Born in Palaw Town in southern Burma (which borders Thailand, Laos, India,
Bangladesh, and China), Han Lin (Burmese don’t use first and last names; Han
Lin is his full name) was the eldest of six children.

He was only eight when the young republic of Burma was overtaken in a coup. Ever since, the country has been under the control of brutal military regimes.
Han Lin taught middle school math and was a village leader, teaching about
democracy and daringly speaking against the regime. He married Htay Htay
Yee, also a teacher, in 1973. Their first five children were born in
Burma—Ne Lin Tun, their eldest son, was born in 1975, second son Aung Phyo
in 1977, daughter May Lin in 1981, son Tayza in 1983, and son Thuya in 1985.

Han Lin led his village in the 1988 countrywide peaceful populist uprising,
when millions of people demanded democracy and basic rights. They forced the
first regime to resign, but two months later the military regained power,
slaughtered people indiscriminately, and arrested many opposition leaders
including Aung San Suu Kyi. The grim date in Burmese history, August 8, 1988
(8-8-88), is commemorated yearly.

Responding to pressure, the military regime staged an election in 1990; it
lost in a landslide to Aung San Suu Kyi’s (and Han Lin’s) party. But the
regime refused to allow Aung San Suu Kyi or her fellows to take office; she
has been incarcerated for most of the years since, never allowed to take her
rightful place as the country’s elected leader, despite winning a Nobel
Peace Prize in 1991 and having millions of champions worldwide.

After 1988, Han Lin continued the fight for democracy, but faced constant
threats. In 1990, to avoid being killed or imprisoned, he was forced to
leave his wife and children, then ages 5 to 15. Through treacherous terrain
he reached hiding in the jungle near Thailand, some 100 miles from his home.

Two years later, after constant worry and frequent harassment by military
thugs, Htay Htay Yee and the children made their way to Han Lin and his
fellow exiles.
The family lived in the jungle for six years. Htay Htay Yee gave birth to
their sixth child, Thu Yein, now 16, there. In 1996 the family moved into a
refugee camp in Thailand, where they stayed a year before coming to Ithaca
in 1997.

In 1999 Han Lin began working as a facilities attendant at Ithaca College,
where three of his children received their education (Thuya is a senior this
year); son Aung still works there. Han Lin worked at IC until December 2006.

In 2004, 2005, and 2006 he led peaceful demonstrations in Washington, D.C.,
asking U.S. and world leaders to intervene in Burma. The campaigns included
long marches to U.N. headquarters in New York, where he and his colleagues
met with leaders and diplomats from many nations to negotiate for action on
Burma, and staged hunger strikes to draw attention to Burma’s plight.

Han Lin’s group grew into the International Campaign for Freedom of Aung San
Suu Kyi (ICFAB) <http://www.icfab.org>, formed with the help of Ithaca
humanitarian Maura Stephens. In 2005 the group inspired Ithaca Common
Council to pass the country’s first city resolution declaring August 8 to be
in perpetuity Burmese Democracy Day, to show Ithacans’ commitment to helping
make democracy in Burma a reality; more than 100 Burmese families now live
in Ithaca.

A wise, visionary, and famously determined leader, Han Lin was known
throughout the exile Burmese communities in Asia, the United States, Europe,
and the Pacific for his courage and unwavering dedication to helping his
compatriots. He spent countless hours strategizing via teleconference and in
person with other veteran leaders of the 8-8-88 Burmese people’s movement to
stir the people and leaders of the world to do as Burmese democracy leader
Aung San Suu Kyi asked: “Please use your freedom to promote ours.”

Han Lin was diagnosed with late-stage cancer in January 2007. Like everything,
he faced it with bravery and strength. Although it ultimately defeated his
body, it could not touch his indomitable spirit, which will live on in his
comrades, friends, and mostly in his family, who meant the world to him.

Han Lin leaves his wife, Htay Htay Yee, their children, Ne Lin Tun of
Indiana and Aung Phyo, May, Tayza, Thuya, and Thu Yein of Ithaca; his
brother Min Aung of Amarillo, Texas, and three brothers and a sister in
Burma; daughter-in-law Wai Wai, and many dear friends and fellow activists.

Friends suggest making donations to help the family. Checks can be made out
to Htay Htay Yee and brought to calling hours or mailed c/o Maura Stephens,
PO Box 403, Spencer, NY 14883.

The family invites friends, colleagues, and all who wish to pay respects to
attend calling hours with Buddhist prayers from 12:30 to 2:30 p.m. on Sunday
September 28 at Bangs Funeral Home, 209 W. Green St, Ithaca, New York
(between Geneva and Albany Streets); 607-272-1922. Everyone is also invited
to a celebration of Han Lin’s life right afterword, from 3:00 to 5:00 p.m.
at the Women’s Community Building, corner of Cayuga and Seneca Streets.

Everyday we break up into groups. Some film, some teach, and some play soccer after school lets out. We are all still adjusting to the camp schedule (and the heat). We wake up around 6:30-7:00, eat by 8:00, and begin teaching around noon. We are each given a grade level and then head to the building for class.

This time, we are a little more prepared, because of the time we spent teaching in Mae Sot. We help them practice their English (which was one of the areas they were most eager to participate), we go over numbers, and teach them songs.

Some classes are very shy, giggling, and getting embarrassed when called on to give the answer. Other classes are energetic and even so bold as to tell one of us that they can go have a recess and play frisbee (instead of having a lesson). Students are all the same no matter what country you teach in. Kids are kids.

