‘A hole the size of a pencil tip’: Reflections on Burma’s coup since February
by Chris Lin 

There’s a line in Burmese poet Min San Wai’s poem ‘Hole’ that acutely captures what I have felt since February, when the military seized power in Burma and unleashed its campaign of violence. The poem is an elegy to Pan Ei Phyu, a fourteen-year-old girl killed by a bullet that pierced the bamboo wall of her house in Meiktila, Burma. Its title is a reference to the bullet hole etched on the bamboo wall – the size of a pencil tip – a miniature image of the mass atrocities Burma’s regime has committed on its people. In the poem, family members take turns peering into the hole, trying to reclaim their daughter. The poet closes with the lines:

            ‘Today each and every person in this country

            has a tiny hole as big as a pencil tip

            in their chest.’[1]

Min San Wai’s words so aptly express the hollowness that Burmese people across the world have carried since February, one that has become as commonplace as the quotidian imagery he uses. The size and dimensions may be different, but every Burmese person that craves an end to the traumas of our long-suffering country carries this space of grief within them.

This hole is a space of violence; not just the remnants of a bullet’s trajectory; a tangible marker of the mass killings, airstrikes on ethnic communities, and detainment and torture of civilians that have become an everyday reality in Burma. It is also a psychic violence exacted on the Burmese people time and time again – the ever-wearing threat of a brutal, selfish regime that continues to monopolise power, wealth, and resources. A violence that finds precedence in the military coups and civilian repression of 1962, 1974, 1988, and 2007, so that my immediate thought when I woke up to the news on the morning of 1 February was, ‘Not again’.

Burma has had a litany of military crackdowns in its modern history so, it is worth asking, what is unique about the present situation? Why is the current crisis harder to accept than similar instances in the past? A key part of the answer lies in the fact that this most recent attempt by the Tatmadaw (Burma’s armed forces) comes after a decade of democratic reform and economic liberalisation that came into effect around 2010. When Than Shwe, Burma’s former dictator, retired in 2011, he left behind a new constitution where political power was shared between the military and a civilian government. The new constitution reserved a quarter of seats in parliament for military officers and kept the security branches of government – defence and home affairs – under military control, while allocating the remaining seats and ministries to elected civilian leaders. From 2012, under President Thein Sein, Burma saw a period of democratic reform which included the release of political prisoners, relaxation of media censorship, lifting of internet restrictions, legalisation of unions, and the opening up of the economy. This reform, coupled with the release of pro-democracy icon Aung San Suu Kyi from house arrest, led to widespread international investment in and aid to Burma, as government leaders rushed to form a part of Burma’s fairy-tale narrative. This seismic change culminated in the country’s first free election in decades in 2015, where Aung San Suu Kyi’s party ­– the National League for Democracy – was elected to government.

I witnessed the drastic transformation of Burmese society that took place post-2010 during my travels there. When I first visited Burma in 2009 (the first time I returned since my family migrated to Australia in 1994), the country was still relatively closed off to the international community. Yangon, the former capital, had its share of foreign expats working in the city but was devoid of the volume of tourists typical of major cities in Southeast Asia. Internet access was slow and not widely accessible, so that I had to visit internet cafés to send emails back to friends in Australia to describe this place where I had grown up. These cafés served la phat-yay, Burmese sweet tea brewed with condensed milk, which made the slow internet easier to digest. When my family travelled to Nyaung Shwe, Inlé Lake, and Taunggyi, we were often the only guests in the hotels. These places were largely untouched by tourism at the time, something that would change in years to follow.

When I next visited the country in 2014 and 2016, I experienced a place that had peeled itself open to the wider world, especially in terms of tourism, the absorption of foreign ideas, and the speed and accessibility of technology. Throngs of tourists pulsed on Yangon’s streets, in Bogyoke Market, among the golden pagodas and pavilions of Shwedagon, and Inya Lake. The sight of multinational food chains, like KFC and Burger King, nestled incongruously among the shabby local teahouses. Phones and Facebook were ubiquitous, even if electricity supply was less reliable and dependent on generators. The opening up of telecommunications to foreign providers had made phones much more accessible. What struck me too was the ready adoption of foreign trends like coffee and wine drinking, which elevated one’s status above the more quotidian tea-drinking culture. The consumption of these goods and practices reflected growing income levels across the population and an emerging middle class in the urban centres.

