"The dead won't return."
Voices from Myanmar are trying to speak, but is anyone listening? A nation of people yearning for freedom, democracy, and human rights are pleading that their struggle is not ignored by countries who supposedly live by, and even promote, those values. A people are being left in a corner and asked to accept a lifetime of darkness and terror or adapt to a once unimaginable reality of active resistance, while still on their own. Here is one voice speaking out about his journey.
I beg of you to take the time to hear what he has to say.
Greetings to you, everyone.
I will be using the alias "Lucian".
To begin, I am just a human being yearning for liberation.
You can't imagine how much hope I had for my future.
I had so many things I wanted to do, and I had so many things I wanted to achieve.
Yet all of these went down the drain.
Being an artist, I valued my artistic freedom a lot.
I don't know about you, but I cannot imagine that every piece I create will forever be subject to the will of a military regime.
Can you imagine wanting to say something, wanting to do something, but only to be rejected because this is not in line with the government's policy?
I couldn't allow that for my future, and I couldn't allow that for anyone else.
Hence, from day 1, I was researching why this coup d'état took place.
I was trying my best to find the solution to the problem.
Time to time, I walked side by side in the protest.
I took some pictures, and I gave everyone water.
It was very heart-warming when you saw the crowd stretching over the horizon.
In my mind however, I was constantly questioning myself: by whom exactly do I want my protest to be seen?
Was it the junta or the United Nations?
Yet I felt like neither of them cared.
I knew how horrible the junta was and I had no doubt they would continue so till the end.
I knew how inactive the United Nations was and I had no doubt they would continue so till the end.
Still, there was this glimmer of hope in me that someone out there cared.
Hence, I formed a small network and kept sharing our people's activities.
At first, my comrades and I researched how to make bulletproof vests and shields, since we didn't want to harm anyone.
Yet, the more the protests escalated, the more the casualties we found.
We were such pacifists then.
But it all changed on the 14th of March, on the day Khant Nyar Hein died.
I heard from his friends how kind the boy was.
Yet, to me the video clip of his death mattered the most.
In there, I found a girl rising up with a shield, covering for the boy.
I asked myself repeatedly: Can I do this for someone else in face of gunshots?
I might, but it would be so difficult even for me.
The fear of death is not so easily conquered.
So I admired them.
The boy who died for his belief, and the girl who disappeared for her belief.
It was then that I felt like I had to do more.
The dead won't return.
I had to make sure their sacrifice was worth it.
We had to succeed and there was no other way, but to answer increased violence with increased violence.
My comrades began researching molotov cocktails and how to make them more powerful.
Some among us even researched bombs and how to create them.
I remember that fateful day.
On March, 27th, 2021.
Seven of us died during the protest, and one more died to the wounds, next day.
It was a reckoning for all of us.
By this time, everyone threw away their molotov cocktails, and went for explosives instead.
We had several teams among us, from all over the country.
There were at least 20 in Yangon, 10 in Mandalay, 6 in Bago, and many more in every state and division.
At this point, it was a blur as to what our organisation was.
Are we a network? Are we an urban guerilla force? Or are we just simply civilians?
Personally, I still think that I am a civilian and that I should be living my own life.
Some people think that I must hate the soldiers for what they do.
But you know, my perspective is that the crime of an individual should not be attributed to an entire group.
As such, I hate Min Aung Hlaing and the senior officers who did all of these things with a passion.
But hating soldiers is quite difficult for me.
I dislike the term "dog" and I refrain from using it even now.
Annihilating them is more like a duty rather than a wish.
I wish every day they would just resign and side with us.
But they don't.
So, we can't stop it either.
We have continued on like this.
On April 9th, many people died in Bago.
A few days after that, every operation stopped in Bago.
I felt like our scope was narrowing, and we were slowly beginning to lose.
It was at that time that I made a painful decision.
We decided to reduce our funds and focus them in some places where we could actually win.
We knew more than anyone else that the revolution cannot persist if we only focus on ourselves.
That was when me and a few others started connecting with those in the upper regions.
We connected with Ganggaw, Htilin, Monywa, Yinmarbin, Wetlet, Kalay, Tamu, Myaung, and many others.
Meanwhile, Yangon and Mandalay switched from offensive to logistics.
Of course, some of us remained and continued operations.
But we were not safe.
Was it around May that many of us started disappearing?
The head trainer died and those around him scattered.
I felt so sad and lacking.
It felt just like yesterday when I was talking to him.
Can you imagine someone you talk with every day suddenly disappearing?
Not just him, the brothers and sisters who I spoke with daily and who encouraged me disappeared one by one.
And it was all so suffocating to me.
Every morning, when I wake up, I dream of hanging a rope around my neck and how good it will feel.
Because whether it is the physical pain or the mental pain, both are equally awful.
But I laugh and smile when I speak.
Maybe I didn't know how to express myself other than this.
Maybe I didn't want the one listening to be sad with me.
Yet, the more I suppressed my feelings, the more inhumane I might look in the eyes of others.
War is a terrible thing.
I can find other people changing over time.
They become different from whom I knew and trusted before.
Still, I love every one of them as my family.
Even the ones I argued and fought with, I recall at times all of the good and kind things they did for me.
But as a leader, you cannot cry.
If you cry, you are weak.
And if you cry, you are dramatic.
So, I just continue living on, doing the best I can.
My greatest wish as of this moment is that I can find someone to replace me.
Someone who can ensure my comrades will be safe and healthy.
It is all I want.
Thank you.