Breast Purgatory: the Elegy of Contemporary Northern Burmese Women

Xiaomeng woke up from being dragged by the iron chain, and her nose was filled with a sweet and fishy smell - outside the iron cage, the woman was pressed on the metal frame, her nipples were connected to the breast pumping hose, and her milk mixed with blood dripped down. This is not a "good job with a monthly salary of 8,000 yuan" as described by classmates, but a living hell deep in northern Myanmar. Women who resisted were cut off with a guillotine and screamed, those who could not produce milk were thrown into a black bag, and even the fetus in their belly became a bargaining chip for "qualified milk sources". When her former classmate laughed ferociously outside the iron gate, when "Big A"'s greasy fingers scratched her cheek, her fear finally exploded when she saw the baby boy being discarded like garbage. She clutched the broken glass that had been stuffed in the red plum, and the moment she looked at Atui, the silent despair in the iron cage began to rust and become hot. Outside the factory, Lily's hacked social account flashed its location, the transaction records photographed by Zhen Ting contained transportation routes, and the missing person notices scattered by her parents in the rain were being picked up by a hand wearing a mask. When the door of the international press conference was knocked open, the evidence Xiaomeng held high and the footsteps of the bodyguards sounded at the same time. This resistance paved with flesh and blood had just opened the first crack in the crime.