Framing the Dead
Coming Soon…
“I faced lots of discrimination in Myanmar. It is not only me: other minorities also suffered. But in this Burmese revolution, the Spring Revolution, all minorities sacrifice their life for their country. I hope that after the revolution we will get the same opportunities. That we will get a new environment where there is no discrimination.”
Shakeel was born in Yangon in 1984 but was raised in a small town called Ye, about eight hours from the city. He is an activist, researcher and photojournalist, working to document the brave men and women putting their lives on the line against Myanmar’s military regime. He grew up within a Muslim community, and his childhood was marked by a conflict between his personal passions and strict religious values. His life and career have been shaped not only by his Muslim heritage but the discrimination he has consistently experienced living and working within Burmese society.
As a child, Shakeel loved drawing, which garnered the disapproval of his conservative Muslim relatives who believed that it was “prohibited by their religious view.” After giving up drawing, he used literature as an escape from what he remembers as a lonely childhood. In school, his Buddhist peers called him “kalar,” a slur primarily aimed at Muslims. Some of his Buddhist classmates offered their support, but discrimination meant that he had few close friends, spending most of his time reading and listening to music.
This pattern continued into his professional life. In 2004, he secured his first major job as a translator and editor for a sports journal. He was favored by the editor for his strong writing skills, but he felt antagonism from some of his Buddhist colleagues. He recalls facing “shitty questions” about his religion, such as being asked, “Why do you worship a pig?” The office environment was hostile, and as the only Muslim employee, he resigned after a year. In 2010, he secured an internship at The Voice newspaper, but again he faced prejudice, forcing him to leave. “At the time, I decided myself that I will never apply for a permanent job at a Burmese organization or journalist in the media. I will stand as a freelance [journalist].”
Photography came naturally to Shakeel, given his love of drawing and pictures. He decided to transition to photojournalism full-time. Unfortunately, this career shift coincided with the Covid outbreak and, a year later, the 2021 coup. While covering the protests, he was arrested by the military, who beat him severely in what he describes as a torture room. “They hit me more because I am Muslim,” he explains. He was temporarily released, but the military continued to target him, and he was arrested a second time for aiding his activist friends.
Around the same time, as the military was targeting civilian leaders, they also went after the Muslim politician Khin Maung Latt. This was a friend of Shakeel and through these terrible and strange events, he had the devastating task of reporting on the death of his dear friend. This incident was part of the military junta's campaign to terrorize political opposition and solidify power through systematic brutality. After Khin Maung Latt’s arrest, “the soldier hit his head many times with a stick,” Shakeel says. “He died within an hour.” He goes silent as he remembers the man who he says “helped him a lot”, and still grieves his murder. With his life then at risk, Shakeel was forced to flee, eventually moving to Mae Sot, where he continues his dangerous work covering the conflict zone from across the border.
Later, Shakeel embedded with the People's Defense Force in Lay Kay Kaw, which resulted in his photographs being published as a photo-essay in Reuters, a global news agency. “At the time, there were nearly 100 people in the troop, but they had just six guns.” Shakeel's frontline experiences brought him both the relief of temporary freedom and the trauma of witnessing military atrocities. This security stood in stark contrast to the insecurity of military-controlled Yangon, where he struggled to sleep amidst the chaos. He describes sleeping well in the liberated areas, an experience he shared with others he met.
However, life on the frontlines was hard. “I was born and raised in town,” he says, “but jungle life is very difficult and very different. First, it is very difficult to get good food, and there's no hygiene, and there is a very poor medical system. We just eat what we have.” On top of all this, discrimination lingered. Although he found less prejudice amongst resistance fighters, he admits that he faced discrimination in certain places, confirming that deeply ingrained bias against Muslims is not entirely absent within the broader pro-democracy movement. Despite this, he continues his dangerous work, driven by a commitment to the cause shared by him and his compatriots.
Shakeel witnessed military brutality on an unprecedented scale. Though he had previously photographed the bodies of student protesters killed in cold blood, nothing prepared him for what he saw in Karenni State when he covered a series of airstrikes. He was a witness to two separate air attacks, including one that struck an Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camp in September 2024. "Nine or ten people were killed in that attack,” he says, “including children.” The graphic violence, including the death of a whole family, left a deep psychological scar. He says that he still struggles to erase the memory of what he saw.
What is more, this trauma forced him to confront the difficult ethical dilemma of photographing the dead. Yet he feels a profound duty to proceed. “I always apologize to their soul,” he says. “At the same time, I always promise their soul I will take this photo to share information and try for their dignity and for justice. I have a dream one day all Burmese people will seek their justice. I hope that one day Burmese people sue the military in the courts for their justice, and that some of my photos will support this legal case.” In a solemn and respectful tone, Shakeel explains that his motivation is to ensure that the international community is aware of what is taking place and to gather information that could contribute to a future legal process.
His work, therefore, has become an essential, sorrowful act of record-keeping, transforming personal sacrifice into a document for history. Yet he, more than anyone else, knows the risks.
In Mae Sot, Shakeel’s physical safety has not, however, alleviated his trauma. After reporting on countless distressing stories, particularly from the Rohingya community, he started to get anxiety and depression. “I received many phone calls from Rohingya,” he says. “I'm hearing many stories about their bad experience.” He currently works as a multimedia journalist, balancing duties as a fixer for foreign media and a freelance photojournalist and researcher. As a fixer, the work not only provides income but allows him to utilize his vast knowledge of the border region and the large Burmese migrant community in Mae Sot.
“Most of the resistant fighters are brave,” he says. “They sacrifice not only their life, but also their family and soul. They sacrifice for all of us, especially for all Myanmar people! I can't compare their sacrifice with other things. They sacrifice themselves for all, not for their own interest. They are real heroes.”
Shakeel’s testimony reveals the truth that such inter-ethnic cooperation does not exist without friction. He describes a war-torn culture that balances discrimination and revolution. He and others fight alongside those who have discriminated against them. This contrast does not only apply to Muslims, he states firmly, but all minority groups.
In spite of all the violence and disunity that Shakeel has documented, he is still cautiously optimistic about the people of Burma. To him, the collective fight suggests hope, but not the end of their troubles. First and foremost, they must all come together to defeat the military junta. “When we win the revolution, we can change things. I hope and believe that.”