It’s a crisp winter morning in Yangon. I am sitting on my balcony, sipping my locally brewed Tamarind Kombucha that my friend Ma Thiri dropped off this morning. She came with her dad in his vintage brown van. Thiri’s small food joint survived COVID-19 restrictions, but she is not sure if her small business would survive this coup. As I saw her off, they waved the hunger-game inspired ‘three fingers’ salute. Thiri said, “My uncle was an NLD student leader. My dad and his family burnt all records and papers at home and uncle went underground.” Since the coup, leaders of political parties, activists, and civil society have been arrested. The chairman and members of the Union Election Commission of each region and state were abducted. Journalists are scared and vulnerable. They have gone underground. Since day one of the coup we heard about a list of ‘wanted’ journalists prepared by military intelligence.
In my courtyard, colleagues turned on Kabar Ma Kyay Bu, the national anthem, in full volume. They are going out to protest today, Union Day (February 12), when we celebrate the unified republic of Myanmar. In 1947, the Panglong Agreement was signed by Aung San, father of detained state chancellor Aung San Suu Kyi, and minority ethnic leaders who agreed to join the Union of Burma in exchange for federal autonomy. Protestors from ethnic minorities too have joined the civil disobedience.
The military leadership’s proposed Cyber Security Bill will give it the right to shut the internet, ban websites and surveillance—a tool to curb dissent. There’s fear of another long internet shutdown. “They can’t cut us off from the world for too long. They use the same fibre optics and internet cables as we civilians do. They are heavily dependent on e-commerce and e-banking,” says my friend. She is struggling to download new apps on the dark web to prepare for an internet shutdown.
In Yangon, ‘banging the pot’ to ward off evil happens at 8am, 2pm and 8pm—a non-violent method of civil disobedience. On February 1 the Tatmadaw toppled the NLD government, alleging the November 2020 elections to be fraudulent. It seems like we are not just fighting the dictator; we are also fighting the world. The Nobel peace laureate lost credibility with the West over the Rohingya crisis, but that doesn’t justify a coup.
A coup is crazier than any virus. Vaccines can stop viruses, but there’s no cure for a dictator’s greed. When was the last time a dictator said that he would reinstall democracy in a year and actually did? The commander-in-chief, Gen Min Aung Hlaing is a businessman who built an empire and was about to retire in July 2021. In the initial days of the coup, Myanmar’s youth shared the names of businesses associated with the military. The ‘Dirty List’ has now made it to every household. Within a week, the nation’s favourite drink, Myanmar Beer, disappears. Videos show people throwing it in gutters—an act of boycott. A UN report shows the military has been using its businesses to support “its brutal actions against ethnic groups”. Gen Min is a war criminal. The non-stop honks of cars and buses are growing. I can hear more people chanting and singing and honking—a jubilant atmosphere similar to the Thingyan (water festival).
Chris, a Scottish friend, texts, “We are caught between the military and Covid”. Many expats in Yangon have gained the status of ‘local- foreigners’. They are in an awkward situation. There aren’t any flights and their embassies have told them to avoid protests. Some White expats handed flowers to the police at Sule Square. Civil disobedience started by medical staff and nurses is now joined by teachers, trade unionists, journalists and civil servants. The biggest chunk comprises the youth. They mock the military with ingenious artwork and slogans on their placards: ‘You f**ked with the wrong generation’; ‘I want democracy, not lipstick’, ‘My boyfriend was bad, but this dictator is worse’….
Many friends are sharing pictures of 1988 and comparing it with 2021. I called my photographer friend and colleague Ko Thin, who was arrested in 1988 as a young student leader. He spent 20 years of his youth in prison. He has seen the worst, so he was optimistic: “2021 is a new beginning. The protestors know what they are doing and why they are doing it. We were not prepared and just jumped into the unknown.”
(Names and identities are changed)