Episode #40: Drawing a Line Between Hope and Fear
Kyawt Thiri Nyunt’s journey from Myanmar to the United States at age 19 was not just a physical trip, but a cultural and psychological one as well. She had traveled stateside to enroll in a small liberal arts college in California, having won a full merit scholarship. But then came the pressure of integrating into a new environment, on top of the anxiety to achieve, and so she did something she had never done before: she began therapy to help deal with the stress that was building up inside her.
However, the therapy uncovered more than that, it brought up deep-rooted trauma that she had been holding her entire life from growing up under a military dictatorship. Unprocessed memories flooded out, including the associated emotions of anger and fear. Many of these were recollections from her school years: soldiers carrying loaded weapons outside her class, being beaten by teachers, and being made to feel separate from other students from different ethnic and religious backgrounds. But there was more, too, like the time her godparents simply disappeared one day, and the ever-present fear that anyone she ever loved could be taken with no warning, at any time.
Although she now lives in California, far away from the streets of Myanmar, the February 2021 military coup still triggered and brought this trauma back up for Kyawt, as it has to Burmese everywhere who know firsthand what it is like to have lived through a regime of terror. She has difficulty sleeping and checks her phone regularly to make sure her family is still safe, noting that well-intended friends in the US who suggest a “phone cleanse” to help calm her nerves are speaking from a place of privilege in not understanding that today, social media is the only connection the Burmese people have to keeping track of their loved ones’ safety.
We examine this reality of trauma in greater detail, as the personal toll of Burmese everywhere is often overlooked by mainstream media’s efforts to present attention grabbing, juicy stories in an quickly-changing news landscape, along with just trying to keep up with the flow of events. But properly understanding— even honoring— the pervasiveness of this trauma is a critical part of the story, because without it, the Burmese protest movement simply cannot be properly appreciated. Once one truly understands how dark the days had been under past military rule, one realizes that no matter how aggressively the military chooses to respond in the days that come, the protesters have no choice but to keep on, as they will never accept a return to the past system.
From there, our talk moves to how age-old aspects of traditional Burmese society seem to be changing overnight. Kyawt gives several examples. One is the unprecedented unity that is now seen everywhere in the country, especially remarkable for a society in which military rule had systematically inculcated a general mistrust and dislike those with different ethnicities and religions. Another is the apparent shift away from the quintessential Burmese characteristic of ah nar ba deh, a richly nuanced, highly complex social understanding that is considered untranslatable. In a nutshell, it combines concepts of safeguarding face, indirect speech and maintaining social harmony. One byproduct of ah nar ba deh is that it can encourage a somewhat suppressive attitude of “grin and bear it,” regardless of the circumstances, so as not to make others feel uncomfortable. However, in light of the coup and the military’s repressive measures, the Burmese people are becoming increasingly less shy about speaking out against injustice and vulnerability, and openly voicing their own discomfort and anguish, regardless of the consequences.
In some ways, this change in communication style may be starting to transform the culture at an even deeper level, as ah nar ba deh is an important part of the glue that holds interpersonal relations together. This emerging cultural shift may also be carrying over into Buddhism, too, as with this newfound sense of agency on the ground, the Burmese people are becoming empowered to determine which members of the Saṅgha truly speak for them, and which do not have their interests in heart. Kyawt mentions how the cultivation of mettā is a practice that defines many Burmese Buddhists and is an important part of the religious upbringing that still defines her today. She says that this quality of mettā has enabled the protests to maintain their nonviolent character so far, even in the face of the military’s provocations. However, she feels that the people are getting close to the breaking point.
On a personal level, Kyawt is maintaining as best she can, and letting her creativity as an artist provide a safe, emotional release. She writes poems and draws, which she donates to the public domain for anyone to use freely. One of her pieces has become one of the defining works of this moment: a single hand against a red background, with three middle fingers held up and flowers being clutched between a thumb and pinky. While this art represents her more hopeful and optimistic thinking, she also creates pieces that illustrate her and the Burmese people’s anger and sorrow.
Fear and trauma. What is the role that these forms of mental anguish play on the Burmese population who have suffered under the cruel military dictatorship for so many years? As many of those outside the country follow along the big headlines and are aware of the larger crimes against humanity, the smaller, insidious forms of pain and control that underlie every aspect of daily life is often less appreciated and understood. That is why it is so important to hear from those who are able to be vulnerable in sharing how one is affected and impacted by living under a totalitarian system, which in turn reminds us why the activists and protesters are risking as much as they are to win their freedom.