Myanmar's Karen minority: an easy t

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The Japan Times
April 22, 1998

Myanmar's Karen minority: an easy target in a borderless world

By RICHARD HUMPHRIES 
Special to The Japan Times

As children, we are taught the difference between good and evil.  Adulthood
brings ethical dilemmas that we often circumvent with cliches: "You have to
look at the big picture," we say, or "You can't make an omelet without
cracking eggs." Sometimes, though, the cracked shells are too obvious to be
ignored. Perhaps our childhood training is more appropriate in these cases.

In Myanmar and the regions surrounding it, the current political catch
phrase is "constructive engagement." The hope is that economic assistance
will nudge the authorities in Yangon into improving their appalling human
rights record. Unfortunately, the plight of the cracked shells -- which in
this case include Myanmar's Karen minority -- clouds the picture of a
brighter future.

In what has become the world's longest-running civil war, the Karen National
Union has been battling successive Myanmarese governments over the issue of
Karen autonomy since 1949. It has been a losing battle. Until recently, the
mountainous region along Myanmar's border with Thailand contained the last
Karen strongholds. Most of these have now fallen. The policy of the
Myanmarese Army toward the now unprotected Karen villagers has been one of
continuing depredation. Over 100,000 Karen have fled across the border into
Thailand, seeking a haven from both the fighting and the oppression left in
its wake. But they haven't found it, because in today's so-called borderless
world violence does not recognize frontiers.

Until the 1980s, the KNU was useful to Thailand as a buffer against Burma
(as Myanmar was then known), a country with whom it has had a history of
mutual distrust. A decline in KNU strength and the lure of Burmese trade led
to a change in Thailand's general policy toward the Karen, which is now
ambivalent. A halfhearted wish to help the refugees and a willingness to
allow them across the border are countered by a fear of offending Myanmar,
with its powerful army and its ability to dangle trade concessions.

Employing a policy of divide and conquer, Myanmar's military helped engineer
a split in the largely Christian-led KNU in December 1994, using religion as
a wedge. A dissident faction, the Democratic Karen Buddhist Army, was then
clothed, fed, and armed by the Myanmar government. The two groups are
technically allies, but there is little doubt among observers from
organizations such as Amnesty International that the DKBA is under Yangon's
control. It has been used to attack and burn the refugee camps inside
Thailand, on the somewhat bizarre assumption that these actions will force
the refugees to return. Myanmarese soldiers have participated in the assaults.

A strike at midnight

Early on March 11, 1998, one of the worst attacks occurred at Huay Kalok
refugee camp, home to 8,753 Karen, of whom 2,898 were children under 12.
Before the attack occurred, I met some of the Huay Kalok refugees in Mae
Sot, a Thai border town 8 km distant. One showed me samples of the artwork
that he and others had done as a way of coming to terms with their disrupted
lives. "We wanted to draw pictures that would emphasize the themes that are
important in our lives. They are fear, despair and hope. We have to have
hope," he said.

The morning before the attack a class was held at a small school inside Huay
Kalok. The teacher announced a new project. The students would work together
to make a comic book, drawing and writing about whatever they liked. "They
were so enthusiastic and immediately started sketching pictures of
superheroes," I was told. Real superheroes were needed that night. None were
available.

Soon after midnight, the attack took place. Later news reports varied as to
the numbers who crossed the border and assaulted the camp. Some said 70,
others more than 150. While most were DKBA Amnesty International reported
that "other information indicates that Burmese troops were involved." In
fact, some of the attackers were seen wearing Myanmarese Army insignia and
heard speaking Burmese. U.S. State Department spokesman James Rubin
condemned Myanmar's government for the raid.

The Thai Army and Border Patrol Police were supposed to protect the camp
They did not, although they were sta toned there. Many Karen believe the
Thais had advance warning of the raid. During and after the attack, a fire,
probably deliberately set, raged. Over 1,000 huts were completely destroyed.
At least
four people have now died as a result of the attack, and over 40 were
injured many with bullet wounds. Almost 9,000 people were left homeless and
afraid.

Ash and smoldering cinders

Just after 9 a.m. on March 11, I entered the camp with a doctor and some
medical students who work for an aid organization and were to make an
initial assessment of what was needed. The Thai Army was by now active and
posted
at the camp entrance. We passed them by, avoiding eye contact.

