Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How

Introducing tales of strength and hope

A few years ago, I was grabbing a coffee with a friend from Myanmar who’d fled his home country after the 2021 coup. 

The military junta had overthrown the democratically elected government and ruthlessly crushed dissent as protests spread. My friend told horror stories of how protestors, activists and journalists — many of whom he knew personally — were shot dead in the streets, detained in nightmarish conditions or forced into exile. 

Our conversation eventually moved on to Singapore, where I’d been living on-and-off since 2014, and how activists there were routinely targeted by state harassment. The contrast was clear: the extremity of the violence in Myanmar compared to the less overt techniques utilised by the Singaporean authorities, such as police investigations or threats of legal action. 

As he listened to me detailing ways the ruling party in Singapore had been targeting those challenging the status quo, my friend slowly shook his head.

“Ergh,” he sighed, “these cunts are all the same”. 

Working for change

If you live in Southeast Asia then you’ll probably know how common it is to hear about instances of state oppression. 

“ANTI-JUNTA PROTESTORS SHOT DEAD IN MYANMAR”

“SINGAPOREAN BLOGGER SUED FOR DEFAMATION”

“OPPOSITION POLITICIAN JAILED IN CAMBODIA”

You might be familiar with headlines like these, which flash across news channels and websites, and reports that give you the gist of the story — the activists’ names, what they’ve done and what they’re accused of (often two different things), and what’s happened to them.

What you often don’t get much of an idea about is who these people who’ve been thrust under the spotlight really are. Why do they put themselves at risk to work for change? What drives them and keeps them going, despite all the odds? What are their worries or fears? How hopeful are they for the causes they champion, and for the future?

I’m hardly the first to note that it’s a dark time in the world right now. We’re watching a global rise of authoritarianism movements, and civil liberties and fundamental freedoms are coming under increasing threat. At the same time, mainstream media outlets, which are ostensibly meant to hold the powerful to account, are repeatedly proving themselves to be ill-equipped to deal with anti-democratic forces — or becoming actively complicit in the state’s consolidation of power. 

It’s scary, it’s not fun, and often utterly disheartening to see authoritarianism strengthening in already anti-democratic states, or becoming the norm in countries that previously touted democracy as the heart of their politics. It’s all too easy to feel overwhelmed by despair and hopelessness, to feel as if we won’t survive the murky waves crashing over us.

In times like these, it’s important to remember that we’re not alone. Yes, there have been many bleak developments, but there are also many people who’ve been working hard to hold the line, defending rights and fighting for justice even in the most hostile environments.

This is what Currents, a newsletter and podcast series, wants to shine a light on: the experiences and perspectives of the people working for change on the ground.

You live and learn

My interest in individual, human experiences of civil resistance comes from a personal place. I’m familiar with how freedoms once taken for granted can disappear, and how much of a difference it makes when they’re gone. I get how it feels to live as if these terrible things are all happening somewhere else… right up until the moment you’re confronted with them.

I moved to Singapore in 2014, planning to establish a career in journalism. Things didn’t work out the way I’d hoped. Instead, with a spouse active in the local anti-death penalty movement in a staunchly retentionist state, I found myself with a front-row seat to state oppression.

I’d say I knew what I was getting into before I arrived, but there’s a world of difference between knowing something and understanding it. Before moving to Singapore I knew that my wife’s activism, which challenged ruling party narratives and policies, was likely to attract state harassment. But it was only after living it that I fully understood how authoritarianism could force its way into one’s home and affect one’s family. It’s ‘interesting’ to grab a pint in a bar somewhere to try and get away from the latest shit-show only to see images your wife and her colleagues pop up on a TV screen in a corner of the room, while a news report details the latest bollocking they’re getting from representatives of the ruling party.

I’ve since lived and worked in several countries in Southeast Asia, where there are constant examples of activists targeted and persecuted by state institutions, whether through censorship, violence or prolonged harassment. (I was also ‘lucky’ enough to get a pretty good ribbing from them boys at Singapore’s Ministry of Manpower myself — the opening of the investigation coinciding with the announcement of a short film I’d made about a Singaporean independent news website critical of the government.)

I’ve seen the toll that activism takes on the people who step forward in harsh environments. Places and situations might differ but there’s often a lot of overlap: constant pressure, exhausting labour, unbearable stress.

But I’ve also seen the strength, courage, humour and resolve needed to navigate these minefields. The individuals who take a stand aren’t superhuman: they’re just ordinary people doing what they can to make the world a better place. What stands out to me most is the stamina required to keep going despite everything. I’m amazed and fascinated by how these activists keep rolling with the punches for years on end.

Currents will feature in-depth interviews, essays, commentaries and roundups of human rights-related developments in Southeast Asia. It will go beyond attention-grabbing headlines, delve deeper into communities of action and bear witness to solidarity and strength. The stories I’ll be telling will show us all that no one is too small or too powerless to step up and live by our most cherished principles.

Here’s where you come in

Now we reach the point where I have to break out the collection tray and remind you how important your support is. It’s an old song you’ve probably heard dozens of times (and not one that I’m fond of singing), but that doesn’t make its meaning any less true.

At a time when legacy media groups are chronically failing — both ideologically and often financially — it falls on independent journalists to pick up the baton. The paradox is that the times and places where journalism is most difficult to do are also when it’s needed the most. So, y’know, paid subscriptions, donations, suitcases full of cash, priceless family heirlooms bequeathed by wealthy dowagers — all are welcome.

In all seriousness, you’ll be helping spread important stories of hope and courage at a time when these are in short supply. You’ll be supporting independent journalism and helping to amplify the efforts of people with untold amounts of courage and resilience.

It would be an understatement to say that all support and help will be hugely appreciated.

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