Burma’s slow burn

Sitting in the garden of a safe house on the Thai side of the border with Burma, 54-year-old Dr. Nyi balances a plate of food on his lap with one hand while awkwardly shooing away a large dog with the other. He’s dressed in army greens, but despite three years of jungle warfare, he’s still a city person at heart. He doesn’t care for animals near his food. 

But that’s the least of his worries.

Nyi is a wanted man. The doctor agreed to talk to me, even though Burma’s military government is searching for him and speaking out might put his life in danger. He believes it’s important to get the word out but asked me not to use his full name for fear of reprisals against his extended family back in Burma.

For generations, war has been a fact of life in the Southeast Asian country. But opposition to the oppressive military government split into two parallel efforts. In the cities, the majority ethnic Burmans held protests, supported longtime opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi, and reached out to world leaders in hopes of bringing about democratic change. Meanwhile, guerrilla groups representing Burma’s 135 minorities battled the junta in the jungles of their ethnic states.

But in recent years, the two wings of resistance have merged. Many Burmans, like Nyi, have fled to the jungles to join the armed resistance. This marks the first time in the history of the conflict that the core goals of all groups have aligned. Now they’re engaged in coordinated attacks—and winning victories.

Nyi finally gives up trying to shoo the dog away and sets the plate on the ground. The animal immediately tears into the chicken and pork. After watching for a moment, the doctor smiles, looks up, and starts talking about his family. “My daughter wants to study physics, and my son wants to get a GED and go to university. It will be a long journey.” Both children, aged 10 and 12, are sweet, well-mannered, and speak impeccable English, though Burmese is their native language. But their studies are on hold for now. Since the family fled Yangon (Burma’s largest city and the functional capital prior to 2006), his children have been out of school—a fate shared by most of the children among the 5-6 million people displaced by the war in Burma.

A church destroyed by the government army in northwest Burma. Robin Tutenges/Hans Lucas/Redux

Successive military juntas have tried to rename the country Myanmar, but resistance fighters, like Nyi, still call it Burma. The junta has stripped away freedom, livelihoods, health, and lives. Now, through forced conscription, it is taking sons and daughters too. That’s one reason why when he crosses the border back into Burma, Nyi’s family will stay behind.

In just a few hours, a car will take the doctor to a secret location, where he’ll launch his next mission into the war zone. There, he’ll work as a front-line doctor and train combat medics from various ethnic armed organizations fighting the Tatmadaw, the junta’s army.

The inclusion of Burmans in the resistance is an example of forgiveness and growth on a national scale. Nyi calls it a strategic game changer. Initially, the armed ethnic groups distrusted the city-dwelling Burmans, assuming their lack of weapons, experience, and jungle survival skills would make them useless on the battlefield.

“But they caught up very well because they have a creative mind,” Nyi said.

Many young Burmans who fled to the jungle to join the resistance came from universities. They brought skills and education the guerrilla groups never had. “The kids making the drones and weapons are mostly Burmans,” Nyi noted. At first, rebel leaders didn’t recognize their value, but after seeing the effectiveness of drones in combat, they understood.

“We’ve been fighting this revolution for nearly 70 years, but we never thought outside the box like this,” Nyi said. “This is what we needed—to combine our strengths. And, of course, we must kill the common enemy.”

A graduation ceremony for new soldiers of the Karenni Nationalities Defense Force. Adam Ferguson/The New York Times/Redux

BURMA GAINED INDEPENDENCE from Great Britain in 1948. Military rulers quickly took over. Throughout his life, Nyi watched one junta after another rule Burma and oppress the people. Like many city dwellers, he waited, hoping things would improve. In 2015, when the junta finally agreed to allow democratic elections, Burmans thought their patience had been rewarded. But the generals weren’t ready to give up power.

“Even though they called for elections, they just took off their uniforms, changed clothes, and ran the country through the back door,” Nyi said. The junta’s State Administration Council altered the constitution, making it nearly impossible for Nobel laureate Aung San Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy (NLD) party to pass legislation. As a result, the five years of democratic rule brought only minor improvements. Still, Nyi and millions of others continued to wait, hoping the 2020 elections would bring more freedom.

It was no surprise when the National League for Democracy won that election by a landslide, marking a first in Burma’s troubled history—two consecutive democratic elections, both won by the pro-democracy party. But the democratic experiment was short-lived. In January 2021, the State Administrative Council nullified the election results and arrested most of the National League for Democracy leaders, including Suu Kyi. Nationwide protests erupted, and the junta responded with violent crackdowns that killed over 1,200 civilians. Authorities arrested more than 8,000 protesters, journalists, and opposition figures.