The devastation was shocking. It reminded me of old World War II photos of
Firebombed cities. Everywhere there was white ash with patches of
still-smoldering wood and cinder. A few half-burned upright wooden posts
remained here and there, giving the place a haunted look. Scattered metal
tins, which had probably contained food, and other bits of twisted metal
littered the area. Children, many in bare feet, were poking around in the
ash with sticks, looking for food or vanished possessions. Groups of Karen
women and children were huddled near the few remaining buildings, waiting
and hoping for help.

I felt queasy with a camera, almost like a voyeur, in such a sea of misery.
A Karen woman reassured me, "I hope you took many photos. Tell others what
is happening to us but please don't use our names," she said. I was to find
that even people working for non-governmental organizations didn't want
their names or their organizations names printed, such is the pervasive
fear. At one point, a group of refugees could be seen nearby, carrying a man
in a hammock tied to a large bamboo pole. He had a bullet wound in the upper
chest area. After a brief, on-the-spot examination it was decided that he
needed treatment at the Thai hospital in Mae Sot.

On the way back to the camp entrance, I was shown all that was left of the
small camp hospital -- a microscope, melted in the fire. This instrument had
been used to protect the refugees from disease. It now seemed the attackers
were also at war with health care and recognized contagion as an ally.

Our departure was interrupted by a sudden loud noise in the camp: A shell
had exploded. Everyone thought another attack was beginning and began to run
in panic, though silently. Children bolted through the ashes in zigzag
patterns. "Hurry up, this way," a voice called and several of us ran along
the dirt road leading out. It turned out that it had been only an unexploded
shell from the recent attack that the heat had finally reached. Later, I was
to see a remnant of the weaponry used the night before, a shell casing from
an M-79 grenade launcher. The M-79 is a Ramboesque weapon that has
devastating effects when used against unarmed refugees in wooden bamboo huts.

At the camp entrance, a local NGO official negotiated with a Thai soldier
about the man with the bullet wound. We were informed step by step what was
being said. I thought this curious until I was told, "I am telling you
everything I tell this soldier because as a foreigner you are a useful
witness. We need to get this man out of the camp. This soldier thinks you
are with (a well-known international aid organization) so there won't be a
problem here."

Later we found a translator who could speak to another Thai soldier and tell
us what he knew of the attack. The translator told us, "This man says that
when the DKBA came, the first place they attacked was the hospital. Then
they moved in a circular pattern, hitting zones 1, 2, 3, and 4 of the camp.
Then and this is really amazing, he admits the DKBA went right past the
place where his forces were, or were supposed to be, and hit the other zones
in the camp." Saddened and angered, I felt it was time to leave.

The attacks continue

Back in Mae Sot, relief organizations were already mobilizing to aid the
victims. I went to one location where a huge amount of rice and curry had
been prepared. It was divided into portions and sent on to Huay Kalok. At
clinics in the border area, I saw some of the wounded being treated. One was
a man who had lost both his daughters in the attack. He had previously lost
a leg to a land mine and therefore was unable to outrun the fire. He was
being treated for severe burns to the head and arms. I was told of another
tragedy. A Karen woman had died horribly, her body charred by the fire. As
if that weren't enough, her young daughter was being treated for a bullet
wound in the hand.
In the days that followed, relief became more organized, especially as media
attention intensified. There were still unpleasant, perhaps isolated,
incidents. Some Thai soldiers confiscated donated water supplies at Huay
Kalok, presumably for their own use. The immediate worries concerned food
supplies, blankets, medical treatment and the possibility of another attack.
On the plus side, Thai Prime Minister Chuan Leekpai announced that Thailand
would act more forcefully to protect the remaining camps and in the future
retaliate without giving warnings. The possibility was also broached by Thai
Deputy Foreign Minister Suhkhumbhand Paribatra that the United Nations High
Commissioner for Refugees would be given an active role in running the
camps, something previously taboo.

Unfortunately another camp, Mawker, 60 km to the south of Mae Sot, was
subsequently attacked on March 23. I heard from one aid worker in the area
that 50 houses were burned and 14 people injured, four seriously. A baby
suffered severe shrapnel wounds and a broken leg.

This time the Thai military did engage the attackers, killing seven. Still,
there were grave misgivings when, on March 27, 1998, Gen. Chettha Thanajaro,
the Thai Army commander in chief, suggested that his forces might push all
young Karen men back across the border, as one way to solve the turmoil in
the region. This would not be a solution; it would only be doing what
Myanmar wants the Thais to do. Concerned observers hope this will never happen.

