When God remains silent even as war or genocide rages on, when humans are in a terrible condition, we seek help, but no one can rescue us from the death of humanity. I have spent around 30 days covering the exile of Rohingya refugees from hundreds of kilometres away, barefoot and clutching the hands of their loved ones, tears in their eyes and fear in their hearts, hoping to save their own lives. Many children were half-naked; they didn’t have time to get dressed, or their clothes were lost during the long journey to seek refuge in Bangladesh. I saw an older man named Ahmed, who carried his 90-year-old mother, walk endlessly under the hot sun, having lost his other family members during the attack by the Myanmar Army. Words are not enough to articulate the horrific experiences of people who have been through such devastation, when the state declares war to clean up their people, barely reserving any sympathy. However, Myanmar is a country where Buddhists are the majority. How ‘Himsa’ (injury) has led them to kill and rape many Rohingyas as an attempt at genocide and ethnic cleansing is a burning question. I have spoken to many Rohingya people, and everyone has stories of losing one or more from their families; many are raped, and the Myanmar Army has killed countless others. There are reports of women being captured for sex slavery, and many more remain missing.
It was a near impossible task for a conscious photographer to listen to the stories and take the photographs to capture the best aesthetic. It was more like documenting the true horrors of human suffering. I went to the local hospitals several times to see the victims who entered Bangladesh with injuries inflicted by the Myanmar Army when they were fleeing. Or perhaps the army just wanted to loot the belongings of these people.