“After the coup, I realized it was time to rise up and do what we had to do, because it had been like this my whole life,” Nyi said. Educated and well-off, he had been reluctant to risk the comfortable life he had built for himself and his family. But this time, he said, he was determined not to let history keep repeating itself.

“My life is fine, but what about my kids? My kids’ generation needs to be free.”

At first, he stayed in the city, using his skills to secretly support the resistance by joining the Civil Disobedience Movement that organized protests and strikes across the country.

When Tatmadaw soldiers began slaughtering civilians in the streets of Yangon and other cities, they unleashed a resistance unlike what any previous junta had faced. Many Burmans realized they had no other option and began fighting as guerrillas. Students and workers with knowledge of chemicals and metals began making bombs, often with unintended consequences. That’s when Nyi stepped in: “I helped patients who were injured during the fighting and while assembling bombs.”

For a time, he led a double life—running his practice by day, earning money, and sending his kids to school as usual, while secretly operating two underground clinics for the resistance. The junta eventually discovered his operation after some of the guerrilla fighters he treated got caught on their way back to their units. That’s when he packed up his family and went into hiding.

Many people who fled Yangon tried to reach Mae Sot, Thailand, 260 miles away. But the treacherous route wound through dense jungle and intense fighting, and the Tatmadaw was hot on Nyi’s heels. He moved from house to house in Yangon while searching for a way out. Eventually, he connected with the Free Burma Rangers, a group of faith-driven, cross-­border aid workers. The rangers helped Nyi and his family reach safety—and gave him a new mission. That’s how he found himself living in a safe house, defending his dinner from a hungry dog, and training combat medics on the front lines.

A house burns after a junta airstrike on a Karenni village. Photo courtesy of Free Burma rangers

NOT LONG AFTER our shared dinner, Nyi and I both make our way to the battle front, but in opposite directions. My route takes me north, through Thailand’s Mae Hong Son province and into Karenni state, on the ­eastern side of Burma.

In late winter, the jungle floor turns into a sea of fire as upland ethnic groups burn the undergrowth to prepare for spring planting. I perch on the back of a motorcycle navigating narrow dirt trails that cling to the mountainside, barely visible through the thick smoke. Flames surge on one side, while a sheer drop yawns on the other, as the path snakes up and down the rugged, mountainous border.

The crossing takes just over an hour. Along the way I spot small groups of ethnic minorities—mostly Karenni, but also Kayan, Karen, and some Shan—foraging or hunting on foot. They signal to passing motorcycles, warning of nearby Thai or Burmese army patrols. Crossing the border is illegal. Thai authorities arrest anyone they catch, but the Tatmadaw shoots to kill.

The trail eventually winds to a camp—a cluster of bamboo houses, including the two-story home of a battalion commander. New recruits arrive daily. Unlike the Tatmadaw, which imposes strict conscription on men aged 18 to 35 and women aged 18 to 27, the Karenni army is made up of volunteers. The Karenni men, who weigh on average around 120 pounds, are small by Western standards, making the 17- and 18-year-old recruits seem almost like children. Male soldiers sleep in the armory, on the porch, or on the first floor, where the motorcycles are stored, while the few female recruits sleep inside the cooking house. It felt like a high school senior campout, except these recruits will be heading into combat in just a few weeks.

Recruits get about a month of training before being sent into battle, the commander tells me. During boot camp, they might fire a weapon only once or twice. “We don’t have enough bullets,” he says. Weapons are also scarce, with rifles often shared between two soldiers, even during combat.

“We do not have the best guns here, but we have the best heart,” the commander tells me.

Some better-equipped guerrilla groups fund their operations by selling opium and methamphetamine. When I ask if his group is involved in the drug trade, the commander laughs and points at the soldiers with homemade bags and flip-flops. Some even walk around barefoot. “Do you see any drug money?” he asks.

Karenni soldiers trek through the jungle for weeks to reach the front lines. Airstrikes make the roads too dangerous. Lacking logistical support, they carry all their supplies, including medical gear and rations. When time allows, Karenni soldiers stop to gather wood, build a fire, and cook rice, but that’s a rare luxury. Skipping meals in combat is common. “We lose a lot of weight,” the commander admits. Despite these hardships, the Karenni are known as fierce jungle fighters.

