I recently had lunch with some family friends at one of their homes. My friend’s housemate spoke to an uncle* about the situation in Myanmar and how insightful it was talking to someone who protested at the 8-8-88 uprisings, a nationwide series of pro-democracy protests on August 8, 1988.
Right there, I had a moment of clarity: surviving a dictatorship is not a universal experience.
My parents fled Myanmar (also known as Burma) during this brutal uprising. I was born a few years later as a refugee on the Thai-Burma border and moved to Australia when I was three.
Ye Yint Aung with his father and sister at a recent protest in Melbourne against the Myanmar coup.
Going to protests is a family pastime: the overnight ritual of painting signs, cooking for the next day, sewing armbands and bandannas and ironing on them the yellow peacock National League for Democracy logos. I have to remind myself that not everyone did this as kids.
The recent coup d’etat in February brought up nothing but the trauma my family and I are too familiar with.
An author, who chooses to remain anonymous, summed it up perfectly in a recent online post: “To be Burmese, especially if you’re of a certain age, is to be afraid from bitter experience. It’s a low-level, visceral feeling most of the time, but sometimes, like now, it can be overwhelming.”
Despite being one generation removed from the ’88 uprisings, I’ve seen firsthand the residual trauma the Tatmadaw (Myanmar’s army) has left, both physically and psychologically.
Watching your home country implode from afar is truly heartbreaking, but the story of teenagers being shot to death was what tipped me over.
Friends of Kyal Sin – who was shot in the head while she attended an anti-coup protest rally – grieve next to her body.Credit:AP
