(Routledge Contemporary Southeast Asia Series) Ashley South - Ethnic Politics in Burma - States of Conflict-Routledge (2008)

Ethnic Politics in Burma
This book examines the ideas that have structured half a century of civil
war in Burma, and the roles which political elites and foreign networks –
from colonial missionaries to aid worker activists – have played in mediat-
ing understandings of ethnic conflict in the country. The book includes a
brief overview of pre-colonial and colonial Burma, and the emergence of
ethnic identity as a politically salient characteristic. It describes the struggle
for independence and the parliamentary era (1948–62), and the quarter-
century of military–socialist rule that followed (1962–88). The book ana-
lyses the causes, dynamics and impacts of ongoing armed conflict in Burma,
since the 1988 ‘‘democracy uprising’’ through to the 2007 ‘‘saffron revolu-
tion’’ (when monks and ordinary people took to the streets in protest
against the military regime). There is a special focus on the plight of dis-
placed people, and the ways in which local and international agencies have
responded. The book also examines one of the most significant, but least
well understood, political developments in Burma over the last 20 years: the
series of ceasefires agreed since 1989 between the military government and
most armed ethnic groups. The positive and negative impacts of the cease-
fires are analysed, including a study of civil society among ethnic nationality
communities. This analysis leads to a discussion of the nature of social and
political change in Burma, and a re-examination of some commonly held
assumptions regarding the country, including issues of ethnicity and federalism.
The book concludes with a brief Epilogue, taking account of Cyclone
Nargis, which struck Burma on 2 and 3 May 2008, resulting in a massive
humanitarian crisis.
Ashley South is an independent analyst, specialising in politics and huma-

nitarian issues in Burma and Southeast Asia. He has published extensively,
and undertaken various consultancies for the UN and other organisations.
He is the author of Mon Nationalism and Civil War in Burma: The Golden
Sheldrake (Routledge 2003).
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The state of the capital States of conflict
Christian Chua Ashley South
Ethnic Politics in Burma
States of conflict
Ashley South
First published 2008
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada
by Routledge
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# 2008 Ashley South
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted
or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic,
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including photocopying and recording, or in any information
storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publishers.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
South, Ashley.
Ethnic politics in Burma: states of conflict/Ashley South.
p. cm. – (Routledge contemporary Southeast Asia series; 19)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
1. Ethnic conflict–Burma. 2. Conflict management–Burma.
3. Burma–Ethnic relations. 4. Burma–Politics and government–1988- I.
Title.
HN670.7.S62S68 2008
305.8009591–dc22
2007051266
ISBN 0-203-89519-3 Master e-book ISBN
ISBN10: 0-415-41008-8 (hbk)

ISBN10: 0-203-89519-3 (ebk)
ISBN13: 978-0-415-41008-3 (hbk)
ISBN13: 978-0-203-89519-1 (ebk)
To Jo Jo and Benjamin
Contents
List of illustrations x
Preface xiii
Acknowledgements xvii
Definitions (key concepts) xix
Acronyms and abbreviations xxi
Burmese place names xxiv
Part I
Conflicting histories 1
1 Shifting identities 3
2 State and society, grievance and greed, ethnicity and insurgency 22
Part II
Armed conflict since 1988 47
3 Enemies and allies on the Thailand border 49
4 The costs of conflict 77
Part III
State, ceasefires and civil society 115
5 The SPDC and the ceasefire movement 117
6 Civil society and social change 173
7 Re-imagining communities 200
Epilogue 223
Appendix 231
Notes 233
Bibliography 246
Index 257
Illustrations
Tables
4.1 Typology of Forced Migration 79
4.2 Distribution of Internally Displaced Persons 84
5.1 Main Ceasefire Groups in Burma 122
5.2 Other Ceasefire Forces (not always listed by government) 126
5.3 Ceasefires in Burma: Positive and Negative Developments 130
7.1 Types of Transition (Regime Reform and Regime Change) 205
Maps
1 Burma: States and Divisions xi
2 Major Ethnic Groups of Burma xii
Map 1 Burma: States and Divisions
Map 2 Major Ethnic Groups of Burma
Preface
This is a rather old-fashioned book, written by a white middle-class male,

about a land very different to that I grew up in. The main justification for
such an enterprise is that, while people from Burma may be better suited
than I to analyse the politics of their country, few have done so in print. I
hope, therefore, that an outsider’s critical and comparative perspective may
be of some value.
I have worked in and on Burma since 1991, as a teacher, an aid worker,
and, most recently, as a researcher and policy analyst. Although political
and ethnic conflict in this beautiful and troubled country is notoriously
complex, for nearly a decade I assumed that the underlying causes – and
solutions – were fairly simple. These days, I’m not so sure.
Burmese politics has long been dominated by two inter-linked conflicts:
the struggle for a democratically accountable government (the country has
been ruled by the military since 1962), and the struggles for self-determination
of non-Burman communities (ethnic minorities make up over a third of the
population). I still regard the ‘‘ethnic question’’ in Burma as of at least as
much importance as the lack of democracy in the central government.
Indeed, I will argue that sustainable democratic transition is unlikely to be
achieved without the resolution of problems which have for centuries
strained state–society, centre–periphery and majority–minority relations in
Burma. However, in the late 1990s, when I began to research my first book
on the country (South 2005), I was forced to examine some other key
assumptions.
I had assumed that the solutions to Burma’s problems lay in radical
‘‘regime change’’. The immediate removal of the military government was
(and remains) the primary aim of most opposition networks. We considered
it impossible to work in government-controlled Burma, without empowering
the military regime. However, I have since learned that it is possible to work
‘‘inside’’ Burma in ways which promote democratic transition although the
government remains the main obstacle to change.
In 1995, the ethnic Mon insurgents, whose story I was telling, had agreed
a ceasefire with the regime, transforming their pockets of ‘‘liberated territory’’
into ‘‘ceasefire zones’’. While imperfect in many respects, this agreement
xiv Preface
created the military–political space for the emergence of community-based
development initiatives, which benefited many in the Mon community,
including people in government-controlled areas previously all-but inacces-
sible to the armed Mon nationalists. Although the military regime remained
one of the worst human rights abusers in the world, there were more shades
of grey and more opportunities for action than I had appreciated.
The events of August–October 2007 – when protesting monks and civi-
lians were brutally suppressed by government forces (see Chapter Five) –
reminded the world of the Burmese peoples’ struggle for freedom. They also
demonstrated the potential of civil society as an engine for political change,
the entrenched nature of the military regime, and the marginalisation of
most opposition organisations.
Assessments of the dynamics of conflict and change in Burma should be
rooted in realistic analysis. It may be comforting to believe that sustainable
democratic transition can occur overnight, and that all that is required is
replacement of the evil generals in Yangon with the angelic pro-democracy
opposition. However, the limited capacities demonstrated by Burma’s civil
society and political networks suggest that, if large-scale disruption – and
bloodshed – are to be avoided, any transition from military rule will have to
occur gradually, and be accompanied by changes in political culture and the
behaviour of elites, in both government and opposition circles. Further-
more, events over the past few years in Iraq and elsewhere should serve as a
warning that democratisation and the realisation of human security are com-
plex processes, embedded in specific historic and social realities not goals that
can easily be imposed from above, or by outside forces. Simplistic rhetoric is no
substitute for sustained analysis, no matter how worthy the cause.
Nevertheless, the extent of human suffering and the passionate nature of
political struggle in Burma make a completely disinterested analysis inap-
propriate, and indeed impossible to achieve. While advocacy and lobbying
based on false assumptions are unhelpful, it is necessary for the analyst to
adopt – and make explicit – basic positions regarding the nature of conflict
in the country, and the kind of changes required.
Cards on the table, then. I regard democratisation as a process – a
movement towards self-determination and participatory governance, at the
local, national and global levels. In the case of Burma, this struggle is
located in the conflict between a militarised and unaccountable state, and
the diverse and overlapping social and ethnic groups living in this wonderful
country.
Geography and Population

With a land area of 678,000 square kilometres, Burma is the largest country
in mainland Southeast Asia. With a population of around 55 million
people, it is also one of the least densely populated, and most ethnically
diverse, countries in the region.
Preface xv
Since independence, successive governments have underestimated the size of
minority communities, and the breakdown of population by ethnicity remains
highly contested. Official demographic figures and indicators are particularly
flawed in relation to border areas, many of which are still inaccessible to the
government and international agencies. The 1983 census records 69 per cent of
the population as belonging to the majority Burman (Bama) group, 8.5 per
cent as Shan (including various sub-nationalities), 6.2 per cent as Karen, 4.5
per cent as Rakhine, 2.4 per cent as Mon, 2.2 per cent as Chin, 1.4 per cent as
Kachin, and 1 per cent as Wa (Government of Burma 1986). In most cases,
elites within these communities prefer the term ‘‘ethnic nationality’’, which is
considered to confer more political status and legitimacy on the groups in
question (on the minority–nationality debate, see Chapter Seven).
In 1992, the military government catalogued 135 ‘‘national races’’ (lu myo,
in Burmese: Gravers 1999: 109). Citizenship is only granted to those mem-
bers of these groups that can demonstrate a historical presence in Burma
before the onset of the first Anglo–Burmese war in 1824. Such policies and
pronouncements are contentious, and must be viewed in the context of the
regime’s strategy of divide-and-rule vis-à-vis minority–nationality groups.
Nevertheless, this rather arbitrary figure does help to indicate the complex-
ity of the ‘‘ethnic question’’ in Burma, where the cultural mosaic includes
peoples as diverse as the Mon, whose civilisation extended over much of
mainland Southeast Asia a thousand years ago, and the Salon ‘‘sea gypsies’’
(or Moken, in their own language), indigenous to the Mergui Archipelago
and other parts of maritime Southeast Asia.
Non-Burman communities are concentrated in the often remote and
mountainous areas along the borders with Thailand, Laos, China, India
and Bangladesh. These include parts of the most important ‘‘biodiversity
hotspots’’ in the world, and contain extensive natural resources, including
substantial deposits of natural gas and oil, as well as various minerals,
gemstones and timber.
‘‘Burma’’ or ‘‘Myanmar’’?
In June 1989, the State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC) mili-
tary junta re-named the state Myanmar Naing-ngan. At the same time, a
number of other place names were changed, e.g. Rangoon became Yangon,
Pegu became Bago, Moulmein became Mawlamyine; the names of several
ethnic groups were also re-cast, e.g. the Karen became officially known as
Kayin (a Burmese exonym). In some cases, these changes represented a
‘‘Burmanisation’’ of indigenous names; in others, the new word more closely
resembled local pronunciation than had the old colonial-era Romanisation.1
The terms ‘‘Burma’’ and ‘‘Myanmar’’ are understood and used quite differ-
ently among different communities in and from the country. The use of
‘‘Burma’’ generally signifies a rejection of the military government’s legitimacy.
Most opposition groups, including the National League for Democracy
xvi Preface
(NLD) and a wide range of ethnic nationalist organisations – and also the
British and US governments – still use the colonial-era name for the country.
To talk of ‘‘Myanmar’’ on the Thailand border is to invite categorisation
as an SPDC apologist. In contrast, public discourse inside ‘‘Myanmar’’
being tightly controlled by the government, the use of ‘‘Burma’’ is mostly
restricted to the NLD et al. To talk of ‘‘Burma’’ in official circles inside the
country is to be identified as a supporter of the opposition, and perhaps an
insurgent sympathiser. However, in private conversation, most of the
author’s large number of ethnic nationality acquaintances still prefer
‘‘Burma’’ – the usage adopted in this book (although ‘‘Yangon’’ is preferred
to ‘‘Rangoon’’, which sounds too quaintly colonial).
Overview
This book provides a critical overview of the history and political economy
of ethnic conflict in Burma. It examines the ideas which have structured a
half-century of civil war, describes how these notions have sometimes
served and reflected elite (insurgent and state) interests, and discusses
the roles which foreign networks – from colonial missionaries to aid
workers and activists – have played in mediating understandings of conflict
in the country.
Part One: Chapter One is a brief overview of pre-colonial and colonial
Burma. This is not a comprehensive survey, but reviews key developments,
and the emergence of one of the book’s main themes: the shifting sig-
nificance of ethnic identity. Chapter Two takes the story briefly through the
struggle for independence and the parliamentary era (1948–62), and the
quarter-century of military–socialist rule that followed (1962–88).
Part Two: Chapters Three and Four examine the causes, dynamics and
impacts of ongoing armed conflict in Burma, since the 1988 democracy
uprising. There is a special focus on the plight of displaced people, and the
ways in which local and international agencies have responded. Part Two
concludes with a critical examination of the roles played by exiled political
elites and their support networks, in shaping understandings of conflict and
ethnicity in Burma.
Part Three: Chapters Five and Six examine one of the most significant,
but least well understood, political developments in Burma over the last 20
years: the series of ceasefires agreed since 1989 between the military gov-
ernment and most armed ethnic groups. The positive and negative impacts
of the ceasefires are examined, including a study of civil society among
ethnic nationality communities. This analysis leads to a discussion in Chapter
Seven of the nature of social and political change in Burma. It is proposed
that national (including ethnic nationality) leaders and international actors
should re-examine some commonly held assumptions regarding the country,
including issues of ethnicity and federalism.
The endnotes contain additional material, as well as references.
Acknowledgements
I started work on this book with the assistance of a grant from the Research
and Writing Initiative of the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foun-
dation. Since then, I have worked as a consultant for the International
Crisis Group (2003), Human Rights Watch (2004–05), UN Resident Coor-
dinator in Myanmar (2005 and 2006), UK Government Department for
International Development (2005 and 2006), Centre on Housing Rights and
Evictions (2006–07) and the UN World Food Programme (2006 and 2007).
In all that follows, the analysis and conclusions are my own, and are not
necessarily shared by these organisations. However, this book does reflect
the subjects which I worked on during this period: ethnic politics, civil
society, socio-political change and humanitarian issues in Burma (especially
forced migration and civilian protection). Several passages draw from my
essays and reports published between 2001–07 (see footnotes and Biblio-
graphy), and from articles in The Irrawaddy news magazine and the Bang-
kok Nation newspaper. Except where otherwise specified, the primary
source is my 57 volumes of field notes (1994–2007).
The main focus of this book is on the Kachin, Karen and Mon ethnic
communities in Burma, and, to a lesser degree, the various nationalities
residing in Shan State and elsewhere. This bias reflects my variable access
to, and knowledge of, the country’s complex ethnic politics. Another caveat:
the information and analysis are correct as of late 2007.
Acknowledging the many people who helped me produce this book is one
of the great pleasures of writing. First and foremost, I must thank my
beautiful wife, Naw Bellay Htoo, for her endless support and patience.
Special thanks are due to Alan Smith and Martin Smith (no relation), for
their friendship and advice over many years, and for invaluable comments
on this text. Many thanks also to David Eubanks and the Free Burma
Rangers, who bring hope to so many of the suffering people of Burma. I am
grateful also to: Charles Petrie, Beth Moorthy and Julie Belanger of the UN
in Burma; Hkanhpa and Mandy Sadan; Michiko Ito; Richard and Teresa
Horsey; Hakan Tongkul and Nick Crawford of the World Food Programme;
the British diplomats, Vicky Bowman and Anne Macro; Rurik Marsden
from the Department For International Development; Jack Dunford, Sally
xviii Acknowledgements
Thompson and Miles Dury from the Thailand–Burma Border Consortium;
Christina Fink; Karin Dean; Glen Hill; David Scott-Mathieson; Tricia
Hynes; Will and Nancy Womack; Ken MacLean; Sam Pope; Simon Phillips,
Susanne Kempel and Mike Davis; Curtis Lambrecht; Aiontay Sanmann;
Wolfgang Trost; Chris Lewa; Donna Guest; Tom Kramer; Tom Sheaham;
Bertil Lintner; Larry Jagan; Scott Leckie and the Centre on Housing Rights
and Evictions; Mikael Gravers; Robert Taylor; Monique Skidmore; Mary
Callahan; Lotta Hedman; Zunetta Liddell; Graham and Harriet Mortimer;
David Arnott; and various INGO folks in Burma (you know who you are –
many thanks for your valuable work and insights).
Among many friends from Burma, I would like to thank P’dohs Htoo
Htoo Lei, David Taw, Kweh Htoo and Thakabaw; Ti Gilbert, Ti Hla Khu
and Saw Htoo Klee; Ti Roger, P’doh Hla Henry, Saw Steve, Saw Ber Htoo,
Saw Gyi Thein; Naw Bee, Paul Sein Twa and Frankie Abreau; Ardeth
Maung Thawnghmung; Naw Wah Wah Paw and Naw Lah Say Wah; Uncle
George and Sumlut Gun Maw; Rex; Sayama Rose; Nai Tun Thein and Dr
Min Soe Lin; Nai Htaw Mon, Nai Rotsa, Nai Hongsa, Nai Chan Toik and
Nai Shwe Thein; Nai Kasauh Mon; Nai Wongsa and the Mon Relief and
Development Committee; the dedicated staff of the Kao Wao News Group
and Independent Mon News Agency; Nai Soe Than; Nai Sunthorn Sri-
panngern; the ladies of the Mon Women’s Organization; Harn Yawnghwe;
Lian Sakhong; Win Min; Aung Naing Oo – and many others, who must
remain anonymous, including several inspirational Kachin and Karen
monks, pastors and priests.
Definitions (key concepts)
‘Ethnicity’ is defined by one of its principle theorists, Walker Connor

(Conversi 2004: 2), as “belief in a putative descent’’: membership of a
group defined by a common socio-cultural history.
‘Nation’ is differentiated from ‘state’, and defined by Connor (ibid. 3) as
‘‘a self-differentiating ethnic group . . . all nationalism is ethnically pre-
dicated’’; loyalty to a state is termed ‘patriotism’ (or ‘civic nationalism’).
‘Ethno-nationalism’ in Connor’s terminology (ibid.) is ‘‘loyalty to a
nation deprived of its own state and loyalty to an ethnic group embodied
in a specific state.’’
‘Federalism’ refers (Alan Smith 2007) to mixed-sovereignty governance
systems characterised by power-sharing between a central (federal) gov-
ernment, and constituent (state) governments; related (but distinct) con-
cepts include ‘decentralisation’ and ‘regional autonomy’.
‘Insurgency’ is used (Marks 2004) to mean guerrilla warfare, in support
of a political goal.
‘Peace-making’ aims to reduce and control levels of violence, without
necessarily addressing root-causes; in contrast, ‘peace-building’ goes
beyond conflict management, to address underlying (structural) issues
and inequalities. Peace-building involves a commitment to transforma-
tive dialogue.
‘Human Security’ means (UNDP and World Bank 2004) ‘‘freedom from
pervasive threats to people’s rights, safety or lives; embraces the twin
objectives of ‘freedom from fear’ (referring to the threat of violence,
crime and war) and ‘freedom from want’ (referring to economic, health,
environmental and other threats to people’s well being).’’
‘Livelihoods’ refers (Chambers and Conway 1991) to ‘‘the means, activ-
ities, entitlements and assets by which individuals make a living.’’
‘Political Economy’ is concerned (Collinson 2003: 3) ‘‘with the interac-
tion of political and economic processes in a society . . . When applied to
situations of conflict and crisis, political economy analysis seeks to
xx Definitions (key concepts)
understand both the political and the economic aspects of conflict, and
how these combine to affect patterns of power and vulnerability . . . A
political economy approach should . . . explain why the relative power
and vulnerability of different groups changes over time, and explain how
the fortunes and activities of one group in society affect others.’’
Acronyms and abbreviations
AFPFL Anti-Fascist Peoples Freedom League

ALP Arakan Liberation Party
ASEAN Association of Southeast Asian Nations
BCUK Burma Campaign UK
BERG Burma Ethnic Research Group
BIA Burma Independence Army
BSPP Burma Socialist Programme Party
CBO Community-Based Organisation
CCDAC Central Committee for Drug Abuse Control
CCSDPT Committee for Co-ordination of Services to Displaced
Persons in Thailand
CIDKP Committee for Internally Displaced Karen People
CNF Chin National Front
CRPP Committee Representing the Peoples Parliament
DAB Democratic Alliance of Burma
DKBA/O Democratic Karen Buddhist Army/Organisation
ENC Ethnic Nationalities Council
FFSS Free Funeral Services Society
GONGO Government-organised Non-government Organisation
HRP Hongsawatoi Restoration Party (a.k.a. MRP)
HURFOM Human Rights Foundation of Monland
ICG International Crisis Group
ICRC International Committee of the Red Cross
IDP Internally Displaced Person
IMNA Independent Mon News Agency
ILO International Labour Organisation
KHRG Karen Human Rights Group
KBC Kachin Baptist Convention
KCA Kachin Consultative Assembly
KDA Kachin Defence Army
KDC Karen Development Committee
KDN Karen Development Network
KDNG Kachin Development Networking Group
xxii Acronyms and abbreviations
KED Karen Education Department
KIA Kachin Independence Army
KIO Kachin Independence Organisation
KKY Ka Kwe Ye (pro-government militias)
KNA Karen National Association
KNCD Karen National Congress for Democracy
KNO Kachin National Organisation
KNDO Karen National Defence Organisation
KNLA Karen National Liberation Army
KNPLF Karenni National Peoples Liberation Front
KNPP Karenni National Progressive Party
KNU Karen National Union
KNUP Karen National United Party
KPC Karen (State) Peace Committee
KPF Karen Peace Force
KPMG Karen Peace Mediator Group
KRC Karen Refugee Committee
KSC Kachin Solidarity Council
KWO Karen Womens Organisation
KYO Karen Youth Organisation
MAMD Mon Army Mergui District
MDUF Mergui-Davoy United Front
MLBCA Mon Literature and Buddhist Culture Association
MLCC Mon Literature and Culture Committee
MMCWA Myanmar Maternal and Child Welfare Association
MNDA Mon National Defence Army (or Mon National Warrior
Army)
MNDAA Myanmar National Democratic Alliance Army
MNDF Mon National Democratic Front
MNLA Mon National Liberation Army
MNEC Mon National Education Committee
MPF Mon Peoples Front
MRCS Myanmar Red Cross Society
MRDA Mongko Region Defence Army
MRDC Mon Relief and Development Committee
MRP Mon Restoration Party (a.k.a. HRP)
MSF Medecins Sans Frontieres
MTA Mong Tai Army
MUL Mon Unity League
MWAA Myanmar Womens Affairs Association
MWO Mon Womens Organisation
Na Ta La Ministry for the Progress of Border Areas and National
Races
NDA-K National Democratic Army–Kachin
NDF National Democratic Front
Acronyms and abbreviations xxiii
NHEC National Health and Education Committee
NLD National League for Democracy
NCGUB National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma
NCUB National Council of the Union of Burma
NDAA National Democratic Alliance Army
NMSP New Mon State Party
PNO PaO National Organisation
PRNUO PaO Regional Nationalities Unity Organisation
PKDS Pan-Kachin Development Society
PSLA Palaung State Liberation Army
PVA Peoples Vigorous Association (Sorn Arr Shin)
RCSS Restoration Council for Shan State
RTG Royal Thai Government
SIC Shan Interim Council
SNLD Shan Nationalities League for Democracy
SNPLO Shan State Nationalities Peoples Liberation Organisation
SSA Shan State Army
SSNA Shan State National Army
SSPC Shan State Peace Council
SLORC State Law and Order Restoration Council
SPDC State Peace and Development Council
TBBC Thailand Burma Border Consortium
UKL Union Karen League
UNA United Nationalities Alliance
UNDP United Nations Development Program
UNHCR United Nations High Commission for Refugees
UNICEF United Nations Childrens Fund
UNLD United Nationalities League for Democracy
UNODC United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime
UNSC United Nations Security Council
USDA Union Solidarity and Development Association
UWSA/P United Wa State Army/Party
VBSW Vigorous Burmese Student Warriors
WFP UN World Food Programme
Burmese place names
States and Divisions Capitals Pre-SLORC States and Divisions Capitals

Pre-SLORC name name Official name Official name
Arakan State Akyab Rakhine State Sittwe
Chin State Hakha Chin State Hakha
Irrawaddy Division Bassein Ayeyarwady Division Pathein
Kachin State Myitkyina Kachin State Myitkyina
Karen State Pa‘an Kayin State Hpa-an
Karenni State Loikaw Kayah State Loikaw
Magwe Division Magwe Magwe Division Magwe
Mandalay Division Mandalay Mandalay Division Mandalay
Mon State Moulmein Mon State Mawlamyine
Pegu Division Pegu Bago Division Bago
Rangoon Division Rangoon Yangon Division Yangon
[ former capital ]
Sagaing Division Sagaing Sagaing Division Sagaing
Shan States Lashio Shan State Lashio
Tenasserim Division Tavoy Tanintharyi Division Dawei
Note: Derived from Centre on Housing Right and Evictions (COHRE 2007).
Part I
Conflicting histories
1 Shifting identities
Pre-colonial and colonial Burma
The Pre-colonial Era