The Karenni were among the first ethnic groups to take up arms against the junta. Their resistance started in 1948. Over the decades, they, like other ethnic groups, have endured cycles of conflict followed by ceasefires. Before the 2021 coup, the Karenni National Progressive Party, the ethnic Karenni government, enjoyed one of its longest cease-fire periods. It hoped to negotiate autonomy or independence from the junta. But the coup proved a breaking point. Numerous guerrilla groups, including the Karenni, reactivated or formed new resistance armies, launching attacks against the regime.

In the jungle states, the junta has killed civilians in large numbers, while launching direct attacks on schools, churches, aid centers, and temples. It has subjected the ethnic minority groups to sexual violence, torture, starvation, and forced conscription. Millions have been displaced, with some groups like the Karenni seeing 80% of their population uprooted. Nationwide, 13 million now face hunger, worsened by disrupted supply lines from China and Thailand, internal transport issues, and fighting that has forced farmers off their land, making planting impossible.

Htay Ree leads worship at the Baptist church. Photo by Antonio Graceffo

ACROSS THE CAMP, past a cratered field where the school once stood before a 500-pound bomb destroyed it, sits a Catholic church. It still bears scars from an airstrike a few months earlier. Just over the next hill, I find the small bamboo house of Htay Ree, a 25-year-old Baptist pastor.

In Burma, where Buddhism dominates, only 6.2% of the population identifies as Christian. But several ethnic groups have much higher Christian populations, largely due to 19th- and 20th-century missionary efforts. The Karenni are 40-50% Christian, mostly Catholic. For all Christians among the ethnic groups, identity is tied not only to faith but also to their political and cultural resistance against the junta government.

I ask Ree if he sees a contradiction between Karenni being Christians and soldiers, knowing they might have to kill. As a pastor, he says he could not take up arms, but he believes Christian soldiers are morally justified in their fight. While the junta’s generals fight for power and wealth, he says, the ethnic groups fight to protect their families and homes. “Our soldiers only kill for love—for the love of our people.”

Fearing their church had become a target, the camp’s Catholics began meeting in each other’s homes for worship. The Baptists, however, managed to keep their church open—likely because, unlike the Catholic church with its cross-topped peaked roof, the Baptist church doesn’t look like a traditional church from the air and has avoided airstrikes. The large bamboo structure can accommodate about 200 people during services. On Sundays, it’s filled with worshippers—many of them young—singing, playing guitar, and praying. Ree says war is a test of faith, and suffering should not cause people to doubt God’s love.

“The Bible guarantees our spiritual life—if we believe in Jesus, we gain eternal life. But God didn’t guarantee our physical bodies. We can get sick, we can be killed,” he said. “People who blame God for physical suffering don’t understand.” For Ree, the war’s hardships provide an opportunity to teach people about God’s promises.

Karen refugees, who fled to the jungle, look through donated clothing. Kaung Zaw Hein/SOPA Images/Sipa USA via AP

And that opportunity shows no sign of dissipating. Over the last few years, the Tatmadaw has lost control of most of Burma’s territory. But it remains deeply entrenched in the cities, fortified by air superiority and sustained by constant aid from China, which keeps the soldiers armed and well-fed.

China supports both the junta and select ethnic armed organizations in resource-rich areas. That helps Beijing maintain border stability and ensure uninterrupted exports of jade, timber, and minerals. It also helps protect the crucial China-Myanmar Oil and Gas Pipeline. Ultimately, China doesn’t care who holds power in these regions.

The West, meanwhile, shows much less interest in the battle still raging in Burma’s jungles. The U.S. State Department and representatives from other nations, including Japan, have cautiously begun meeting with the opposition government in exile, but they remain hesitant about offering financial aid. And so far they have refused to provide weapons.

The Karenni fighters get some support from private donors in America, where Karenni church groups organize collections of food, clothing, and equipment that must be transported through Thailand and smuggled across the border. They also get limited assistance from organizations like the Free Burma Rangers. But this only provides a fraction of what they need, especially as they face one of the largest and best-equipped armies in Southeast Asia.

From a military and strategic perspective, Burma’s rebel groups don’t stand a chance. But neither did David as he faced down Goliath.

“If we really trust in God, we do not have any doubts,” Pastor Htay Ree tells me. “As Christians, we have faith in God for this life and the afterlife. God will give us everything.”

—Antonio Graceffo is a World Journalism Institute graduate and has spent more than 20 years in Asia writing for think tanks and international media