In the past three weeks, Ye (37) has colored in more images of Aung San Suu Kyi than during his 19 years of tattooing.
“We love her and respect her for sacrificing so much for us,” he says, showing a photo of his latest artwork – a lifelike rendition of the deposed leader in Myanmar, with jasmine flowers, on a woman’s back. .
If supporters of the Nobel laureate were on the fence before the military coup on February 1 to get a tattoo in her honor, they are no more. Studios across the country have reported an increase in Aung San Suu Kyi ink – and some are using their profits to support the protest movement.
Aung San Suu Kyi, 75, remains in custody and is facing charges of illegal importation of walkie-talkies and violating the Myanmar Natural Disasters Act. She faces up to three years in prison, with a court hearing allegedly on March 1.
While living in Myanmar, her international reputation was irrevocably damaged when she traveled to the International Court of Justice in The Hague to defend the army against allegations that he committed genocide against the Rohingya Muslims. Some believe that she is walking a queue with the generals to preserve a young democracy – in that sense it is the fall. Others described her as a military excuse whose idea of equality falls short for persecuted minorities.
Whatever happens to the leader, she will leave a complicated legacy. But in the commercial capital Yangon in Myanmar – recently home to massive pro-democracy rallies – the picture is clearer.
“I do not even have tattoos from my parents,” said Hlaing, 32. The coup is more painful than the six hours it took to complete her tribute to Aung San Suu Kyi on February 3. “I felt wronged and oppressed, I had to get it.”
You guys, who are working on a new Aung San Suu Kyi design, have raised donations for the country’s civil disobedience movement, which aims to deprive the military of a functioning government through nationwide strikes.
“The military plans to put her in jail so she can get older, just like before,” he says. “If they had not locked her up for 15 years, our country would have been more developed, but the military knows all about it.”
Tattooing has been a part of Myanmar culture for centuries. Shan men in the Northeast have used waist-to-knee designs to symbolize virility, while elderly women in the western Chin state still display the fading tradition of face tattoos. Some believe that the right depictions can provide magical protection.
But the tattoo practice was banned during the British uprising in the 1930s and only returned to the mainstream during the political and economic reforms of 2011.
In Mandalay, tattooist Za responded to the coup by painting Aung San Suu Kyi designs for free, until February 15, when he began charging $ 3.50 (£ 2.50). So far, he has completed about 70 and all the money raised has been discontinued to government officials and others who oppose the junta, he said.
“Just yesterday, I spent the whole time on her tattoos,” he says. “More people are getting it, and it has enabled us to support the movement.”
While getting their tattoos, most customers enjoy chatting about the coup and gossiping about those who do not join the civil disobedience movement.
“The conversations never end,” he says.
Tin, a professional fighter, snuck into a visit to a Yangon tattoo studio between workouts of Lethwei, an ancient sport. He does not care so much about the leader’s party, the National League for Democracy. Only for the woman who lovingly calls the country ‘Mother Suu’.
“I got it to express my faith in her and my support for her,” he says. “I do not care if it gets me in trouble one day.”