The earliest urban settlements in mainland Southeast Asia were established
on the edges of floodplains and rivers, where the development of wet rice
cultivation allowed the creation of economic surpluses, and the emergence
of socio-political elites, and religious and cultural specialists.1 From the first
millennium (Common Era), merchants traded with the great emporia of
China, India, the Indonesian archipelago and beyond. The emergent states
of Funan and Champa (in modern-day Cambodia), the loosely federated
Mon kingdoms of Ramanyadesa (in today’s Thailand and Burma), and
their successors, the great states of Pagan (Bagan) and Pegu (in Burma),
and Sukhothai and Ayuthaiya (in Siam–Thailand), were not unified in the
modern sense. However, they did share similar Indianised politico-religious
and economic systems (South 2005: ch. 4).
According to Robert Taylor (1987: 14), in pre-colonial Southeast Asia
‘‘the monarchy, and often the monarch himself, was seen as the state.’’
Below the king (or in the case of two Mon reigns – the queen) was a
system of vassal chieftains and often hereditary district and village
headmen, all more-or-less answerable to the court. ‘‘Corve’’ (tax-in-kind)
labour was organised at the village level, and the large infrastructure
projects undertaken by the Mon-Khmer, Tai and Burman kings employed
what would today be called ‘‘forced labour’’. Other centres of power
reflecting the stratified political order included the Buddhist sangha and the
shamanistic Nat and Kalok cults indigenous to Mon and Burman commu-
nities (South 2005: ch. 1). Each Nat represented a particular territory,
reflecting the administrative divisions of the kingdom, and helping to
cement peoples’ identification with a particular locality (Brac de la Perriere
1995).
Cities of Gold: Thaton, Pagan, Pegu, Ava and Mandalay

It is beyond the scope of this book to sketch the complex, fascinating – and
sometimes controversial – history of pre-colonial Burma. A number of writers
have described the rise of the Mon civilization in lower Burma (e.g.
Guillon 1999), and the later kingdom of Pagan, which flourished espe-
cially between the eleventh and fourteenth centuries (SarDesai 1994;
Keyes 1995).
Better-documented is the fourteenth–sixteenth century Mon kingdom of
Hongsawatoi, centred at Pegu, which briefly re-emerged as an important
power in the eighteenth century (Guillon 1999; South 2005), and the
Toungoo and Konbaung dynasties, under which Burma achieved roughly its
present shape (Lieberman 1978, 1984). Of particular importance to state-
formation in pre-colonial Burma were the wars between various Tai and
Burmese kingdoms, which characterized the sixteenth–eighteenth centuries,
and created a legacy of distrust (Keyes 1995; Thant 2006).
The Construction and Deconstruction of Ethnic Identity

The history of modern Burma has been fraught with violent conflict,
much of which has been inspired by notions of ethnicity. Categories of
ethnic identity have generally been regarded as unproblematic phenomena,
reflecting unchanging characteristics, which define an individual or group of
people. However, as Mikael Gravers (1999: 145) notes, ‘‘historical memory is
crucial to defining identity, legitimising classifications . . . or rendering sub-
jective concepts of, for example, an ethnic movement authentic.’’ The histor-
ical record in Burma (and elsewhere) indicates that ethnicity has been
understood differently – and granted varying degrees of importance – during
different periods.
The nature and significance of ethnicity, and other categories of identity,
have changed over the centuries – often according to political and economic
circumstances. During the pre-colonial period, for example, the primary
marker of individual and communal identity was position in the tributary
(feudal) hierarchy, i.e. where people lived (Ava or Pegu) and what they did
(peasant or prince) was of more importance in determining identity than
the language spoken at home or in the market (although the linguistic
element was not insignificant: see below).
Categories of identity have been constructed, and re-made, by the forces
of history, as well as the manipulation of elites. However, we should not
‘‘throw out the baby with the bathwater’’: ethnicity is not an arbitrary
notion. Categories of ethnic self-determination are grounded in deep and
shared historical experience.
Pre-colonial Pluralism
In pre-colonial Burma, ethnic, political, social and religious identities were not
so fixed and unipolar as they became during the colonial period. Ethnic iden-
tity, based on language and cultural inheritance, was only one of a number of
themes in social and economic life. In general, markers of identity were not
Shifting identities 5
self-consciously held, and – with some important exceptions (see below) –
social and political issues were rarely problematised along ethnic lines.
Although most people lived in the same locality for all of their lives,
they were oriented towards, and subject to, a number of overlapping
centres of power and meaning. Rather than being oriented towards a single
axis of (ethnic) identity, and uniform set of allegiances that determined sec-
ondary relationships, communities and individuals in pre-colonial Southeast
Asia participated in multiple networks of obligation and privilege, often paying
tribute to more than one centre of political–economic power – i.e. being subject
to multiple sovereignties. It was quite normal, for example, for a Tai-speaking
petty principality to be subject of a Mon- (or Khmer-)speaking prince, or for
Karen animists – and especially Pwo Karen Buddhists – to trade with (and
incorporate elements for religion from) prestigious lowland Mon or Tai city-
states.
According to Gravers (1999: 19), in traditional Burmese society ‘‘identity
was determined by (a) whether one was a Buddhist, and (b) whether one
was a member of an alliance with the ruling dynasty, that is, which place
one held in the tributary hierarchy’’. The key to the fulfilment of patron–
client obligations was power, and the various strata of society were loosely
integrated in a series of fluctuating patrimonial relations.
Since the earliest times across mainland Southeast Asia, local strong-men,
often originating outside elite circles, have engaged in more-or-less com-
mercially inspired banditry. The charismatic warlord stood in a patron–
client relationship to his followers, reflecting that of the prince to his sub-
jects. Especially if he was the leader of a peasant rebellion, the strong-man
may have claimed legitimacy as a min laung pretender to Buddhist kinghood
(South 2005: ch. 4; Gravers 1999).
Such dynastic arrangements within the pre-colonial state were reproduced
in the structure of power relations between pre-modern kingdoms. The
influence of a particular state would rise and fall, affecting its prince’s rela-
tions with neighbouring powers, and with the great metropolises at Angkor,
Lopburi and Pegu. As Benedict Anderson (1991: 19) notes, ‘‘states were
defined by centres, borders were porous and indistinct, and sovereignties faded
imperceptibly into one another.’’ Thongchai Winichakul (1996: 73–74) describes
such frontiers as natural buffers: the boundary between Siam and Burma ‘‘was
not necessarily connected or joined . . . It was the limit within which the autho-
rities of a country could exercise their power . . . the areas left over became a
huge corridor between the two countries . . . The two sovereignties did not
interface.’’ Scholars have designated such polities, where various centres of
power are arranged in shifting, hierarchical relationships, as mandala.
The lords of smaller polities were vassals of a greater king, and ‘‘inter-state’’
alliances were often cemented by networks of marriage. The relative
strength of a particular mandala centre would influence the degree to which
populations in outlying regions identified with the culture – and implicit
ethnicity – of its ruling elite.
Ethnic Identity: the ‘‘Nature–Nurture’’ Debate
Ethnic and other markers of identity in pre-colonial Burma were formed
from a mixture of elements, ancient and contemporary. To a degree, group
and individual identities were constructs – and could therefore be re-made,
under the influence of changing social, political and economic circumstances.
Relatively fluid concepts of identity were amenable to the influence
(manipulation, even) of domestic elites, and later, foreign conquerors. The
(re-)construction of identity was not necessarily undertaken in a systematic or
self-conscious manner. Indeed, a Marxist (Gramscian) analysis might sug-
gest that the roles of political–cultural elites in effecting hegemonic regimes
are primarily determined by the underlying economic infrastructure.
Regardless of ideological considerations, the reification of ethnicity in late
pre-colonial Burma – and especially under British rule, and since – has
profoundly influenced the relationship between the state and society, and
the country’s historical development. Thus, the importance of under-
standing the nature of ethnicity.
Academic debates have focussed on whether ethnic identity is an innate
(primordial) characteristic, or – in part at least – a (modern) social con-
struct. In The Ethnic Origin of Nations, Anthony Smith (1988: 11) reviews
the development of nationalism, and the related concept of ethnic identity,
in the context of emerging modern bureaucratic capitalism. While many
accounts (e.g. Benedict Anderson) share:
a belief in the contingency of nationalism and the modernity of the

nation . . . there are also difficulties with this view. For we find in pre-
modern eras, even in the ancient world, striking parallels to the
‘modern’ idea of national identity and character.
Smith (ibid. 17) demonstrates that many contemporary nations and nation-
alist movements are closely related to, and often derived from, highly dur-
able ‘‘primordial’’ ethnie, collective cultural cores, composed of ‘‘myths,
memories, values and symbols.’’ Indeed, ‘‘in order to forge a ‘nation’ today,
it is vital to create and crystallise ethnic components.’’
Nevertheless, the forms in which ethnicity is expressed and mobilised are
subject to particular historical (‘‘situational’’) processes. This mix of ‘‘pri-
mordial’’ and ‘‘modern’’ elements in the formation of ethno-nationalist
identity may be illustrated by the case of the Mon.
Case Study: Mon National Identity2

Over 1,000,000 Mon-speaking people live in Burma and neighbouring
Thailand, where today they constitute an ethnic minority. However, this
has not always been the case. From early in the first millennium CE, for a
period of more than a 1,000 years, Mon and Khmer kings ruled over
much of mainland Southeast Asia. Across Northern and Central Thai-
land until six or seven hundred years ago, and in central and lower Burma
for another three centuries, the bulk of the population spoke variations of
Mon. The classical period of Mon history came to an end in 1757, when the
great Burman warrior-king Alaungphaya defeated the last Mon ruler of
Pegu (Hongsawatoi). Thousands of his followers were driven into exile in
Ayuthaiya (Siam), where they settled in the border areas adjoining
Burma.
Mon civilisation had been among the most influential in pre-colonial
Southeast Asia. Significant aspects of the language, art and architecture,
political and legal arrangements, and the religion of the great Thai and
Burman civilisations were derived from Mon society, which acted as a
vector in the transmission of Theravada Buddhism and Indianised political
culture to the region. This civilising role helps to explain the enduring
prestige attached to the Mon heritage across mainland Southeast Asia.
Mon nationalists have looked back to the classical era as a golden age, a
source of inspiration and legitimisation (see Chapter Two).
However, as noted above, ethnicity was only one factor among several in
determining identity in pre-modern Southeast Asia. As Victor Lieberman
(1978: 480) has demonstrated, the ‘‘Mon’’ kingdoms of lower Burma were in
fact expressions of something more complex: ‘‘the correlation between cul-
tural, i.e. ethnic, identity and political loyalty was necessarily very imper-
fect, because groups enjoying the same language and culture were
fragmented by regional ties.’’ Lieberman demonstrates that religion, culture,
region and position in the tributary-status hierarchy all helped to determine
personal, group and regime identity in pre-colonial times. As authority
was vested in the person of the monarch, it was he – rather than any
abstract idea of ethnic community – that commanded primary loyalty. A
Burman king could act as the patron of Mon princely clients, and vice
versa.
For example, the leader of the last great Mon uprising in pre-colonial
Burma, the Smin Daw Buddhaketi, who drove the Burmans from Pegu and
ruled much of lower Burma from 1740–47 (Gravers 2007: 9–10) may actu-
ally have been a Karen (PaO) or Shan speaker. More important at the time,
however, were his (probably fabricated) royal credentials, and status as an
aspirant Buddha (or min laung). The Smin Daw drew support from various
‘‘ethnic’’ groups, while Burman, Karen and Mon clients of a ‘‘Burman’’ king
opposed his rebellion. Lieberman (1978: 480) does, however, concede that
the edicts of King Alaungphaya made a clear ethnic distinction between his
own (Burman) followers and those of the Mon (or ‘‘Talaing’’, as they were
derogatively called by the Burmans). Indeed, ethnic polarisation accelerated
rapidly under Alaungphaya.
Lieberman’s insights relate to those of the anthropologist Edmund
Leach, in his classic, Political Systems of Highland Burma (1954). From his
detailed study of Shan and Kachin societies in northern Burma, Leach
concluded that unchanging characteristics are not necessarily essential
attributes of identity. Rather, apparently distinctive cultural elements,
including modes of political organisation, may be adopted by individuals
or communities, depending on their relationship to other socio-political
groups, and to the environment. Thus, peoples of seemingly different
linguistic and cultural identity may participate in the same social–political
system, the particular variations of which are determined as much by
local ecology and relations with neighbouring groups, as by any essential
elements of ethnicity.
Lieberman and Leachs’ caveats notwithstanding, Mon and Burman
ethno-linguistic identities were well-established before Europeans began to
arrive in significant numbers in Southeast Asia, in the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries. Although the adoption of such ethnonyms did not
imply that individuals or communities subscribed to a homogenous poli-
tical–cultural identity, people nevertheless represented themselves as either
‘‘Mon’’ or ‘‘Burman’’, depending on the political situation. Kings, colonialists
and modern politicians have used such ethnic labels to mobilize and control
power bases.
The Colonial Experience: the Consolidation of Ethnic Identity

British rule in lower Burma lasted for more than a century, from 1826–1948
(not including the Japanese occupation of 1942–45). However, in upper
Burma, the Burman-populated heartlands around Mandalay, the Karenni
and Shan States, and the northern Kachin hills were not colonized until the
late nineteenth century. (Technically, the British and King Mindon recog-
nized Karenni independence in 1875.) In practice, the more remote high-
lands were not effectively administered from Rangoon until the early
twentieth century, if then.
Colonial Classifications
During the British and Japanese periods, Burma was affected by huge
social, political and economic changes, most of which are beyond the scope of
this book. The creation of a modern, bureaucratic state involved processes of
administrative standardisation and the objectification of previously fluid and
hazily defined social realities, such as the concept-category of ethnicity.
As Robert Taylor (2006: 9) notes, ‘‘whether intentionally or not, the con-
sequence of the policies pursued by the British reified ethnicity and made
religion an issue in the politics of Myanmar. This was the result of both acts
of omission and acts of commission.’’ Elsewhere, (1982: 8) Taylor criticizes
the ‘‘orientalist’’ fantasies of colonial rule:
This ascriptive conceptual mode for intellectually mapping the structure of

Burma has been so widely accepted by Burma’s political élite that they, like
the Europeans who created it, have tended to accept the broad ethnic
categories as embodying living social formations with political
prerogatives . . . In this century, ethnic categories have taken on a life of their
own, shaping the political thought and behaviour of central and regional
élites.
The busy military and civil administrators of a century and a half ago were
largely ignorant of indigenous cultures. They tended to interpret their new
domain according to often ill-formed and prejudiced notions, derived from the
experience of the Indian empire. As well as adopting military, administrative
and legal systems from India, the British imported large numbers of Indian
workers, including soldiers and senior civil servants, as well as businessmen.
By the turn of the century, many of the towns and cities of Burma were
home to more Indian immigrants than indigenous Burmese. According to
Thant Myint-U (2006: 185), in the early years of the twentieth century,
250,000 people arrived in Burma from India each year. By 1927 the number
had risen to 480,000, ‘‘with Rangoon exceeding New York City as the
greatest immigrant port in the world.’’
As in other parts of Asia and Africa, European colonialism had a huge
impact on the Burmese economy, which was re-oriented to the metropolis
and world markets. This had profound consequences for patterns of
authority and social relations, human settlement and agricultural production,
transport and taxation (Migdal 1988: ch. 2).
The changing relationships between subject peoples and a colonial state
imposed by military force (and bureaucratic and commercial fiat) affected
daily realities in a number of ways. Not least of these was the commerciali-
sation of agriculture, and the imposition of rules-based – if fundamentally
unfair – structures of governance, such as taxation regimes and the legal
system.
Following the first two Anglo–Burmese wars (1824–26 and 1852), large
numbers of ethnic Burmans moved south into lower Burma, taking advan-
tage of new opportunities in agriculture and business. Among the most sig-
nificant impacts of colonial rule was the commercialization of agriculture,
especially in the Irrawaddy Delta. As Thant (2006: 166) notes:
in the fifteen years up to 1860 the amount of land devoted to rice cul-
tivation more than tripled to 1,350,000 acres . . . Rice was now the
country’s cash crop and by far the most important source of Burma’s
foreign exchange . . . By 1930 no less than twelve million acres of land
in Burma were devoted to rice, and out of a total production of five
million tons, two and a half million . . . were sold abroad.
Over time, the ‘‘rationalisation of the state’’ and capitalist economic measures
introduced by the British led to the breakdown of traditional social bonds,
and the reformation of patron–client relations. The changing socio-economic
environment caused Mon and other predominantly lowland peoples to
change their patterns of residence, livelihood and education. Indeed, so
great was the erosion of Mon culture and language under the British that,
by the time the colonialists departed, there were very few Mon speakers still
living in the Irrawaddy Delta or Pegu, the ancient Mon homelands.
According to the last colonial census, by 1931 all but 3 per cent of the Mon
population of Burma was confined to Amherst District, in what is today
central Mon State (South 2005: ch. 6).
Following the third Anglo–Burmese War of 1885, Burma was fully
incorporated into the Empire, as a province of India. The British divided
the colony into the central lowlands of ‘‘Burma Proper’’, where the great
majority of Mon and Burmese speakers lived, and a mountainous horse-
shoe of ethnic minority-populated ‘‘Frontier Areas’’, on the periphery of the
state.3
The economic changes and infrastructure developments of the colonial
period did more to integrate lowland Burman/Burmese society, than it did
to link Burma proper with the highland Frontier Areas. In the former, the
British governed by direct rule; in the Frontier Areas, they followed the
more common British colonial model of indirect rule, via local traditional
rulers (which was also employed across Northeast India, as well as in
French in Laos and Cambodia).
As a result of the benign neglect of upland areas under the British, the
social fabric was less disrupted than in the lowland plains. As Taylor (in
Ganesan & Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007: 75) notes, ‘‘in the territory which soon
became known as the Shan States4 and Frontier Areas . . . the British sought
out and gave the imprimatur of authority to ‘traditional’ headmen, chief-
tains and local lords . . . the recipients of synods which vested in them poli-
tical and administrative authority over their subjects in exchange for their
loyalty’’. Crucially, the Frontier Areas and Burma proper were never inte-
grated administratively. This bifurcation limited the opportunities for low-
land politicians to organise in the hills, and to reduce the scope of those
‘‘colonial pilgrimages’’ (Anderson 1991: 118), which might have fostered a
stronger sense of pan-Burmese identity among the colonised, at least within
elite circles. While people in Burma Proper might circulate (e.g., as civil
servants) around different parts of the truncated colony, forming ideas of a
pan-Burmese state-in-the-making, their counterparts in the Frontier Areas
were confined to a smaller horizon, and focussed on the concerns of people
sharing their own ethno-linguistic background.5
Thus, unlike the diverse peoples of Indonesia (all of whom were ruled by
the Dutch from Java, thus helping to forge the idea of a unified Indonesian
nation6), the separate identities of Bama and non-Burmans were reinforced
by the colonial experience. Inadvertently, the British produced two broad
sets of subjects (and potential citizens): lowland ‘‘Burmese’’ (most – but not
all – of whom were Bama), and highland ethnic minority groups, many of which
harboured historical grievances towards the Burman/Burmese majority. The
ossification of previously fluid social identities inevitably produced conflicting
ideas of what Burma was, and what its future should be.7
In an important study on the Making of Modern Burma, Thant Myint-U
(2001: 253) describes how the British empire’s extended assault on the per-
ipheries of the once polyethnic Konbaung empire reduced the latter to an
ethnic Burman, ‘‘relatively homogenous core which . . . made easier a stronger
sense of local patriotism’’. The traditional social, economic and political
structures of upper Burma were overthrown, and replaced by an adminis-
tration geared to the needs of British India. (Although the sangha did
survive the colonial period, its traditional educational role and close iden-
tity with the state were both undermined.) Thus, members of the Burman
majority found themselves marginalised within the colonial state, with little
reason to identify with its ethos or structures, but considerable reason to
resent those who did. Colonial state policy resulted in the creation of a large
pool of disenfranchised and disaffected people, available for mobilisation by
educated elites (see Brown 1988).
Notwithstanding the lack of integration with the Frontier Areas, the
adoption of Burmese as the language of state did accelerate processes of
assimilation, at least in Burma proper. Over the course of the nineteenth
century, large numbers of Mon speakers came to adopt the Burmese lan-
guage, and associated forms of political culture. The 1921 census recorded
324,000 Mons ‘‘by race’’, but only 189,000 Mon-language speakers of Mon.
The descendants of these non-Mon speakers would today be classified as
ethnic Burmans, i.e. as Burmese-speaking citizens of a relatively new entity:
the colony (and potential state) of Burma (South 2005: chs 2 and 6). While
the British generally treated the ancient Mon culture and history with
benign neglect, the bulk of official attention focussed on potentially restive
‘‘hill-tribes’’.
In the Frontier Areas, colonial rule tended to ossify previously loosely
structured socio-political arrangements, especially among the tribal peo-
ples of the remote hills. For example, Chin society in western Burma was
characterised by great ethno-linguistic diversity8 and primitive class sys-
tems, based on marriage alliances. Keyes (1995: 38) describes how these
were ‘‘‘frozen’ by the British . . . [and] turned into stable and lasting
chieftdomships.’’ Lian Sakhong argues (in Gravers 2007: ch. 8) that the
growth of Christianity in Eastern Chinland, during first half of the nine-
teenth century, led to an emerging sense of Chin national identity. He states
(ibid. 207) that ‘‘Christianity helped Chin people – no longer as divided tribal
groups, but as the entire nationality of Chin ethnicity – to maintain their
identity . . . Christianity itself became a new creative force of national identity for
the Chin people.’’ (For a comprehensive study of Chin ethnicity and politics,
see Sakhong 2003.)
Positive welfare initiatives were, for many years, the domain of (mostly
American Baptist) missionaries, and it was not until the 1870s that the
colonial government began to encourage the foundation of secular – as
opposed to traditional monastic – schools (Taylor 1987: 113). However, by
1940, nearly 250,000 students attended British-style secondary schools, an
eightfold increase since 1900. The increasing popularity of school atten-
dance is explained by graduates’ access to new career opportunities in the
lower and middle tiers of the colonial administration and commercial
enterprises (ibid. 114).
Access to the state apparatus opened new opportunities to previously
marginalised communities, such as the Karen; conversely, members of the
previously dominant Burman majority tended to avoid Western-style
institutions. This pattern was re-enforced by the association of Western edu-
cation with Christianity. Although, during the nineteenth century, large
numbers of ethnic minority people converted to Christianity (see below),
the number of Burmans to do so remained small (Gravers 1999: 21;
Womack 2005).
Taylor notes (1982: 12) that ‘‘when indigenous individuals were recruited
for government services, Myanmar’s ethnic minorities were dis-
proportionately sought as a result of their early and easy access to modern
education’’. For example, in 1939 Karen troops outnumbered Burmans in
the British Burma Army by a factor of three to one (Martin Smith 1999:
44). In the 1920s and 1930s, this ‘‘collaboration’’ – which included Karen
participation in the suppression of anti-British revolts – came to be resented
by the Burman-dominated nationalist movement.
Thus, colonial rule fostered the emergence of self-consciously distinct
ethnic minority groups, who were encouraged to identify themselves in
opposition to the Burman majority. Second and third generation elites from
within these ‘‘imagined communities’’ went on to lead Burma’s ethnic
nationalist movements in the turbulent years directly preceding and following
the Japanese invasion of 1941.
The classic sociological study of state formation in British Burma is the
colonial administrator and scholar John Furnivall’s The Fashioning of
Leviathan. Furnivall describes Burmese society as highly ‘‘plural’’, char-
acterized by cleavages and segmentation, along religious, ethnic, ideologi-
cal and regional lines (Furnivall 1939; 1991). Although his analysis was
based primarily on the non-assimilation of migrants from the Indian sub-
continent, Furnivall’s idea of a ‘‘plural society’’ may also be applied to
the indigenous ethnic mix, which in the colonial period supported the
development of self-consciously separate (parallel) ethno-political commu-
nities.
As noted, however, it is important to remember that the re-construction,
reification and fixing of ethnic identities during the colonial period was
predicated on longstanding cores of shared cultural memory (ethnie), as well
as more recent notions, derived from colonial era categorization. These
themes are illustrated by the cases of Karen and Kachin national identity
formation.
Case Study: Karen National Identity9
Karen history before the late eighteenth century is deeply obscure (Keyes
1979: ch. 2; Renard 1980). The ancestors of the Karennic-speaking peoples
seem to have settled in Burma several centuries before the appearance of the
Burmans, but probably not before the Mons. Karen legends tell of their
origins in the far north, beyond the Htee Se Me Ywa (‘‘River of Flowing
Sand’’ in the S’ghaw dialect, often taken as a reference to the Gobi Desert
in Mongolia).
The arrival of Tibeto–Burman migrants (including Kachin peoples) from
the ninth century accelerated the process whereby the Karen and other
groups moved up into the hills and remote forests, reinforcing their identity
as semi-nomadic hill-people. During these long centuries, a number of
Karennic-speaking subgroups emerged, of which about twenty are today
recorded.10 These include the dominant S’ghaw and Pwo dialect groups, as
well as the PaO people of today’s southern Shan State – an off-shoot of
whom live in central Karen State (see Smith 1999: 33 and 460) – and the
Kayah, Kayan and other sub-groups, who have been classified since the
nineteenth century as ‘‘Karenni’’ (‘‘Red Karen’’ in Burmese).11
Meanwhile, in the lowlands of what would become Burma and Thailand,
the Mon had developed a flourishing civilisation. The Karen and other
‘‘hill-tribes’’ lived on the peripheries of the feuding, loosely defined pre-
colonial mandala, where the power of the centre held less strongly. The
Buddhist peoples of the lowlands seem to have considered the animist
Karen and other hill-tribes to be inferiors, potential spies and porters, and
providers of forest products, which they were required to send down to the
valleys in the form of tribute. Thus, from the earliest times, minority groups
in the region were marginalised and exploited.
Keyes (1995: 19) states that ‘‘throughout most of Southeast Asia, hill
peoples were incorporated into social systems dominated by the lowland
peoples’’. In fact, large numbers of Karen lived side by side with Mon and
Burman villagers in the Irrawaddy Delta and elsewhere, and Pwo Karen
men in particular have long been educated in the Mon sangha. (The pre-
dominantly Buddhist Pwo have sometimes been called ‘‘Mon Karen’’: Stern
1968.)
As Martin Smith (2003: 11; parenthesis added) notes, ‘‘until the annexation
of Burma in the nineteenth century, the Karens were largely a hill or forest-
dwelling people without a written literature . . . as a result [they] appear as an
ethnic group very much on the fringes of recorded history’’. Karen society
was highly localised, and did not develop political structures, beyond mostly
short-lived inter-village alliances centred on local strong-men and religious
specialists. However, as Keyes states (in Delang 2003: 211):
beginning in the early nineteenth century the local worlds of Karennic-

speaking peoples began to be penetrated in significant ways by new
outside influences and such penetration intensified throughout the
twentieth century. These exogenous influences have resulted in the
transformation of many Karennic-speaking first in Burma and then in
Thailand into ethnic minorities under the rubric of ‘Karen’.
Following the British conquest of Burma, neighbouring Siam made efforts

to police and be seen to govern the inaccessible border regions between the
two countries. In his PhD thesis, Ronald Renard (1980: 73) describes how
the local Pwo Karen princelings of Sangkhlaburi and Si Sawat were enrolled
as district chiefs under the traditional tributary system, and enjoyed con-
siderable local power. However, in the 1890s Siam’s semi-autonomous out-
lying districts were integrated into the centralising state, under the
Thesaphiban system (Bunnag 1977). As the tax regime was modernised, and
superseded by a cash system, the Karen – who had previously paid their tri-
bute in-kind – found themselves increasingly marginalised (Renard 1980: vi).
Meanwhile in Burma, Martin Smith (2003: 12; parenthesis added) notes that:
Karen villagers . . . regarded the British as ‘liberators’ from Burman

domination [and] served as guides for the colonial forces [in the first and
second Anglo–Burmese wars] . . . Subsequently, Karen levies helped
subdue Burman resistance [in the third Anglo–Burmese war] . . . as well
as the Saya San rebellion [see below] . . . leaving a legacy of Burman
resentment against Karen collaboration with ‘imperialist designs’.
Over the following century, the growing identification of Karen elites with
Christianity reinforced their identification with the British. Indeed, Keyes
(in Delang 2003: 211 and 213) states that ‘‘Christianity can be said to have
created ‘Karen’ identity in Burma . . . The ethnonym ‘Karen’ has come to be
linked in the politics of ethnicity in Burma primarily with the Christian-led
Karen ethno-nationalist movements’’.
The first Baptist missionary, Andoniram Judson, landed in Burma in
1813. However, it was to be another 15 years before he turned his attention
to the non-Burman peoples, and began to convert large numbers of the
king’s Karennic-speaking subjects (starting with the Karen bandit, Ko Tha
Byu). As Keyes (ibid. 212) notes:
protestant missionaries focussed on the similarity of the name of

