Episode #295: Shaken, Not Silenced
Release Date: December 24
"I was born on the sixth of the 8th of the '88; the famous '88! And then my parents, especially my dad, he is part of the student movement in '88. I didn't know much about it until when I was 14, or even later, because I grew up with my grandmother. That's something they don't usually tell you! They just say, ‘Your parents are away.’"
Hnin’s story is intertwined with Burma's evolving history, shaped by her family’s activism, personal growth, and the political upheavals that defined the country. Born just two days before the 8888 Uprising—a pivotal moment in Burma's pro-democracy movement that saw brutal suppression of student-led protests—her journey reflects both Burma's broader struggles and the personal challenges of her family’s revolutionary past with her own identity and activism. Raised by her grandmother after her parents’ involvement in the student protests forced them into exile, Hnin’s early life was challenged by uncertainty and loss, as her parents’ roles in the revolution and subsequent exile were kept from her for much of her childhood. The lack of parental presence, and without a clear understanding as to why, fostered in Hnin a sense of independence during her childhood that would shape her future.
Hnin’s father had left when she was just 47 days old, followed by her mother a year later. The family’s story was rarely discussed; the grandmother who raised her simply said her parents were “away.” So she spent her childhood wondering why her parents were absent, which was difficult emotionally. Her parents’ involvement in the 8888 protests and the subsequent decision to leave the country was a history that Hnin only began to piece together during her teenage years.
Her relationship with her grandmother, a chef who ran a restaurant in Mawlamyine, became significant in shaping her sense of identity. Growing up in this environment, Hnin was immersed in the sensory experience of cooking and food, a theme that would significantly influence her career. She recalls waking up to the sounds of chopping meat and vegetables, and fondly remembers the street food vendors outside her windows that offered simpler, more evocative tastes of Burma.
When Hnin was 12, her mother arranged for her to travel to the refugee camp where they were living. The reunion with her parents was emotional and disorienting, as she had not had them in her life for so long, and also included meeting siblings she had known nothing of before. Life in the camp was marked by hardship, with makeshift housing, limited resources, and constant uncertainty. Hnin remembers the experience as necessitating both a cultural and psychological shift—having to adapt to life in the camps, meeting her younger sisters, and getting to know her parents. In was only in the camp that she came to understand what an important role her father had played in the 8888 student uprising. He was now the camp chairman and a screen printer making flags and protest signs; her mother, meanwhile, ran a tea shop. These roles were a testament to their resilience in the face of displacement.
In the early 2000s, after 14 years in the refugee camps, Hnin’s family moved to Australia. In Melbourne, she faced new challenges—adapting to an entirely new culture, learning English, navigating an unfamiliar educational system, and finding her place in this new land. Meanwhile, Hnin’s parents continued their activism, hosting the Burmese community every week at their home, which became a hub for conversation, politics, and cultural preservation—a practice that would later influence Hnin's approach to her own activism.
Early on in Australia, Hnin struggled with her identity— integrating who she was in terms of her heritage with her new life in the West. It was also only during this time that Hnin finally began to understand her father’s leadership role in the 8888 student movement and fully realize the toll that his sacrifices had taken on their family. Even then, her father did not divulge all the details of his past activities, leaving much to be inferred. In 2022, she finally asked her father to share his story, and he agreed to write it down, beginning on his birthday. Unfortunately, he passed away before he could complete this project, leaving many questions unanswered.
In Melbourne she also found herself surrounded by a vibrant food culture, yet Burmese food was largely absent from the mainstream culinary landscape. So, perhaps as an outgrowth of her struggles to integrate her Burmese identity with new life, Hnin found herself increasingly drawn to the culinary arts, where she hoped to bring greater recognition to Burmese cuisine. Her decision was also strongly affected by her mother, a talented chef in her own right, who had long dreamed of opening a Burmese restaurant; Hnin was inspired to take a proactive role in making this dream a reality.
Recognizing the challenges of launching a restaurant in a highly regulated environment like Australia, Hnin decided to pursue formal culinary training to gain the requisite technical skills and industry knowledge. Enrolling in a professional culinary program, she learned everything from food preparation and plating techniques to kitchen management and health regulations.
As she completed her studies and gained hands-on experience by working in professional kitchens, Hnin deepened her appreciation for food as not just something you ingest, but also as a form of cultural expression, and how it can be used as a medium for storytelling and creativity. She began experimenting with Burmese flavors, reimagining traditional dishes in ways that honored her heritage while bridging cultures and creating shared experiences. Hnin’s education also broadened her understanding of how food could bridge cultures and create shared experiences. Inspired by Melbourne’s multicultural food scene, she envisioned a space where Burmese cuisine could not only be celebrated but also reinterpreted in a way that resonated with contemporary tastes.
The experience she gained, coupled with her growing desire to reconnect with her roots, laid the groundwork for her eventual decision to return to Yangon in 2011. There, she saw an opportunity to blend her culinary expertise with the city’s burgeoning creative energy, creating a bar that would serve as a hub for food, art, and community. She opened a bar that would embody the merging of traditional Burmese culture with the burgeoning, contemporary scene in Yangon that was just starting to take place with the opening of the transition period.