Our first few minutes at the camp and we were met with such warmth and welcome from everyone. I think we were all a little shocked to see how many students came down to help carry our bags up the hill for us. The kindness extended to us on that day was repeated over and over during our entire stay at the Mae La Oon Refugee Camp.

It’s 6 in the morning. The sun is rising slowly and we’re still trying to shake the sleep out.

There are 15 of us packed tight into 3 trucks. We settle in against our luggage, in the bed of the trucks, and get ready for a long, bumpy ride.

It’s a 4-5 hour ride up the mountain from Mae Sariang to the Mae La Oon Refugee Camp. Thankfully the weather has cooperated with us and we don’t see any rain.

We rode up the mountain through mud, over rocks, around bends, and through small villages. It didn’t set in for a while that we were actually doing this. We were actually traveling through the jungle to go to the Refugee camp. We were actually passing by small villages, actually seeing over the cliff and down into the valleys of rice fields.

It was a very surreal experience. But, the soreness we felt after the first 2 hours quickly brought us back to reality.

The Refugee Camp is only a couple of hours away and we all are anxious to get there. 

Then we dive into our “lesson” - a quickly improvised version of what we saw on Sesame Street growing up. Teaching kids English at two Refugee Schools in Mae Sot was more difficult than it seems, especially when a language barrier is present. But, in the end, I believe that the language problem didn’t matter in the least bit.

As teachers for the day, we hope that they remember the numbers 1 through 20, and the ABC’s, and short expressions. We hope they can wake up tomorrow and remember how to spell “cat” and “shirt” and “jump.” We hope they remember the words to “If you’re happy and you know it.”

But, in the end I think the experience they had learning from us and the experience we had teaching them was far more important than o-r-a-n-g-e spells orange.

Visiting the headquarters of Assistance Association for Political Prisoners - Burma (AAPP), we heard from two people who were released from jails in Burma. Their experience in jail was far different than those of regular criminals.

They told us of the harsh treatment and punishments they received as political prisoners. They are subject to harsh conditions - little food, poor medical care, physical torture, small and dirty living space. They were denied their rights as human beings and denied their rights to see their families. Often times their trials would last for a couple of minutes and then they would be sent right back to prison.

These people endured all of this because they believe so strongly that Burma should be free. AAPP devotes itself to releasing Burma’s political prisoners and their energy to their goal is amazing.

Passing by the children’s section, a little boy came out onto the step, smiling shyly at us. The flip screen on the video camera was turned around so he could see himself. He laughed, moving in closer to look at his face on the screen.

A few moments later, a woman came out from the building and smiled at us. Without a word, she sat down and pulled the little boy close to her as she turned him around so his back faced us. She looked up at us silently as she pulled his shirt up to his neck.

The boy’s legs and buttocks were covered in bruises and huge scars ran across his shoulder and back. The boy couldn’t have been more than 4 years old. He wriggled a little and tried to move away, but she held him there gently.

The woman looked at each of us with a quiet calm in her eyes. A quiet plea to do what we could to help.

A lot of us felt awkward and out of place when we first got to the Refugee Hospital. We felt we couldn’t take pictures or film.

But this woman made it very clear to us that they understood why we were there, all without a word.

Today, I took a walk down a road towards Mae Sot with sounds echoing chirping birds, motorcycles, and a cool breeze. Along that road I shook hands with a young child shining with joy. It was wonderful to share this exchange even though there was a cultural and generational gap between us.

The youth carry so much potential inside their hearts and developing minds. My hope with this episode, Honoring Home, is that we can inspire opportunities that help every child beyond the limitless imagination.

Thank you all for your support with this film, I will do my best to bring these dreams into a reality.

By Jeffrey Karl Hellman

But in the back of our minds is the reality that in a few short days we will start the real journey of this trip. The main reason we all came. And we can only hope that what we film in the upcoming days will help to inform those who are unaware of the situation of refugees from Burma.

Around 9:30 pm, we pulled up to the outside of a fan factory. The building was small, looking like nothing more than a small shop from the outside.

We viewed the inside of the factory and noticed there were only three men working. We were told that just yesterday Immigration had seized two men and they were now being held before they would most likely be deported back to their homes.

After we filmed the main floor of the factory, we wanted to see the room above that four men shared on a rotating basis. Our guide was apprehensive at first. He knew that his boss didn’t keep the building up to code and was afraid that if we went up there and saw the room, his boss would get in trouble.

To hear that this man, who works under these conditions, was still concerned for his boss and didn’t want him to get in trouble was amazing. The normal response would be that someone wouldn’t care if they got their boss in trouble.

But the people here really are different, in that they truly don’t care about their situation, since they are able to send money back to their families every month. They truly are concerned for their bosses. Their attitude and moral stances are the strongest I have seen in people.

He eventually agreed to let us see his room. We climbed up steep steps that were spaced very far apart. As we climbed, we had to duck under wires that ran across the walls. A small landing, no more than 3 feet in length was the only place to stand. The room was only as big as some people’s closets and had no windows. Two men use this room for a shift and then when they have to work, the other two come up to rest. They are constantly surrounded by the noise of the machines and the smell of the plastic.

Our guide led us back outside and as we prepared to film the street we looked up at the skyline behind the factory building. Rows of apartment buildings stood tall, the comfortable apartment rooms illuminated by the lights. We stared at the contrast, taking pictures to try and capture what we saw.