Y’wa, the creator-God of the Karen, and the Jewish Yaweh. They
gave particular attention to the myth that at the creation they, along
with the other peoples of the world, had been given a book – that is, a
gift of literacy – but that the book had been destroyed. Although rele-
gated to illiteracy, the myth also posited that one day outsiders would
bring a ‘golden book’ to them. The protestant missionaries presented
themselves as the carriers of the ‘golden book’ which they equated with
the bible.
Gravers (2007: ch. 9) analyses the processes of religious conversion among
the Karen, which often caused bitter divisions within and between families
and villages. By the middle of the nineteenth century, there were over 10,000
Christians in Burma, and Karen missionaries had started to take the word
of God into Kachin and other minority-populated areas (Rogers 2004: 51).
The majority of converts were Catholics and Baptists.
As noted, the re-construction of identity under the British saw an
increasing focus on ethnicity as the primary marker of, and criteria for,
categorization. Taylor has demonstrated how important aspects of ethnic
identity in Burma are derived from the racial theories, ascriptions and
administrative procedures of the colonial period (1987: 286). As with other
minority groups in Southeast Asia, Karen (but rarely Mon) ethnic identity
has been labelled an artificial construction, derived from speculative mis-
sionary ethnography and politically expedient colonial classification. How-
ever, Taylor’s assertions fail to appreciate the complexity and agency
involved in articulations of ethnic identity.
There are indeed considerable differences of language, region, religion,
culture, political ideology and socio-economic status between the various
Karen sub-groups. Although this ‘‘imagined’’ identity may be constructed
from disparate (including non-indigenous) elements, it is nonetheless
authentic for that.
As the eminent social historian Eric Hobsbawm (1990: 78) noted, ‘‘we
know too little about what . . . goes on, in the minds of most relatively
inarticulate men and women, to speak with any confidence about their
thoughts and feelings towards the nationalities and nation-states which
claim their loyalties’’. The manner in which ordinary Karen people con-
struct self-identity, adopt ethnonyms, and respond to nationalist agendas is
often unclear. The great majority are poor rice farmers and day-to-day
survival is the prime consideration. Indeed, studies from Thailand and
elsewhere indicate that minority people often adopt multiple ethnic iden-
tities, being ‘‘Karen’’ in some contexts, and ‘‘Thai’’ in others (Keyes 1979:
16–20; see Chapter Seven).
Nick Cheesman (2002) has researched the history of the Karen ethnie, as
articulated in two influential S’ghaw Karen texts – Saw Aung Hla’s Sgaw’s
The Karen History (c. 1932) and the work of his predecessor Thera T.
Thanbyah. Cheesman identifies three significant themes: the oppressed
nature of the Karen (illustrated by the recurring trope in Karen myths of
the orphan figure); the Karens’ lack of education, and the dispossession of
their traditional knowledge (thus, the importance of literacy to the nation-
alist enterprise); and the virtuous nature of the Karen (thus, the appeal of
Christianity, with its imposing moral sentiments).12
The author’s own fieldwork amongst both rural and urban Karen com-
munities in Burma, and amongst refugee and other populations in Thailand
and beyond, indicates that very large numbers of people do subscribe to a
distinct Karen identity. Indeed, the more than 50-year struggle for the free
Karen state of Kaw Thoo Lei is testimony to the enduring appeal of the
Karen national idea.13
Anderson (1991: 6) implies that an ‘‘imagined’’ community, such as ‘‘the
Karen’’, is fabricated – a view that might be taken to challenge the legiti-
macy or authenticity of Karen national identity. However, Mikael Gravers
(1996: 242) employs Chatterjee’s critique of Anderson to question whether
national identity in developing countries must be ‘‘trapped within the ima-
ginations of state and nation inculcated by their former colonial masters, or
are they able to create models based on their own cultural imaginations and
their own genuine practices’’?
In his essay on The Karen Making of a Nation, Gravers (ibid: 239; par-
enthesis added) challenges distinctions ‘‘between real ethnic categories and
those invented by colonial power . . . if we deny (Karen identity) as a mere
colonial invention, we simultaneously deny these people any active role in
history’’. He (ibid. 15) examines the nature of the Karen ethnie, and its
associated ‘‘myths, memories, values and symbols’’. Whereas Anthony
Smith concentrates primarily on the historical basis of the ethnie – wishing to
defend the ethnic origin of nations against modernist deconstruction –
Gravers (1996: 265–67) celebrates the admixture of ancient and more
recently acquired elements that make up the Karen ethnie. Karen identity may
include elements of an ‘‘invented tradition.’’ However, the continuous re-
creation of (ethnic and other forms of) identity is an authentic act of self-
representation.
Diversity and Mobilization

The richness of Karen history and society bestows complexity and dyna-
mism. However, it has also been a source of factionalism and competing
attempts to impose a totalizing unity upon the reality of Karen diversity.
The Baptist missionary, Jonathan Wade, first reduced the S’ghaw and
Pwo dialects to writing, in Moulmein in c.1830 (Womack 2005). Based on the
Burmese script (itself probably derived from Mon), Wade’s orthographies
were the first of over a dozen attempts to give Karen dialects literary form.
In 1842, the Karen (S’ghaw) language Morning Star newspaper was
established in Tavoy, under missionary patronage. One of the first indigenous
language journals in Asia, the Morning Star helped to foster the emergence
of a self-consciously Karen (and Christian) ‘‘imagined community’’.14
During the second Anglo–Burmese War of 1852, Karen levies fought
with – and against – the British. Atrocities were committed on both sides:
the Karen beheaded a Burmese chieftain; a Karen pastor was crucified, and
shot dead upon the cross (Gravers 2007: 238). Four years later, an anti-
British Karen Min Laung rebellion gained support from Mon, PaO, Kaya
and Shan groups. Violent Christian (pro-British) versus Buddhist (anti-
colonialist) conflict continued until at least the 1880s, with Karen indivi-
duals and villages playing leading roles on both sides. It was during this
period that religion and ethnicity began to define the political orientation of
whole communities. As Gravers remarks (ibid. 240), ‘‘to the Burmans,
Christian Karen supported foreign demolition of the kingdom and the
humiliation of Buddhism. This historical opposition became a significant
ingredient in the ensuing history and its narratives’’.
Four decades later, in 1881, elites within the Baptist community estab-
lished a Karen National Association (KNA, or Daw K’lu – meaning ‘‘all the
clans’’ in S’ghaw). A forerunner of the explicitly ethno-nationalist and
separatist Karen National Union (KNU, founded 1947: see Chapter Two),
the KNA grew out of a series of district and provincial Baptist conventions,
although it did also include a few Buddhist members. However, as its name
suggests, the KNA was not a religious organisation, but was intended as
expression of, and vehicle for, Karen ethnic and national identity.
John Cady (1958) was among the first to argue that missionary schools
and church networks played a key role in forging a pan-Karen national
identity, from disparate communities. As Womack (2005) notes, ‘‘like Fur-
nivall, he interpreted the nineteenth century as a starting point for Karen
nationalism, identifying the literate institutions of the Baptist mission as
building blocks for national consciousness’’.
Christian organisations and individuals played key roles in supporting
and legitimising these early expressions of Karen ethno-nationalism. Mis-
sionary scholars investigated Karen oral history, recorded in the poetic htas
recited over the generations, to produce often highly speculative accounts of
the people’s history, and their supposed origins in – or beyond – the Gobi
desert. Based on intriguing similarities between several Karen myths and
the early books of the Old Testament, some even suggested that the Karen
were a lost tribe of Israel (Renard, in Delang 2003: 6).
Gravers argues that (2007: 231–32), when translating the Bible, ‘‘by
inventing new words, metaphors and concepts, mainly from S’ghaw
Karen, the missionaries worked to create a single presentation of Karen
custom, knowledge and identity despite the considerable local differences’’.
Such nation-building exercises reveal the central importance of literacy, in
developing a common sense of community among diverse groups. However,
in his PhD dissertation, Will Womack (2005; parenthesis added) cautions
that:
English-language histories of Burma have . . . argued that [missionary-

inspired] Karen literacy and the literate institutions that developed in its
wake gave rise to the Karen nationalist movement in Burma. Burmese
ethnographic and historical works, in contrast, tend to present the
missionary script as one in a range of different Karen writing systems.
In fact, at least eleven different systems of writing the Pwo and Sgaw
Karen languages appeared in Burma during the nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries. Some of these were tied to the great literate traditions,
being the product of Christian or Theravada Buddhist missionaries or
state bureaucrats. Other scripts came from syncretistic Karen religious
leaders on the fringes of Buddhist and Christian literate practice . . .
Karen literacies have contributed to social cohesion along the lines of
specific literate networks. These networks have not always coincided
with the notions of pan-Karen identity that appear in the discursive
frameworks of nationalism and ethnicity. On the contrary, Karen
scripts have served as markers of difference – regional, linguistic, sec-
tarian, and political – between disparate, and sometimes antagonistic,
Karen groups.
Diverse Karen groups have long hosted competing social and cultural – as
well as more explicitly political – communities of interpretation. However,
some have had better access than others to resources, and to sources of legit-
imisation. In particular, Christian and S’ghaw-speaking elites have come to
dominate the discourse regarding Karen national identity, and the networks
established to promote this agenda (see Chapters Three and Four).
The association of Karen nationalism with Christianity has allowed its
enemies to represent this movement for self-determination as inherently
foreign, and dominated by ‘‘neo-colonial’’ interests. It has also alienated
large segments of the non-Christian Karen community. A re-conceptualisation
of Karen ‘‘unity in diversity’’ may help to address some of these problems
(see Chapter Seven).
Case Study: Kachin National Identity

The Kachin peoples of Burma, China and India speak a variety of related
languages, of the Tibeto–Burman group. The prevailing classification used
in Burma identifies six main Kachin sub-groups: the Jinghpaw and Lisu
(classified as separate nationalities in China), and the Maru, Lashi, Atsi and
Rawang (see Chapter Five).
The Kachin hills were annexed by the British empire in 1885 – although it
was not until the 1930s that a form of colonial administration was imposed
on the more remote parts of Northern Burma. By this time, most Kachin
clans had been converted to Christianity (the majority are Baptists and
Roman Catholics).15
Missionaries and military recruitment officers played important roles in
establishing the use and meaning of the term ‘‘Kachin’’ (Sadan, in Gravers
2007: 50). The American Baptist missionary, Dr Ola Hanson, transcribed
the previously non-literate Jinghpaw language in 1906, and the first Jingh-
paw language newspaper, the Jinghpaw Shi Laika, was published in 1914,
sponsored by the American Baptist Mission.
In her PhD thesis, Mandy Sadan describes the dynamics and proble-
matics of the historical development of the ethnic category ‘‘Kachin’’.
Through a close study of visual, oral, ritual and material culture (including
textiles and colonial era photographs) she demonstrates (2005) how:
The levels of integration of these various sub-groups to the broader
‘Kachin’ category are contested both by the political centre and by
various peripheries. The dominant peripheral discourse is that of
Kachin nationalists . . . who iterate repeatedly, and at times violently,
that the number of sub-groups is fixed at six . . . Various strategies have
been used by Kachin nationalists to ensure that the Kachin peoples
remain the dominant ethnic majority of Kachin State and the assertion
that they represent a coherent multi-group ethnic category derived from
a common ancestor is an important part of that strategy. . . .
Yet despite this reification it is difficult to conceal the fact [that] even
the slightest probing into the meanings of these terms reveals the
inherent tensions in them on almost every level: where they refer to
both places and peoples the terms rarely coincide; where they relate to
both places and spaces equally so; external relationships, internal
demographics, origins, past and present all contest these terms, so that
their usage should be framed always against highly context specific
definitions.
As a result of colonial administrative practice, and in particular the

recruitment of ‘‘hill-tribes’’ into the army (the Kachin Rifles), the term
‘‘Kachin’’ became widely used to describe a variety of related ethno-linguistic
groups, living in the far north of the colony. Regarding the term ‘‘Jinghpaw’’
(or ‘‘Singpho’’), Sadan notes that the name is often used as synonymous
with ‘‘Kachin’’, but ‘‘evokes the dominant linguistic and cultural space of
the region’’.16 Although the Jinghpaw are only one of several ethno-lin-
guistic groups, Jinghpaw Christian elites have tended to dominate Kachin
society and politics, especially through leadership of the Baptist church, and
Kachin nationalist movement (see Chapter Five).
Sadan describes (in Gravers 2007: 52) how, during the post-independence
period, leadership of the Kachin nationalist movement was contested
between Christian, Buddhist and animist elites. ‘‘However . . . it was the
church and the Christian military organizations that dominated the public
sphere of Jinghpaw identity through their ability to organize.’’ Over time,
this has led to a situation where the language and (often stylised17) elements
of the rich Jinghpaw heritage have come to represent the wider Kachin
culture.
In much the same way as Christian–S’ghaw elites have come to dominate
the Karen nationalist movement, Jinghpaw socio-cultural discourse has
moulded ‘‘Kachin’’ identity in its own image. However, these (no doubt
largely unintended) processes of ‘‘internal colonization’’ have not been
without their discontents. As non-Christian Pwo and other Karen ‘‘sub-
altern’’ groups have expressed dissatisfaction with S’ghaw–Baptist hegemony,
Jinghpaw domination has been contested by non-dominant Kachin groups,
which have attempted to ‘‘authenticate and make explicit their ethno-historical
presence within the modern nation state of Burma’’ (Sadan 2004).
For example, in the 1990s, elements of the Nung community in northern
Kachin State sought to differentiate themselves from the Rawang sub-
group, by emphasising the unique features of their dialect and cultural
heritage (see Na Nan Lahtaw, in Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007: 239;
Sadan describes ‘‘Nung’’ as a ‘‘contested label’’). This effort involved the
publication of a Nung dialect cultural history (note again the importance of
the printed word in establishing ‘‘imagined communities’’).18
As noted in the cases of the Mon and Karen, group and individual
identities are fluid constructs, subject to re-formation over time, and
according to circumstances. As Gravers (1996) and Sadan (2004; 2007) have
observed, although ideas of ethnicity may be flawed historically (derived
from obsolete, colonial era classifications), this does not make them neces-
sarily insubstantial. Like other groups in Burma – and beyond – Jinghpaw
(and S’ghaw and Pwo) communities have mobilised traditional elements in
the culture, to (re-)create modern forms of identity.
Dyarchy and Dissent

In 1906, a group of Rangoon University students founded the Young Men’s
Buddhist Association (YMBA), Burma’s first modern political organisation.
The YMBA was later re-formed as the General Council of Burmese Asso-
ciations (GCBA), the first overtly nationalist movement in modern Burma
(Taylor 1987: 164).
In 1919, the British introduced a system of ‘‘Dyarchy’’, based on the
Indian model (Thant 2006: 199). The Governor General continued his
direct rule of Burma proper – now known as ‘‘Ministerial Burma’’ – but
with the advice of a Ministerial Council, which by the 1930s included a
number of prominent Burmese politicians.
In 1921, the centrality of religion and ethnicity in Burmese politics was
reinforced by the creation of a number of constituencies based on these
categories, to return candidates to a legislature for Burma proper (Taylor, in
Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007: 81). As Taylor (2006: 14–16) notes:
The formation of these diverse meanings was articulated by the new

political elites, which presumed to speak for the various communities of
Burma in the highly factionalized politics of the colonial period. Those
voices that managed to be heard were heard either because the British
chose to hear them, or because they organized such a din that they
could not be ignored.
The Great Depression of the 1930s hit Burma’s rice-producing sector hard.
The ‘‘rice-bowl of Asia’’ had relied heavily on agricultural exports and,
when foodstuff and credit markets collapsed, farmers in the Irrawaddy
Delta fell into debt. Many eventually lost their land, often to member of the
Chettiar money-lending caste, from India. Resentment against immigrants
from the sub-continent erupted in anti-Indian riots in 1931, and again in
1938 (Thant 2006: 209–10).
The Saya San rebellion of 1930–32 is best understood as a response to
such pressures. A traditional travelling healer, Saya San rallied Mon, Karen
and other rice farmers in the once-rich Delta, proclaiming himself king of
Burma, and establishing versions of the rituals of the old court at Ava
(ibid.). The uprising dragged on for two years, before being crushed by the
British, using large numbers of Karen Christian and Indian troops and
police (Gravers 2007: 242).
This proto-nationalist rebellion was the last time that protesters against
British rule would look back to the pre-colonial past for inspiration. In the
future, militant Burmese nationalists would base their campaigns on models
of ‘‘national liberation’’, and, later, on the experience of war.
In 1937, when Burma was separated from India, the experiment in
Dyarchy was extended to include a cabinet-style government, responsible to
a fully elected legislature, twelve seats in which were reserved for Karen
representatives. The following year, a group of young radicals from Ran-
goon University, led by one Aung San, founded the Burmese nationalist
Dohbama Asiayone (We Burmese Association), and began to agitate for
independence.
During the last years of colonial rule, in 1939, Mon intellectuals and
cultural revivalists founded the All Ramanya Mon Association (ARMA).
This was the first explicitly Mon socio-cultural organization of modern
times. (‘‘Ramanya’’ is a variation on the traditional name for the pre-colonial
Mon civilization.)
2 State and society, grievance and greed,
ethnicity and insurgency
World war, independence and civil war
The Second World War

With the onset of the Second World War, the prospective defeat of the
British offered the possibility of throwing-off the colonial yoke. Therefore,
Aung San and a number of other urban-based (predominantly Burman)
political activists slipped out of the country, with the aim of forming alli-
ances with regional powers.
Having failed to make contact with the Chinese communists, Aung San
and 30 young colleagues were picked up by the Japanese fascists, who pro-
vided them with political and military training. Over the following half-
century, these ‘‘Thirty Comrades’’ went on to lead both the state of Burma
and many of the principal organisations bent on undermining it.
At the end of December 1941, the newly founded Burma Independence
Army (BIA), commanded by Maj-General Aung San, followed the Japanese
Imperial Army across the border from Siam into Burma (South 2005: ch. 6).
Given a free hand by the Japanese, a number of BIA units carried out ‘‘reprisal’’
attacks on their perceived enemies among the pro-British Karen and other
minority communities. In the chaos of war, BIA militias perpetrated a number of
atrocities, including several well-documented massacres in the Irrawaddy Delta,
Tenasserim Division and Karen-inhabited hill tracts (Smith 2003: 12). Christian
congregations were targeted in particular, further exacerbating pre-war tensions
between Burman Buddhist and non-Bama communities.
Meanwhile, in the Karen and Karenni hills – behind the front-lines of the
retreated British Army – anti-Japanese militias, such as the guerrilla Force
136, were organised by British officers parachuted into the jungle for this
purpose. Among the most famous of these was the heroic Major H.P. Sea-
grim, known to his Karen followers as ‘‘Grandfather Longlegs’’, who was
eventually captured and executed by the Japanese (Morrison 1946). In
exchange for their continued loyalty to the crown, Karen and other leaders
were given vague promises of independence – or at least long-term colonial
protection – after the war ended in British victory (Smith 1999: 62–64).
Pre-war ethnic tensions were thus exacerbated, and the stage set for the
fragmentation of post-war Burma.
State and society 23
Further to the north, large numbers of Kachin men joined British and
American Special Forces groups, including the legendary Force 101, under
the US Office for Strategic Services (OSS, forerunner of the CIA). Force 101
commandos launched numerous raids behind the front-lines, killing over 5,000
Japanese soldiers during three years of jungle warfare (Thant 2006: 236).
The Japanese Interregnum

Following the British withdrawal to India, the Japanese established a nom-
inally independent government, under the leadership of BIA commanders and
several prominent pre-war politicians. Under the 1943 Japanese-sponsored
Independence Constitution, the Frontier Areas were formally brought under
central state control (Taylor 1987: 226). For the first time, Burma was, in prin-
ciple, a unified state. In practice, however, in large tracts of countryside neither
the BIA nor the Japanese forces had much of a presence on the ground.
The wartime regime outlawed the teaching of minority languages,
espousing a quasi-National Socialist ideology of ‘‘one voice, one blood, one
nation’’ (ibid. 284). This forceful, unitary and assimilationist image of Bur-
mese nationhood, strongly identified with the Burman centre, was to be a
major feature of the post-war state. The period of Japanese occupation thus
accelerated trends begun under the British, in particular, the fixing of an
essentialist and conservative idea of ethnicity as the primary focus for indi-
vidual and group loyalty, and the mobilisation of ethnic identity groups for
political purposes. As Martin Smith (2007: 9) remarks, the war was ‘‘a bitter
formative experience in intra-societal conflict that has endured, in some
cases, until the present day’’.
By late 1945, the wartime administration of Dr Ba Maw had been dis-
credited. However, many non-Burman groups had been alarmed by the
racial chauvinism inherent in the regime’s pronouncements. As Taylor
observes (1987: 285), by the end of the war, ‘‘ethnicity, religion or
Communism inspired more loyalty than did the state’’.
Another consequence of exposure to Japanese models of political orga-
nisation and mobilisation was to reinforce the tradition of aspiring politi-
cians and power-holders establishing their own private militias (or Tats).
Numerous pocket armies had been tolerated by the British in the 1930s.
After the war, various armed groups were formed by veterans and local
strong-men, which would wreak havoc across the country for years to come.
Indeed, the tradition persists to this day (see Chapter Four).
Independence and Civil War: Competing Ideas of Burma

Burmese nationalists had been disappointed by the false independence
granted by Japan. Therefore, in March 1945, seeing which way the wind of
war was blowing, Aung San and colleagues switched their allegiance from
Japan to Britain.
24 State and society
Allied forces re-entered Rangoon on 3 May 1945, following one of the
longest and most gruelling campaigns of the war. By this time, much of the
capital and country had been severely damaged by four years of intense
conflict, and the Burmese nationalists were keen to get on with the task of
building a new Burma. There was, however, disagreement regarding the
nature of this entity, and the relationship within it between the Burman
leaders of the wartime nationalist movement and various minority groups.
Aung San, Panglong and the 1947 Constitution

