From: lessgovt@gmail.com   
      
   My Dangerous, Lonely Life in Myanmar’s Resistance   
   By Nan Lin, March 19, 2023, NY Times   
   YANGON, Myanmar — When the military seized power in a coup on the morning of   
   Feb. 1, 2021, I grabbed some clothes and other essentials and stumbled out   
   onto the streets of Yangon. I haven’t returned home since.   
      
   I lead a group of activists opposed to military rule of Myanmar, and I knew   
   then that the soldiers would soon be coming for me. Since the coup, my   
   colleagues and I have played cat and mouse with security forces in Yangon,   
   Myanmar’s largest city. We    
   organize nonviolent protests — small, quick demonstrations to remind the   
   military that it is not in complete control and to give hope to our citizens.   
      
   It’s a dangerous, lonely life.   
      
   Nearly all of my time is spent hiding in safe houses — six of them so far.   
   I’m 27 years old and have left my current apartment only a few brief times   
   since July. It’s as if an impenetrable wall had been built, separating me   
   from the world. I can’   
   t go out to see the night sky or go to the market or visit friends. I spend   
   much of my time in Zoom meetings planning street protests with colleagues in   
   my organization, the University Students’ Unions Alumni Force, and other   
   activists. To stay sane, Iâ   
   €™ve taken up playing the guitar and force myself to walk around my tiny   
   apartment for 20 minutes each day.   
      
   Whenever I feel the urge to go outside and enjoy life, I think about how long   
   it would be before I am arrested, how my arrest would affect the men and women   
   fighting alongside me and how I would no longer be of any use to the   
   resistance. The apartment is    
   both sanctuary and prison.   
      
   When friends and comrades are arrested, I grieve. But I have to quickly turn   
   my attention to whether their arrest puts me at risk. I change my   
   cellphone’s SIM card and review interactions with those friends for any   
   incriminating information that    
   military interrogators might squeeze out of them. We have protocols in place   
   for this, useless information that can be given up to divert authorities or   
   buy time. But what if they break my comrade?   
      
   The eyes of military intelligence are everywhere, sometimes disguised as fruit   
   sellers or trishaw drivers. So only five people know where I am hiding, people   
   who have either hidden with me or who supply me with groceries, cigarettes and   
   books. I view    
   this not as fate but as my own choice — it feels less depressing that way   
   â€” and I am consoled by my belief in what I’m doing.   
      
   Myanmar’s people have been held captive for too long, first by the British   
   and then, after a period of democracy after the country’s independence in   
   1948, by a succession of military regimes since 1962.   
      
   In 2015, a democratic government won power in elections after a military-led   
   reform process. The military, known as the Tatmadaw, retained significant   
   influence, but it seemed a new era had dawned. Until the 2021 coup.   
      
   I’m resolved to fight, but I still miss the normal life I once enjoyed in   
   Yangon, my home city. I’m here, and yet I’m not. I yearn for the simple   
   pleasure of a cup of milk tea in a tea shop. Tea shops are part of Myanmar’s   
   DNA, where people catch    
   up with one another, share news or simply contemplate life. My parents, who   
   worked hard to send me to university, used to run a tea shop, and I loved   
   working there. But in 2015, while a college student, I was arrested for   
   protesting the military’s    
   retention of significant powers that stood in the way of democratic   
   development. By the time I was released the next year, my parents had closed   
   the shop. They couldn’t continue without my help.   
      
   After the coup, my parents also went into hiding, fearing that the military   
   would arrest them to get at me. It was the right move; some of my friends’   
   parents have been arrested for their children’s stance against the coup. I   
   know where my parents    
   are, but I can’t visit or tell them where I am. In Myanmar the price for   
   political activism is paid by the entire family.   
      
   Resisting the regime gets more difficult every week. Right after the coup,   
   hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets in protest. But the junta   
   waged a brutal crackdown. So far, the military has killed nearly 3,000 people,   
   arrested more than 17,   
   000 and committed appalling human rights abuses. The real numbers are probably   
   much higher. Thousands have taken up arms against the military, which has   
   responded by massacring civilians and conducting airstrikes that have killed   
   children.   
      
   Deadly force, including driving vehicles into crowds, has been used against   
   nonviolent protesters. As a result, what started as hundreds of people joining   
   our flash protests in the months after the coup has dwindled to merely dozens.   
      
   But we carry on. Our scouts identify good locations — bustling public places   
   with ample escape routes to safe houses. We carry banners and march, chanting   
   against the junta. Many street vendors and other bystanders voice their   
   support, but they must be    
   careful or risk having their market stalls destroyed or looted or being   
   punished in other ways by security forces. It’s all over in minutes, and our   
   activists melt away.   
      
   Last year I boarded a bus in Yangon and asked passengers to follow me in   
   reciting a pledge to seek justice for prominent activists whom the military   
   had recently executed and to fight for justice and equality in Myanmar. They   
   did, raising their hands in    
   the three-fingered opposition salute. Video of the scene was posted online. I   
   had to change safe houses twice soon afterward.   
      
   The risks are enormous. A colleague was arrested en route to one of our   
   meetings. Soon after, the military forced him to call us, trying to bait me   
   and others into showing up to a phony meeting. Through code words, my   
   colleague made us aware that he was    
   in custody. We went immediately to his safe house and destroyed anything   
   sensitive: his laptop, phone, camera, memory cards and documents. The military   
   raided the apartment shortly after that.   
      
   He was soon forced to call us again. This time we put his girlfriend on the   
   phone, thinking it might be her last chance to hear his voice. He pleaded,   
   â€œHoney, please show up this time,â€� but we knew he didn’t mean it. He had   
   planned to ask her to    
   marry him a few days later. Instead, he was headed into the hell of military   
   custody and interrogation.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
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