I also saw a difference in how readily people spoke about politics. The easing of media censorship and the accessibility of international news and information fostered a greater degree of freedom of expression than in the decades before. In addition, the victory of Aung San Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy in the 2015 elections – the country’s first free elections since 1990 – helped contribute to a belief in a nascent democracy. Despite the fact that Burma’s elected government was only semi-civilian, and that the military still operated beyond civilian oversight, the major reform fed peoples’ optimism in a future that was beginning to ease off the shackles of military power.

It is this context of increased social liberties and economic agency in which Burma’s youngest generation has grown up. The fact that the current coup comes after a decade of democratic reform means that Burma’s young people, in particular, have something to lose that previous generations did not have – the lived reality of democratic transition. This explains why many of the leaders of the Civil Disobedience Movement (the coordinated response of protests and strikes) are young people in their 20s and 30s. They have grown up in a more open and thriving civil society than their parents, which makes the prospect of military rule even more repugnant. And, they have the creative ingenuity and technological capacity to deploy an array of tactics in their resistance against the coup. A rally cry that these young Burmese have aimed at the military during demonstrations and on social media is, ‘You have messed with the wrong generation’.

This generation has borne the brunt of the military’s cruelty. Burma’s push for democratic change is being carried by the weight of so many young lives:

Khin Myo Chit (6 years). Tun Tun Aung (14 years). Zue Wint War (15 years). Moe Htet Wine (15 years). Aung Kaung Htet (15 years). Thida Aye (16 years). Yan Myo Aung (16 years). Pho Htee (16 years). Zaw Myo Htet (16 years). Thida Aye (16 years). Yan Myo Aung (16 years). Min Min Oo (16 years). Hlaing Jack Maung (16 years). Kyal Sin Hein (16 years). Nay Myo Aung (16 years). Thiha Zaw (16 years). Wai Yan Tun (16 years). Sithu Soe (17 years). Min Khant Kyaw (17 years). Kyaw Zayar Htun (17 years). Khant Nyar Hein (17 years). Hein Htet Aung (17 years). Aung Myo Zaw (17 years).[2]

These are some of the names of children who have been shot in their homes during military raids on residences. Among its many crimes against humanity, one of the most abhorrent is the way in which the junta has weaponised violence against children as a tactic to deter the civilian pro-democracy movement. Over 50 children have been killed since February.[3]

Throughout these months, I’ve returned to a news article in The Irrawaddy that shows images of these children and a brief description of how they died. Some faces are caked in thanaka. Some are dressed in the white shirts and green longyi that is a typical uniform for students. One carries a protest banner with the words ‘We do not want military government’. Another carries a red flag with a golden fighting peacock emblazoned across it, a symbol of democracy.

I return to this article because it reminds me that the image of every child carries with it an orbit of grief that shatters each family and community around that child. That the pain of the coup should be measured by every life that is lost and every hole this etches in the people around them. 

The impact of Burma’s crisis has been felt in Burmese diasporas around the world. Rallies and vigils have been held by communities in the UK, the US, Europe, Southeast Asia, and in Australia. Here in Perth, Western Australia, the ground-level activism and fundraising has been resounding. Perth is home to a vibrant multi-ethnic Burmese community that spans four generations of immigrants and includes ethnic Bamar, Karen, Chin, Kachin, Kayah, Shan, and Mon people.

The coup has united the Perth Burmese community into concerted action. Rallies have been held on the steps of Parliament House, where leaders from the ethnic groups have come together to condemn the junta and call for the restoration of the civilian government. On these occasions, the steps of Parliament House are adorned with scarlet flags and banners, a symbol of defiance and democracy. Images of golden peacocks ripple across the crowd and the arena shakes with the crescendo of music and pro-democracy slogans. The voices of the people fill the entire district, their conviction unshakeable; this must be the last coup. Our voices on these occasions are as much one of defiance as one of lament, one that recognises and shares in the suffering of friends in Burma.