During the long and uncertain years of the Second World War, an exiled
Government of Burma had been based at the hill station of Simla, in India.
Governor Reginald Dorman-Smith and his civil servants, together with some
loyal pre-war Burmese politicians, had drawn up detailed plans for a phased
approach to independence for Burma, once the war was won. This scheme
was outlined in a 1945 white paper, which provided vague guarantees for the
political future of Karen, Kachin and other minority groups, if necessary,
under a separate administration to that in the lowlands of Burma Proper (on
the transition to Burmese independence, see Thant 2006: 241–56). However,
Aung San and the young Burmese nationalists had other ideas, and rapidly
mobilised mass support in the towns and cities, calling for independence as a
single entity, ruled by a government in Rangoon.
Karen politicians were organising too: in late 1945, and during the first
half of 1946, the creation of a Karen State was demanded at a number of
mass meetings. Unhappy with the lack of a coherent British response, in
August 1946 a ‘‘Karen Goodwill Mission’’ made the long trip to London, to
lobby the government. Led by Sydney Loo Nee of the Karen National
Association (KNA), and including the young lawyers, Saw Ba U Gyi and
Saw Tha Din (author of A Humble Memorial of the Karens of Burma), the
Karen Goodwill Mission demanded autonomy for the Karen hills and
Irrawaddy Delta, but to no avail (Smith 1999: 72). Their case was probably
not helped by the fact that the KNA’s territorial claims (Gravers 2007: 243)
‘‘included Kayah and part of Siam . . . as well as the Tenasserim’’.
The new Labour administration in London held Dorman-Smith respon-
sible for the political impasse in the distant colony of Burma, which was
always regarded as a side-show to events in India. In mid-1946, he was
replaced as Governor by Sir Hubert Rance, who oversaw a reversal of
British policy under which Burma would be speedily granted independence,
along the lines envisioned by Aung San and colleagues.
The new arrangement was confirmed on 27 January 1947, in the ‘‘Atlee-
Aung San Agreement’’, under which Burma would gain independence ‘‘as
soon as possible’’, but only after consultation with the people of the Fron-
tier Areas. A Frontier Areas Commission of Enquiry (FACE) was therefore
established (ibid. 84–86). However, as the FACE was dominated by mem-
bers of Aung San’s Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL), the
enquiry was largely a formality, which was never likely to have substantive
input into the future political make-up of Burma. Nevertheless, between
March and April 1947, the FACE collected a wide range of often conflicting
testimony, from a selection of hastily selected local leaders.
Karen communities in particular were divided in their views. Most Karen
delegates from the Salween area did not want to be represented by Delta
Karen elites; some argued for a separate Karen state, while others (espe-
cially Buddhists) wanted to join with Ministerial Burma (Gravers 2007: 20–21
and 245). To illustrate how underprepared some communities were for self-
rule, Martin Smith (1999: 84) quotes the submission of a Wa chief, regard-
ing the future administration of Burma: ‘‘we have not thought about that
because we are a wild people’’.
As pressure mounted against the tired imperial power on the streets of
Rangoon, Britain’s new approach to independence was facilitated by a rap-
prochement between the urban-Burman nationalist movement and some
ethnic minority elites. In February 1947, Aung San attended a Conference
of the Nationalities, convened by Shan and other ethnic leaders at Pang-
long, in central–southern Shan State. In exchange for their acceptance of a
new Union of Burma, the charismatic young generalissimo issued guaran-
tees of autonomy to Chin, Kachin and Shan leaders present at the gather-
ing. The Panglong Agreement stated that ‘‘full autonomy in internal
administration for the Frontier Areas is accepted in principle’’ (quoted by
Tin Maung Maung Than, in Snitwongse and Thompson 2005: 73).
However, the talks at Panglong were boycotted by most Karen leaders,
while the Arakanese and Mon were not invited, as they were characterised
as lowland peoples of Ministerial Burma (representatives of other groups –
such as the Naga and Wa – were also absent). On 5 February – a week
before the Panglong Agreement was finalised – an All Karen Congress in
Rangoon voted to establish a Karen National Union (KNU), which was to
spend the next 60 years fighting for an independent (or at least autonomous)
Karen homeland.1
The historic conference concluded on 12 February, a date celebrated since
as Union Day. The manoeuvrings at Panglong resulted in the quasi-federal
constitution of 1947,2 which according to Taylor (1987: 227) ‘‘delineated the
federal state, but in reality provided for a centralised governmental system’’.
Although the claims of some ethnic nationality groups were partially
accommodated through the creation of separate, ethnic Union States, these
were administrative arms of the central government, and enjoyed little real
power. Taylor (ibid.) likens the relationship to Rangoon of the Shan,
Kachin and Karenni (officially re-named Kayah State in 1951) ethnic States,
and the Chin Special Division, to that ‘‘between Scotland and the British
government in London’’.
In an unusual constitutional concession, the Karenni and Shan States,
which had enjoyed varying degrees of independence during the pre-colonial
and colonial periods, were given the right to secession from the Union, after
a period of ten years. However, the nature and extent of Karen State was left
unresolved, to be worked out after independence. Such makeshift constitu-
tional arrangements were to fuel violent dispute in the years to come.
The KNU and the United Mon Association (UMA) organised a largely
successful Karen and Mon boycott of the April 1947 Constituent Assembly
elections, in which 26 seats in the Chamber of Deputies were reserved for the
Karen. Both had become disillusioned by the lack of recognition granted to
their nationalist claims by the AFPFL. Aung San’s loosely structured party
won the elections with 60 per cent of the vote, including those of many pro-
union, Buddhist Karen. Twenty of the Karen seats in the assembly were
filled by the pro-union Karen Youth Organisation (KYO), which enjoyed
strong support among the Delta Karen (Smith 1999: 85). Most of the KYO
leaders enjoyed close relations with the AFPFL; one, Mahn Win Maung,
went on to become Union president (a largely ceremonial role).
At this stage, the AFPFL was still prepared to offer the Karen national-
ists a state incorporating most of the eastern hills, with a Karen Affairs
Council to look after the interests of Karen people in the Irrawaddy Delta
(ibid. 86). However, the KNU rejected this offer, and held out for control
over much of the Delta and Tenasserim seaboards, with their access to the
Indian Ocean (Smith 2003: 13). Therefore, Burma achieved independence
without the demarcation of a Karen State, the boundaries of which were
not established until 1952 (and did not include more than a quarter of the
Karen population).
During the period of negotiation leading up to independence, the KNU
had supported the causes of Karenni and PaO autonomy – perhaps thereby
undermining the possibility of a pan-Karen political movement emerging in
the 1950s (ibid.). As Smith notes, over the following decades ‘‘different
Karen, Pao, Karenni and Kayan identities have become increasingly fixed in
contemporary political terms’’.
Independence and Insurgency

Aung San, the architect of independent Burma, would perhaps have agreed
with Robert Taylor’s (1987: 286) assertion that ‘‘the state qua state has no
ethnicity’’. Unfortunately, however, his attempt to forge a civic nationalism
(or patriotism) out of Burma’s diverse and troubled elements was cut short.
In a disaster with huge implications for the country’s future, on 19 July
1947 – three months after the elections, and one month before Indian
independence – Aung San was assassinated, together with half of his cabinet.
He was succeeded as AFPFL leader and prime minister-designate by U Nu,
a devout Buddhist and canny political fixer.
The Union of Burma achieved independence at an astrologically auspi-
cious time, in the early hours of 4 January 1948. By the end of the year,
Arakanese, Karen, Karenni and Mon ethnic nationalists had taken up arms
against the state (having kept their weapons, at the end of the war),3 as had
the powerful Communist Party of Burma (CPB), under the leadership of
Than Tun (among the most able of the Thirty Comrades). The communists
rapidly took control of a number of key towns, and large stretches of the
countryside. Over the following decade and a half, several more groups were
to join the insurrections; many articulated some kind of ethnic nationalist
agenda (see below).
In the first decade of independence, Burma was subject to a parliamen-
tary system of government. In an attempt to conciliate the Karen national-
ists, the armed forces (Tatmadaw) were at first commanded by the Karen,
Lt-General Smith Dun, who in 1948 led loyal Karen troops in preventing
the CPB from overrunning Rangoon (Smith Dun 1980). In fact, between
1949 and 1951 the U Nu administration controlled little other than the
capital itself, earning it the moniker ‘‘the Rangoon Government’’.
Meanwhile, in the vast countryside, still devastated by the ravages of the
Second World War, a patchwork of often feuding ethnic and communist
insurgents exercised greater or lesser degrees of influence over, and extracted
resources from, shifting territories and their populations. Military com-
manders and strong-men rose to the fore on all sides, although the CPB and
the better-organised of the ethnic militias (e.g. the KNU) also developed
fairly complex political structures and leaderships. The authoritative study
of this period is Martin Smith’s Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Eth-
nicity (1999). The present work can only hope to capture a flavour of these
chaotic years.
Militarisation and Nation/State-building (1948–58)4

Among the most significant legacies of colonialism was the creation of a
‘‘weak state’’ (Migdal 1988), which was widely perceived as lacking legiti-
macy. In the militarised context of post-independence rebellion and coun-
ter-insurgency, the Tatmadaw moved to capture this state, in order to defend
a particular idea of the nation, the origins of which lie in the colonial era
and the Second World War. This conflation of state and nation, on the part
of a politicised army, has profoundly influenced the development of Bur-
mese political culture.5 Despite ostensible changes in ideology and political
programme, the key concept of an independent nation, identified with the
Burman cultural centre, and a strong state, with the capacity to shape state–
society relations, has remained a constant. To this day, the Tatmadaw
regards itself as the principal agent for implementing policy upon – and
defending the state from – the complexities of Burmese society.
Mary Callahan (2003) has demonstrated how the Tatmadaw developed
and projected the idea of an independent Burma, centred on an armed
forces dominated by ethnic Burman officers. These veterans of the chaotic
war years were influenced by memories of the divisive colonial regime, and were
determined to prevent the disintegration of the Union. When the Tatmadaw
assumed state power in the late 1950s (see below), its leaders identified the
interests of this – the most ‘‘patriotic’’ institution in Burma – with those of
the state.
According to Mikael Gravers (1999: 129; parenthesis added):
in the 1940s nationalism meant liberation from a foreign coloniser; [in

contrast] since independence, nationalism has become a remedy for
preserving a union as one unitary state . . . Within this process there is a
plurality of imaginations of a nation and a national identity – identities
often based on a subjectively defined ethnic core.
Tatmadaw ideologues have long viewed their task as one of national salva-
tion: defence of the unitary state that emerged from the heroic struggle for
independence. This exercise in nation/state-building saw diverse (and
according to the military, divisive) minority cultures, histories and socio-
political aspirations subsumed under a homogenising ‘‘Burmese’’ national
identity.
The Ethnic Dimension

According to D.R. SarDesai (1994: p135), nationalism in Southeast Asia
‘‘has been in most cases a response to imperialism and the political and
economic exploitation of the governed. In a certain sense, nationalist revo-
lutions were the creation of Western colonial powers themselves’’. This has
also been true of ethnic nationalism in Burma, which has developed partly
in response to the Burman domination of the central government.
The distinction between ‘‘Burmese’’ and ‘‘Burman’’ nationalism has not
always been clear, and the former has often been subsumed under the latter.
Since the 1930s, Burmese nationalist movements have generally been domi-
nated by Burman personnel, who have often sought to perpetuate – and
impose – a notion of Burmese-nes, derived from the Bama historical tradition.
Mikael Gravers (1996: 240) refers to this process as ‘‘cultural corporat-
ism’’, in which an ‘‘imagined Myanmar has one singular cultural essence,
which is embodied in all individual citizens’’. Gustaaf Houtman (1999: 142–47)
has called Burma a ‘‘culture state’’, where the military government is bent
on consolidating the ‘‘Myanmafication’’ (or Burmanisation) of culture and
history, and suppressing diverse social identities.
The idea of core a Burmese (or ‘‘Myanmar’’) historical identity has also
been explored by the historian, Professor Saw Tun Aung Chein. He
observes (2004: 19–20) that, since independence, official (state-sponsored)
history has:
attempted to make itself politically relevant and of use in the nation-

building effort . . . the creation of Myanmar nationhood was . . . projected
back into the historical past . . . It conceived of the Bamar centre from the
Bagan dynasty to the Konbaung as the one centre of Myanmar
nationhood without taking into account other equally valid political
and cultural centres.
As Nick Cheesman (2002: 18–20; parenthesis added) notes:
‘‘To bind the taingyintha [‘national races’ or ‘national brethren’] into a

union, the state has relied upon a number of loose policy directives . . .
First, the state asserts that all ‘national races’ share both a common
origin and sense of identity. The current regime encapsulates this prin-
ciple in an ambiguous concept of ‘Union Spirit’ . . . It was only with the
advent of British colonial rule that the national brethren ‘became like
strangers’ due to malicious divide-and-rule policies, that led to the
subsequent outbreak of civil war . . . Secondly, the state has constructed
a ‘traditional’ public life that places Burman culture at the core and
links other cultures together around the periphery . . . Sanitised images
of the eight principal ‘national races’ are daily woven into state media.
In a rare public justification of such policies, shortly after seizing power in

1962, General Ne Win denied the need for a separate Mon culture and
ethnicity, arguing that the Mon tradition had been fully incorporated into
Burmese national culture, and thus required no distinct expression (South
2005: 79). The following year, Clifford Geertz, the renowned anthropologist,
warned of the danger of particular ethnic groups coming to dominate fra-
gile, post-colonial states with plural societies, and imposing a narrowly
conceived communal primordialism (defined by reference to ‘‘blood ties’’,
race, language, region, religion and custom). He cited (1963: 136–37; par-
enthesis added) Burma as an example, in which ‘‘peripheral groups . . . are
naturally inclined to see [the state] as alien . . . vigorously assimilationist . . .
[and prone to] ‘Burmanisation’’’. Geertz characterised ethnic conflict in
Burma as a struggle between ‘‘one central . . . group and several . . . opposed
peripheral groups . . . the Irrawaddy Valley Burmese versus the various hill
tribes’’.6
The Ethnic Nationalist Reaction

In the chaotic years before and after independence, elites within the Karen,
Mon and other minority communities articulated claims to social and poli-
tical autonomy, on the basis of ethnicity (South 2005: ch. 7). As Gravers
(1999: 145) puts it, ‘‘identity thus becomes the foundation of political
rights’’. He calls this process ‘‘ethnicicism . . . the separation or seclusion of
ethnic groups from nation states in the name of ethnic freedom . . . where
cultural differences are classified as primordial and antagonistic’’.
Discussing the roots of ethnic conflict in Southeast Asia, David Brown
(1988) describes how ‘‘communal consciousnesses’’ is ‘‘ideologized as ethnic
nationalism, and how elite groups emerged to articulate this ideology and
use it to mobilize ethnic nationalist movements’’.7 Such processes lead to
communal polarisation, in which uncompromising leaders reinforce the
positions of politicians on ‘‘the other side’’, creating an atmosphere of
mutual antagonism.
On Christmas Eve 1948, Tatmadaw soldiers massacred 80 Karen Chris-
tians in their church in Mergui, in southern Tenasserim Division. Within
the next few weeks, large-scale killings of Karen civilians had also taken
place near Rangoon (including one incident in which 150 people were
killed), and in the Delta (Thant 2006: 262). In response to the worsening
security situation among Karen communities, on 31 January 1949, the
armed wing of the KNU, the Karen National Defence Organisation
(KNDO, established in July 1947) took control of Insein township on the
outskirts of Rangoon. The following day, Lt-General Smith Dun was
replaced as Tatmadaw Commander-in-Chief by the ambitious and dynamic
young Sino-Burman, General Ne Win (one of Aung San’s Thirty Comrades,
who had been trained by the Japanese).
The KNDO hung on in Insein for 112 days, under intense artillery bar-
rages and the occasional pot-shot from irate Rangoon residents. Meanwhile,
angry mobs and Tatmadaw soldiers attacked the Karen quarters of Ahlone
and Thamine in Rangoon. By the time the siege of Insein ended, three
battalions of the crack Karen Rifles – which had previously defended Ran-
goon against the CPB – had joined the insurgency. Nevertheless, Ne Win’s
skeleton Tatmadaw, together with several hastily organised militias, mana-
ged to prevent the Karen rebels from moving into the city of Rangoon. The
KNDO was eventually forced to withdraw, and re-group in the countryside
beyond the beleaguered capital.
The KNU still controlled vast swathes of the countryside. The rebel Karen
headquarters was relocated to Toungoo and, after this strategic town was re-
occupied by the Tatmadaw, to Papun, in the hills of northern Karen State.
Meanwhile, KNDO units continued to roam across much of the Delta.
Karen insurgent fortunes received a serious setback with the death of the
legendary KNU Chairman, Saw Ba U Gyi. He was killed (together with one of
his chief lieutenants, Saw Sankey) in an ambush near Kawkareik, on 12 August
1950 – a date since commemorated by Karen nationalists as Martyrs’ Day.
Saw Ba U Gyi was born in Bassein in 1905 (for a biography of the Karen
leader, see Keenan 2008). After completing legal studies and joining the
English Bar, he served the pre-war colonial administration as Minster for
Revenue, and after the war was Minister for Information (1946–47), and
Transport (until April 1947). Saw Ba U Gyi promulgated the ‘‘Four Princi-
ples’’, which became articles of faith for many in ‘‘the Karen revolution’’:
‘‘surrender is out of the question; we shall retain our arms; the recognition
of the Karen state must be complete; we shall decide our own political
destiny’’.
While the KNU underwent a series of setbacks (including the loss of
Papun in 1955), the CPB and a patchwork of often loosely controlled and
commercially inspired militias continued to hold sway over large parts of
the country. For a while, Mandalay – Burma’s second city – was held by a
joint Karen-communist force, and in April 1949 an irregular column under
the Kachin war hero, Naw Seng, approached to within 100 miles of Ran-
goon, only to be driven back, and eventually across the border into China.
As Thant (2006: 263) notes, the military–political situation in the late 1940s
and early 1950s presented ‘‘an incredibly confusing picture’’.
The chaos lasted throughout the 1950s, as the Tatmadaw gradually out-
flanked the insurgents, gaining an upper-hand in Burma’s multi-faceted civil
war. The situation was further complicated in 1949 by the entry into
northern Shan States of Kuomintang (KMT) Chinese nationalist forces, as
they fled from the People’s Liberation Army (PLA), victors in neighbouring
China’s civil war. Rangoon rushed troops into the Shan States, extending
direct central government control into many of these principalities for the
first time. However, the KMT proved hard to expel, and soon joined the
country’s myriad insurgencies, establishing strongholds east of the Salween
River and along the Thailand border, where they came to dominate and
expand the opium trade.
Having failed to quickly achieve their (not always very coherent) goals, a
number of insurgent organisations agreed ceasefires with Rangoon in 1958,
under U Nu’s ‘‘Arms for Democracy’’ programme (Smith 1999: 168–69 and
South 2005: ch.7). However, the ex-insurgents’ attempts to pursue politics
from within ‘‘the legal fold’’ were stymied by the Tatmadaw’s seizure of
power in September 1958, and ultimately defeated by the military takeover
of March 1962 (see below).
Case Study: Mon Nationalism and Insurgent Political Culture

The day after the ‘‘surrender’’ of the Mon People’s Front (MPF), in July
1958, a young, left-leaning Mon nationalist, Nai Shwe Kyin (a.k.a. Ba
Lwin), together with a small group of followers, established the New Mon
State Party (NMSP). According to Nai Shwe Kyin (NMSP 1985), the
NMSP – which was to be in the vanguard of the armed struggle for Mon-
land for the next 40 years – aimed ‘‘to establish an independent sovereign
state unless the Burmese government is willing to permit a confederation of
free nationalities exercising the full right of self-determination inclusive of
right of secession’’.
In its early years, the NMSP received considerable support from the
much larger and better-resourced KNU (South 2005: ch. 8). Soon after re-
establishing itself in the mid-1960s, the NMSP organised a school system,
which reflected the traditional importance of education in Mon Buddhist
culture, and of language to ascriptions of ethnic identity. By 1995, when it
agreed a ceasefire with the government (see Chapter Five), the NMSP was
running a high school, several middle schools and nearly 100 primary
schools; 12 years later, the party administered a total of 375 schools, in
which all subjects were taught in Mon, at least at the primary level (see
Chapter Six).
The Mon National Schools played a key role in the NMSP’s projection of
a distinctly Mon national culture, underpinning the party’s secessionist (and
later, federalist) policies. As the Thailand-based Human Rights Foundation
of Monland (HRFM), observes (The Mon Forum August 1998), the state
and NMSP education systems’ objectives have conflicting aims:
The government education system aims to implement government’s

protracted assimilationist policy by pushing the non-Burman ethnic
students to learn and speak Burmese. . . . The main objectives of the
Mon education system are to preserve and promote Mon literature . . .
Mon culture and history, to not forget the Mon identity.
The manner in which Mon people have responded to the nationalist agenda
is often unclear. The great majority are poor rice farmers, and day-to-day
survival is the prime consideration. However, the Tatmadaw has certainly
played a part in affirming a distinct Mon identity: villagers have routinely
been persecuted because of their ethnicity, and as a result many have had
little choice but to flee to NMSP-controlled territory. If nothing else, the
displacement and flight of villagers to border areas, where they are depen-
dent on the NMSP for basic security and the provision of minimal services
(and sometimes food), is likely to have deepened perceptions of the Burmese
state as radically ‘‘other’’, and reinforced civilians’ public identification with
a distinct Mon ethnicity (see Lang 2002).
All sides in the civil war in Burma have long defined themselves in
opposition to each other. The ongoing insurgency has served as a pretext
for the expansion of Tatmadaw powers, and the militarisation of state and
society, which in turn has further provoked the incidence of rebellion. These
cycles of conflict have seen the emergence of hard-liners on all sides.
For many insurgent groups, identity and the claim to legitimacy have
come to reside in the act of rebellion itself. By the 1970s, the civil war had
become institutionalised, and in many cases the revolutionaries began to
resemble warlords – ‘‘strongmen able to control an area and exploit its
resources while at the same time keeping a weak central authority at bay’’
(Duffield 2001: 175). The political culture of the liberated zones reflected
the political economy of these conflict areas, and the largely extractive
nature of many insurgent groups’ relations to natural resources and the
peasantry (their ethnic minority brethren, in whose name the revolution
was being fought). Life in the ‘‘liberated zones’’ thus became characterised
by top-down tributary political systems, similar to those in government-
controlled areas, aspects of which recalled pre-colonial forms of socio-political
organisation (South 2005: 129–30 and 341–42).
Many aspects of life in the NMSP and other ‘‘liberated zones’’ mirrored
those in ‘‘Burma proper’’, in reaction against which the insurgents first took
up arms. Joseph Silverstein (in Rotberg 1998: 12–27) argues that the poli-
tical language and concepts of the Burmese opposition are at least partly
derived from those of the military government.8 In particular, insurgent
commanders have been quick to suppress perceived schisms in their ranks,
and to discourage the expression of diverse opinions, and socio-political
initiatives beyond the control of militarised insurgent hierarchies.
As David Steinberg observes (in Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007:
119), ‘‘a ‘loyal opposition’ is an oxymoron when power is personalized’’.
One consequence of the obsession with unity has been the endemic fac-
tionalism of Burmese opposition politics, with most groups unable to
accommodate socio-political (or personality) differences among their mem-
bers. Such tendencies have led to the suppression of pluralism in ethnic
opposition circles, and the development of rigid political cultures in non-
state controlled areas.
Thus, since the 1950s, aspects of resistance to the forces of assimilation
have themselves taken on the characteristics of ‘‘cultural corporatism’’.
Ethnic nationalist movements became prone to homogenising concepts of
identity, which were often undemocratic (see Chapter Seven).
From Parliamentary Chaos to State-Socialist Autarchy (1958–88)