A diminishing world

At all the camps there is great uncertainty and fear. There are still
constant threats of attack. Mae La, which with 30,000 residents is the
largest camp, has been shelled. I noticed a sign at a Thai military post
near Mae La with the following words in English: "Welcome tourists, we are
proud to serve you." I wondered if that was where their focus should be.

As might be expected, some of the refugees have tried to avoid the camps,
opting instead to discreetly build huts in other settlements in the border
area. Some Karen have also sought jobs in the region. Thailand opposes this,
given its current economic difficulties. The result has been a clampdown on
individual refugee movements. Passes are required for travel outside the
camps, and foreigners are generally not allowed in without reason. I was in
one border village when word was passed down that the Thai military was
planning an early morning raid, looking for undocumented refugees. The raid
took place, and several huts were destroyed, although their occupants had
fled. Later, I saw a Thai military vehicle leave the area. It contained
soldiers with axes and empty containers of phosphoric acid, a corrosive that
had been used in these actions before.

The world of the Karen refugees appears to be diminishing daily. Many people
would say that this can't be helped because it's only part of the "bigger
picture." I disagree. Standing in the middle of the remains of Huay Kalok,
even a wide-angle lens was not sufficient to capture the full extent of the
destruction. That was the real "big picture," and it was a horrifying one.

Richard Humphries is a freelance writer who teaches at Sophia University
NAW PAW'S STORY 

A daily fight against disease and dictators

"We have a microscope, but it's not electric and not very good. During the
rainy season, when there's no sun, we can't do blood tests for malaria. If
(patients) have the right symptoms for malaria, we have to guess that's what
it is."

Naw Paw, a young and cheerful Karen woman, was describing just some of the
difficulties she faces working at a clinic inside Myanmar's Karen State.
Trained as a paramedic, she is part of a quiet struggle to improve basic
health care in a region marked by war, poverty, disease and lack of education.

Naw Paw's clinic is in a remote area of the state surrounded by steep hills
and forbidding jungle. Malaria, particularly the lethal falciparum strain,
is a major worry, but it is not the only one. Severe respiratory and
intestinal infections are very common. Infant mortality is high. Naw Paw,
and others like her, are very busy and have to make do with limited medical
supplies. These have to be carried in on foot from Thailand, a walk that can
take many days. Naw Paw does have some free time and enjoys listening to
music, but more often than not, she will use that time to read medical texts.

This is not, though, a typical story of gradual rural health-care
improvement in the developing world. There is strong opposition, and it is
armed and dangerous. When Naw Paw says SLORC (State Law and Order
Restoration Council), a recently changed acronym for Myanmar's ruling junta,
she means the rapacious army that carries out the junta's policies.

"Sometimes when we are at the clinic, we get a warning that the SLORC is
coming and then we have to run into the jungle. Once they even burned the
clinic and we had to rebuild it. Other times they just come to steal pigs,
chickens, rice and other things. All the patients have to run, too. If they
can't do that, their families have to come and carry them into the jungle."

Naw Paw and her colleagues are also targets, and any medicines or medical
equipment must be taken and hidden as well. "Sometimes, I have to run two or
even three times in a day if the SLORC comes into the jungle. The little
children cry and say, 'We're so tired, can't we stop now?' I have to say,
'No, we must keep going.' Once, I had to hide the microscope and medical bag
so I could run faster and remember the place I put them. The SLORC didn't
find it. If we have to sleep in the jungle, it's too dangerous to make a
fire, so I have to remember to bring some cooked rice."

There have been times when she was on her way to a village near her clinic
and met someone bringing a warning. "They say to me, 'The SLORC is in the
village now. Please don't come yet. It's too dangerous for you.' " Then she
waits quietly in the jungle until they've gone.

For many Karen in the same position as Naw Paw, the pressure has become too
much. Some have sought asylum in other countries, and friends of hers have
gone to America, Australia and Canada. Naw Paw is determined to persevere;
despite the difficulties in her life, she is able to talk about it with a
sense of humor. Once, looking at a calendar picture of winter in Canada and
imagining the new life some of her friends were experiencing, she said "I
suppose I could get used to the cold, but in Canada, you say, they don't use
lots of chilies in their food. My goodness that would be a real problem." (R.H.)

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