There has scarcely been a weekend where vigils, food fêtes, and fundraising events have not taken place around Perth. I have seen an inexhaustible effort by families who have taken it upon themselves to put together pop-up food stalls, sausage sizzles, and raffle sales to raise awareness and money.

One of the most uplifting things about Perth’s response to the coup has been seeing Burmese people from all ethnic and religious divides come together to provide a unanimous response. The rallies have witnessed members from all the main ethnic groups participate, as well as those from the Burmese Buddhist and Christian communities alike. This is especially noteworthy as Burma has been mired in ethnic conflict since gaining independence in 1948, mostly between the Bamar military junta and ethnic minorities. This conflict has precipitated a sense of ethno-nationalism among ethnic groups, with each calling for their own regional autonomy and identity. This ethno-nationalism not only exists in Burma but also resonates among the migrant communities in Perth, which come from these ethnic territories. For this reason, seeing the Perth community transcend its ethnic divides to call for common democratic reform for all of Burma’s people has been a powerful element of the diaspora response. This capacity to think beyond ethnic lines and identity politics must form part of any broader, lasting agenda for social and political change in Burma. 

So, what forms the components of enduring social and political change? The need for the military to restore the elected civilian government, to release all political prisoners, and an immediate end to its campaign of violence against civilians is evident. International governments – including Australia – ­must exert pressure on the Tatmadaw and use whatever diplomatic and economic levers they have to push for these outcomes.

However, a broader assessment of Burma’s issues is also needed. When commenting on what the West is missing in its consideration of the crisis, Burmese historian Thant Myint-U pinpoints elements of Burma’s social and economic context that have hindered its capacity for democratic transition:

The political crisis is taking place within the context of multiple other crises. This is a society that’s been traumatized by over seven decades of violent [ethnic] conflict. […] State institutions everywhere are extremely weak, unable to collect taxes or provide health care or other social services to the vast majority. Racial and religious discrimination exists alongside exploding wealth inequality. And over the past year, COVID-19 has led to a near collapse of the economy, with those making less than $1.90 a day soaring from 16 percent to 63 percent of the population between January and October 2020. […] A far better understanding of this political economy is needed to really understand [Burma’s] options for the future.[4]

As Myint-U suggests, wealth inequality, undereducation, weak institutions, and ethnic divisions all constitute a weakened and fractious civil society upon which it is difficult to build a lasting and functioning democracy. This is worth emphasizing because we are at another historical juncture in which calls for democracy are rife among the Burmese population, its global diaspora, civil society groups, and international organisations. So it is important to ensure that these calls for democracy include the social and economic factors that Myint-U speaks of. That is, there needs to be an agenda beyond a notion of democracy that is primarily focused on a multi-party system and free elections. While this political reform is important, a concurrent vision for addressing ethnic-based identity politics, religious discrimination, and wealth inequality is equally crucial. What this means is a broader shift in social attitudes and relations, and not just a shift in political system and ideology. A social, cultural, and economic reform program that lessens Burma’s historic fractiousness is a precondition for any lasting change.

More can be done by the Australian government. There has been widespread calls to impose targeted economic sanctions against senior military personnel and their associates by the Burmese community. This is an option that has already been taken by the US, UK, European Union, Canada, and New Zealand, but one which Australia has yet to take. Diplomatic efforts to secure the release of detained Australian citizens – including Sean Turnell, economic adviser to Aung San Suu Kyi’s government – undoubtedly make sanctions a delicate task. However, the case for targeted sanctions against the military’s top brass is twofold. At a symbolic level, it ensures that Australia extends no legitimacy to the Tatmadaw at a time when it seeks to consolidate its rule. Recently, the junta installed a new caretaker government and installed commander-in-chief Min Aung Hlaing as Prime Minister, a clear signal of its intention to legitimise authority. Secondly, the Tatmadaw’s power is enabled in large part by its sprawling business empire which has stakes in key sectors of Burma’s economy. Military-owned conglomerates such as Myanmar Economic Holdings Limited and Myanmar Economic Corporation provide an independent income stream to the Tatmadaw outside of state funding, which feed its wealth and operations. By exploring options to sanction these enterprises, the Australian government can do its part to tighten the Tatmadaw’s economic avenues.

