August and Everything After
Coming Soon…
“So on February 1, the coup happened,” August begins. “All the internet connections and all the mobile lines were cut off, so once it got back online, I got a call with my mom, [and I told her] that this is really a big disaster that will just threaten our future and also our generation and all generations. And what she replied was that this is only for one year, [that the military is] controlling the power, not taking over the power. So we should wait for one year and nothing bad will happen. That's what her response was! I was shocked. I mean, they have witnessed, they have experienced the same incident in 1988 and 2007. I don't want to mention 2003, or 1990. I just want to mention the big ones! But how could they say that nothing going to happen, no bad thing!? So I was amazed, shocked, and also at the same time I felt sad."
Growing up in Taunggyi, August’s family consisted mainly of a mother who worked full time and a pair of grandparents. It was a loving home, but the grandfather had a history at odds with the life of activism that August would come to choose: he was connected to the military and had played a role in the violent suppression of the 1988 protests. And not just his grandfather, but many of August’s relatives either served in the military or were connected to government roles. These dynamics shaped a conservative, religious household, where any mere discussion of politics was considered taboo, and political engagement was viewed as a direct path to danger. August’s grandfather’s first-hand knowledge of the military’s capacity for brutality, in particular, led him to stress the importance of political disengagement.
However, when August entered a pre-collegiate program, and he began to meet people from diverse backgrounds across Myanmar, his outlook drastically changed from the worldview his family had tried to inculcate in him. He heard first-hand accounts of the brutality faced by ethnic minorities—stories his military-aligned family had either downplayed or ignored. And it wasn’t just the stories he heard; it was the realization that other people, who looked like him and who lived in the same country, had been subjected to horrors inflicted by institutions his family supported.
As his political consciousness grew, his relationship with his family became increasingly strained; his grandfather’s past military involvement and deeply ingrained conservative values loomed over their interactions. Drawn across ideological lines, the tension between August and his family widened with each passing day and finally erupted into outright conflict. This was compounded by another personal challenge—August came out as gay to his mother, a revelation that reshaped but did not fully fracture their relationship. His mother, to August’s relief, sought out education and sensitivity training to better understand his orientation and expressed her love and acceptance in a heartfelt gesture on his birthday. Her quiet but profound gesture of acceptance stood in stark contrast to the assumptions and unspoken disapproval that August believed other family members might hold, most of whom remained unaware of his sexual orientation. Thjs concern applied in particular to his grandfather, whose advanced age, declining health, and strong adherence to traditional family expectations and conservative religious beliefs would have made coming out to him quite problematic.
Then on February 1, 2021, the military coup struck Myanmar. As August plaintively expressed in the opening quote, he was shocked and saddened that his mother was not more alarmed by this blatant power grab, given the family’s direct knowledge of violent repression under previous regimes. That moment crystallized for August just how wide the political gap had grown between him and his family. He knew he had to act, to do something to speak out against the military takeover. So he joined the student protests, which led him to be expelled from school. This only worsened his arguments with his mother and grandfather.
The strained relationship between them became increasingly volatile. They even tried confine August to the house, but he snuck out and continued to join the protests. While there were still moments of family tenderness, like his grandfather offering him food or a beer hoping to remind him of their underlying love despite it all, the deep ideological divide overshadowed everything. The situation finally reached a breaking point, and August decided to leave home, determined to continue his fight for his country’s freedom. His recalls his decision as not just being a rejection of his family’s worldview, but a necessary step to preserve his own mental health and sense of purpose.
Eventually, the risks of staying in Myanmar became too great. His protest activities and support for the Civil Disobedience Movement (CDM) had drawn the attention of the military. Twice after he had already moved out, soldiers came looking for him at his family home; his family leveraged their military connections to stop the soldiers from searching further for him, placating them by saying the family would handle August on their own. But August knew the writing was the wall. And it wasn’t just the military that he feared. A male supervisor in the resistance group he’d joined—someone who had initially seemed like an ally—turned out to be a predator. When August didn’t comply with his sexual advances, the harassment included threats to expose his whereabout to the military, pushing August to make a difficult decision. He fled Myanmar in November 2022, seeking refuge in Thailand.
Arriving in Bangkok, August quickly felt out of place. The chaotic city was too big, impersonal and noisy for him, so he moved to Chiang Mai, a smaller city that resonated with his love for culture and community, and offered a large Burmese diaspora. In Chiang Mai, August found people who shared his vision—exiles like him who refused to give up the fight. Together, they built a close-knit community that kept the spirit of resistance alive, despite the distance separating them from their homeland.
In Chiang Mai, August's activism evolved, where he attended workshops on nonviolent resistance. When seven students from Yangon University were sentenced to death, August helped organize a protest in front of Chiang Mai’s Three Kings Monument. It was there that he experienced the true power of solidarity—Burmese and Thai students were joined by international allies in all standing together for a common cause, forging a movement out of shared pain and hope.
Performance art soon became an essential tool for August's activism. He organizes happenings that highlight the suffering endured by those affected by the junta's brutality. These powerful events reach people in ways that traditional protests sometimes can not, bridging emotional gaps and reminding the audience of the human cost of the conflict. He also hopes it reawakens the revolutionary spirit of the diaspora. Art allows August to channel his creativity into meaningful resistance, keeping the spirit of the struggle alive among those who felt disconnected from their homeland.
Despite his new sense of community and purpose, August continued to struggle. The trauma of exile and the constant flow of bad news from Myanmar wore on him, often leading to emotional exhaustion. August learned that he needed to disengage periodically, disconnecting from the news and distancing himself from difficult conversations to protect his mental health. He stresses that this is not about giving up—it is about survival and finding the balance between sustaining the fight and preserving his own well-being.
The state of the Burmese resistance in Chiang Mai is a mix of resilience, coupled with exhaustion from having to maintain such an intense level of engagement while responding to a never-ending conflict that seems to produce daily atrocities. But August notes how various people take turns shouldering the burden—some resting while others step forward. August now understands this struggle as a marathon, not a sprint. The military's belief in its ability to crush the people's spirit is something and he and his fellow fighters are determined to prove wrong. Though they have lost homes, families, and opportunities, they have gained a purpose that can never be taken away. Despite all the challenges, August remains hopeful.
August’s story is a testament to the complex reality of resistance. It’s not always glorious; it’s filled with personal sacrifices, and moments of crushing despair, and in August’s case, familial estrangement. But it is also filled with courage, community, and the unyielding hope for a better future. August has found a way to keep the fight alive—not just for himself but for the countless others who dream of a Myanmar free from tyranny. It’s a fight that continues, day by day, through protests, through art, and through the unwavering spirit of those who refuse to be silenced.
Reflecting on his journey and the state of the resistance today, August says, “We take some time to take a rest, to take a break, and we regenerate, re-energize, and come back to support again and again. You get burned out because you are putting a lot of yourself out. It's like a vicious cycle [for us].” However, he is still filled with optimism that they will eventually preserve. “What I am proud the most is because of our work, we could wake the emotions so that we can be part of the revolution again.”