© 2024 Nita Tin. Heartbeat of a Survivor: From Golden Pagodas to a Soul Set Free. All rights reserved. Published by Heartbeat of a Survivor, LLC. Used with permission.

“Your passports have been stamped by the American Consulate for entry into the US, but you will have to sign these papers before they are released to you. Leaving is an act of treason.”

My husband picked up the papers the security officer left on the table. “Just look at this! It says that we are admitting to being traitors to our country. We cannot sign this.”

I motioned to the tiny microphone on the desk. Our freedom of speech was gone, and anything we said that was contrary to the socialist republic was punishable. We were so close to the brink of getting to leave. I put my trembling hand on his. “We must sign the papers. This is the only way.”

Ten minutes later, the security officer strode in. He took the papers and laid the four passports and the departure and permission forms on the table. “You are allowed to take twenty dollars out of the country,” he said mechanically. “The departure forms and the permission forms will be stamped by the bank executive when you have paid the required amount. The bank is closing at 4 p.m. You have fifteen minutes. Go to the one down this corridor. If you don’t make it to the bank executive in time, you will have to return in the morning.”

Panic seized us. It was 3:45 p.m. The airline tickets we had rebooked were cleared for 7 p.m. that night.

“Hurry, Darling. We have no time to lose.” With the departure forms, permission forms, and four stamped passports in hand, we rushed over to the government bank to pay the five years’ tax, the twenty thousand kyat fine, and the equivalent of twenty dollars.

The bank executive was a longtime friend of the family and my husband’s classmate. He received the items, and in turn, he handed Pe a twenty-dollar bill without a smile. “This is what you are allowed to leave the country with.” He stamped the government seal on the departure and permission forms, put them in an envelope, and gave it to Pe without looking at either of us. He was also being watched.

We sped hurriedly across the quadrangle where we had left my husband’s jeep. Our small luggage had been packed for immediate departure. Our children were at my parents’ house and would be ready and waiting for us to pick them up.

As we drove out of the parking lot, I took a deep breath. “Darling, I’m just now trying to wrap my head around the finality of leaving our beloved country, but now that it is ruled by the military dictator, our decision is for the best.” I hesitated. “You do think so, don’t you?”

He turned his oh-so-dear and familiar face to me but didn’t answer.

[…]

At security, the children and I passed through, but Pe was being detained. He was being questioned heavily. Although I couldn’t understand the precise words, I did hear his brother’s name mentioned. Then, more photographs were taken, and another confession had to be signed. They searched Pe’s whole body, from head to toe, as I watched transfixed. I felt as though I had stopped breathing as I stood waiting resolutely with my children.

When I finally saw the hand that waved him through, I heaved a sigh of relief. Pe quietly joined us on the other side of the security barricade and softly held my arm.

As he quickly bent down to hug all three of us, our five-year-old son whispered, “Are they going to let us go?”

Excerpt from Chapter 1, Heartbeat of a Survivor