This is the question I ask myself these days - why me and why us all the time?
In November 2020, as COVID-19 restrictions eased just a little, we, the people of Myanmar, lined up at polling stations, masked and cautious, to cast our votes. As an official election observer, I can remember how excited I was to see the exciting crowds getting up as early as they could before 6 am of polling stations opened. We all knew the price our previous generations had paid for even the fragile democracy we have had for the past ten years, and we couldn’t afford to lose it.
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| Voters lining up in front of one of the polling stations that I observed to cast their votes democratically on November 8, 2020. Photo: Myself |
When COVID-19 first hit in March 2020, we were afraid but resilient as we always were. Our then-civilian government stood by us, offering timely information, mobilizing resources, and uniting different agencies, including civil society organizations, corporations, and ordinary people, to fight the pandemic together. We thought we had seen the worst.
Then came February 1, 2021—the coup. Overnight, everything we had fought for was ripped away. Soldiers filled the streets. Gunfire echoed. This was the first time in my life that I had ever seen what a military coup looked like because I was not even born when the 1988 uprising happened. I felt like the history I heard as a story wheeled back by the same evil. I vividly remembered the silence of that morning, feeling painful and heartbreaking and not knowing what to do first. But we were so energized and determined with the collective roar of resistance a few days later. We took to the streets, chanting, marching, believing our voices mattered. But the military answered with bullets and batons, with bodies disappearing in the night, and many people, young and old, were arrested for just believing in democracy.
By August 2021, the third wave of COVID-19 ravaged our country. Hospitals overflowed, oxygen supplies vanished, and grief became a constant shadow. With COVID-19 infected, my aunt died gasping for air in addition to battling cancer. I was not able to manage saying goodbye to her. I still have the grief and regret for that. Like us, for many families, there was no proper funeral—just a rushed burial among countless others. Innocent people were arrested in notorious prisons across the country and got infected with COVID-19 but didn’t get the proper treatment. Too many bodies. Too many sacrifices. Too much sorrow.
Things got worse day by day; the military stepped further with airstrikes, setting fire to villages across the country after cutting mobile data and the internet. Now, more than 3.5 million people are displaced internally. Among them, many are one displacement after another. Most of them cannot bring anything—not family photos, no more childhood memories, and no more the smell of home. Homeless inside the home country – can you imagine?
In February 2024, the military introduced a military service law, demanding every young person between 18 and 35 ages to serve in their terrorist military – basically to fight against our own people who are fighting for freedom. Again, many young people fled the country both legally and illegally because serving in the so-called military that is committing crimes against humanity is the last thing we want to do.
In July 2024, the floods came. Rivers swallowed entire villages. Crops were washed away. We hadn’t even begun to recover from conflict when nature itself seemed to turn against us.
And now, a 7.7-magnitude earthquake. Buildings collapsed. Roads split apart. People screamed for help. Once again, our people are left with nothing but dust and despair.
Through it all, the world will watch as it always does—for a week. The headlines flash, the stories circulate, but then the world will move on, as it always does. Who truly sees us? Who even wants to?
Our voices are silenced, and we vanish from the headlines, drowned out by the endless noise of global politics.
But we are still here. Still fighting. Still resisting. Still refusing to be erased.
For decades, my country has fought for freedom, survival, and the simple right to exercise our rights without fear. But sometimes, I can’t help but ask: Why us? Why must we suffer so much, over and over again?
We deserve better. We deserve peace. We deserve a home, and the ability to wake up one morning without fear of what might come next. I know, you also know, and everybody knows we are not asking for something impossible or too much.
So, I ask again: Why us?
Not because I expect an answer. But because the world should hear the question. But because every person who believes in humanity should listen to this question. Because one day, I hope the answer will be:
No more. Not you. Not me. Not us. Not ever again.