The bulk of fighting in the civil war in the 1950s occurred in central and
southern Burma. During this period, large parts of Kachin and the Shan
States, and much of western Burma were relatively stable.
Following the British annexation of Burma, for over half a century the
Shan principalities had been left to administer themselves, under their
traditional rulers (sawbwas). In 1922, these princelings had been persuaded
to establish a federation of Shan States, which still enjoyed a high degree
of local autonomy in internal administration. However, following the
KMT invasion, the Tatmadaw introduced a militarised form of government
to many areas, which local populations generally perceived as alien in
character. Widespread resentment of centralised military rule led to the
formation of an anti-Rangoon Shan State Army (SSA), the first of many
rebel organisations to contest control of this vast and ethnically diverse
region.
On 29 April 1959, 25 Shan and Karenni sawbwas surrendered their her-
editary rights to Ne Win’s ‘‘Military Caretaker Government’’, which had
assumed power the year before. However, elements of the Shan and Karenni
nationalist movements continued to argue for their peoples’ rights of suc-
cession under the 1947 constitution, and in recognition of their pre-colonial
status. However, for the central government, this agreement effectively
bound these two states to the Union.
After elections in 1960, the Tatmadaw returned power to U Nu’s faction
of the AFPFL, which General Ne Win had not expected to win the polls. The
following year, in February 1961, the Kachin Independence Organisation
(KIO) went underground, complaining that U Nu’s propagation of Buddhism
as the official state religion threatened the integrity of the largely Christian
Kachin society (see Chapter Five). By this time, the U Nu government was
again coming under pressure, due to damaging splits within the AFPFL.
Hoping to gain support from the ethnic nationalist bloc, U Nu moved to
address some of the concerns articulated by the Federal Movement, led by
the Shan prince and first president of independent Burma, Sao Shwe Thaike
(Smith 1999: 31). In early 1962, U Nu convened a Nationalities Seminar in
Rangoon, to respond to issues raised the previous year at a conference of
Shan leaders in Taunggyi. The Shan seminar had proposed a federal system
of government, with the creation of a separate State for the majority-
Burman inhabitants of ‘‘Burma proper’’ (Tin Maung Maung Than, in
Snitwongse and Thompson 2005: 86). Ne Win and his Burman-Burmese
nationalist colleagues were alarmed at the prospect of U Nu granting con-
cessions to the insurgents, and used these concerns as a pretext to again seize
control in March 1962. Unlike after the Military Caretaker Government of
1958–60, the Tatmadaw has yet to relinquish state power.
The Ma Sa La
In the 1950s and early 1960s, the Tatmadaw had gained control of sig-
nificant economic holdings, becoming the most significant player in the
national economy, ‘‘with interests in everything from banking to transport’’
(Martin Smith 2007: 30). Following General Ne Win’s coup d’etat, the
militarised state extended its control over previously autonomous aspects of
social life, imposing a model of state–society relations in which the ethnic
minority periphery was dominated by a strong centre. Opposition to the
military regime was either eliminated, driven underground or forced into
open revolt. The renewal of armed opposition to the Tatmadaw-dominated
Burma Socialist Programme Party (BSPP, or Ma Sa La) government pro-
vided a pretext for the further extension of state control, and suppression of
diverse social groups deemed antipathetic to the regime’s state-building
project.
During his first Union Day speech, on 12 February 1963, Ne Win
announced that all ethnic nationalities within the union would be guaran-
teed equal rights and status, but that any independent political entity for
these groups was inconceivable. Above all, he argued, the integrity of the
unitary state must be preserved. The new military regime therefore launched
a series of campaigns against the insurgents.
Ne Win’s counter-insurgency strategy included two main elements: the
notorious ‘‘Four Cuts’’, aimed at separating the armed opposition groups
from their civilian support bases (see Chapter Four), and the establishment
of local anti-insurgent Ka Kwe Ye (KKY) militias in ethnic nationality areas
(see Chapter Five). Burma’s new strong-man did also open ceasefire nego-
tiations with the communist and ethnic insurgents, not long after seizing
power. However, most opposition participants accused him of lacking sin-
cerity, and the 1963 talks resulted in only a few rebel units agreeing terms
with the military government. Among these were troops under Saw Hunter
Tha Hmwe, who had succeeded Saw Ba U Gyi and the chairman of the
KNU, and the charismatic Karen Brigadier Lin Tin.
These few defections notwithstanding, the imposition of military rule
provided a fresh impetus to the insurgencies. Unlike the earlier Karen, Mon and
Arakanese insurrections, the ‘‘second wave’’ of post-1962 ethnic insurgencies
involved groups that had been represented at the 1947 Panglong Conference.
Under New Win, Burma retreated into international isolation and
domestic decay. The oppressive political atmosphere of the 1960s is illu-
strated by the expulsion of hundreds of thousands of people of Indian
origin, which recalled the mass exodus of 1942, in the face of the Japanese
invasion (Thant 2006: 296). A few years later, at the height of the Cultural
Revolution in 1967, the regime also turned against the Chinese community,
instigating anti-Chinese riots in Rangoon (ibid. 304).
After ruling by decree for more than a decade, General Ne Win stepped down
from his military position in 1974, and assumed the presidency, under a new
charter. The 1974 constitution saw the demarcation of three new, ethnically based
Union States: Arakan, Chin and Mon. The seven ethnic States (Kachin, Karen,
Karenni, Shan, Mon, Chin and Arakan) were ‘‘balanced’’ by seven pre-
dominantly lowland, Burman-populated Divisions. The unitary constitution
provided for a bicameral parliament with an upper house representing the States
and Divisions, which were, however, given little real power.
In a strange twist of fate, following his release from detention, the deposed
prime minister U Nu left the country, and, in 1970, made common cause with
his erstwhile battlefield enemies, the KNU and NMSP. Notwithstanding pre-
vious, mainly communist-led fronts, the new Nationalities United Liberation
Front (NULF) was the first militarily effective alliance between ethnic nationalist
insurgents and the predominantly Burman political opposition, represented by U
Nu. However, its impact was undermined by U Nu’s withdrawal from insurgent
politics within a year, although remnants of his Parliamentary Democracy Party
(PDP) remained active in the border areas into the 1990s.
Conflict Dynamics and Political Economy

As Mary Callahan notes (2007: xiii; parenthesis added):
Citizens in the ethnic minority states of Burma live under the authority
of multiple ‘states’ or ‘state-like’ authorities’ that extract from citizens,
both mediate and cause conflict, and provide some services for residents
and commercial interests. The range of competing systems of authority
sometimes creates ambiguity . . . [which also] generates opportunities for
personal advancement and wealth generation for some, but much of the
population is left with limited strategies for survival or improvement.
In the decades after independence, counter-insurgency and insurgency
became institutionalised, and associated with deep-rooted political econo-
mies. Commanders on all sides came to rely on the taxation of black market
goods, extraction of natural resources (e.g. logging and mining), and other
unregulated practices (including the drugs trade), to enrich themselves and
their retinues and to finance the armed groups, control over which brought
the power to extract further ‘‘tribute’’. The chaos of war saw the re-emergence
of patterns of extraction and social control, which recalled the ‘‘patrimonial’’
power relations of the pre-colonial period, in which authority was con-
centrated in the hands of strongmen (or warlords), and there was little dis-
tinction between personal wealth and power, and the attributes of office (e.g.
there was little distinction between field commanders’ family and official
finances). This ‘‘neopatrimonialism’’ has characterised many post-colonial
conflicts in Asia and Africa, where elites have mobilised communities for war,
and power has become personalised and unaccountable (Reno 1998).
Insurgent commanders usually owed their positions to the patronage of
headquarters, and were expected to repay the central leadership with loy-
alty, as well as funds derived from the taxation of local economic activity.
For their part, field commanders were mostly left to their own devices in
governing and raising income in ‘‘their’’ areas. Burma’s ethnic nationalist
movements thus had to contend with a contradiction between their message
of democracy and national liberation, and a resurgent patriarchal tradition.
Although much recent political science literature has focussed on such
‘‘opportunity motives’’ for insurgency, it is important to note that Burma’s
rebellions have long been driven by a mixture of genuine grievances and
political–economic opportunism. The grievances that have motivated con-
flict include the deeply felt historical injustices felt by the Karen and other
ethnic communities. (On the political economy of conflict since 1988, see
Chapters Three and Four.)
Case Study: Militant Karen Nationalism

As noted, the Karen nationalist movement emerged during the British
colonial period, under missionary tutelage. The approach of Burmese inde-
pendence saw renewed attempts to mobilise political support – and access
external patronage – around competing ideas of the Karen nation. The
most well-known projects were those associated with Western-oriented,
mostly Christian-led, S’ghaw-speaking communities. For example, in 1928,
the American-educated lawyer, Dr San C. Po, argued for the creation of a
Karen State based in Tenasserim (San C. Po 1928; 2001); Thant (2006: 211)
likens this demand to the Muslim League’s call for a separate state, to be
carved out of the territory of India.
During the period of post-Second World War positioning for indepen-
dence, Christian and Buddhist – and pro- and anti-Union – Karen factions
organised various, sometimes overlapping constituencies, to provide support
for their competing visions of Karen society. Different Karen groups enjoyed
relationships with the AFPFL government-in-waiting, ranging from co-
operative, through the co-opted, to the antagonistic.
After the KNU went underground in January 1949 (a year after inde-
pendence), the rebellion gained a momentum and logic of its own. For
many observers and supporters, the nation-building project of the KNU
was the only authentic expression of Karen nationalism in Burma.
The militant and secessionist (more recently, federalist: see below) Karen
nationalist movement dominated discourse regarding the place and future
of the Karen in Burma. In the early days of the KNU insurgency – and
especially in the 1950s, under the leftist Karen National United Party
(KNUP, founded 1953) – debates centred on the correct political ideology
with which to unify the Karen and other anti-government forces (Martin
Smith 1999: chs 8 and 9). However, following the rise of General Bo Mya in
the 1960s (see below), the KNU was dominated by a right-wing, Christian
(Seventh Day Adventist and Baptist), S’ghaw-speaking elite. Many of these
cadres came from the Irrawaddy Delta area, but rose to prominence in the
insurgent strongholds established along the eastern (Thailand) border.
These lowland elites thus assumed positions of authority over local ‘‘hill
tribe’’ populations.
According to Keyes (in Delang 2003: 217, fn. 8), ‘‘the percentage of
Christian among Karennic-speaking people in Burma increased steadily
until World War I and then appears to have remained more or less constant
since then at about 30 per cent of those speaking Sgaw and Pwo dialects’’.
The Burma Ethnic Research Group (BERG 1998: 34), has also estimated
that about 25–30 per cent of the 5–7 million Karen people in Burma are
Christian, the rest being Buddhists, or animists (5–10 per cent). (An esti-
mated 30 per cent live in urban settings, and 70 per cent in rural areas;
about 40 per cent are plains-dwellers, while 60 per cent live in the hills.)9
Many (perhaps most) rank-and-file Karen National Liberation Army
(KNLA) soldiers and Karen villagers, were Buddhist, and often spoke Pwo
or other dialects. However, since the 1960s, the KNU leadership has repro-
duced a stylised form of S’ghaw Christian culture as the culture-language of
the nationalist movement, and thus (at least by implication) as the authentic
expression of Karen identity. This ‘‘S’ghaw-isation’’ of Karen society in the
borderlands and refugee camps resembled aspects of the central state’s
Burmanisation of national culture, for which the military government has
been criticised by ethno-nationalist opposition groups.
In his essay on Ethnicity, Nationalism and the Nation-State: The Karen in
Burma and Thailand, Anada Raja (1996) describes KNU cadres’ employ-
ment of traditional myths, in an attempt to mobilise the Karen community,
and integrate the disparate sub-groups into a unified national race. He examines
a KNU-sponsored publication, which ascribes Karen identity to all descendants
of the mythical ancestor, Toh Meh Pah. Raja’s tone is rather mocking, as he
assumes that the idea of all Karen being children of Toh Meh Pah is to be
taken literally. He states that ‘‘Karen identity, as it is made out by the KNU, is
an invention’’. The main point, however, which Raja fails to properly address,
is that to be Karen is to identify with the Karen ethnie, with collective ‘‘myths,
memories, values and symbols’’ (such as the Toh Meh Pah myth).
Raja might also have noted the KNU’s tendency to promote a simplified,
pan-Karen identity (in terms of dress, dialect and custom), derived pri-
marily from the practices of the dominant S’ghaw sub-group, and often at
the expense of cultural and linguistic diversity. This aspect of nation-building
recalls Geertz’s ‘‘integrative revolution’’, at the level of the Karen free state
of Kaw Thoo Lei.
Whether the KNU may be accused of ‘‘internal colonisation’’ is deba-
table. The processes described above reflected a lack of strategic foresight,
rather than any S’ghaw–Christian subordination and assimilation program.
Nevertheless, combined with a lack of accountability among KNU leaders –
and an often predatory and extractive relationship with the Karen pea-
santry – such developments caused the KNU military–political elite to lose
touch with the grassroots of Karen society.
As the KNU lost political direction, the insurgents suffered increasing
losses on the battlefield, with disastrous humanitarian consequences (see
Chapter Four). An underclass of mostly Buddhist subalterns came to resent
the domination of an increasingly remote, corrupt and authoritarian KNU
leadership, many members of which were content to spend their time on the
border or in Thailand, rather than on the ‘‘front-lines’’. The eventual result
was fragmentation within the Karen nationalist ranks, and the formation of
the Democratic Kayin Buddhist Army (DKBA) in 1994 (see Chapter Three).
The Insurgent Mandala

In the essay quoted above, Raja (1996: 103) repeats the cliché that, like other
tribal groups, the limit of Karen political identification is the village, ‘‘while a
larger communal entity like a Karen nation-state can only be an ‘imagined
community’’’ (note the implication that the latter is necessarily inauthentic).
However, he does (ibid: 123) make some interesting points regarding the re-
emergence of traditional, mandala-like organisational forms within and
between the KNU-controlled liberated zones: ‘‘there is a Thai border and a
Burmese-Karen frontier region and, accordingly . . . the Karen separatist
movement . . . may in fact be viewed as a kind of traditional state’’.
Raja’s point is that, while the ‘‘borders’’ of Thailand and other modern
states are fixed and mapped, the ‘‘frontiers’’ of Kaw Thoo Lei and other
internationally unrecognised insurgent ‘‘para-states’’ are less well defined,
and in constant flux, according to military, political, economic, social – and
even meteorological – conditions. Certainly, the extent and frontiers of the
liberated zones have varied between the dry and rainy seasons, and over the
decades, as the powers of various insurgent centres have waxed or (more
commonly) waned, in relation to each other, and the Tatmadaw.
On a related theme, James Scott (1998: 187) notes that in pre-colonial
Southeast Asia ‘‘the role of statecraft (was) that of maximising the produc-
tive, settled population . . . while at the same drawing tribute from . . . the
nonstate spaces. These stateless zones have always played a potentially sub-
versive role’’, especially as ‘‘hill-tribes’’ (like the Karen), ‘‘were more widely
scattered, and were therefore less promising subjects of appropriation’’.
However, the emergence of the modern state has involved the ‘‘transforma-
tion of peripheral nonstate spaces into state spaces’’, in a process that ‘‘is
ubiquitous and, for the inhabitants of such spaces, frequently traumatic’’.
This analysis conforms with that of Thongchai Winichakul (1996). Like the
radical Thai scholar, Scott (ibid. 188) goes on to discuss the discontents of
modern state development, and ‘‘the context of actual rebellion’’, in which
newly marginal groups have sought to defend their ‘‘non-state space’’, and
resisted incorporation into the modern bounded state.10
The Rise of General Bo Mya

In the decade after 1962, the KNU and other ethnic insurgent groups
received a new wave of recruits from government-controlled Burma. Ne
Win’s disastrous ‘‘Burmese Way to Socialism’’ also provided the insurgents
with new sources of funds, as the economy collapsed, and urban markets
became dependant on smuggled goods, most of which came from neigh-
bouring Thailand. The KNU and other armed ethnic groups taxed the
black market trade, allowing several rebel leaders to prosper, and build up
well-equipped armies. Meanwhile, the KNU and other insurgent ‘‘liberated
zones’’ took on some of the characteristics of de facto states, with military
and parallel civilian administrations, and health and education systems.
This period saw the emergence of significant economic agendas in the
prosecution of armed conflict in Burma. These are epitomised by the rise of
General Saw Bo Mya, a tough field commander, staunch Christian and
anti-communist, who became a key asset in Thai and US strategy in the
region.
The long-time KNU strongman was born in the Papun hills in 1926
(despite various assertions, the exact date of Bo Mya’s birthday is
unknown). Having served with the British towards the end of the Second
World War, he was active from the early days of the Karen insurgency. An
able field commander, Bo Mya was promoted rapidly during the 1950s and
1960s, as ideological differences wracked the Karen nationalist movement.
In 1963, under the influence of his wife, he joined the Seventh Day Adventist
church, and subsequently adopted a strong anti-communist stance.
As the Cold War reached its height in Southeast Asia in the 1960s and
1970s, the left-leaning KNUP suffered a series of defeats in the Irrawaddy
Delta and Pegu Yomas. Meanwhile, Bo Mya – and comrades such as
Maung Maung, Hla Htoo, Taw Hla, Shwe Saing, Htein Maung and Tamla
Baw – re-built the KNU in the eastern borderlands, with support from a
series of right-wing Thai governments (and indirectly from their American
sponsors). With income derived from taxing the black-market trade, the
KNU became the strongest ethnic insurgency in Burma (although it never
fielded as many soldiers as the CPB).
In the 1970s and 1980s the KNU became more concerned with defending
lucrative trade routes – and later, logging concessions – than taking the fight
to the enemy. Bo Mya ruled the KNU with an iron fist, suppressing dissent,
or any criticism of his increasingly personalised rule (illustrated by the
lavish birthday celebrations organised on the General’s behalf, every Jan-
uary at his Mannerplaw headquarters). He is, nevertheless, remembered by
many as a strong and simple man (great Karen virtues), who was often
poorly advised (recalling the theme of the simple and virtuous Karen,
tricked by wily outsiders).
The life of General Bo Mya may be compared with that of the Pwo
Karen, Mahn Ba Zan. Born in the Irrawaddy Delta in 1916, Mahn Ba Zan
joined the KNU in early 1947, and was the first commander of its military
wing, the KNDO. In 1952, he forged a military pact between the leftist
KNUP and the CPB, which formed the basis of the National Democratic
United Front (NDUF, founded 1959), the first pan-ethnic alliance in
Burma’s modern history (Smith 1999: 183–86). In 1967, Mahn Ba Zan led a
group of KNUP defectors, to re-unite with Bo Mya’s reformed KNU in the
eastern borderlands. By 1975, the Tatmadaw had wiped out the KNUP in
the Irrawaddy Delta and Pegu Yomas, leaving the KNU as the dominant
force in Karen insurgent politics.
Although Mahn Ba Zan served as KNU Chairman from 1969 until 1976,
Bo Mya was the real power at Mannerplaw. A widely respected ‘‘insurgent
statesman’’, Mahn Ba Zan died in 1982.
As part of his anti-Communist stance, General Bo Mya ensured that
economic opportunity (which in the eastern hills meant smuggling, mining,
and later logging) was concentrated in private hands, rather than controlled by
the state. In practice, this meant that the wives and children of several insurgent
commanders made small fortunes, together with their Thai business partners,
who helped to invest the profits in the kingdom’s booming economy. Meanwhile,
the KNU’s health and education systems continued to be massively under-
resourced. Nevertheless, since the 1970s, the KNU and other insurgent groups
have administered their liberated zones in the manner of de facto mini-states,
complete with, often extensive, civilian governance structures.11
In 1976, Bo Mya assumed Chairmanship of the KNU (while remaining
KNLA Commander-in-Chief). The same year saw the formation of the
National Democratic Front (NDF), a KNU-sponsored ethnic insurgent
alliance, with its headquarters at Mannerplaw. In a major policy shift, in
1984, the NDF changed its position from one of principled secessionism
(i.e. the advocacy of outright independence) to a demand for substantial
autonomy within a proposed Federal Union of Burma. This was an important
change in emphasis: Ne Win and the Tatmadaw had always accused the
insurgents of scheming to wreck the union. Now though, the ethnic nation-
alists were aiming at a democratic, federal transformation of the union, rather
than a total repudiation of the state of Burma (South 2005: ch. 8).
One outcome of a common strategy among the non-communist ethnic
insurgent groups was an increase in military co-operation on the ground: by
the mid-1980s, NDF battalions were active in several areas adjacent to the
main KNU strongholds, and a joint Karen–Mon–Rakhine column was
established in the NDF Southern Command area (Smith 1999: 359). For a
while, it even seemed that an effective alliance might be struck between the
NDF and the still-powerful CPB. Although a CPB–NDF military pact was
brokered by the KIO in 1986, this potentially significant left–right coalition,
under which the communists for the first time acknowledged some of the ethnic
nationalists’ political demands, was subsequently vetoed by General Bo Mya.
Educational Interlude
The dominance of S’ghaw language and Christian culture under Bo Mya is
illustrated by the author’s experience as a teacher in the KNU education
system. In 1991, when I taught at a Karen refugee high school in Thailand,
the students were all required to speak S’ghaw, and to attend a brief act of
Christian worship in that language, before the school day commenced. The
following year (until early 1994), I taught English at the Karen Teacher
Training College (KTTC), in General Bo Mya’s base village of Pwe Baw
Lu, on the Thai side of the border, opposite Mannerplaw (a few miles South
of the Salween-Moeie river junction). At the time, the KTTC was probably
the only functioning Burmese institute of tertiary education, the SLORC
government having closed the universities. It offered a two-year English
language and teacher-training course, to young and prospective teachers.
Drawn from the upper-middle echelons of Kaw Thoo Lei society (e.g. the
children of KNLA Majors and Colonels, and KNU Township Officers),
KTTC trainees were instructed – and expected later to teach – in S’ghaw
Karen, and sometimes in English, but never in Pwo. One of only four
Buddhists among the thirty-plus trainees converted to Christianity during
the course of his studies; another later joined the DKBA.
It was only several years later that these issues began to bother me. In
those days, I was beguiled by the adventure of life on the border, and
never thought to question General Bo Mya on such matters, over our
occasional Sunday lunch. I was far more interested in the romance of
armed conflict, and discovering who fought whom, and when (but only
rarely asked ‘‘why’’).
Northern Burma
A series of reversals in the 1950s saw the CPB lose most of its once-exten-
sive base areas in lower Burma. Indeed, Martin Smith (1999: 31) notes that,
since the 1960s, the only Burmese-speaking areas where the CPB has
enjoyed significant military presence are the jungles of Arakan and Tenas-
serim Division, where ‘‘traditions of independence . . . of the 18th century
are still remembered’’ by Arakanese and Tavoyan nationalists. However, in
the late 1960s, the communist insurgency was re-invigorated, with a huge
injection of resources from China.
Following anti-Chinese riots in Rangoon in 1967, and provoked by Ne
Win’s growing closeness with both the USA and USSR, the Chinese Com-
munist Party (CCP) began to arm, finance and send Red Guard volunteers
to fight alongside the CPB (Smith 1999: 248–49). In January 1968, the
Kachin war hero, Naw Seng – who had been exiled to China 20 years ear-
lier – led CPB troops across the border, to capture large chunks of Shan
and Kachin states for the People’s Army. A new Northeast Command was
established in these Kachin, Kokang, Wa, Akha, Lahu and Shan-populated
areas, which were to remain under communist control for the next 20 years
(see Chapter Five).12
This territory included the best opium-growing hills in Burma. Although
the CPB taxed the opium farmers under their control, for more than a
decade the majority of communist funds and materiel came from China.
However, according to Bertil Lintner (2002: 256), ‘‘when Deng Xiaoping
returned to power in Beijing in the late 1970s, Chinese aid was drastically
reduced, and most of the volunteers recalled . . . and the CPB suffered badly
as a result’’. The party and its senior cadres began to get more closely
involved in the opium trade, which at that time was mostly controlled by
the KMT, and ‘‘a half-Shan half-Chinese upstart called . . . Khun Sa’’.
Western Burma
The history of insurgency and politics in western Burma, and along the
India and Bangladesh borders, are largely beyond the scope of this book.
For authoritative accounts, see Lintner (1994) and Smith (1999).13
The Chin
Approximately 1,000,000 Chin people, speaking several dozen related dia-
lects, live in the rugged hills of western Burma, with perhaps one and a half
times that number across the border in India and Bangladesh (Keyes 1995: 42).
Among the longest-settled inhabitants of Burma, large numbers of Chin were
converted to Christianity by American Baptists in the nineteenth century,
when several of their languages were reduced to a written script (ibid. 49).
The Chin National Front (CNF) was formed in 1989 by a group of uni-
versity students, following the traumatic events of the previous year. In
much the same way as the KNU has been dominated by S’ghaw-speakers
and the KIO by the Jinghpaw, the majority of CNF cadres come from the
Hakha sub-group.
Never more than a few hundred strong, the Chin insurgents operated in
the borderlands between Burma, India and Bangladesh. In March 2007,
ceasefire negotiations opened between the CNF and the Tatmadaw (Field
Notes 6 April and 12 October 2007).
The Rohingya
The ancestors of the Muslim Rohingya have lived in the north of Arakan
State (or Northern Rakhine State) for at least 200 years. During the period
of British rule, the Rohingya population increased significantly. However,
under the BSPP’s draconian 1982 Citizenship Law, the 850,000 Rohingya in
Burma are ineligible for full citizenship, as they are considered resident
aliens. They face severe restrictions on access to land, and in receiving per-
mission to travel between villages in Northern Rakhine State, or even to
marry (Refugees International 2006).
The 1988 Democracy Uprising and the SLORC

In 1985, and again in 1987 (the year in which the UN recognised Burma as
a Least Developed Country), the BSPP government implemented hugely
unpopular demonetisations, which wiped out the savings of families across
the country. The following year saw a series of massive and unprecedented
protests by students, monks and hundreds of thousands of ordinary citizens,
in towns and cities across Burma (Lintner 1990).
The 1988 democracy uprising started in March, with street protests in
downtown Rangoon. Organised by groups of students, the demonstrations
quickly began to attract support of the symbolically important sangha, as
well as less traditionally radical groups. In a sign of things to come, by the
end of the month more than 100 protestors had been killed by the Tatma-
daw. Then, following a series of anti-government demonstrations across the
country, on 23 July 1988, General Ne Win surprised the nation by resigning
as BSPP Chairman, bringing to an end the disastrous Burmese Way to
Socialism.14
Despite the killing of more protestors, and the declaration of martial law
on 3 August, on the morning of 8 August 1988 (8-8-88 – a highly auspicious
date) further mass demonstrations occurred in Rangoon. On the same day,
100,000 people took to the streets in Moulmein, and over the next few
weeks protestors seized control of urban centres across the country. More
than a hundred students and others were killed or injured, as riot police and
units of the Tatmadaw attempted to reassert control. Nevertheless, it seemed
for a few weeks that ‘‘people power’’ might prevail in Burma, as it had two
years previously in the Philippines.
Also in August, another major factor entered the Burmese political
equation, recalling the emergence of Corazon Aquino as a key player in
Philippine politics. Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, the daughter of Burma’s martyred
independence hero, returned from the UK, where she had been living with
her British husband, a noted academic. On 26 August, in her first public
appearance in her homeland, Aung San Suu Kyi addressed an estimated
500,000 people at the Shwedagon Pagoda in Rangoon, Burma’s holiest
Buddhist monument. She called for democracy and restoration of the rule of
law, in what she termed Burma’s ‘‘second struggle for independence’’ (ibid. 158).
The three weeks following Daw Aung San Suu Kyi’s speech in downtown
Rangoon saw almost daily mass demonstrations against the regime,
which in quick succession was headed by two Ne Win cronies: Brigadier
Sein Lwin and Dr Maung Maung. For a while it seemed that the military –
sections of which had joined the demonstrators, together with civil servants,
policemen and representatives of every sector of society – might return to
barracks. However, on the afternoon of 18 September, the Tatmadaw, under
its Commander-in-Chief, General Saw Maung, unleashed a massive attack
on the fledgling democracy movement. Over the next few weeks, large
numbers of unarmed civilians were killed, while thousands more were
arrested. Sein Lwin was dubbed ‘‘the butcher of Rangoon’’ for his role in
co-ordinating the March and September massacres (ibid. 88). Meanwhile,
thousands of young democracy activists fled to the insurgent-controlled
liberated zones.
On the first day of the crackdown, the military established a new junta,
the State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC). Six days later, Daw
Aung San Suu Kyi and her colleagues founded the NLD, which for the next
decade was to lead the urban struggle against the SLORC and its successor,
the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC, established in 1997).
According to the American ambassador to Burma from 1987–90, Burton
Levin (quoted in Burma Debate 1998), Aung San Suu Kyi initially owed her
status to being:
the daughter of the nation’s founding father . . . but it was her courage,
charisma and the force and eloquence of her message that earned her
the adulation, bordering on worship, of virtually the entire population
and elevated her to the leadership of the anti-regime movement. The
Burmese people felt that at long last someone was standing up for their
rights.
However, NLD supporters were to pay a high price for their defiance. Since
1988, courts and military tribunals have handed down thousands of harsh
prison terms to opposition figures, and hundreds have died in prison from
torture and neglect. On 20 July 1989, the confrontation between the
SLORC and the NLD claimed two more victims, when the league’s
Chairman, ex-General Tin Oo, and its most popular leader, Aung San
Suu Kyi, were each placed under house arrest. Despite being awarded
the Nobel Peace Prize in 1991, Aung San Suu Kyi was to remain in
detention for six years.
The 1990 Election
The year after Aung San Suu Kyi was first placed under house arrest, the
SLORC confounded observers by holding elections in Burma (or ‘‘Myan-
mar’’, as the country was re-named in 1989). In part at least, the May 1990
elections were conducted in order to placate international opinion. Gov-
ernments in the West, if not among Burma’s Southeast Asian neighbours,
were united in their condemnation of the country’s latest and most brutal
incarnation of military rule. Following the events of 1988, the United States,
Japan and most European nations had embargoed all aid to the SLORC,
while various UN and other international bodies called on the regime to
reform. The generals calculated that holding an election would mute inter-
national criticism, whilst serving to flush out any remaining centres of
resistance. Presumably, SLORC strategists thought that the results could be
manipulated. This was a major self-deception, perhaps engendered by a
quarter-century of complacent authoritarian rule.
Although Daw Aung San Suu Kyi remained under house arrest, and was
thus barred from campaigning or standing for election, the NLD won 60
per cent of the popular vote, and 392 (80 per cent) of the 485 seats con-
tested. (Voting in seven constituencies was suspended, due to ongoing
insurgency.) Sixty-seven representatives of ethnic nationality parties were
elected – with 35 per cent of the popular vote, but only 16 per cent of par-
liamentary seats (Yawnghwe and Sakhong 2003: 82) – as part of a loose
alliance, known as the United Nationalities League for Democracy
(UNLD).
However, jubilation among the opposition was short-lived. The following
month the SLORC ruled out any transfer of power to the elected MPs,
instead instigating a new wave of repression and political terror.
New Allies on the Border

