The Myanmar I grew up in during the 1990s was a very different place than it is now. As a child, I was forced to endure the daily psychological warfare inflicted on us by the military junta, which dictated every aspect of our lives—from education to personal safety, sexual and reproductive health and our womanhood. The authoritarian, religious and traditional norms left women like me and my mother defenceless and vulnerable to violence in many forms.

Today, protests in Myanmar are spearheaded by female protesters from all walks of life, wielding feminism as a weapon. ‘When I ran for a seat in parliament last year, the male candidate running against me would mock my male supporters by saying “Why are you hiding under a woman’s skirt? Aren’t you ashamed?” These days, a lot of people are happy to see women and youth protesting. They’re showing support for us, and there seems to be a gradual change in attitude towards female participation in politics,’ said Ei Thinzar Maung, a former political prisoner and prominent activist who has been leading daily protests.

In the past ten years of quasi-democracy, women’s civil society groups have helped to move the needle on gender equality in Myanmar. They launched the National Strategic Action Plan for the Advancement of Women in 2013 and contributed significantly to ongoing efforts to improve the Prevention of Violence Against Women bill. However, recent death tolls from violent crackdowns have shown that, despite gender-progressive policies in Myanmar, women and young girls still bear the brunt of injustice and violence.

The first casualty of the ongoing protests was twenty-year-old Mya Thwe Thwe Khaing, killed by live ammunition while protesting in Naypyidaw, Myanmar’s capital. On 3 March, nineteen-year-old Kyal Sin (aka Angel) was shot in the head on the streets of Mandalay. Angel voted for the first time in her life in the November elections, which were overturned by the military coup, and she died fighting for freedom and democracy. Rumours and reports have also been circulating among activists about sexual harassment and threats of rape against female activists detained by the police.

On 8 March, the military barricaded Sanchaung and Lan Madaw, two densely populated neighbourhoods in Yangon where hundreds of women and youth protesters were peacefully staging their htamein (sarong) movement to mark International Women’s Day. Cordoned inside the barrier for six hours, Ms Win, a social media influencer and blogger with half a million followers on Facebook, realised that her window for escape was closing. Night was fast approaching, and she feared what the military might do to her and her fellow protesters under the cover of darkness.

We spoke on the phone an hour after she managed to elude the military forces, and she told me she could hear the thunder of bullets and bombs in the barricaded areas. Minutes later, video captured groups of military men marching into the streets and slinging misogynistic insults at the remaining female protesters who had sought safety in neighbouring homes. They called them ‘sluts’ and ‘whores’—a vivid reminder that violence against girls and women is still very much a part of military culture, and a reason we must fight it.

In 2011, Win attempted to protect her mother from an abusive father, and he beat her for daring to speak back to him. When she reported the incident to police, her face obviously bloodied and swollen, they responded that it was ‘a family affair’ and refused to intervene.

Speaking of the prevalence of gender-based violence in Myanmar, Win said, ‘Imagine you live in the same house with a person who’s torturing you and hurting you physically, but you don’t know where to ask for help. That was ten years ago, but I’m sure it’s still the same. If you get beaten by your husband, father or brother, there is no law. There’s no justice for women in Myanmar.’

I, too, grew up with domestic violence. I witnessed physical and verbal abuse in my family, yet I was silenced. I didn’t know where to run for help, and the lingering feelings of helplessness drove me toward depression as an adult. The coup that began on 1 February has reminded me of the helplessness and voicelessness I felt as a girl. But I’m a woman in my thirties now, and I feel empowered by peers like Ei Thinzar Maung and Win, who are risking their lives by rallying crowds. ‘I try to remember every single face of the kids who died standing up for freedom and democracy,’ said Win. ‘I’m doing this for them. I want to make sure they didn’t give their lives for no reason.’ Like them, I am speaking out against the military coup in ways I know—lobbying Congress and President Biden to sanction military-owned businesses and their cronies.

A few years back, I asked my aunt, an educated entrepreneur, about the two washing machines in her house, and she told me about the widely believed superstition that the spiritual power of a man could be subtracted by close contact with women. She didn’t want to diminish her husband’s intelligence and emasculate him by mingling her items with his.

Now, protesters are pinning skirts and menstrual pads to clotheslines across the city in attempts to ward off soldiers from entering their neighbourhoods. Seeing these feminist weapons employed against an all-male junta gives me hope, and I’d like to believe that gender norms are changing beyond urban areas and the anti-coup demonstrations.

Maybe it’s too early to tell. Recently, Ei Thinzar Maung cautioned me that greater female representation does not always lead to equality. Though female activists have in large part become the face of Myanmar’s anti-coup movement, top leadership positions are still predominantly occupied by men. ‘One woman’s liberation does not equal liberation for all women in the country,’ she said. ‘To me, gender equality means living in a society that is free from gender-based violence and guarantees freedom and rule of law for women. And I don’t think we’re there just yet.’

• Tags: Free to read, Myanmar, Nadi Hlaing, Notebook