My father is a prisoner because he served his people. Before the coup he was the elected Chief Minister of Shan State. To me he was the man who once had nightmares because he feared he might have taken a friend’s cheap pen by mistake, and the first thing he would do was return it. He taught me to place humility and modesty ahead of ego and pride. He believed that a strong conscience was the greatest gift a father could give his children. He read his books slowly and with thought, he listened to the radio every day, and he reminded us that dignity was not negotiable. He never traveled the world, yet he knew more about it than many who have. Because we were poor and he had to take care of us, he gave up the dream of the master’s degree he wanted. For me, he is the wisest person I have known.
Since the first day of the coup in 2021 the junta has tried to erase him. They abducted him, locked him away, denied him medical care, and left his body to weaken in a cell. The man who once stood tall now limps. His voice has grown thin. His weight has dropped. In four years our family was allowed only 15 minutes of visitation. In that brief moment we saw the quiet violence of slow destruction. They punish him not for any crime but because he refuses to bow his head to tyranny.
The United Nations Working Group on Arbitrary Detention has now confirmed what we already knew. His imprisonment is arbitrary and unlawful. And it is not only my father’s suffering. It is part of a machinery that devours our country. Since the coup more than 29,000 people have been arrested. Over 7,000 have been killed. 871 of them were children. 1,762 were women. These numbers are conservative. The true toll is far higher. Behind every number is a family like mine, cut open and left bleeding.
And yet the generals of Myanmar survive because the world allows it. Every delay, every diplomatic calculation, every neutral statement is read by them as permission. The crime is not only theirs. It spreads to those who watch and wait.
I demand his release. I demand the release of all political prisoners. I demand that governments cut the weapons, the money, the recognition that keeps this junta alive. Stop pretending they are a government. They are hostage-takers in uniform.
For me this is not politics. It is the memory of my father’s steady hand on my shoulder. It is the hope that I will hear his voice again outside prison walls. For Myanmar it is the chance to break free from a nightmare that has already taken too many lives.
If the world lets him die in that cell, the shame will not end with my family. It will belong to every leader, every institution, every person who had the power to act and chose not to.
I will not stop until he and the rest of the political prisoners are free. And I ask you not to stop either.