Between 1988–90, some 10,000 students and other refugees from the
democracy uprising – and the 1990 elections and their fall-out – fled to the
border areas controlled by the Mon, Karen, Karenni and Kachin insur-
gents. They established a series of camps, where ‘‘student soldiers’’ received
basic military training and supplies from the battle-hardened insurgents.
Although only a small proportion of the ABSDF ‘‘Students Army’’ were
ever armed by the insurgents, the political significance of these new arrivals
was considerable. The events of 1988–90 had focused international attention
on the situation in Burma, and it seemed that at last a degree of unity had
emerged between the ethnic insurgents and the previously largely urban-
orientated, Burman-dominated pro-democracy opposition. The new alliance
represented a real threat to the legitimacy of the SLORC.
The All Burma Students Democratic Front (ABSDF) was formed on 5
November 1988, with units along the Thailand and China borders. Later
the same month, the ABSDF, NMSP, KNU and 20 other anti-SLORC
groups formed the Democratic Alliance of Burma (DAB), a broad-based,
joint ethnic minority-Burman opposition front.
In the DAB ‘‘liberated zones’’, the early 1990s witnessed a degree of
optimism absent from the ethnic insurgencies for more than a decade.
According to the eminent Burma scholar, Joseph Silverstein (in Carey 1997:
129–30):
during this time, the centre of Burmese politics was gradually shifting
to the border area capital (that is, Mannerplaw), where the KNU and
its guests, the DAB and the NCGUB, had their headquarters. In this
process, a new national politics was beginning to emerge which had the
potential for re-shaping the relations between the ethnic minorities and
the Burmans on the basis of national unity and peaceful democratic
politics.
Unfortunately, however – as Silverstein later recognised (ibid.), but many

other observers have not – this optimism among border-based opposition
groups and their supporters was short-lived. Following the collapse of the
CPB (see Chapter Five), the armed opposition was in fact weaker militarily
than at any time since independence. The next decade would see the end
game in Burma’s complex and protracted civil war, played out along the
Thailand border. Meanwhile, opposition political formations became
increasingly reliant on refuge in neighbouring countries, and exile overseas.
Indeed, the patronage of foreign governments and donors kept the exile
alliance afloat longer than might otherwise have been expected.
Part II
Armed conflict since 1988
3 Enemies and allies on the Thailand
border
Insurgency and exile
From SLORC to SPDC

Since shortly after independence, the Tatmadaw had been waging military
campaigns against both the Communist Party of Burma (CPB), and a
shifting – and ideologically divided – alliance of ethnic nationalist insur-
gents. As China withdrew its support in the mid-1980s, many of the pre-
dominantly ethnic minority footsoldiers of the People’s Army, and their
local leaders, became alienated from the ageing, Burman communist lea-
dership. Following a decade of military setbacks, in early 1989, the CPB col-
lapsed and split into four ethnic militias, which quickly agreed ceasefires with
the government. Within a few years, a number of NDF ethnic insurgent
groups – most notably, the KIO and NMSP – had followed the ex-communists
into the ‘‘legal fold’’ (see Chapter Five).
In April 1992, General Than Shwe replaced the increasingly unstable and
erratic Saw Maung as SLORC Chairman. The following year, Than Shwe
oversaw the inauguration of a National Convention, designed to produce a
set of principles, which would guide the creation of a new constitution for
military-ruled Myanmar (Alan Smith 2007: 191). For the rest of the decade,
most observers tended to see the Than Shwe as a figurehead, speculating
that real power lay with his deputy, Maung Aye, and junta Secretary One
and intelligence chief, Khin Nyunt.
Capitalising on the success of the ‘‘ceasefire movement’’, in November
1997 the SLORC was disbanded and replaced by the State Peace and
Development Council (SPDC). Two particularly corrupt generals were dis-
missed, and a number of powerful Regional Commanders brought into the
junta, but otherwise the change was largely cosmetic. State policy and
practice continued to be dominated by the Tatmadaw, and its short-term,
paranoid – but successful (in terms of the generals’ own aims) – agendas.
In May 1999, the Ministry of Information published a Declaration of
Defence Policy, outlining the regime’s successful attempts to expand the
Tatmadaw to a force of some 250,000 men.1 This document championed
the ‘‘national leadership role’’ of the Tatmadaw, and outlined ‘‘Twelve
Objectives’’, ‘‘Four Desires’’ and ‘‘Three National Causes’’ of state policy.2
50 Enemies and allies on the Thailand border
These included opposition to ‘‘those relying on external elements, acting as
stooges, holding negative views’’, and ‘‘the preservation and safeguard of
culture and national character.’’ The regime exhorted citizens to ‘‘crush all
destructive elements as the common enemy’’ (Maung Aung Myoe 1999: 18).
However, military rule did not go unchallenged, even on the streets of
Yangon (see below).
Military Strategy and ‘‘Border Development’’

A few days after Than Shwe’s ascension, the government announced a
temporary ceasefire in the huge Tatmadaw ongoing offensive against the
KNU headquarters. Over the previous four months, during the battle of
Sleeping Dog Mountain, the Karen forces had suffered greatly, but the
Tatmadaw had been unable to overrun Mannerplaw. Despite the ‘‘ceasefire’’,
however, throughout 1992–94 the SLORC continued to wage a ‘‘low-intensity
war’’ against the Karen insurgency.
The BERG (2002: 236) has noted that ‘‘the preoccupation with the
insurgency problem in the capital has allowed security issues to come to
dominate all aspects of government policymaking.’’ Hard-line, specifically
military, solutions to the various insurgencies were adopted by the Union
Government soon after independence. The Tatmadaw’s often brutal coun-
ter-insurgency strategies set the tone for ‘‘coercion-intensive’’ methods of
dealing with dissent – whether armed revolt or non-violent political dissent –
over the following decades.3
However, as noted by the Asian Human Rights Commission (2006):
the day-to-day lives of most people in the country are not touched
either by political activists or army personnel. For most people, the
state in Burma exists in the form of petty bureaucrats . . . police, tea-
chers and others who depend upon the state apparatus for their liveli-
hoods. As this state apparatus offers them little directly, they use its
institutions and their positions in it for their own purposes. In fact,
this is a description not only of localised state institutions in Burma
but of the bureaucracies and law enforcement agencies in most
countries throughout Asia. Whether or not there exists the appear-
ance of a functional democracy or otherwise, at the local level most
continue to operate according to historical systems of patronage and
authority.
Describing the complex relationships that exist between government agen-

cies and farming communities in rural Burma, Ardeth Maung Thawngh-
mung (2003) points out that, in the agricultural sector at least, the state is
not monolithic; rather, various local and national authorities interpret and
implement policies in different ways. This variety of practices influences the
manner in which rural people perceive the state, and its legitimacy.
Enemies and allies on the Thailand border 51
Since the days of the BSPP, the government has penetrated community
networks, particularly in the Burman-populated lowlands (Taylor 1987).
In the 1990s, state-controlled ‘‘peoples movements’’, such as the Union
Solidarity and Development Association (USDA: see Chapter Six), mobi-
lised large sections of the populace, to denounce opposition groups and
construct a façade of support for the military regime (Fink 2001; Skidmore
2004).
Government strategy in minority-populated areas has long consisted of a
muscular (critics would say ‘‘brutal’’) version of national integration. The
main ‘‘carrot’’ in this strategy has been the promise of development for
armed conflict-affected areas. This has mostly been provided via the Border
Areas Development Program, initiated in 1989 (the year of the first cease-
fires) and renamed in 1992 as the Ministry for the Progress of Border Areas
and National Races (or Na Ta La). According to Tin Maung Maung Than
(in Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007: 191), the SLORC–SPDC claims by
2005 to have spent 65 billion Kyat through the Na Ta La (about $65 million, at
the free market exchange rate).
Under the Na Ta La, the government has built over 5,000 miles of roads,
over 800 bridges, 46 dams, over 1,000 schools, nearly 400 hospitals and
health centres, and various other infrastructure assets (ibid. 200; see also
Ministry for the Progress of Border Areas and National Races 1992; 2003).
According to Mary Callahan (2007: 43), 65 per cent of the BAD budget
goes on road building. For the military regime, development means building
infrastructure, ‘‘what you see is what you get’’. However, what is not
acknowledged is that most hospitals and schools lack proper equipment –
and often staff – while many ethnic nationality citizens still feel dis-
criminated against in the provision of services.
Curtis Lambrecht’s (2004) assessment of Na Ta La publications indicates
that people’s (often non-voluntary) ‘‘contributions compromised over 70
percent of the total market cost of ‘rural development projects’’’. He states
that ‘‘the regime’s principle economic undertaking in the border regions is
the exploitation of natural resources’’ to the value of at least $1 billion in
timber exports alone, between 1993–99. This amount surpasses the money
re-invested in ‘‘border area development’’, by a factor of 20 to 1. Meanwhile,
state spending on healthcare and education declined from 3 per cent to 1.4
per cent, between 1989–96. Lambrecht concludes that ‘‘these initiatives are
more usefully analyzed as rough and clumsy state and nation-building
endeavors’’.
The relationship between officially sanctioned ‘‘development’’ activities
and nation-building is illustrated by a visit made by the author in September
2004 to a noviation ceremony at the Naga Cave monastery, in the northern
suburbs of Yangon. During the ceremony, 1226 students, drawn from 17
ethnic minority groups, were enrolled in a monastic school, specifically
designed to teach Burmese language and inculcate national (Bama) culture.
This and other such activities were organised by the Border Areas
Development Association (BADA), an NGO staffed mostly by ex-government
employees (including retired diplomats).
The Fall of Khin Nyunt and The Move to Nay Pyi Daw
The arrest of Ne Win’s son-in-law and three grandsons in 2002 shocked
Yangon. Accused of gangsterism and plotting against the state, their jailing
signalled the decline in influence of the old dictator, and also of his protégé,
the Military Intelligence chief, General Khin Nyunt. Ne Win died at home
in December that year, aged 91.
On 19 October 2004, Khin Nyunt himself was arrested, and over a hun-
dred personnel from his Military Intelligence establishment subsequently
purged. These events signalled the consolidation of power by the SPDC
Chairman (Than Shwe) and Vice-Chairman (Maung Aye), and a movement
away from the more pragmatic, modernising agenda of the Khin Nyunt
clique, which had supported conditional dialogue with the NLD.
In November the following year, in a display of imperial fiat that
demonstrated his now largely unchallenged power, Senior General Than
Shwe moved the official seat of government to the newly constructed
‘‘administrative capital’’ of Nay Pyi Daw (‘‘royal city’’), in the hills above
the remote logging town of Pyinmana, 400 km north of Yangon. Specula-
tion and comment regarding the move to Nay Pyi Daw focussed on the
general’s fear of a US-led invasion (or one undertaken by proxy forces), and
on the astrological–numerological aspects of the relocation, which recalled
the tradition of Burma’s pre-colonial kings, who would establish a new
citadel to signify the assumption of a new reign.
Throughout 2006–07, governmental and military-strategic decisions
were increasingly being made at Nay Pyi Daw. It seemed only a matter of
time before Yangon-based embassies and UN agencies were required to move
to the new capital (perhaps on completion of the new constitution).4 In
the meantime, with the centre of power – and elements of the state sur-
veillance apparatus – relocated away from Yangon, elements of the pro-
democracy opposition re-emerged to challenge military mis-rule in Burma.
The Opposition
Throughout the 1990s, as Burma’s political deadlock wore on, the stalemate
suited the military government better than it did the various beleaguered
opposition groups. With large numbers of members thrown in jail, the NLD
began to lose its potency as a mass organisation. This decline was exacer-
bated by the departure of a number of disgruntled party activists. Many
quit the league under pressure from the military intelligence apparatus;
others (most famously the writer, Ma Theingyi) left on their own initiative,
complaining of a lack of internal democracy and accountability within
the NLD, and an authoritarian political culture, which reflected that of the
military government. With its charismatic and talismanic General Secretary
mostly kept under house arrest, some international observers began to see the
NLD as marginalised in Burmese politics. While this may have been the case,
Aung San Suu Kyi nevertheless continued to enjoy very high levels of popular
support.
Aung San Su Kyi was released from house arrest on 10 July 1995. For a
while, it seemed that dialogue between the NLD and the government was
possible (South 2005: ch. 18). However, in the second half of 1995, ‘‘the
lady’’ (as she is affectionately known in Burma) provoked the SLORC by
holding a series of Sunday morning rallies outside the gates of her com-
pound, on Yangon’s University Avenue. She lectured the adoring crowds (of
as many as 3,000 people) on the political situation, and the nature of
democracy. Videos of these speeches were viewed clandestinely across the
country, helping to keep the flame of resistance alive, and also to antagonise
the generals, and make it difficult for moderate elements within the SLORC
to argue for compromise. The government held most of the cards, and if the
NLD was not prepared to respect and defer to the leading role of the
Tatmadaw, then the regime would ‘‘Crush All Destructive Elements’’
(a policy spelled-out on billboards across Burma).
In November 1995, NLD’s 86 delegates walked out of the National Conven-
tion, which was suspended the following year. Military intelligence agents
finally brought the gatherings outside Daw Aung San Suu Kyi’s compound
to an end in September 1996. The following month, an NLD conference was
broken-up by the authorities, and 500 party members arrested. In November,
a group of government-organised thugs from the USDA attacked Daw Aung
San Suu Kyi’s motor convoy, pelting her vehicle with stones. Although she
emerged with only minor injuries, the incident sent a stark message to the
people: if even ‘‘the lady’’ was not safe, then no-one was.
On 31 March 1996, the National Convention was adjourned; the process was
not re-started until 2004 (see Chapter Five). At the same time, the SLORC
announced a new law (5/96), which prohibited criticism – or constitution-
drafting activity beyond the confines – of the convention (Alan Smith 2007: 192).
After a long hiatus, in October 2001 the SPDC entered into secret talks with
Aung San Suu Kyi, who was still in detention. Facilitated by the UN Special
Envoy for Burma, Razali Ismail, these negotiations broke down in 2003. Aung
San Suu Kyi had again been released from house arrest, but her efforts to
mobilise her supporters were met again with violent suppression, when on the
night of 30 May 2003 a government-organised mob killed at least four of her
bodyguards, and possibly dozens of supporters, at Depayin in northern
Burma. The NLD General Secretary was subsequently placed under house
arrest, yet again. (In December 2007, she remained in detention.)
Following her previous release from detention, in mid-1995, Aung San
Suu Kyi had visited the famous Thamanya Sayadaw, at his monastery near
the Karen State capital of Pa’an (see Chapter Six). Later, in January 1997,
she donned Karen national costume to appear in a video address marking
Karen National Day. However, beyond the popularity of its General Secre-
tary, the NLD had only limited appeal in non-Burman communities, the
elderly party leadership being mostly composed of ex-Tatmadaw men, and
members of the urban, Burman political class.
Another primarily urban-elite phenomenon – the significance of which
dated back to the struggle for independence in the 1920s and 1930s – was
the student movement. Since the bloody SLORC crackdown of late 1988, the
majority of student leaders had been arrested or forced into exile. The
universities and other institutes of higher education were closed in 1988, re-
opened after the 1990 election, and then closed again in December 1991,
after Yangon students took to the streets to celebrate Aung San Suu Kyi’s
Nobel Peace Prize award. The SLORC allowed the universities to resume
teaching in the mid-1990s, but following a series of small ‘‘hit-and-run’’ stu-
dent demonstrations in downtown Yangon in December 1996, all but the
medical and military schools were once more closed. They only re-opened
in 1999, by which time the education system was in deep crisis. With the
exception of the children of the military-business elite, who often attended
university abroad, a ‘‘lost generation’’ had been denied the opportunity to
complete their education (Fink 2001: 91–93 and 174–192).
In the absence of NLD leadership after 2003, among the more inspiring
and spirited currents of the above-ground opposition movement was the
campaign of political defiance undertaken by the ‘‘1988 Generation’’. This
group (of mostly ex-students) was led by the charismatic activist, Min Ko
Naing, who was released in 2004, after spending 15 years in prison (mostly
in solitary confinement) for his role in organising the 1988 democracy
uprising. The 88 Generation protests helped to invigorate opposition to
military rule, as Min Ko Naing and colleagues called for the release of
political prisoners, and elicited public support for the 2006 ‘‘white cam-
paign’’ (in which sympathisers were encouraged to wear that colour, espe-
cially when visiting pagodas) and the 2007 ‘‘open heart campaign’’ (in which
people were urged to write-in, with their complaints and frustrations
regarding daily life in military-controlled Burma).
Meanwhile, for the ethnic insurgents the situation was going from bad to
worse. Among the anti-government forces, only Thailand- and overseas-based
opposition politicians prospered in the 1990s. Although, by the end of the
decade, the long-term goals of the National Coalition Government of the
Union of Burma (NCGUB) and other exile groups were far from being
achieved, they had attracted significant levels of financial and political support
from Washington and elsewhere (see Chapter Four).
Case Study: The Karen Insurgency Revisited

The south of Karen State consists of relatively flat farmland, while the
north and east are mostly hilly. Karen villages may contain anything from
five to over 200 houses. Larger settlements, which tend to cultivate ‘‘wet’’
(paddy) rice, are more common in lowland areas (and are often settled by
Buddhist Pwo Karen), while hill villages are smaller, and mostly practice
traditional swidden agriculture.
Only a minority of the Karen population live within the borders of Karen
State. The majority live in Tenasserim Division (KNU Mergui-Tavoy District),
eastern Pegu Division, Mon State, and the Irrawaddy Division. Neither the
government nor the KNU has ever conducted a reliable population survey. As
Martin Smith (2003: 10–11) notes, ‘‘Karen population statistics are disputed;
rebel leaders’ estimates are over 7 million Karens in modern-day Burma, but
government figures are less than half that number’’. A groundbreaking report by
BERG (1998: 11) estimated the population of Kaw Thoo Lei at between 2 and
2.4 million people, or very roughly half the Karen population of Burma.5
The government divides Kayin State into seven townships: Pa’an,
Kawkareik, Kya-In Seik-Gyi, Myawaddy, Papun, Thandaung and
Hlaingbwe. The KNU meanwhile has organised the Karen free state of Kaw
Thoo Lei into seven districts, each of which corresponds to a KNLA brigade
area: First Brigade (Thaton District), Second Brigade (Toungoo District), Third
Brigade (Nyaunglebin District), Fourth Brigade (Mergui-Tavoy District, in
Tenasserim Division), Fifth Brigade (Papun District), Sixth Brigade (Duplaya
District) and Seventh Brigade (in Pa’an District, regarded as the most strategi-
cally important KNU formation: thus the moniker, the ‘‘mother Brigade’’).
Each KNU district is divided into townships (28 in total), and then into
village tracts, groups of villages which are administered as a unit by the
KNU (that is, in areas where the KNU still exercises some skeleton admin-
istration). This civilian structure is paralleled by an often more extensive
KNLA military administration. In addition, the KNLA deploys a number
of Special Battalions, based in economically important border areas, which
tend to be personally loyal to local commanders.
Regarding political administration, David Taw, the KNU’s Foreign
Secretary reports (2005) that:
The KNU’s decision-making structure is that of a one-party state,

topped by a periodic party congress. Between congresses the party is led
by a Central Committee and an Executive Committee. The congress is
‘selected’ to represent the seven administrative districts making up the
state of Kawthoolei, each headed by a District Chairman . . . The
KNLA . . . parallel structures, overlapping but not entirely coinciding,
afforded the opportunity for distinct factions to develop within the
KNU-Kawthoolei-KNLA leadership with somewhat distinct outlooks
and constituencies.
The Long Retreat – from Insein to Papun, to Mannerplaw to Mae Sot

During the 1980s and 1990s, the KNU – like most other armed groups
in Burma – lost control of most of its remaining ‘‘liberated zones’’,
precipitating a humanitarian crisis in the border areas (see Chapter Four).
The once ill-defined and shifting frontiers between insurgent-controlled
areas and the states of Burma (Myanmar) and Thailand (Raja 1996) were
being replaced by fixed borders, controlled by the sovereign states, and their
armies and business interests. The old days of the free-wheeling, ‘‘wild west’’
border were drawing to a close.
With the KNLA increasingly pinned-back in a few jungle bases in the
east, and growing isolated from much of the wider Karen population, the
KNU undertook a desperate gambit. The infiltration of a KNLA unit
and weapons into Bogale Township in the Irrawaddy Delta, in October
1991, was intended to open up a new front in the civil war. However, this
poorly executed attempt to re-ignite the insurgency in the western Karen
areas was rapidly crushed by the Tatmadaw, who proceeded to exact a ter-
rible revenge upon the local population, burning villages, looting and killing
civilians, very few of whom had had anything to do with the ill-conceived
operation.
By the start of the new millennium, the KNLA was a greatly weakened
force, which no longer represented a significant military threat to the SPDC.
The size of insurgent armies has always been a moot point. In general, and
for long periods, many members of armed ethnic groups have been occupied
in administration, manning checkpoints and other non-combat duties,
behind the ill-defined ‘‘front lines’’ of conflict. Most insurgent groups have
also maintained locally stationed militias, such as the KNDO (which was
originally the main armed wing of the KNU, but since the 1960s has formed
a kind of Karen ‘‘territorial army’’).
Apart from quite frequent set-piece battles to defend fixed positions
(usually trade roots, to and from Thailand), and smaller skirmishes in the
interior, large numbers of KNU men were based in their Brigade or Batta-
lion headquarters areas (or until early 1995, at general headquarters at
Mannerplaw), rather than on front-line duty. With the fall of the KNU’s
remaining liberated zones in the 1980s and 1990s – and especially after the
fall of Mannerplaw in January 1995 – the organisation was forced to adopt
guerrilla tactics (a strategy formally adopted at a military conference at
Mae Hta Raw Tha in KNLA Sixth Brigade, in 1998).6
Especially since the mid-1980s, KNLA troops from Brigades Four, Five,
Six and Seven, which border Thailand, have spent regular periods with their
families in the refugee camps in the kingdom. Among other considerations,
this has reduced the cost to a KNU denied of funds (by the loss of territory,
trade routes and logging concessions) of maintaining large numbers of
troops in the field.
In 2007, the KNLA could still call on about 5,000 soldiers, deployed in
seven Brigades (including mobile battalions and militia), as well as over a
thousand active political cadres, including youth and women’s wings. At any
one time, about half of these personnel were located among the 150,000-
plus refugees in Thailand (see Chapter Four).
By this time, most KNU political leaders were living in exile in Thailand,
in the border towns and refugee camps around Mae Sot and Mae Sariang.
Several ageing KNLA leaders were also based in the kingdom, where they
grew increasingly distant from the few able KNLA commanders still left in
the field (mainly in northern Karen State).
According to the KNU (March 2007), between 1996 and 2006, the
KNLA engaged in a total of 13,087 clashes with the Tatmadaw, resulting in
at least 6,635 ‘‘enemy fatalities’’, and 510 KNLA dead (not including civi-
lian casualties). An additional 441 clashes were reported with the DKBA,
leaving 453 ‘‘enemy dead’’.
The Democratic Karen Buddhist Army

