When does war become necessary? When a hostile force targets American citizens directly—through financial theft, digital exploitation, or human trafficking—and when all peaceful tools to stop it have failed, force must be on the table. In Burma, that’s what we’re facing. Scam compounds operating under military protection have defrauded Americans of billions. These aren’t anonymous hackers in cyberspace. They’re trafficked laborers, imprisoned and forced to commit fraud, protected by militias, and supported by a regime that profits from their crimes. The scale is vast, the threat ongoing, and the victims are ours.

The Burmese junta hasn’t lost control of its territory—it’s leasing it out. Electricity, land, and security are sold to transnational crime syndicates, and U.S. law enforcement can’t touch them. Sanctions have been tried. Diplomacy has failed. These compounds continue to grow, and Americans continue to lose their savings, identities, and trust in the institutions that should protect them. The military regime enabling this isn’t just ignoring the problem—it’s central to it. That matters, because when the harm is direct and the state is complicit, the threshold for force begins to take shape.

This paper proposes a focused intervention: disable the scam infrastructure, liberate victims, disarm the militias, and remove the regime supporting it. Then, establish a time-bound U.S.-led protectorate to stabilize, rebuild, and return the country to its people. This isn’t nation-building without an exit. It’s a structure for achieving objectives tied directly to U.S. security and regional stability. The plan accounts for legal justification, allied coordination, post-conflict reconstruction, and withdrawal. It’s designed to succeed where lesser efforts have failed—by targeting the source, not just the symptoms.

But making a case for intervention isn’t just about Burma. It’s about what standard we use for war. If this model works, it should apply elsewhere. That’s why we test it against a second case: Venezuela. There too, calls for U.S. military action have surfaced. Yet when the same criteria are applied—targeted harm, state complicity, failed alternatives, operational clarity, and a plan for after—we find the Venezuela proposal lacks the structure, the specificity, and the grounding that Burma’s case demands and provides.

Yes, Venezuela is repressive. Yes, narcotrafficking flows north. But the link between Maduro’s regime and specific, documentable harm to Americans is weak. There’s no defined military objective, no theory of success, no plan for what comes after. It’s a reaction, not a strategy—one that skips over every layer of scrutiny that would be required if lives were truly on the line. That’s not just a failure of planning. It’s a failure of principle. And it sets a dangerous precedent for future use of force driven by politics, not proof.

That’s why the Burma case matters. Not because it guarantees success, but because it shows what it takes to argue for war responsibly. It raises the bar—and shows how rarely others meet it. If a case this detailed still invites caution, then a case like Venezuela’s should never leave the draft folder. We cannot afford to confuse urgency with justification. If we go to war, it must be because the case compels us, not because the mood permits it. Anything less invites failure—and costs we cannot reclaim.