Noor Azizah is a Rohingya refugee and a survivor of genocide. Drawing from her lived experience, she advocates for the human rights of the Rohingya people. She has bravely shared her story to help others understand the ongoing persecution they face. The Myanmar Campaign Network and Union Aid Abroad–APHEDA continue to support the freedom of all people in Myanmar, including the Rohingya.
Noor will give the keynote speech at our Global Solidarity Dinner in Melbourne on June 13. Get your tickets here.
I acknowledge the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation, the traditional custodians of this land, and pay my respects to their elders past, present, and emerging. As a Rohingya woman, I am deeply grateful for the safety this land has provided my family and me. Our struggles for justice, land, and recognition are deeply connected, and I stand in solidarity with the Gadigal people and all First Nations communities.
More than 144 lives have been confirmed lost, and countless others are suffering in the wake of yesterday’s devastating 7.7 earthquake in Burma. My heart aches for the victims, their families, and everyone grappling with this unimaginable tragedy. This is more than just a natural disaster—it is yet another cruel reminder of the systemic neglect, oppression, and injustice our people endure. How many more lives must be lost before the world pays attention? The people of Burma deserve more than just survival; they deserve safety, dignity, and a future where their lives are valued.
My name is Noor Azizah, and I am a proud Rohingya woman from Arakan, Burma/Myanmar. I was born in 1995 during a time when the Rohingya people were enduring relentless waves of violence in our ancestral homeland. My family’s story is one of survival, shared by countless Rohingya families. Forced to flee due to military persecution, my parents carried us—two elder sisters, two elder brothers, and myself—through jungles, seas, and unimaginable hardships, driven only by the hope of safety.
We fled Arakan because staying meant death. My parents, like thousands of others, faced a brutal choice: endure escalating violence or risk everything to give their children a chance at life. We endured hunger, hid in forests, clung to the sides of overcrowded boats, and relied on the kindness of strangers to survive. These experiences are not unique to me; they are shared by every Rohingya who has been forced to flee. We do not leave because we want to—we leave because we must.
For eight and a half years, my family lived in Sabah, Malaysia, in what we thought would be a safe haven. But it became a prison of fear. My siblings and I lost our childhoods as we hid our Rohingya identity to avoid arrest or deportation. I vividly remember police raids and the terror of being caught. My brother, Azeem, drilled holes in a wardrobe to create a hiding spot for our mother during these raids, while I often hid in the jungles of Sabah. These memories are scars, reminders of how far we will go to protect the people we love.
In 2003, the Australian government granted my family asylum. For the first time, we experienced freedom and the right to live without fear. Yet, even as I stand here today, my people remain trapped in cycles of genocide, displacement, and death. The Rohingya continue to suffer as the most persecuted and largest stateless communities in the world.
The atrocities against the Rohingya did not end when I fled. In 2017, over 700,000 Rohingya were forced to flee to Bangladesh due to the military’s genocidal “clearance operations.” These operations were pre-planned, involving mass killings, rape, arson, and torture. More than 24,000 Rohingya were killed, and countless others endured unspeakable acts of violence. The military
disarmed Rohingya families before the attacks, leaving them defenseless against their executioners. This genocide was not an accident—it was planned, deliberate, and systematic.
Fast forward to 2024, and the situation has only worsened. On May 17, gunmen demanded that Rohingya families in Buthidaung, Arakan, evacuate their homes. By May 18, videos of my mother’s village being burned to the ground circulated among us. That evening, my mother called to tell me that her nephew believed it would be the last time they ever spoke. The junta, now with limited media coverage and communication restrictions, has ramped up its final killings.
The Rohingya are now facing a dual threat: the Burmese military junta and the Rakhine Army. Both have targeted us for annihilation. Over 45,000 Rohingya have fled to Bangladesh, and 200,000 more have been internally displaced within Burma/Myanmar. This new wave of violence has left us in a constant state of displacement, with thousands seeking refuge in neighboring countries like Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand—and now Sri Lanka.
This is why we flee. This is why you see us arriving on your shores in rickety boats and battered bodies. We are not running to seek better lives; we are running from death.
As we reflect on this reality, it becomes even more vital to acknowledge the longstanding damage caused by decades of exclusion and denial. The Rohingya have endured systematic erasure, and as we push forward, we must reckon with this painful history to repair the harm done. Some may argue that prioritizing the Rohingya cause could seem unjust, just as some may feel threatened when we speak of women’s rights, fearing their own issues are overlooked. They may not fully comprehend the anguish of being silenced, of having your existence dismissed by the very system that is meant to protect you. But it is precisely this collective struggle that presents an opportunity—an opportunity to reconcile, rebuild trust, and foster lasting change.
In this movement for justice, even the simple utterance of the word “Rohingya” becomes a revolutionary act, akin to the 3-finger salute—a powerful declaration of resistance, visibility, and resilience. We must champion more media, films, and journalistic works that humanize the Rohingya, that challenge the narrative of othering, and that open hearts and minds to the reality that we, too, are human beings deserving of empathy and dignity. This is a vital part of the revolution, one that will ensure the Rohingya, and all marginalized communities, can reclaim their stories and ensure their history is not erased. It is a revolution rooted in truth-telling, remembrance, and hope for a future where humanity truly sees each other.
Our past cannot be forgotten; we must hold on to it, not as a burden, but as a reminder of the dangers of collective amnesia. The genocide of the Rohingya was not an isolated event—it was part of a broader pattern of systematic denial that allowed the Burmese military to carry out atrocities against many other ethnic communities, especially after the coup in 2021. This is why it is so imperative to speak truth to power. It is why we must protect all civilians from these acts of cruelty—whether they are in Chin, Kachin, Shan, Sagaing, Mandalay, or Magwe. We must not
only speak out for the Rohingya but also stand for all communities in Burma that suffer under the same oppressive forces. The pain of one is the pain of all.
In Arakan (Rakhine), we stand at a critical juncture. We must urge the Arakan Army, which claims to represent the people, to rise above the political fray, adhere to international laws, and prove their legitimacy by protecting all communities. This is a chance to demonstrate that there is a better way forward, that there is more to their struggle than just opposition to the junta. We do not support the military junta, nor do we support ARSA, or anyone who harms the Rohingya—men, women, children, and non-binary people alike. Our stand is one of dignity, justice, and human rights for all.
This is not just a political struggle—it is a fight for survival, a fight for the right to exist with dignity. It is a fight to show the world that the Rohingya, our persecuted brothers and sisters from ethnic groups such as the Kachin, Karen, Shan, Chin, Mon, Rakhine, and all marginalized communities in Burma, are entitled to their place in history, to their voices, to their humanity. We are fighting for a future where all ethnic groups in Burma, including the Rohingya, can live free from fear, oppression, and violence. Let us unite and ensure that the world hears us—that no more families have to flee, that no more lives are shattered by hatred and violence. Let us honor those who have suffered, those who have been lost, and those still fighting for a future of peace, justice, and freedom. We will not forget them.
This is why events like the Peacock Film Festival are important. Films, art, and stories are some of the ways we can ensure that the truth endures. That we do not forget. We cannot afford to.
Thank you.