Yesterday…
When she was in detention,
She had to say to the world…
“Please, use your liberty for ours.”
And the world used it for her.
Now, she has her liberty !

– MAYYU ALI, ‘Her Yesterday and My Today’

The 2015 general elections were approaching. Our only hope had two names, Aung San Suu Kyi and her party, the National League for Democracy (NLD). The atmosphere was buzzing with excitement as our idol, who stood for courage, selflessness, passion, strength and freedom, was finally back at the forefront of national politics.

For many months, she had led an election campaign with one watchword: national reconciliation. I remember her speech in the Parliament in July, in opposition to the regime in power. Her hands resting on the lectern, with a haughty bearing to better defy her competitors and flowers in her hair, she spoke the following words: ‘To become a truly democratic union, I call upon all the members of the Parliament to discuss the implementation of the necessary laws to protect the right to equality of ethnic groups.’

Guerrillas were wreaking havoc across the country. Every border area was simmering with conflict as separatist groups fought the army. Aung San Suu Kyi promised to bring peace once she was elected to power. I was certain that she would ultimately recognize us Rohingyas as full-fledged citizens and restore our dignity. 

During Aung San Suu Kyi’s campaign she visited several villages. The locals, many of whom were seeing her for the first time, screamed, ‘Mother Suu, mother Suu!’ She was like a rockstar surrounded by fans. Not only a politician – she was our icon, our mother. Though she hadn’t scheduled a visit to Arakan before the elections, she had all our support. My mother and I never missed any of her speeches. I asked my mother one evening who she was going to vote for. Her answer was clear.

‘You know, during the 1990 elections, your grandfather welcomed politicians to our home. He invited them to eat with us and sacrificed cows and goats. He was convinced that one day Aung San Suu Kyi would bring democracy to Myanmar, which is why he always supported her and it is my turn to support her now,’ she explained. ‘During the 1990 electoral campaign, your grandfather toured several villages to convince people to vote for the NLD. It was quite a sight to see him brimming with enthusiasm and determination. He believed with all his heart that Suu Kyi would save us. Her party indeed won the elections that year, even while she was under house arrest. But sure enough, the army, who wanted to maintain the status quo, annulled the elections. Your grandfather was furious.’ 

I remember my grandfather telling me about Aung San Suu Kyi’s father, General Aung San, a hero of our independence struggle. He negotiated our independence with the British but was assassinated six months before he could witness it. The general accepted and recognized the Rohingyas, and wanted to unite the different ethnicities of the country. ‘At the time,’ my grandfather said to me, ‘we used to have a radio programme in the Rohingya language.’ He also told me that he threw a wonderful party when Suu Kyi received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1991. He took out an old portrait of hers for the occasion which was normally hidden in a cupboard. Under the junta, keeping a photo of Aung San Suu Kyi was punishable by imprisonment.

Each person in my family fought for the Lady from Rangoon in their own way. While my grandfather did door-to-door visits, my older brother and one of my uncles went on protest marches to defend Aung San Suu Kyi’s rights. My uncle was actually arrested twice during the general strikes in August 1988 for denouncing the junta and supporting Suu Kyi. Even peaceful demonstrations were violently repressed by the military. My uncle was detained and tortured for three days and eventually had to leave Myanmar.

Generation after generation, we have supported Aung San Suu Kyi. I remember a passage from the book she wrote during house arrest, Freedom from Fear. It greatly inspired me, especially since I was consumed by this feeling myself.

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 … A most insidious form of fear is that which masquerades  as common sense or even wisdom, condemning as  foolish, reckless, insignificant or futile the small, daily acts of courage which help to preserve man’s self-respect and inherent human dignity. It is not easy for a people conditioned by the iron rule of the principle that might is right to free themselves from the enervating miasma of fear. Yet even under the most crushing state machinery courage rises up again and again, for fear is not the natural state of civilized man.

I was eager to vote and put an end to these years of oppression. Democracy would save us, and I would once again be able to dream, hope and grow. As a teacher, a writer, I would be able to represent my country, travel and get involved in politics. These things may seem trivial to those who have known the freedom I never had. 

During the general elections in November 2010, the military junta permitted the Rohingyas – even those with temporary white cards – to vote. The village school compound where the voting took place was overcrowded; families brought their children along and there was so much noise. I still remember the moment when I slipped my ballot paper into the box and the clerk marked my finger with ink – proof of my presence on that historic day. I was so happy that I didn’t want to wash my hands, to ensure that the moment would remain etched in my memory for as long as possible. The party formed by the dictatorship won a large majority of the seats in the new parliament. Four Rohingyas had been elected: Aung Zaw Win, Htay Win, Shwe Maung and Aung Myo Min. However, they could never assume responsibility since their election was declared null and void.

The upcoming elections – the first free elections in twenty-five years – marked a new era in the history of our country, bringing us one step closer to democracy. The polls were to be held on 8 November 2015. Then, on 2 November, we learned over the radio that Rohingyas who held temporary white cards were not authorized to vote. Aung San Suu Kyi had also expelled all Muslim representatives of her party. I couldn’t believe it. Was she under some kind of pressure?

When Aung San Suu Kyi was released on 13 November 2010, people throughout the country could be heard singing. ‘The Lady has been released. Hope has returned. Democracy has been liberated.’ Looking back, I can say that preventing us from voting in 2015 was the first sign of Suu Kyi’s cowardice. For a long time, we had believed that she refrained from taking our name to avoid shocking public opinion, so she could run in the elections and defend us better once she was in power. On the night of 9 November 2015, while many people celebrated the victory of the Lady from Rangoon and spoke about a new dawn, I sat on a chair outside. I was searching the night sky for a star – a sign of my grandfather – to share my anguish with him.

Poet-activist Mayyu Ali has been campaigning for years to denounce the genocide of his community, the Rohingyas. While living in the refugee camps of Bangladesh, he opened
several schools for Rohingya youth and children. He has been part of several award-winning documentaries by BBC, and others, and works with multiple NGOs.

In 2019, he co-founded The Art Garden Rohingya, a Rohingya art and poetry project. He has also published two books in English, Exodus and The White Elephant.

In 2024, he graduated with a Master of Arts in Global Governance from the University of Waterloo. Currently, he is serving as a director of the Rohingya Language Preservation Project of Community Rebuilding Centre, seeking to preserve Rohingya language and culture which are at high risk of extinction in the face of genocide in Myanmar and displacement in Bangladesh and other southeast Asian countries.

Eradication is available to purchase online.