Closer to home, the government should also extend a blanket amnesty to Burmese nationals in Australia. There are over 3,300 visa holders from Burma in Australia, half of whom are students.[5] Many are at risk of oppression if they are forced to return to Burma, and are living with stress and uncertainty. Already, Burmese students studying here received a letter in June from the Myanmar Embassy in Canberra, which demanded that they pledge loyalty to the military government. The letter further warns that students are subject to punishment should they fail to reply by the deadline of 7 July, a clear sign of intimidation. The government should provide unconditional amnesty to these students, similar to the Hawke government’s extension of asylum to Chinese students after the Tiananmen Square massacre in 1989. This is something that the Australian government has the power to implement. They should do so to protect young individuals who otherwise face likely detention, torture, or other forms of repression in Burma.

To return to Min San Wai’s poem, there is a hollowness in our chests today. The holes that we carry as part of the sprawling diaspora are of different proportions. We cannot lay claim to the scale, weight, depth, and lived reality of what our families and friends endure in Burma.

But the holes are there like pinpricks that permeate our everyday routine, at times spurring us into frenzied bursts of activism and fundraising, and at others, leaving us lethargic and disconsolate. These pinpricks are there when reading the barrage of news articles detailing the latest atrocities with the faces and names of yet more victims. They cut deeply during telephone calls from relatives in Burma who relay the latest turmoil, and from friends who want an escape route.

They are ever-present in the conversations in our family as we discuss who is in urgent need of funds and how best to transfer them. They are there in the jubilant moments after a fundraiser when our spirits are high from the support of friends and community. More recently, they are persistent as the latest wave of Covid wreaks chaos, and as relatives scramble for oxygen supplies for their loved ones.

These pinpricks are a space in which to hold the grief and rage, at a regime that has turned the last ten years into so much wastepaper. They are an impetus for action. A space in which to hold one’s breath, waiting to see what comes next.

[1] Min San Wai, “Hole,” trans. Ko Ko Thett, Adi Magazine, Spring 2021, https://adimagazine.com/articles/hole/.

[2] “Names and Faces of the Youngest Victims of Myanmar Regime’s Brutality,” The Irrawaddy, March 26, 2021, accessed August 15, 2021, https://www.irrawaddy.com/news/burma/names-faces-youngest-victims-myanmar-regimes-brutality.html.

[3] “Global Civil Society Statement on Myanmar,” Human Rights Watch, May 5, 2021, accessed August 16, 2021, https://www.hrw.org/news/2021/05/05/global-civil-society-statement-myanmar.

[4] Thant Myint-U in conversation with Jonathan Tepperman, “Myanmar vs. its Generals: Q&A with Thant Myint-U,” Foreign Policy, February 18, 2021, accessed May 27, 2021, https://foreignpolicy.com/2021/02/18/myanmar-protest-washington-beijing-thant-myint-u/.

[5] “Australian Government tells Myanmar nationals they won’t be forced to return,” The Guardian, April 14, 2021, accessed August 16, 2021, https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2021/apr/14/australian-government-tells-myanmar-nationals-they-wont-be-forced-to-return.

Chris Lin is a Perth-based educator and writer. Having migrated to Australia from Myanmar at the age of seven, he has an enduring attachment to Myanmar’s people, cultures, places, and stories. He completed his PhD in English at the University of Western Australia and is a keen contributor to the Perth writing community. Passionate about human rights and international affairs, Chris has participated in local efforts to promote awareness around Myanmar’s current crisis.