Linn, 28, is from Myanmar’s Shan State but lives and works in Yangon. This is her resistance diary.
3rd March 2021
It has been a month since I woke with the sound of anti-military chanting – “Doh A Yay, Doh A Yay” (“Our Cause”) - by pro-democracy marchers in the street following the coup.
February, the month of love, had turned into the month of resistance and now March has begun with some of the deadliest days in Myanmar. Yesterday March 2nd was the anniversary of General Ne Win’s coup in 1962, which was the beginning of one-party rule in the country and the political dominance of the army. Fifty nine years later, the anniversary marked a horrendous day of civilian deaths, arrests and brutality committed by that same army.
This morning was strangely quiet, unlike other days recently, and I was just getting ready for the day. Then I heard the sound of gunfire, loud and clear enough to startle me and my family. I rushed to the window and immediately realized that a crackdown was about to take place very close to my building. A huge crowd of protesters, many wearing yellow and white construction hats, were flocking down the narrow street shouting. Residents in my ward rushed to their windows and started banging pots and pans to warn neighbours that police with guns were approaching and a group of local men dragged makeshift barriers across the street to try to stop them from entering. Then everything went quiet. For quite some time, not a soul made a sound or any movement in the whole street. A bizarre feeling, the sense of danger building. It reminded me of a battle scene in a Rambo action film. Outside in the middle of the street in broad daylight the crowd faced the police with riot shields. They did not make a noise or flinch. I stood in silence holding my breath, my body shaking. Then there was a burst of gunfire and I saw smoke and startled birds rise into the sky. On the street people started running.
I rushed downstairs to see what was happening and try to help hide the protesters, but few came this far down the street. I could not believe this familiar scene was unfolding before my eyes. Again! Every time I reflect on armed clashes in my hometown in Shan State I feel pain. Growing up in a civil war zone, I learnt at a young age that the sight of green uniforms and military convoys and the sound of bombs meant atrocity, sexual violence and an uncertain future. But for people in Yangon and major cities, this might be their first time.
During the day at least 38 people were killed in anti-coup protests in Myanmar, including a 19-year-old woman named Kyal Sin, who bravely went to the front lines during a protest in Mandalay. My father saw a picture of Kyal Sin’s father looking at his daughter’s dead body and teared up. He said raising a child with love and then losing them when they are not ready is the end of the world for a parent. Many young people, including women and girls like Kyal Sin, have been shot dead since the Myanmar army began firing on peaceful protests. As we approach International Women Day on March 8, images are already flooding Twitter of women putting their hands up to symbolize taking a stand against gender bias. But Burmese women will not be able to put a hand up to fight gender inequality without first giving the three finger salute to protest the illegitimate coup. Burmese women know that no equality was promised under the dictatorship.
In the afternoon I spoke to a close friend who had been on strike since day one.
“I was arrested and put behind bars for two days,” she said and I could sense the joy and pride in her voice. She told me how she managed to dodge bullets when the police dispersed the protests in downtown Yangon. She was excited as she spoke. But people in Myanmar do understand this protest is not a video game. They cannot play dead in real life. Protesters are out in the streets betting their lives for the restoration of democracy. But how many bodies are needed to put an end to the coup? 100? 10,000?
In the evening, I saw around a hundred demonstrators staging a sit-in near my street, this time with advanced preparation. Makeshift barricades were set up to shield the protesters, while plastic buckets with water and wet clothes were arranged on the ground to help with the tear gas. I was impressed how the game had leveled up. Almost everyone in the protest was wearing a construction hat to protect themselves from the ruthless attacks of the troops. Every street in my area was blocked with barricades bearing a sign that said no ward administrator appointed by the military junta is welcome.
Still, I returned home with a heavy heart. I cannot tell what is worse – the mounting death toll, or the fall of democracy, or the ongoing civil war. I know for a fact that it is terrible to live with constant fear and mass poverty, as more human rights are stripped away under the rule of an oppressive military junta.
But I will wake up every morning looking for ways to end this nightmare. And so, I believe, will all the people of Myanmar.
Artwork courtesy of Art for Freedom (Myanmar) https://www.threefingers.org/