The emergence in late 1994 of the Democratic Kayin7 Buddhist Army
(DKBA) constituted a massive upheaval within the Karen nationalist
movement, the repercussions of which are felt to this day. The crisis resulted
from poor political skills at the top of the KNU, combined with genuine
grievances held by many in the Karen Buddhist community.
Inter-faith disputes arose out of years of neglect, and some localised
suppression, of the Buddhist (predominantly Pwo) majority by the Chris-
tian (and S’ghaw) KNU elite.8 These tensions came to a head after 1989,
with the arrival in the Mannerplaw area of U Thuzana, an ambitious Karen
monk from government-controlled Burma, and cousin of Bo Mya’s key
advisor and Forestry Minister, P’doh Aung San (who in April 1998 defected
to the government, with a small group of followers).
U Thuzana proclaimed his vision of a Karen space of peace and tran-
quillity. These traditional Karen millenarian themes had a special relevance
in the war-weary villages and cantonments of the eastern hills, and recalled
the famous monastic sanctuary at Thamanya, near Pa’an (whose abbot had
once been U Thuzana’s mentor: see Chapter Six).
A number of low-level incidents occurred along the Salween and Moeie
Rivers in the early and mid-1990s, in which U Thuzana’s followers – who
often received preferential treatment at Tatmadaw checkpoints – were
roughed-up at KNLA trade gates. A group of several hundred Buddhist
soldiers even held a demonstration against perceived religious persecution at
Mannerplaw, in mid-1994.
Meanwhile, U Thuzana had gathered several hundred followers, and
begun construction of a ‘‘peace pagoda’’ at Thu Mweh Hta, at the con-
fluence of the Salween and Moeie Rivers, a few miles north of Mannerplaw.
This was one of a series of 50 such structures sponsored by the monk.
However, local KNLA commanders suspected this edifice could be used by
the Tatmadaw to site mortar attacks against them, and ordered it to be
dismantled. In response, the Buddhist community at Thu Mweh Hta began
to agitate for an end to the armed conflict, and implicitly challenged the
leadership of the KNU.
These tensions came to a head in December 1994, when a group of dis-
affected Buddhist Karen soldiers (mostly from KNLA 102 Battalion)
deserted their front-line positions, and swore allegiance to U Thuzana. The
KNU leadership at Mannerplaw failed to deal with the situation effectively,
and have been in denial over the issue ever since.
On 21 December 1994, the rebel monks and soldiers established the
DKBO, consolidating a major split in the Karen insurgent ranks. A few
days later they announced the formation of the DKBA (led by ex-KNDO
Sgt-Major Kyaw Than). From the outset, the DKBA received military and
logistical support from local Tatmadaw units. Government agents also pro-
voked disaffection with the KNU, from the early stages of the rebellion.
Ultimately, however, the emergence of the DKBA, at a time of great crisis in
the Karen nationalist movement, was a result of genuine grievances within
the Buddhist community.
Inside the DKBA

The DKBA often acts as a proxy militia for the Tatmadaw, deflecting some
(domestic and international) criticism for the state’s harsh policies. Like the
Tatmadaw, the DKBA uses forced displacement as a means of controlling
populations and resources, and to undermine the KNU, its main rival for
leadership of the Karen community in Burma.
The DKBA resembles a loosely structured warlord enterprise, focussed
on revenue collection, and the settling of personal scores. Between 1995
and 1998, it instigated a dozen attacks on KNU-controlled refugee camps
in Thailand, killing more than 20 people (Images Asia 1998). Like some
of their counterparts in the KNLA, many DKBA commanders and soldiers
are ‘‘conflict entrepreneurs’’, for whom military and political status is a
means to personal power and enrichment. However, DKBA leaders often
also employ strong ethno-nationalist rhetoric, and have implemented
several well-regarded local infrastructure development projects. Further-
more, research indicates that conditions for Internally Displaced Persons
(IDPs) in DKBA-controlled ceasefire areas are better than those in zones
of ongoing armed conflict or government-controlled relocation sites (see
Chapter Four).
In 2006, the civilian population of the DKBA headquarters area at
Myaing Gyi Ngu (in central Hlaingbwe Township, north of Pa’an) was
about 18,000 people (Thailand–Burma Border Consortium 2006: 45).
Although not all of them are Buddhists, people living around Myaing
Gyi Ngu are expected (by the monks) to maintain a vegetarian diet.
Beyond some rice farming (constrained by the limited availability of
land), and occasional day labour on DKBA-initiated road-building
projects, the area offers only very limited livelihood opportunities.
There is, therefore, also a regular flow of migrants out to neighbouring
Thailand.
The DKBA has received some development assistance from the SPDC,
particularly in the headquarters area. There is a government hospital at
Myaing Gyi Ngu, as well as a DKBA military hospital, and a high
school. Like other Karen communities, many DKBA-controlled villages
have primary schools. There is also a Karen cultural museum at Myaing
Gyi Ngu.
Despite its name, there are a number of Christians within the ranks
of the DKBA, including some ranking commanders. The organisations’
command-and-control structure is extremely weak, with many units
enjoying almost complete autonomy, or answering to local Tatmadaw
commanders, rather than to the leadership at Myaing Gyi Ngu. DKBA
troop strength is difficult to gauge, but is probably similar to (or a little
less than) that of the KNLA, with about 3,000–5,000 active soldiers and
officials in 2006–07. The 999 Special Battalion, with around 1,000 troops,
is the most powerful DKBA unit; most other battalions are much smaller.
KNU Ceasefire Negotiations

The remnants of civil war in Burma constitute the longest running such
armed conflict in the world.9 Following the largely unsuccessful peace talks
of 1963, 30 years elapsed before a new phase of negotiations got under way
between the government and the KNU (for details of the talks from the
KNU perspective, see KNU/KHCPS 2006).
As recounted by Alan Saw U (in Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007:
222), in 1994, Karen mediators from Yangon undertook two trips to Man-
nerplaw, led by the late Anglican Archbishop (and renowned poet), Andrew
Mya Han. The formation later that year of a five-member Karen Peace
Mediator Group (KPMG), facilitated four further ‘‘confidence-building’’
meetings between the KNU and SLORC, between 1995 and 1997 (see
below).
Alan Saw U recalls that Archbishop Mya Han ‘‘pleaded with Karen leaders
to . . . [achieve] ‘resolution of the Karen ethnic affairs’, rather than . . . ush-
ering in ‘true democratic ideals and freedom for the whole country’’’, i.e. he
prioritised the ‘‘ethnic question’’ above issues of national-level democracy.
Similarly, Martin Smith (2003: 20) has noted the difference ‘‘between a politics-
first demand of the KNU and NLD, and the peace-through-development policy
of mutual trust building that had been reached in the negotiations between
the military government and the ethnic ceasefire groups.’’ By insisting on
the need for a comprehensive settlement to Burma’s complex political and
humanitarian crises, as a precondition for any negotiations with the military
government, the KNU and allies effectively foreclosed the possibility of
agreeing a ceasefire. Critics accused the hard-liners in Mae Sot of sacrificing
the interests of Karen communities in the conflict zones, for the sake of an
increasingly elusive breakthrough at the national political level (see Chapter
Seven).
According to David Taw (2005; parenthesis added), by the early 1990s:
For the younger, middle-level section of the KNU leadership it became

clear that the burden of the conflict had become unbearable for the
Karen population in the conflict area. This group viewed the KIO
[ceasefire] decision sympathetically, feared the consequences for the
Karen of further erosion of the KNU’s military position and regretted
the DAB’s lack of understanding concerning the need for the ethnic
armies to try to end the fighting in their areas. Meanwhile, reports of
SLORC human rights abuses in Karen areas were being used by the
[Burmese opposition-in-exile] to further undermine and discredit the
SLORC and mobilise stronger international responses. However, there
were foreign visitors to the KNU who urged the KNU to consider a
strategy of minimising the impact of SLORC military superiority by
entering a ceasefire and relying on a more political strategy. There
were also Karen leaders from inside Burma who visited the KNU as
self-appointed ‘mediators’, urging the KNU to try to find a way to end
the war. These non-KNU Karen ‘mediators’ were treated as SLORC
stooges and given a very cool reception officially by the KNU leader-
ship although receiving quiet encouragement from the pro-ceasefire
faction.
In 1994 an officially sanctioned KNU working group – initiated by
those responsible for the KNU’s foreign relations – won support
within the KNU to explore a negotiation initiative on the basis of
the political advantage in being seen to be willing to ‘talk about
talks’. Plans were laid for a delegation to go to Rangoon in the hope
that such an initiative could win international support. The intention
was to mobilise international pressure for a new approach to the
SLORC, recognising the need to open up some of the political issues
(i.e. equal rights, the right to self-determination and a move leading
towards federalism) for discussion, rather than simply demanding the
removal of the SLORC . . . This move collapsed late in the year
when NCGUB leaders in New York pleaded with the KNU leader-
ship not to make such a move, which they saw as undermining their
own efforts at the UN to win decisive international action against the
SLORC.
At the NCGUB’s urging, the KNU agreed not to further pursue ceasefire
negotiations in 1994, a decision which cost the organisation dearly.
Within a few months, the emergence of the DKBA had severely weakened
the KNU, and in January 1995 the opposition alliance headquarters at
Mannerplaw was overrun, causing 10,000 refugees to flee to Thailand. In
March 1995, Kaw Moo Rah, the KNU’s last major stronghold north of
Mae Sot, fell to a sustained Tatmadaw onslaught. The KNLA remnants
retreated north into the Papun hills and south to Sixth Brigade, in lower
Karen State. Life in the Karen insurgency would never be the same
again (South 2005: ch. 15).
In December 1995, and three times in 1996, KNU delegations travelled
to Moulmein and Yangon, where they met with Colonels Kyaw Thein
and Kyaw Win of the Directorate of Defence Services Intelligence
(DDSI) and Office of Strategic Studies (OSS: a military intelligence think-
tank, established in 1994). For a while, it seemed that the symbolically
important, although militarily much weakened, KNU might join the
NMSP, KIO and other ceasefire groups in the ‘‘legal fold’’ (the military
regime’s favoured expression). However, General Bo Mya and other
hard-liners were unwilling to accept the standard SLORC ceasefire
package (Taw 2005). Instead, at a February 1997 meeting of insurgent –
and some ceasefire – groups, at the village of Mae Hta Raw Tha, in
KNLA Sixth Brigade, they released a Declaration, demanding a nation-
wide ceasefire, the release of political prisoners and substantive political
dialogue. Unsurprisingly, the SLORC was unwilling to compromise, and
soon after launched a devastating offensive against the last KNU liber-
ated zones, in Fourth and Sixth Brigades – again causing thousands of
civilians to flee across the border, as well as further splits in the KNU ranks
(see Chapter Five).
According to David Taw (2005):
intermittent contacts between the KNU and the SPDC continued

during [2001–02] while Thai pressure, in the form of the restriction of Bur-
mese opposition groups’ movement in Thailand, continued to intensify.
During 2003, efforts to persuade the KNU to again try negotiation
were renewed by the SPDC-backed mediator group and independently
by other Karen community leaders.
A Karen State Peace Committee (KPC), composed of Buddhist and Chris-

tian leaders, had been established in 1999, at a meeting held in the com-
pound of the Anglican cathedral in Pa’an (Alan Saw U in Ganesan and
Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007: 228). The KPC sent four delegates to a KNU-
organised Karen Unity Seminar organised on the border, in June 2004
(ibid. 230). Like others in the Karen wider nationalist community, they
questioned whether the KNU should continue to follow the agenda of
pro-democracy groups in exile.
The ‘‘Gentleman’s Agreement’’

The fall of General Bo Mya’s Mannerplaw headquarters to the DKBA and
Tatmadaw in January 1995 had symbolised the beginning of the end of the
old warlord’s influence. In 2000, he was demoted to KNU Vice-Chairman,
and as his health declined, Bo Mya was largely sidelined from the leader-
ship. He was succeeded by his old protégé, Saw Ba Thein Sein. Born in
1927 in the Irrawaddy Delta, P’doh Ba Thin had been General Secretary of
the KNU since 1984.
In December 2003, General Bo Mya sent a five-man delegation to
Yangon, composed of his own private staff and officers of the KNLA
Seventh Brigade, who had convinced him of the need for a settlement to the
armed conflict. Acting without the authority of the KNU Central Com-
mittee, Bo Mya was concerned to bolster his legacy, and revive the waning
influence of his family – including his ambitious but ill-advised son, Ner
Dah (see below).
On 12 December 2003, at a press conference at a Bangkok hotel, General
Bo Mya announced the existence (since 10 December) of a ‘‘gentleman’s
agreement’’ to cease fighting with the SPDC. This dramatic development
took the official KNU leadership by surprise. After some heated discussions
in Mae Sot – and despite serious misgivings in some circles – the KNU
endorsed its erstwhile leader’s initiative. P’dohs Htoo Htoo Lei (KNU Joint
General Secretary) and David Taw (head of the KNU Foreign Affairs
Department) were asked to head a negotiating team to meet with the
SPDC, which also included Mergui-Tavoy District Chairman, P’doh Kweh
Htoo, and the wily political fixer and long-term ally of Bo Mya, Colonel
Soe Soe.
Both sides had reportedly ordered their troops to stand down, and
only engage the enemy if attacked first. For a while at least, hostilities more-
or-less ceased across much of Tenasserim Division and southern and
central Karen State. However, the Tatmadaw continued to conscript forced
labour, and inflict various other violations upon civilians under their
control. Front-line Tatmadaw units also used the truce as an opportunity to
re-supply front-line positions, and to move troops into new bases in pre-
viously contested areas, much to the frustration of KNLA field com-
manders.
Meanwhile, despite the provisional ceasefire, the KNLA also conscripted
new troops, especially in Second, Sixth and Seventh Brigades (Field Notes
August and October 2005). For example, the (Mon) Kao Wao News Group
(23 September 2006: www.kaowao.org) reported that the KNU was pressing
villagers in Kawkareik Township:
to join their guerrilla army units . . . about three hundred households

were ordered to provide one person per household . . . A villager who
arrived to the border said Commander Kyi Lin of KNU’s No. 6 Brigade
gave the order saying that households who could not provide the sol-
diers would be fined. New recruits were working on the farms belong to
the KNU officers.
Such activities served to further alienate elements of the Karen (and Mon)
civilian community, who seemed eager for peace. The popular desire for an
end to the armed conflict was illustrated by a photograph taken in October
2004, in Kawkareik Township. The picture shows a gathering of over 1,000
Karen villagers, in support of KNLA Sixth Brigade Commander Brig-
General Mutu (who became KNLA Commander-in-Chief that December),
as he set off to join the ceasefire delegation. Several people were carrying
makeshift banners, calling for an ‘‘end to the bloody war’’ and proclaiming
‘‘we want peace in our country’’.
Substantial KNU–SPDC ceasefire talks began in January 2004, and
might have led to the agreement of a sustainable truce. During these nego-
tiations, a government representative for the first time admitted that the
Tatmadaw had engaged in extensive population relocation, as part of its
counter-insurgent strategy. He also accepted that, with an end to the fighting,
these people might be able to go home, and receive appropriate assistance
(Human Rights Watch 2005).
However, the next round of talks was delayed for several months, fol-
lowing an incident on 23 February 2004, in which KNLA Third Brigade
troops attacked a Tatmadaw camp in western Nyaunglebin District, killing
several soldiers and ‘‘liberating’’ weapons and some communications
equipment. Although the KNLA returned the seized material, and dis-
ciplined the troops involved, the SPDC broke off negotiations for several
months, following this violation of the ceasefire.
The setback to the peace process was to prove costly, as the purge in
October of the prime minister (and MI chief), General Khin Nyunt,
represented a serious setback to the negotiation of a settlement to the long-
running Karen insurgency. If the provisional KNU–SPDC ceasefire had
been consolidated, it might have delivered an improvement in the human
rights situation on the ground, creating the space in which local and inter-
national organisations could begin to address the needs of a war-ravaged
population, and commence the urgent task of moving onto a positive,
‘‘peace-building’’ phase.
Two further rounds of ceasefire talks did take place – on 14–15 March
2005, at the Tatmadaw Southeast Command headquarters in Moulmein,10
and on 5 May, in Myawaddy11 (Field Notes 26 May 2007). The KNU
team’s negotiating strategy was to proceed by defining a series of problems
(agenda-setting), working step-by-step towards agreement regarding the
nature of the issues to be discussed, before engaging the government side on
possible solutions. However, in the aftermath of the fall of Khin Nyunt, the
Tatmadaw representatives showed little interest in negotiation. The KNU
was offered three small patches of territory in which to station troops (in
KNLA First, Fifth and Sixth Brigades), and given some vague assurances
regarding the provision of development assistance. In effect, David Taw and
colleagues were told to ‘‘take it, or leave it’’.
These disappointing developments served to strengthen the hand of hard-
line, anti-ceasefire actors on the border (most of whom were allied with the
opposition-in-exile), and undermine the positions of those who sought to
negotiate an end to the armed conflict. Meanwhile, elements within the Karen
community in Yangon remained determined that Bo Mya and the KNU
should commence peace talks with the SPDC.
The 2005–07 Offensive in Northern Karen State

Between January 2006 and August 2007, some 30,000 people were displaced
in a sustained Tatmadaw campaign against villages in Toungoo and north-
ern Nyaunglebin Districts, and parts of Papun District (KNLA Second,
Third and Fifth Brigades). In addition, several dozen villages received
orders from the Tatmadaw to relocate to new settlements in government-
controlled areas (Free Burma Rangers 9 August 2007: see Chapter Four).
In the early stages of the offensive, the Tatmadaw seems to have been
responding to provocation from the KNLA Second Brigade. Since the
‘‘Gentleman’s Agreement’’, units from the Second Brigade had been push-
ing into government-controlled zones, to which they had previously had
only clandestine access. They extracted taxes, and demanded fees from log-
ging and gold mining companies in these areas. This was due to a mixture
of ‘‘greed’’ and ‘‘grievance’’: it had become very difficult for the KNU in
these remote districts of northern Karen State to collect sufficient food and
other supplies, to survive in the depopulated hills; local KNLA commanders
were also seeking to extend the amount of territory under their control, in
anticipation of a formal ceasefire agreement. These battle-hardened Karen
commanders also tended to oppose the ceasefire on ideological grounds:
having fought for five decades for a free Kaw Thoo Lei, they were not willing
to accept a compromise agreement. The KNLA’s expanded activities invited
reprisals from Tatmadaw field commanders, many of whom were similarly
sceptical regarding the merits of the ceasefire.
The Tatmadaw offensives were also designed – in part, at least – to gain
control over previously contested areas, in order to undertake major infra-
structure developments, including the construction of hydroelectric dams on
the Salween River. If built, at an estimated cost of about $5 billion, the
cascade of dams would flood an estimated 995 square-km of forest, and
displace thousands more civilians.12 Such patterns of mixed conflict- and
‘‘development’’-induced displacement recalled earlier developments in
Tenasserim Division,13 and in Shan State14 (see Chapter Four).
These disturbing developments notwithstanding, following the provisional
KNU ceasefire, the situation in other Karen areas began to stabilise. In parts of
Tenasserim Division, and across much of central and southern Karen State,
there was less fighting and somewhat fewer human rights violations than before.
In October 2004, the Thailand Burma Border Consortium (TBBC: see
Chapter Four) had reported that ‘‘more than half of internally displaced
households [had] been forced to work without compensation and . . . extor-
ted cash or property within the last year’’. By October 2005, however,
these numbers had dropped to one-third of those surveyed having paid
arbitrary taxes or been subject to forced labour. In general, the level of
human rights abuses in Karen areas had declined somewhat between 2004
and 2006, at least for those living beyond zones of ongoing armed conflict.
Desperate Gambits on the Border

In the early 1990s, the KNU and opposition alliance headquarters at
Mannerplaw had been an alternative axis of power to Yangon. By 2006,
however, Thailand border-based opposition was marginal to the big picture
of Burmese politics, although the plight of hundreds of thousands of conflict-
affected civilians remained of grave concern (see Chapter Four).
This shift in the balance-of-power was illustrated by attempts to mediate
an unofficial ceasefire between a faction of the KNLA, and the military
government. A decade previously, such plotting would have been headline
news. However, the decline of the border-based insurgencies meant by 2006–
07 these alarums constituted little more than footnotes to history.
In late June 2006, a small group of Karen leaders, including representa-
tives from KNLA Seventh Brigade, met in Myawaddy with Tatmadaw
Colonel Myat Htun Oo. They discussed the possibility of Bo Mya travelling
to Yangon, to resume discussion of the ‘‘Gentlemen’s Agreement’’. A few
days later, Pastor Timothy Laklem – an old friend of the Bo Mya family,
who as a boy had been adopted by a Karen family in Yangon – and the
General’s son, Colonel Ner Dah Mya, met in Bangkok with Colonel Tin
Soe, the Burmese military attaché. They were reportedly given 300,000 Baht
to cover expenses for the trip to Yangon.
The ex-KNU Chairman had been in poor health for some time, and was
often far from alert, mentally. The stated reason for the 80-year-old’s trip
was to receive medical care in Yangon, a strange justification given the
appalling state of Burma’s health system.
In the first week of July, a group of Karen leaders from Yangon arrived in
Mae Sot to facilitate the General’s trip. However, on the planned day of his
departure (11 July 2006), Bo Mya was mentally quite lucid, and came to
realise what his ‘‘supporters’’ had in mind. He refused to leave the house,
and the planned trip to Yangon had to be abandoned.
On several occasions over the following month, Timothy and Ner Dah
attempted to engineer the General’s removal to Yangon, possible via terri-
tory controlled by the DKBA, with which both have good relations. How-
ever, Bo Mya and his wife, Naw Lah Poe – herself a KNU Central
Committee member, and Chair of the Karen Women’s Organisation
(KWO) – refused to endorse the plan.
In the meantime, the ‘‘Rangoon Karen’’ and Colonel Myat Htun Oo held
a number of meetings with Brig-General Htein Maung, the disaffected
KNLA Seventh Brigade Commander. On 30 July, Htein Maung issued a
joint statement with Ner Dah, denouncing the KNU leadership, and paving
the way for separate negotiations between the Seventh Brigade commander
and the Tatmadaw.
One of the saddest aspects of this story was the way in which General Bo
Mya was manipulated by some of those closest to him. Pastor Timothy and Ner
Dah had seen their influence decline, with the failing health of the latter’s
father. Having been unable to secure positions on the KNU Central Com-
mittee at the Thirteenth Congress in 2005, they undertook this high-stakes
gambit in order to secure a power-base.
A more interesting question is why several prominent Karen leaders from
Yangon, including two well-known medical doctors, allowed themselves to
be co-opted in the plot. In part perhaps, political opportunism played a role
here too: he who delivered Bo Mya to the SPDC was likely to be well-
rewarded. However, some of the individuals concerned were acting in good
faith. They saw little benefit to the Karen people in prolonging the armed
conflict, and hoped that negotiation of a ceasefire might create the space
within which to address the pressing humanitarian needs of the Karen
community. They believed, however, that hard-line elements within the
KNU leadership would never accept a ceasefire with the SPDC. Thus the
perceived need arose to negotiate an unofficial settlement.
These efforts were re-doubled, following the death of General Bo Mya,
on Christmas Eve 2006. For 40 years, he had been one of the most sig-
nificant figures in Burma’s ethnic politics, but Bo Mya left a decidedly
mixed legacy.
The Seventh Brigade Split

