Hanthawaddy U Win Tin - Human Hell

The author's loud, rumbling whispers, returning to the human hell

Today is March 12, 2010.

I am 80 years old. 80 is a long time. I can see the crematorium. It is not far. If it is not far, don't ask me if this journey is near. If it is still far, don't tell me. I know that the end is near. I know that the crematorium is not going to close. I know that my time to live is short. I know that my time to die is near. What I know more than that is that there is still a lot to do and that I have to do as much as I can.

This is the main point I want to talk about in this paper. Why is there so much to do? There must be so much. How could it be without it? The military junta has sent the young people of the country, including those who are in the depths of death like us, to prison or human hell... a man-made hell... a man-made hell, a world of bad life, tragedy, and nightmares, from ten years to twenty years to sixty-five years to more than two hundred years.

So there's a lot left for the young, the middle-aged, the elderly, and the dying. Is it strange to ask?

So we will continue to walk the long journey. We will continue to struggle. We will continue to lead. We will continue to serve. As I understand it, in my words, in short, we will have to carry the burden of the times and walk the path of the times. It is a long journey with great expectations. It is a huge burden. It is a long and tiring year.

In fact, the burden of the times is borne by the entire nation. With the entire nation locked up, there is still a lot of work for the entire nation to do. The road ahead is still long and winding.

The entire country has been imprisoned for decades. This has led to the impression that the public is already filled with fear and aversion to prison. No. In fact, the public is not afraid. They are not afraid. They are afraid to clench their fists, raise their thumbs, raise their arms, and spread their arms.

Fearmongers, fearmongers, and fearmongers are preaching the fear that prisoners will not do politics. Prisoners will not do activism. Prisoners are preaching the fear that imprisonment is useless.

This fear of prison is a constant reminder of the many who have been imprisoned for politics, for their beliefs, for the public good, for popular uprisings, for resistance against authoritarian regimes, for revolutions, uprisings, and movements. It is an insult.

This fear of prison is a mockery of the history of the infinite, beginning with Sayadaw U Wisara Galon Saya San, Pakhin Aung San, and ending with Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, Khun Tun Oo, and Minko Naing, who died in prison, starved in prison, ended their lives in prison, and lost their lives in prison.

This fear of prison is also blocking the great political generational flow of those who went to prison yesterday, those who are going to prison today, and those who are about to go to prison tomorrow, with the revolutionary spirit and zeal that has continued unabated since the 1300th Uprising, the 7th July Uprising, and the 8th August Uprising.

To put it simply, the fear mongering of these criminals is a repetition of the brutal path of their masters, the dictators. It is a dry, abrupt road block.

We do not accept or tolerate such fear of imprisonment.

Look back at the lives of various generations in history, such as the era of anti-colonialism, the era of anti-fascist struggle, the era of freedom struggle, the era of resistance to one-party dictatorship, the era of the second struggle for independence, and the era of overthrowing the military dictatorship.

Colonial governments, fascist camps, and authoritarian terrorists brutally exterminated monks, students, and young people through death camps, military interrogation camps, and forced labor camps.

Did the public panic? Did the youth panic? Retrace the footsteps of history. Hear the heartbeat of history. Breathe in the blood and sweat of history. Rewatch the historical drama.

How has history shaped you? Mother gave birth to you, you fed you. Father taught you in prison. Listen, people, and know. Listen, young people, and know.

The fear of prison, the words and voices are not the words of history. They are only the whispers of betrayal, betrayal, betrayal, betrayal, and betrayal. We need to know that well. We need to understand well. We need to realize well.

Those who have spread such fear of prison, those who have spoken fear of prison, those who have spoken fear of prison, those who have never looked at the public or the youth in any period of history

Prison suffering, prison sorrows, prison parividas, prison poetry, prison muditas, prison determination, prison battles, prison political movements, prison knowledge and skills.

I have been exposed to prison dramas, prison jokes, prison jokes, and prison laments for about two decades, including the wisdom of the mind, the nature of the prison, the nature of the prison, the logic of the prison, the courage of the prison, and the biographies of the prisoners.

In this collection, I will continue to hold on to the Buddhist Brahmanical teachings. I will continue to hold on to the Christian doctrine of joy. I will continue to hold on to the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights.

I hope that these prison epistemologies and prison biographies will come out with a loud roar.

I was thrown out of my house because I was in prison. I lost my pension and food allowance. All my teeth were knocked out by the police. I ate raw rice and vegetable soup with my mouth closed, hoping to survive. I had to live like this for eight years. The suffering is beyond words. I had a stomach disease. I was denied surgery for my hernia for five years, and I was left in the hospital. The last surgery was too late. My intestines were stuck together. My nerves were all tangled up. I have constant pain in one leg because of the surgery. I lost a limb. My heart disease was not treated effectively and sufficiently, and now it has reached the stage of death.

I was locked up for almost twenty years. I was cut off from other political prisoners and criminals, as well as from prison staff. I was allowed to talk to people in the next room, and I was kept at least three or four rooms (thirty-two to forty-eight feet) apart from the other living quarters so that I wouldn't be heard even if I shouted.

Twenty years of a long period of suffering ate away at my sanity as I entered the twilight of my life. I could not read books, I could not see people, I could not talk, I could not move around, I lost my hobbies (painting, music, reading, writing, and looking after my home).

In short, I spent a quarter of my life trampled, crushed, and thrown into the water. I was so sorry. I was so sorry. My heart aches. My mind aches.

I want to shout to the world, "Are you okay?"

At eighty years old, I have no home to live in. No money to spend. No head to think about. I am a thoughtless, senseless, and helpless person. I have nothing to move. I am blind and crippled by a series of diseases. I have no shelter.

You can't freely walk in and out of temples, temples, family homes, friends' homes, parks, offices, markets, galleries, hospitals, and even cemeteries. You can't go. Reporters, intelligence officers, and motorcycles are all lined up behind you.

The enjoyment of human life, human freedoms, civil rights, traditional customs and social relations, journalistic rights, and political freedoms have been irretrievably lost.

I got out of prison. When I got out, I was still in prison. There's only one difference between a big prison and a small prison.

We should not be afraid of Insein, Putao, Khanti, Kaingtung, or Kawthaung. We should only be afraid of the entire country being imprisoned. The weapon that will lead to the nationwide prison war is the fear of imprisonment. The fear of imprisonment is the weapon that resists the evil dictatorship.

I hold that weapon. I hold it. I am not afraid of small prisons at all, I am striving to break the big prison. I am fighting.

I am walking towards the end of my life, a stone of thought, a stone of intellect, and a stone of weightlessness.

As a human being who has been released from the prison of hell, I have been walking barefoot and bare-handed on the path of life. But the fire that burns in my head, mind, and heart has not broken. With this fire, I am gritting my teeth and walking the last long journey before death. With this fire, I will continue to bear the burden of the times. With this fire, I will continue to walk the path of the times.

The great Thakin Thein Pe, a veteran politician, often said that the old man is not strong enough, but rather that the old man is no longer strong enough.

Yes. I am old. I am not strong. But I will not lose my pride. I will not lose my pride, I will not lose my strength. I will not lose my mind. I will serve the times with the measure of my strength. I will serve the world. I will humbly carry out the responsibilities of the organization and society.

I know it's a cigarette, like in the poem by the great poet Tin Moe. I know it's dark. But I still can't bring myself to say, "Please send me back."

I will play on the field whether I like it or not. I think I still have a responsibility to play.

The roots are growing, the trunk is growing, the poisonous tree of authoritarianism is being stripped of its leaves, cut off its branches, and reduced to a stump. I think we still have a responsibility to do those things.