‘I’m safe somewhere’: journalists hidden from the Myanmar army Human rights

Three months ago, I was forced to leave Myanmar, the place I called home for almost a decade.

After a military coup on February 1, deadly crackdowns on protests and widespread arrests made it impossible to remain safe as a journalist there.

I he went to the airport early in the morning. The streets were quiet, but there were signs of chaos a few hours earlier. Brick dust stained the streets red. Wire, concrete blocks, and large orange trash were scattered along the roads – temporary debris from barricades used in a desperate attempt to protect themselves from security forces and their bullets. The walls and passages were lined with graffiti; the three-fingered greetings and deceptions condemned the coup and the military leaders.

It was an emotional journey. I left my friends and loved ones behind, to deal with a situation that seemed to be getting worse, I flew back to the comfort and safety of the UK.

I was right to be worried. In the weeks following my departure, more and more friends and relationships were arrested. It began announcing a daily list of people who could receive arrest warrants for Myanmar State TV channels. As the numbers increased, more popular names began to appear. Celebrities, entrepreneurs and politicians, people I’ve met and interviewed, but also journalists – friends and colleagues.

Most complained under section 505A of the Penal Code, which is aimed at anyone who promotes civil disobedience.

“It made me angry because they didn’t use my nice photo,” a friend said when I contacted her when she saw her name added to the list. Like others, he made the decision to go into hiding early, long before the order was notified; so at least I knew he was safe. “I look really bad in that picture!” he complained jokingly.

Like many of my friends, he constantly responds with a heartfelt humor to his otherwise serious situation. His quick attitude easily leaves everything he had to leave behind. His family, his dogs, his friends, his job. He was a well-known TV presenter and is now hiding in the jungle, washing clothes in the river and fighting insect bites. “You know me Ali, I love an adventure” he reassured me. “At least I’m able to walk safely and swim. As long as I don’t think about what’s going to happen or how long I’ll be there, I’m happy. ”

Others have not taken the agitation quite well. A friend cried as she conveyed everything she had left, describing that she and her colleagues had to sleep in the jungle and drink from the rivers on the trip. There are now checkpoints all over the country, and for big TV reporters with famous names and faces it’s not an option to cross over. They are forced to take routes outside the forest and conflict zones to reach safety.

I still talk to people in Myanmar almost every day – I check in with friends and get in touch with people within my news coverage. After a decade of working in Myanmar, journalists and activists make up the majority of its close friends. Most have decided to run away from home and hide. For security reasons, we use encrypted messaging apps to talk, but people have also started to change the number regularly and the accounts will suddenly stop. Sometimes they are silent with those I have been in regular contact with for a few days or even a few weeks. It can be hard not to be afraid of the worst. When I got them, I learned from some awkward exchanges to stop asking people where they are. “I can’t tell you where I am, but I can tell I’m somewhere safe,” a friend recently reassured me, a hint of the unmistakable sounds of the background in the city that were no longer there.

For those who have not been found safe somewhere in time, most of those I know are detained in Insein prison, denied contact with friends, relatives or colleagues. The mother of one detainee told me that it brings more uncertainty every day. He’s scared of making harsh statements against the military on the phone, but he tells me he feels helpless. “If I were to go back in time, I would like to be stationary in January. Because that’s not what anyone wants. “

In a photo dated April 17, 2021, relatives and friends of the detainees are awaiting Insein Prison in Yangon, where several people arrested by the Myanmar military are being held. [Reuters]

More than 6,000 people have been arrested since the coup and journalists are among the many targeted groups. Local and foreign journalists have been arrested. Some have been dragged from home in the middle of the night, others have been caught at the airport or reporting court proceedings or caught in raids on offices. A journalist friend I know was arrested from his home along with his son, a teenager I still think of as a young boy.

Myanmar is emerging from the headlines of world news as the world’s interest is waning, but for many of my friends their lives have definitely changed.

Without a 14-day response in early May, a friend I was mostly worried about appeared on my phone.

“Hello.” It was Facebook messenger, a platform that most people avoided for lack of security. I was worried about whether he was the same or not, but soon a video call came to me. He has been on the run for two weeks and tells me that he has lost communication with most people. He says he arrived safely, albeit temporarily, he says.

I have so many questions, but I know it’s too dangerous to do. It is best for as few people as possible to know where it is. But of course he’s eager to share the story of his ordeal – he told me he had to give up all his things. He only has two shirts and a small backpack with him. But he is pragmatic.

“We have to adjust,” he says. “It’s better than torture sessions.”