COMMENT | The first thing that struck me in Cox’s Bazar was the air, thick with dust, tinged with the faint smell of smoke from cooking fires that never quite hide the hunger.

Children ran barefoot through narrow alleys of bamboo and tarpaulin, their laughter brittle, their eyes already older than their years.

I stopped more than once, unsure whether I was intruding on resilience or bearing witness to despair.

In every face, I saw a question that lingers still: “How long must we wait for the world to see us?”

Myanmar’s cruelty continues to metastasise.

A new conscription law now demands that...