[You risk your life in defending a belief you hold dearly. Tell the story of what happens.]
My heart was pounding and my breath came in ragged gasps as I ran with the others. It must have been adrenalin that kept my legs working and allowed me to ignore the pain of the blows to my back and arms from the soldiers' batons. At any moment I expected to feel the sting of a bullet but my mind was filled by the horror of the last few minutes.
I had been tempted to flee at the moment when we came face to face with the soldiers in the main street outside her house. But I had no chance, wedged in the crowd of unarmed demonstrators. The soldiers had advanced en masse, anonymous in their riot gear, guns raised and batons at the ready. I had witnessed the senseless slaughter of my friends whose bodies now lay crumpled on the ground. I could not blot out the sight of their blood spilt on the paving stones and the sound of their cries as they lay wounded and dying. The silent menace of the soldiers had chilled my heart.
I had left my house that morning with the words of Aung San Suu Kyi ringing in my ears. ‘It is not power that corrupts but fear. Fear of losing power corrupts those who wield it and fear of the scourge of power corrupts those who are subject to it.’
I was not afraid. The rally that day was going to be huge. All my student friends were solidly behind Suu Kyi’s fight for the freedom of the people of Myanmar and we knew that there was a large group of workers who were going to come to the demonstration as well. We had right on our side. The military junta had had its day. It was time for the people to take a stand. We were prepared for the resistance but were convinced that the soldiers would not fire on their own people. We were wrong.
Taking a quick glance behind, I could see that we were no longer being followed. We were far away from the main street. We slumped on the ground behind a nearby building to catch our breath. No word was spoken. Our bodies were bruised and broken. Our ideals were shattered. We were exhausted.
I leaned against the wall, my head held in my hands, heaving with sadness. I sobbed for my friends who were lost. I sobbed for the destruction of our ideals and our innocence. I sobbed for the blackness of Myanmar’s future. In that moment my belief in Suu Kyi’s campaign of passive resistance was dead. There was no possibility.
Eventually my sobbing subsided. My legs were shaking as I stood with the others. We wrapped our arms around each other, a shared moment of mourning and solidarity.
The shaky flame of resistance was ignited once more. We would go on. We could not turn back. The military junta would not overpower us. Fear would not keep us down.
Alternative titles:
Resistance in Rangoon
Igniting the Flame
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2 comments:
Heather says:
Man, Kerry, this story really HAD me there. Your character is Everyman, really - she (he?) is someone we can all identify with, if we have ever felt horror at the stories in the news. That leaves the focus of the story on the rebellion itself, which is where you wanted it.
I physically felt the battle and the flight, the horror, the optimism and the pessimism and the recovery that comes with allowing people back in.
An inspiring and wonderfully told story.
Very moving Kerry. You took on a huge theme and left me moved and saddened. You captured the naïveté of the protesters and the shock of discovering the brutishness of the opposition. The "sobbing" part particularly moved me. I am there.
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