Thailand – Karen Refugees and the Importance of Hope – Part 2/2

Remember, last week we went to Mae Ramoo’s refugee camp in Thailand. We met Mae Ramoo’s director, Saw Baw Poe. What future is there for his people?

(By Geoffroy Caillet. Originally published in French in Enfants du Mekong Magazine n°150).

The temptation to leave

At Mae Ramoo, waiting has become a big part of their daily lives. It is a tiring situation, but unlike their brothers and other ethnic groups who are constantly victimized by army operations, the residents of Mae Ramoo enjoy physical safety. However, there is still no clear future ahead. Since several countries agreed to accept Karen refugees, the camp’s residents have been divided over what to do: steadfastly maintaining their dream of returning to Burma one day, or emigrate to another country. Thousands are awaiting acceptance of their applications for Canada. Others have already left for Australia or Norway.

Leaving? Not even for a moment is Tha Thaw even considering it. After her village was attacked, she hid in the jungle for two weeks before hearing about the camp. Today, with four children, three of them born in Mae Ramoo, she wants to stay here, although her husband has applied to leave as a family. “We have no friends abroad,” she explains. At the camp, her children are safe, well fed and attend school since there is no work. She often tells them about life before, which she dearly hopes they will experience one day. She tells them how to grow rice, for example. The children have only seen rice in bags, stamped with an NGO logo. Dah Ku, her neighbour, casts an approving glance. He and his three sons crossed the Moei River in 1995, chased by soldiers. At the camp, he can grow nothing, nor raise livestock, and they are not allowed to work outside the camp. But he doesn’t want to leave because he believes that international pressure on Burma will force changes, “and,” Saw Baw Poe adds, “the Burmese junta will collapse.”

Condemned to hope

The stories told by young people, some of whom have never set foot outside this camp, are even more poignant. A 20-year-old woman recalls: “I was seven or eight when our village was attacked by the army. Our parents stuffed handkerchiefs in our mouths to stifle our cries.” Her 19-year-old neighbour saw soldiers beat his parents to death. To avoid serving the Burmese army as a human mine-clearance operative, he fled alone into the jungle before reaching the camp. “At least,” he says, “here I can attend school. Before, my parents could not afford it. And the school was destroyed each year by the army.” Since arriving four years ago, he has heard no news from his brothers and sisters back in Burma.

For these people, leaving is an especially thorny issue, but like their parents, they are divided in their opinions. Some say they will leave if they can, and return when a Karen state is created. George Bush, Ronald McDonald or Madonna: their knowledge of the West comes down to a few random names gleaned from rumours of a far-away world, names they speak with a laugh. In Asia, the prominent name is Aung San Suu Kyi. “She is also fighting for freedom in Burma.” Most insist they will not leave “because that would mean no solution was found.” So they accept their sentence of waiting, and eagerly asked us several questions such as: what do you think of the Karen who leave? Are they right to do so? Do you think the conflict will continue? And a plea repeated like an incantation: “Promise that you will not forget us…” Their will to live is overwhelming and we rightly refrain from asking them what they will do later. Not just because the question is meaningless in this context, but also because for many of these young adults, “later” should already be “today.”