In the Crosshairs
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“We have to go forward,” says Pandora. “We have to fight to win! And we believe, until now, we could win.”
Pandora had been living a quiet life in Yangon. She was a professional tour guide, hardly interested in politics. When Covid hit in 2019, her livelihood ground to a halt, and she returned to her hometown of Bago. Then the coup changed everything…
As was the case with so many young people, her outrage propelled her into activism. Taking to the streets, she joined local demonstrations and quickly became a leader, organizing students and youth in her small town. At first, she and her fellow protesters underestimated the danger. They believed the regime could be toppled within weeks through sheer energy and numbers. Only when friends were arrested and threats mounted did she realize she herself was at risk.
Her parents pleaded with her to stop, referencing her vulnerability as a young woman. Instead, Pandora chose to flee to the borderlands to continue contributing to the revolution. It was a wrenching decision though, leaving her family behind, perhaps forever. She explains how her choicen was driven by the determination not to let the younger generation suffer under the same broken education system she had endured.
The transition from city life to the jungle was not easy. Conditions were harsh: poor food, leaking tents, no phone service and constant uncertainty. Yet she found solidarity with other young people equally determined to fight back. The initial months were spent adapting, and then in September 2021 she entered formal training with the People’s Defense Forces (PDFs). Out of some 200 trainees, only 13 were women.
She remembers this period as both challenging and surprisingly supportive. Some commanders treated female recruits like sisters, encouraging them to believe in themselves. However, she notes how broader cultural prejudices persisted, as some men doubted women’s physical abilities, or had been brainwashed that woman had diminished spiritual power, or pon. For example, she describes being forced to bathe downstream from men, as well as other female fighters who were prohibited from going to the front.
But the challenge in Pandora’s case was more deep-rooted. This is because she had witnessed actual gender-based violence in her family home— she had thought it was “normal” for wives to be beaten. She now openly acknowledges her trauma, drawing connections between the violence in her home and the structural violence of the military and patriarchy. These layers of trauma intertwine in her memory, making healing difficult. She notes that other fighters, male and female, suffer trauma too, though many avoid rest, insisting on returning to the battle despite their exhaustion.
Returning to her training, Pandora describes how for the first month, everyone received general instructions before being asked to choose a specialization: commando, mining, or sniper. Pandora rejected mining because she feared explosives, and commando work because of the constant exhaustion and the prospect of face-to-face combat. Sniping, by contrast, allowed her to strike from a distance, and she chose it.
She had never touched a weapon before. When she first stepped up to the firing line with a handgun, she was shaking so hard she thought she might not be able to shoot! Yet with her trainer’s guidance, her very first shots hit the target. She quickly advanced to heavier weapons—the M4 and M16— which demanded significant physical strength to manage their weight and recoil. Daily drills included running with rifles slung across their backs, push-ups while holding the guns, and long endurance sessions to build stamina and confidence. Over time, she learned not just how to hold a weapon but how not to fear it.
Her consistent accuracy earned her a place in an advanced sniper program, a small group of just a dozen participants. Pandora was the only woman accepted. At first she used an M4 fitted with a scope, but eventually she trained on a proper .308 sniper rifle. By then, her instructors were recommending her as one of the most capable shooters in the cohort.
In that program she also met her boyfriend, another sniper trainee. They became a professional team as well as a couple, working in the classic sniper–spotter pairing. She served as spotter, calculating distance, wind speed, and timing, and passing those judgments to him before the shot was taken. The work demanded extreme patience and discipline. On some missions they had ten or fifteen minutes to prepare; at other times only seconds. If winds exceeded sixteen kilometers an hour, they had to wait. Sometimes that wait stretched for an entire day, or even a week, lying hidden in the same position.
Pandora endured the harsh field conditions, but the hardest part was the moral weight of the work. Every calculation, every call she made as spotter, was linked to a life taken. Even after leaving the jungle, the burden followed her. She describes waking at night to the faces of those she had seen through her scope, her sleep shattered by nightmares and flashbacks.
Eventually Pandora left the jungle, still committed to the revolution yet needing some separation from combat. She revived an idea she had once had— to start her own clothing brand. Under the label Rise and Shine, she sews with local fabrics in Mae Sot, selling online— international orders have even reached the UK, US, and Singapore. Rise and Shine also employs civil disobedience movement participants. Her brand name symbolizes both the brightness of a new day and the hope of a liberated future.
Besides her business, she pursues political education, enrolled in an online diploma class about federalism and peace studies through a Myanmar university program. These courses have opened her eyes to the historical suffering of ethnic minorities, which she had not really understood before. She says that learning about the military’s decades-long repression of ethnic groups, including bans on native languages, shocked her. “We really don’t know about the actual grievances of the ethnic groups,” she reflects. Now, empathy and solidarity drive her to advocate for broader awareness of human rights and the need for unity across Myanmar’s divides.
A recurring theme is her story is that deepened awareness of and commitment to women’s empowerment. She teaches sewing to survivors of gender-based violence among migrant worker communities and envisions broader programs once she can return to her hometown. Yoga practice has also become a tool for healing and for teaching resilience to other women. She emphasizes how the revolution has changed her sense of self: once apolitical, she now wants to “promote women empowerment in Myanmar,” challenging norms that normalize domestic abuse and silence women’s rights.
Four years on, Pandora reflects on the trajectory of the resistance. In early 2025, she says, revolutionary forces felt strong. Now the military has regained ground, and the urgency for progress on the battlefield has increased, especially with national elections looming. She warns that if the revolution does not advance before the election, its momentum could stall. Still, her belief in eventual victory endures. She insists that international support matters, but the core strength lies in the energy and determination of Myanmar’s youth.
In the end, Pandora responds with gratitude and resolve. “We need to unite each other,” she says, urging citizens and international allies not to give up. Her final appeal is direct: “Please support us. We remain determined to fight the military. Please believe us!”