She named her space “Father's Office,” as it was located in the building where General Aung San—called the “Father of the Nation”—had his office. She designed the bar as an inclusive space where Burmese people and foreigners could mingle freely. She was intent on challenging gender norms, and focused on creating a comfortable space for women, where they could freely enjoy a beer and converse without judgment, as opposed to Burma’s traditional, male-dominated, beer stations. As someone who self-admittedly didn't fit the conventional mold of a Burmese woman—she describes herself as speaking loudly and dressing differently—Hnin wanted to offer a place where women could embrace their own identities without fear of judgment or harassment. She recalls how, in 2018, more women began coming to the bar, attracted by its inclusive atmosphere and her presence there as a female bar owner, loudly enjoying her own space.
In 2021, the military coup reversed years of fragile democratic progress, sparking a massive civil disobedience movement and protests across the country. It forced Hnin to reassess her situation. She became involved in the pro-democracy protests, continuing her father’s revolutionary legacy from years prior. A downtown creative space that Hnin helped to create became a hub for activists, creatives, and anyone else becoming involved in the revolution, where they could rest, strategize, and express themselves in the face of the brutal crackdown. In the early days of the coup, Hnin used this space to organize first aid trainings and distribute supplies to protesters as a way to outfox the regime’s dangerous military presence in the city. “I’m doing something right,” she says, recalling her decision to transform her bar into a resistance center. “I’m helping people. But I know that helping people can mean that I’m going to get in trouble. I could choose not to host these people. But the crazy thing is that hosting people is another identity of mine, inherited from my mom and dad! [It’s like] when we got to Australia, every Friday or Saturday, we had the Burmese community coming to my parents' house. My mom would cook food, there'd be WiFi, playing cards, and the men would be discussing politics.”
The early days of the coup were marked by dark humor, camaraderie, and cooperation—a time Hnin would later reflect on as among the most profound of her life. She also organized the production and distribution of press jackets for journalists, recognizing the importance of media coverage during the uprising.
However, the threat of violence arrest became increasingly real, and as the situation quickly deteriorated, Hnin made the difficult decision to leave the country. She flew to Thailand on one of the “zoo flights,” a nickname for the exodus of pets and other animals that were some of the last to leave.
In Thailand, she and some fellow activists founded The Exile Hub to continue supporting the revolution from abroad. They created a community where they could live and create in safety while continuing their efforts to support a democratic Myanmar. They organized art exhibitions and fundraisers, turning creative expression into an act of resistance and a means of financial support for those still fighting on the ground back in their homeland.
Hnin now resides in Chiang Mai, where she continues her support of the Myanmar resistance and exile community. She has been organizing workshops on civic education and nonviolent resistance, providing training for Burmese youth who fled after the coup. Hnin also helps run community kitchens that prepare meals for Burmese refugees, ensuring that those who have fled the violence can still access culturally familiar food. In addition, she has worked with local artists to put on cultural exhibitions, celebrating Burmese identity and resilience. These initiatives are aimed at sustaining the spirit of the revolution, the preservation of their cultural heritage and keeping the community united during these challenging times.
In closing, Hnin offers a poignant reflection on the struggle, and her role in it, “Their dreams and their hopes and everything was taken away [following the 2021 coup]. It's quite shocking that it's happening in 2021 after they just had that glimpse of the freedom. Even for me, and that's why I moved back. But then [banging] the pots and pans was happening at 8 pm, so people would come out. After they finished the protests, they would come back home to my place around 5 pm. They're trying to not think for a minute of the protests and coup. And they continue drinking, somebody is playing music, somebody is writing, somebody is drawing, somebody just having conversations—which we're very good at! We're very good at alternative ways of resisting. So let's forget all that for a moment, and then let's do what we used to do, what feels good, just for a short minute.”
If you found this episode interesting, consider these related past episodes:
· Trish shares how, in the face of the Myanmar coup, her role as a chef became a way to support activists by cooking and distributing meals, showing resilience and community-building through food. Her efforts also underscore the personal risks involved in even seemingly simple acts of solidarity under oppressive regimes.
· Little Activist discusses how his online activism began spontaneously during the Myanmar coup, by documenting military crimes and raising global awareness. His work highlights the importance of digital spaces for resistance, showing how sharing accurate information can connect global audiences to local struggles for justice.
· Rosalia Sciortino describes how her decades of involvement in Southeast Asia, particularly Myanmar, were driven by issues of migration, health, and democracy. Her focus on transnational challenges and fostering civil society underscores the broader regional implications of Myanmar's struggles, resonating with themes of interconnectedness and resilience.
· Min Ma Naing shares her transformation from educator to photojournalist, which began in the wake of witnessing religious riots in Meiktila, Myanmar. That experience inspired her to document the often-untold stories of inter-community harmony in the country. Her pursuit of nuanced storytelling highlights how creative expression can challenge dominant narratives and offer a deeper understanding of conflict.
· Thaw Htet, speaking just months after the coup took place, focused on personal sacrifice, driven by the belief that their struggles must lead to meaningful change. He notes that the while Myanmar military's crackdown forced villagers into hiding, some activists choosing to remain and continue their efforts despite the danger.