ASIA THROUGH A DIFFERENT LENS: When art fuels resistance

For four years, Myanmar has been engulfed in an unprecedented civil war, with the vast majority of the population opposing the military regime. At the heart of this conflict, artists were among the first to condemn the coup d’état of 1 February 2021 and to call for resistance. Painters, illustrators and poets have stood at the forefront of the civil disobedience movement, becoming the driving force behind the revolution. As a result, many have fled into exile to protect themselves and their families.

Text: Antoine BESSON / Illustrations: Wooh & Thoe HTEIN

WOOH, “A voice through art”

“My family has always stood against the regime,” says the illustrator from the modest room he now calls home in Lyon. He fled Myanmar after threats were made against him and his loved ones — yet even in exile, he continues to challenge a junta he never believed would loosen its grip.

“Life seemed to improve when the country opened up in 2011, but no one really believed the military would ever truly loosen its grip,” says the man, now nearing fifty, with a dry, knowing smile. Military repression has been woven through Wooh’s life. He was raised in a household where opposition to the regime was deeply rooted — his father quietly backed dissent, and his uncle was an active member of the National League for Democracy. From an early age, he learnt that speaking out carried risks, but silence was never an option.

Barely an adult and an engineering student, he first faced the regime’s brutality during student protests. “Students were always at the forefront. We were the first to take the blows from the security forces!” Back then, engineering students rallied others and held their ground no matter the violence. “Every blow only strengthened our resolve, fuelling our determination.”

The harsh reality of authoritarian rule struck the young idealists hard and fast. “Almost every one of my friends was arrested and thrown into political detention. Most never came out alive.” Wooh endured arrest and six weeks of torture himself. Released but repeatedly summoned back, he hid in an attic for four years—from 1998 to 2002—and abandoned his studies to avoid his torturers.

A purge within the Tatmadaw gave him the push to leave his hiding place — hoping the charges against him had been dropped. “I had to relearn everything — even how to walk,” he recalls, remembering his 25th birthday cramped in that tiny attic where he could barely stand. When he was younger, Wooh dreamed of making films, playing music, or acting. He definitely had a creative streak. He finally embraced drawing as his path after stepping out of hiding.

“I only really discovered drawing at 18.” He landed a job at Mr Blue, a Korean comic and animation studio. There, his passion soared. He met his wife, Yuzana, created over 300 comics, and kept his rebellious streak alive. “My projects tell true stories of people who inspire me.”

His first graphic novel, published in Myanmar, tells the story of an artist caught up in the 1988 uprising — when student protests propelled Aung San Suu Kyi to become the symbol of Burma’s fight for freedom. The story is personal and raw. As he recalls those times, Wooh’s gaze drifts behind his rimmed glasses. “My heart and mind remain in Myanmar,” he says, while trying to sell his art to support the revolution — a struggle in itself. Wooh and his wife joined the civil disobedience protests in Yangon in 2021, after the Tatmadaw seized power and overturned the 2020 election that gave the NLD control of Parliament.

“We never believed the calm would last,” says the artist, known for his powerful protest posters. “Once people began disappearing or being arrested, we knew we were next.” Ending up in France was no accident. “France is where art lives. I knew it was the one place I could keep pushing my political work and stand with those still risking everything back home.” From his desk, he draws to raise awareness and fund the resistance.

Two projects say it all. He is making an animated documentary with Arte about a Burmese artist caught in conflict — and selling his paintings to fund the resistance. “Last week, I sold a large canvas in the US for 12,000 dollars. That money goes straight to the fight.” Even far from bombs and fear, Wooh’s mind is fixed on home. Every stroke he makes draws him closer to the country he longs to return to.

“Nearly all my friends were hauled off to political prisons. Most never came out alive.”

THOE HTEIN, “Art as a weapon for freedom”

A bleak winter’s day in the suburbs of Paris. Rain beats down, cold and unyielding. Thoe Htein makes his way through the pouring rain to his flat, wearing only flip-flops. He shares a cramped space with his wife and two children: two rooms — one bedroom and a windowless cubbyhole where a single table doubles as both kitchen and desk. This is where he works — perched on a chair he found abandoned and restored. “That chair says a lot about where I am now,” he explains. “It was broken, abandoned, in need of care — and so was I, in a way. But it served a purpose. It got me drawing again, painting again — creating again.”

It is no coincidence. Thoe Htein often paints himself, laying bare his emotional struggles. From the moment you meet him, there is a quiet intensity — an urge to give voice to what lies beneath. With long, greying sideburns, he once worked as a graphic designer under the military regime. Like many artists in Myanmar, Thoe Htein grew up under censorship and tight controls on freedom of expression, imposed by the Tatmadaw — the military arm of the country’s authoritarian regime.

He only started sharing his work once censorship began to ease in 2011. “What was the point in showing my art if it could not speak freely?” he says. But freedom, as he would learn, came at a price. As a child, his father would not let him attend art school. He still resents that decision, believing it stemmed from his parents’ fear of the government. “Art means freedom to me. I need that freedom, even if it means leaving my country.”

Leaving his country in order to serve it better — that is the choice the painter made. It is at the core of his work and reflected in the artist’s chosen name: Thoe Htein, meaning ‘shepherd’. “A shepherd looks after the flock. I liked the idea of caring through art right from the start.”

But to care also means to expose injustice and stand by the truth. It drives the artist to stand up for his beliefs and speak honestly. “Critical thinking has always scared the military,” he says.

When the coup struck on 1 February 2021, Thoe Htein stepped forward. He sketched, made posters, and threw himself into the fight. As arrests started, he painted all the more, selling his work to send money to friends locked away. “I was nine during the 1988 student uprising. I saw oppression, death, cruelty. It filled me with anger. It became clear then that I must do everything to stop the Tatmadaw from holding on to power.”

Before long, he drew unwanted attention, and exile became his only way out. Leaving his family behind was a harsh sacrifice. They had to wait over a year and a half to be reunited. During that time, the artist faced loneliness and fear. He felt broken, much like the chair he drew again and again. “It became painfully clear my country had closed its doors on me.”

“And yet, little by little, things began to improve. ‘When I was finally reunited with my family, it felt like a great weight was lifted,’ says Thoe Htein. ‘I realised I needed to find my footing again — to rebuild a life where my art could take root. Art gives me the strength to keep standing up for my country.’” He fights with his art and story, standing tall and alive, holding on to the hope of returning home. “Art will spark our people’s freedom — a tool to awaken minds and break oppression.”