With the passing of Bo Mya, Timothy and Ner Dah, and their friends
from Yangon, focused their attention on his old comrade-in-arms – and
fellow Seventh Day Adventist – the elderly Seventh Brigade Commander,
Brig-Gen. Htein Maung. It had been clear for some time that a number
of KNLA commanders were unhappy with the unresolved situation that had
emerged following the ‘‘Gentleman’s Agreement’’ of December 2003. Given
the renewed pressure of Tatmadaw offensives in northern Karen State, the
time seemed right to again attempt negotiation of an end to the armed con-
flict. In the process of negotiating a ‘‘separate peace’’ for the Seventh Brigade
area, Htein Maung dealt the ailing KNU another hard blow.
A delegation led by Htein Maung travelled to Yangon between 3 and 11
January 2007, for talks with Lt-Gen. Thein Sein (SPDC Secretary-1) and
Maj-Gen Ye Myint (head of the Military Affairs Department, successor to
Khin Nyunt’s Military Intelligence). On 16 January, Htein Maung made his
peace with the SPDC. Together with about 300–500 Seventh Brigade sol-
diers and their family members, he formed the National Union/Karen
National Liberation Army Peace Council (KNU/KNLA PC), with Ner Dah
Mya as Secretary One. (His mother, Naw La Poe, turned down the position
of Council vice-chair.) The official ‘‘Victory Ceremony’’ to mark this agree-
ment was attended by Ye Myint and the Tatmadaw Southeast Commander,
Maj-General Thet Naing Win.
The KNU/KNLA PC promoted Htein Maung (who had joined the
Karen insurgency in 1949, and been a KNU Central Committee member
and brigade commander since 1970) to Major-General.15 The KNU/KNLA
PC was granted a 20 by 2 km stretch of land along the border, behind Mae
La refugee camp, and a new base at Toh Kaw Koe, site of the death of Saw
B U Gyi, near Kawkareik. The new group began planning construction of a
cement factory in the area, and was also granted a clutch of mining and
other business concessions (Field Notes 5 and 20 April 07).16 On 1 March,
the KNU/KNLA PC was visited by a group of diplomats aid international
aid workers from Yangon (Field Notes 26 May 2007).
As with the DKBA split, the defection of Htein Maung and colleagues pro-
vided the Tatmadaw with important intelligence, which served to further
weaken the KNU. This sorry episode marked the continuation of processes
whereby non-state actors were fragmented, re-oriented away from the opposi-
tion, and re-formed as (often deeply compromised) clients of military govern-
ment. As such, it echoed the defections of units from KNLA Second and Sixth
Brigades in the late 1990s (see Chapter Five). Ultimately, however, the Htein
Maung adventure was a surface phenomenon, symptomatic of a deeper
malaise within the Karen nationalist movement. It bore comparison with the
earlier departure from the KNU ranks of P’doh Aung San and his followers
(who were also resettled by the government near Pa’an). Htein Maung’s
defection was certainly less significant than that of the DKBA, which related
more profoundly to state–society tensions within the Karen community.
Nevertheless, the impacts on civilian populations were still quite serious.
For several weeks after its formation, it was reported that the KNU/KNLA
PC would attack refugee camps in Thailand, a rumour which the Htein
Maung group denied. Within a few weeks of the split, some 500 refugees
left Mae La refugee camp, to re-settle at Toh Kaw Koe.
The KNU/KNLA PC quickly joined forces with the Tatmadaw and
DKBA units (especially Chit Thu’s 999 Special Battalion, based at Shwe Ko
Ko). By the end of the first week of April, troops from the three forces had
overrun the KNLA 19, 24 and 101 Battalion headquarters, as well as bases
of the KNDO and Karen Youth Organisation (KYO). These had been the
last major KNU-controlled bases between Mae Sot and Mae La (Field
Notes 8 April 2007; Free Burma Rangers 20 April 2007).17
Meanwhile, Thai and other Asian investors were preparing to spend bil-
lions of dollars on ill-conceived infrastructure development projects in
eastern Burma, including the series of hydro-power dams in Shan and
Karen States. With such huge projects at stake, it seemed unlikely that
the Thai security establishment would allow the KNU and its allies to
continue to operate at will along the border, as they had done since the 1950s.
The KNU had demonstrated that it could not ensure security in the areas
under its control, unlike in the anti-communist days of the 1970s, when
General Bo Mya had consolidated his power, under the patronage of right-
wing Thai politicians and military officials. However, the events of 2007 did
strengthen the positions of KNU ‘‘hard-liners’’ in Mae Sot – such as General
Secretary Mahn Sa and Joint General Secretary David Thakabaw – who used
the Seventh Brigade split as evidence of the impossibility of negotiating in
good faith with the government.
In April 2007, reports began to circulate, accusing the KNU/KNLA
PC of recruiting child soldiers (including from Mae La refugee camp),
and other human rights abuses (Field Notes 20 and 22 April 2007). These
stories led to the publication of a report by the Karen Human Rights
Group (KHRG 28 May 2007), denouncing the Htein Maung group.
Clearly, however, the use of child soldiers has been rife for many years
among armed groups in Burma, both pro- and anti-government forces. It
seems highly unlikely that Htein Maung and colleagues only began to
recruit children after defecting to the SPDC, and that no other KNLA
units followed this practice. It was, therefore, not to the credit of groups
such as the KHRG – which had worked with the KNU for nearly two dec-
ades – that they chose to report these incidents only after Htein Maung had
switched his allegiances. As with so much of the product of the border-
based human rights industry, the issue was not so much that stories of
human rights abuses were being fabricated, for political purposes (there is
no evidence that this has occurred, in any systematic fashion), but rather
that advocacy groups were so closely aligned to the opposition that they
could not see (and/or did not report) abuses perpetrated by ‘‘the good guys’’.
In the meantime, the KNU/KNLA PC (Taw Klu 16 April 2007) accused
the KNU of sacrificing the Karen struggle, in the name of federalism,
democracy and freedom. The KNU/KNLA PC spokesman claimed that
‘‘these goals are attractive in the eyes of people but rather vague and
unrealistic’’.
Another consequence of the Seventh Brigade split was the damage caused
to the reputations of some Karen leaders from Yangon, although their
participation in the ‘‘peace process’’ probably allowed them access to
enhanced government patronage. The DKBA came out of the episode
stronger than ever, and was able to offer greater security to investors in
development projects in areas under its control.
The end-game in the civil war was by now well under way. As armed ethnic
groups along the border descended into petty warlordism and opportunistic
squabbling, the Tatmadaw was engaged in a protracted and brutal mopping-
up campaign. Meanwhile, Senior General Than Shwe and colleagues pursued
their self-serving ‘‘roadmap to democracy’’, and consolidated military control
of the country, from their new capital in the interior.
Shan and Karenni

A detailed history of politics and armed conflict in Karenni and Shan States
is beyond the scope of this book. For authoritative accounts, see Lintner
(1994) and Smith (1999).
Shan
The Shan State Army-South (SSA-South) was re-established by Col.
Yawdserk in 1996. It was created from the remnants of the (once 15,000-
strong) Mong Tai Army (MTA), which had been led by the notorious Khun
Sa. This Shan-Chinese ‘‘opium warlord’’ had dominated Shan insurgent
politics since the 1970s, for many years, from a base near the ‘‘golden triangle’’
in the far north of Thailand (where the kingdom meets Burma and Laos). In
exchange for his surrender, Khun Sa was rewarded with various business
concessions, and protection from prosecution. His abrupt departure seriously
undermined Shan political and civil society networks, for over a decade.18
The Restoration Council for Shan State (RCSS) was established in 1999,
as the political wing of the SSA. The RCSS enjoyed close – but necessarily
informal – relations with the Shan State Peace Council (SSPC), a loose
alliance of Shan ceasefire groups established in 1996.
In a move that caught most Burma-watchers – and many Shan political
actors – by surprise, on 17 April 2005 a Shan Interim Council (SIC)
announced its existence, under the leadership of Tiger Yawnghwe (His
Royal Highness Prince Surkhanpha), the ageing and exiled son of the
former sawbwa of Yawnghwe, Sao Shwe Thaike (who had been ‘‘indepen-
dent Burma’s’’ first president). The SIC published a Declaration of Shan
Independence, ‘‘in the Will and in the Name of all Peoples of the Shan
States’’. According to the Shan Herald Agency for News (S.H.A.N. 17 April
05: www.shanland.org), the SIC leaders, ‘‘claim they were elected at a
meeting of 48 delegates that represented 48 townships of Shan State on 25
March’’. However, the new Council failed to gain the support of either SSA
or RCSS, or the SNLD or other mainstream Shan parties.
One result of the formation of the SIC was a renewed bout of Tatmadaw
pressure against the SSA-S, and the two main Shan ceasefire groups (see
Chapter Five). In July 2006, an SSA-S field commander in central Shan
State, who had allied himself with the SIC, returned to ‘‘the legal fold’’.
Although, within a few weeks, Col. Moengzuen was reported to have
regretted his decision to join forces with the SPDC, he did not rejoin the
insurgency (S.H.A.N. 16 October 2006). In fact, Moengzuen’s militia
reportedly received financial and material support from the SPDC, which
hoped to use the erstwhile SSA commander’s force as a proxy army against
his old colleagues (S.H.A.N. 17 May 2007). This episode served to further
highlight the fragmentation of ethnic insurgent groups along the Thailand
border, and the re-orientation of these networks toward the militarised
state.19
Karenni
Karenni nationalist history is particularly complex, given the relatively
small size of the state. As with most of Burma’s other ethno-nationalist
movements, in the 1970s and 1980s the Karenni insurgents split along
ideological lines, with factions polarising around pro- and anti-communist
positions. In a bitter internecine dispute, which drags on to this day, the
left-leaning Karenni National Peoples Liberation Front (KNPLF) split
from the Karenni National Progressive Party (KNPP) on ideological
grounds in June 1978. It negotiated a ceasefire with the government in May
1994.
The KNPP itself agreed a ceasefire with the SLORC on 21 March 1995,
in the Karenni State capital of Loikaw. However, within three months, the
truce had broken down, due to disagreements over troop positions and
access to lucrative logging concessions. The KNPP rapidly lost control of its
remaining liberated zones, and a fresh wave of refugees was driven into exile
in Thailand.
According to Sandra Dudley (in Gravers 2007: 78–79; parenthesis
added), ‘‘experiences of displacement [especially in the refugee camps] have
brought together people who all originate in Karenni State but who in many
other ways are disparate’’. To promote and legitimise their political objec-
tives, the KNPP leadership and educators have sought to reproduce a
standardised understanding of what it is to be ‘‘Karenni’’ in exile. The edu-
cation system in the refugee camps provides a receptive audience for the
KNPP’s ‘‘ideology of Karenni identity and nationalism’’ (ibid. 86).
The KNPP has long campaigned for an independent Karenni State.
However, in the mid-1990s, the party adopted a more pragmatic approach,
endorsing a federal solution to Burma’s political crises. In late 2006, the
KNPP entered into a new round of protracted negotiations with the
military government. In the meantime, five armed groups from Karenni
participated in the National Convention: the KNPLF, the Kayan National
Guard (KNG), the Karenni National Unity League (KNUL), and two
small factions of the KNPP (the Naga Group, and the Hoya Group).
Exile Politics
The NCGUB and NCUB

Mannerplaw in the early-mid 1990s was a busy place. As well as hosting
growing numbers of visiting spies, aid workers, human rights activists,
English teachers and journalists (and the odd stray ‘‘backpacker’’ tourist),
General Bo Mya’s stronghold was the headquarters of the NDF and DAB
rebel alliances.
In December 1990, the DAB joined forces with the National League for
Democracy [Liberated Area] (NLD-LA), which had been established after
the failure of the SLORC to recognise the NLD election victory that May.
The new Democratic Front of Burma (DFB) was soon allied with the
National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma (NCGUB), a
‘‘government-in-exile’’ established at Mannerplaw in December 1990 by 11
MPs-elect, under ‘‘prime minister’’ Dr Sein Win (Aung San Suu Kyi’s cousin).
In February 1991, the DFB was re-named the Anti-Military Dictatorship
National Solidarity Committee (ANSC), which in 1992 became the
National Council of the Union of Burma (NCUB), the highest body of the
armed resistance, and opposition-in-exile (South 2005: ch. 11).
Since the late 1990s, the NCUB has been dominated by its General
Secretary, Maung Maung, leader of the Federation of Trades Unions of
Burma (FTUB). A successful fund-raiser and activist, Maung Maung
ensured that the NCUB continued to support hard-line, isolationist posi-
tions vis-à-vis the SPDC. He enjoyed close relations with anti-ceasefire ele-
ments within the KNU and other armed groups, whom the NCUB–
NCGUB encouraged to maintain the armed struggle.
The Emergence of the ENC

The Ethnic Nationalities Council (ENC) grew out of the National Recon-
ciliation Programme (NRP),20 under the guidance of the late Shan prince,
intellectual and politician Chao Tzang Yawnghwe (1939–2004). Established
in 2001 (as the Ethnic Nationalities Solidarity and Cooperation Committee), it
sought to establish conditions for political solutions in Burma, on the basis of
‘‘tripartite dialogue’’ between ethnic groups, the military regime, and the NLD.
During its Fourth Council in April–May 2006, the ENC was re-organised
along State lines. By 2007, representatives of each of the seven major nation-
ality groups (except the Kachin) had prepared draft state constitutions,
thereby building important capacities for future constitutional negotiations.
Under the influence of Chao Tzang’s brother, Harn Yawnghwe of the
Euro Burma Office (EBO), the ENC adopted more flexible and sophisti-
cated policies than the NCUB–NCGUB. Unlike most previous opposition
alliances, the ENC has endorsed a political role for the Tatmadaw during a
period of political transition. Thus, it has maintained and developed the
NDF’s tradition of innovative policy formulation.
In April 2006, the DAB, NCUB and United Nationalities League for
Democracy-Liberated Area (UNLD-LA, established in 1998 and led by the
Chin scholar–politician Dr Lian Sakhong) announced the completion of a
Federal Constitution for the Real Union of Burma, which had been laun-
ched at a Constitutional Seminar held at Mannerplaw in October 1994 (see
Yawnghwe and Sakhong 2003; Williams and Sakhong 2005; see also Alan
Smith 2007: 196). Adopted by delegates from 59 opposition organisations,
the draft charter recognised eight ethnic states, including one for the Bur-
mans, plus four multi-nationality states. Importantly, the draft federal con-
stitution maintained the link between nationality and territory, that had
characterised the 1947 Union constitution.21 Thus, it perpetuated the ethno-
nationalists’ concern with territorialising identity issues, leading to often
conflicting demands for the demarcation of and control over ethnic homelands
(see Chapter Seven).
Meanwhile, on the military front, in 2000 the four major remaining non-
ceasefire groups (the KNU, KNPP, CNF and SSA-South), together with the
smaller Arakan Liberation Party (ALP) and Kachin National Organisation
(KNO: see Chapter Five), established a new Military Alliance against the
Tatmadaw. Although militarily less potent than previous rebel alliances in
Burma, members of this loose grouping did enjoy some successes in guerrilla-
style skirmishes with ‘‘the enemy’’. For example, between June 2006 and
May 2007, the KNU reported (June 2007) 1,807 clashes with the Tatmadaw (plus
31 with the DKBA), killing 468 enemy (including 44 DKBA), while losing
only 15 KNLA soldiers. Most fighting occurred in Brigades Two, Three and Five.
(For a list of non-ceasefire groups, see Appendix.)
The Political Economy of Conflict

The ‘‘political economy’’ approach to conflict focuses on the interests of
those involved, and the advantages they may gain in using actual or latent
(including structural) violence. If war brings opportunities, it will motivate
at least some stake-holders to perpetuate armed conflict, and oppose efforts
to end it. A growing body of literature (e.g. Sherman and Ballentine 2003)
has analysed the causes of conflict, in terms of ‘‘greed’’ (opportunity
motives) and ‘‘grievance’’ (motives structured by perceived socio-political
and historic injustices). Over time, armed conflicts tend to be transformed,
as structural influences move away from original (often ‘‘grievance’’-based)
causes, towards new (often ‘‘greed’’-orientated) factors.
According to a recent World Bank study (Collier and Hoeffler 2001: 2;
parenthesis added):
rebellion needs both motive and opportunity. The political science lit-
erature explains conflict in terms of motive: the circumstances in which
people want to rebel are viewed as sufficiently rare to constitute the
explanation . . . [however,] economic accounts . . . explain rebellion in
terms of opportunity: it is the circumstances in which people are able to
rebel that are rare . . . opportunities are more important in explaining
conflict than are motives.
In the case of Burma, both ‘‘greed’’ and ‘‘grievance’’ have played their parts.
During more than 50 years of (mostly) ‘‘low-intensity’’ armed conflict in
Burma, insurgency has become a way of life, for long-suffering villagers, for
combatants on all sides, and for the networks of traders, loggers, spies and
aid workers that grew out of the war. Many of these groups have vested
interests in maintaining conflict along the border. However, as a recent
study (Sherman and Ballentine 2003: 264) notes, ‘‘even in cases such as
Burma and the DRC, in which combatant exploitation of lootable resources
has figured so prominently, ethnic identity . . . [has] been an important
source of insurgent mobilization’’.
In her work on Burma’s war economies Mary Callahan (2007: xiv)
utilises:
Mark Duffield’s concept of ‘emerging political complex’ – a set of flexible

and adaptive networks that link state and other political authorities to
domestic and foreign business concerns (some legal, others illegal), tra-
ditional indigenous leaders, religious authorities, overseas refugee and
diaspora communities, political party leaders, and NGOs. All of these
players make rules, extract resources, provide protection, and try to
order a moral universe, but none of them are able, or even inclined, to
trump the others for monolithic national supremacy. They exist in a
competitive, yet often complicit and complementary, milieu that varies
across geographical space and time.22
Martin Smith (2007: 4) has also utilised Duffield’s work, to demonstrate

that armed conflict has not led to the disintegration of the Burmese state,
insurgent para-states or related social networks. Rather, remarkably durable
conflict actors have adapted to changing political–economic conditions:
‘‘against this backdrop of strife, the lines between legitimacy and illegi-
timacy have frequently been blurred, the politics and economics of self-survival
have come to dominate, and predatory warlordism has often been rife on all
sides of the conflict-zones’’.
Armed Conflict and Resource Extraction

Armed conflict and natural resource extraction in Burma have been inter-
linked for decades.23 The KNU and other insurgent groups along the
Thailand border had once derived the bulk of their income from the taxa-
tion of villages and the cross-border black market trade. However, in the
late 1980s, insurgent finances underwent a transformation. As the Tatma-
daw secured a string of bases along the border, the KNU and allies’ control
of the black market trade decreased. As a result, the Thai military–political
establishment began to reassess their covert support for the insurgents, and
to seek improved relations with the SLORC, under the Association of
Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) policy of ‘‘constructive engagement’’
(South 2005: ch. 13).
The new environment was epitomised by the rise of the soldier–business-
man–politician, General Chavolit Yongchaiyud. In December 1988, General
Chavolit became the first foreign leader to visit Myanmar since the Sep-
tember coup. He was rewarded with a number of lucrative logging conces-
sions in the border areas, the income from which helped to fund more than
one Thai election campaign (World Resources Institute 1998).
In a parallel development, following a series of disastrous floods caused
by deforestation, in January 1989 the Royal Thai Government (RTG)
announced a complete ban on logging in Thailand. The new ruling put
Burmese timber at a premium, at a time when the new military government
was in desperate need of foreign currency.
Several new timber concessions were located in rebel-held areas. The
insurgents had little choice but to comply with demands for access to the rich
teak and other hardwood stands under their control. By way of compensa-
tion, the NMSP, KNPP, KNU and other groups were able to extract a cut
in the business from their Thai partners. In need of cash, and seeing the
profits to be made from logging, the rebels soon began to offer their own
concessions and negotiate local side-deals with well-connected timber mer-
chants. On a number of occasions, KNLA units were deployed to ‘‘protect’’
areas of forest from government-oriented and rogue logging companies, in
order that these trees could be logged by companies allied with powerful
Karen commanders and their families.24
Alarmed by the resulting destruction of the natural environment, some
members of the Karen community opposed the unsustainable logging
activities carried out in their homeland, and often in their name. These
included youth and environmental groups, in the emerging civil society
sector (see Chapter Six). Local KNU leaders were also often reluctant to
agree to destructive logging deals, but reasoned that if they did not coop-
erate, the forests would be cut down anyway, while they and the KNU
would receive no benefit.
In the context of such ‘‘natural resource fatalism’’, several insurgent offi-
cers made personal fortunes in the 1990s. Income from logging also went
some way towards replenishing insurgent treasuries, as well as ensuring
them a degree of continued influence in powerful Thai circles.
The long-term effects of the logging boom were catastrophic, both envir-
onmentally, and in military–political terms. Thai companies operating in
rebel-controlled territory were often required to report insurgent activities to
the Tatmadaw, while constructing strategically important logging roads in the
liberated zones. During the 1997 and other Tatmadaw offensives against the
KNU, such strategic assets – combined with the mixed motives and compli-
cated loyalties of local KNLA commanders – allowed government forces to
overrun most of the remaining Karen ‘‘liberated zones’’ (see Chapter Five).
In 1992, the SLORC earned as much as $200 million from timber con-
cessions. Nevertheless, in July that year Yangon announced that no new
logging licenses would be issued. The military government was apparently
embarrassed by adverse publicity attached to extensive deforestation along
the Thailand border, and dismayed at Thai companies’ rapacious exploitation
of Burma’s natural resources. However, the new restrictions were routinely
dodged by well-connected Thai businessmen, although rebel finances were
badly hit by the ban.
Since the late 1990s, the flow of logs into Thailand has decreased sig-
nificantly, in part reflecting the relatively few stretches of intact forest
remaining along the border. Nevertheless, logging deals continue to com-
plicate the situation along the Thailand border, where the KNU, DKBA
and other factions compete with each other and the Tatmadaw for control
over resources.
Meanwhile, increasing quantities of highland timber have been exported
via the Burmese lowlands, and the ports at Yangon and Moulmein, rather
than through Thailand. In northern Burma also, control over natural
resources has been a major factor in the politics of insurgency and cease-
fires. Particularly following the negotiation of ceasefire agreements between
the three main Kachin armed groups in the early-1990s (see Chapter Five),
incomes derived from logging and mining have been important in deter-
mining policies, and individual actions. According to Global Witness
(2003), ‘‘management of the forests by ceasefire groups . . . has been poor to
non-existent and much of the resource base has already disappeared’’.
Another sector from which the rebels, and particularly the KNU, have
long derived some income is mining. Like the logging business, mining
operations are mostly undertaken by privately owned companies, which pay
the insurgent administrations a licence fee. These small outfits are often
controlled by the children or spouses of senior insurgent officers. They sell
their lead, tin or wolfram to Thai and Korean mining companies, which
process and market the minerals, and make the big profits. The miners
themselves remain poor, their small shanty towns lacking even rudimentary
health or education facilities.
The Business of Border Development

Thailand’s GDP is about 80 per cent of the combined product of the king-
dom and its three poorer neighbours: Laos, Cambodia and Myanmar. At
the initiative of the then Thai Prime Minster, Thaksin Shinawatra, the lea-
ders of these four governments met in the ancient Burmese capital of Pagan
in November 2003, to plan the ‘‘transformation of the border areas into
zones of durable peace, stability and economic growth, to promote social
progress and prosperity to blend local, national and regional interests for
common benefit and share prosperity’’ (‘‘Pagan Declaration’’ 12 November
2003, cited in The Myanmar Times 23 November 2003).
At the heart of the agreement was Thailand’s commitment to provide soft
loans and grants to her neighbours, for the development of special eco-
nomic zones, where Thai businesses would invest in factories and agri-
culture. Under this ‘‘Economic Cooperation Strategy’’, Thai-financed
industrial zones were to be constructed at Myawaddy and Pa’an, and near
Moulmein. Similar ‘‘economic development zones’’ have been established or
are planned at Muse on the China border, and at Tachilek, Kengtung,
Tavoy, Mergui and Kawthoung, as well as at the major Thilawa Port
development in Yangon, at Kyaukphyu in Rakhine State and at Pyin Oo
Lwin in Mandalay Division.
Following the Pagan Declaration, numerous new contracts and plans
were announced, including grants and loans to the SPDC for construction
of the Asian Highway link through Myawaddy to Pa’an. This project would
incorporate the upgrading of the 40-km Myawaddy-Thingangnyinaung road,
where a series of factories, contract farms and orchards were planned.25 The
RTG also promoted the twinning of some 20 (mostly Thai-Karen) villages
along the northern section of the border, with proposed economic development
zones on the Burma side.
The proliferation of such cross-border investments made it likely that
powerful interests in the Thai (and Chinese) business and military estab-
lishments would continue to prioritise stability in the conflict-affected
border areas. These regional powers were unlikely to look kindly on
actors (such as the KNU) perceived to undermine the security of their
investments.
4 The costs of conflict
Humanitarian impacts and responses:
refugees and the internally displaced, and
international agendas
The remote, mostly mountainous areas along Burma’s borders with Thai-
land, Laos, China, India and Bangladesh have long suffered from war and
neglect. Although these regions contain more than a third of the country’s
population, and most of its natural resources, many communities remain
desperately poor, and are subject to a broad range of vulnerabilities.
Following the imposition of military rule in 1962, standards of living in
Burma – which had outpaced both Thailand and Malaysia in industrial
production during the 1950s – steadily declined, until, in 1987, it was
declared a Least Developed Country by the UN. In 2005, Burma ranked
129th (out of 159 countries) in the UN Development Programme’s Human
Development Index (UNDP 2005).
According to the International Crisis Group (ICG 2006: 2):
Despite official claims that the economy is growing by more than 10 per
cent annually, independent surveys and observations show steadily
deteriorating living standards for the large majority of the population,
driven by high inflation, weakening health and education systems and a
generally depressed economic environment caused by decades of gov-
ernment mismanagement. According to calculations based on the 1997
and 2001 government household surveys, the proportion of people
living under the poverty line increased from 23 per cent to 32 per cent
over this period. A UN survey from 2005 set the number at ‘more than
30 per cent’ in the country as a whole, but much higher in Chin state
(70 per cent) and Eastern Shan state (52 per cent).
By this time, a Burmese child was more likely to be moderately or severely

underweight than in many sub-Saharan African countries (UNICEF 2006).
According to an epidemiological survey by the Back Pack Health Workers
Team (BPHWT 2006), mortality rates among displaced people in eastern
Burma (9.1 per cent) were the highest in Asia.1 Estimates of the number of
people living with HIV/AIDS varied between 200,000 and 600,000, while
97,000 new TB cases were detected each year (UNAIDS 2006: Annex 1).
Meanwhile, according to notoriously unreliable official data, 8 per cent of
government expenditure went on education and 3 per cent on health, while
29 per cent was spent on defence (UNICEF 2006).
Rights Violations and Forced Migration2

Burma has experienced decades of interlinked crises in the fields of ‘‘first
generation’’ human rights (as codified in the 1948 Universal Declaration of
Human Rights) and ‘‘second generation’’ economic, social and political
rights (as contained in the 1966 International Covenants on Civil and Poli-
tical Rights, and on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights). These abuses
have resulted in a widespread lack of human security, which – although not
confined to minority-populated areas – has been felt most acutely in the
country’s remote, armed conflict-affected regions, where the Tatmadaw and
other armed groups often act as a law unto themselves.3
Among the most vulnerable people in Burma today are communities who
have been forced to leave their homes. Patterns of forced migration reflect
the changing nature of conflict in the country. Some of the most acute dif-
ficulties are faced by people living in the few areas of Burma still affected by
significant levels of armed conflict. However, the phenomenon of forced
migration is more complex and widespread, and reflects deep-seated patterns
of structural violence (non-armed conflict).
Terminology and Definitions

The term ‘‘forced migration’’ refers to a sub-set of population movement in
general. Forced migrants include both refugees and internally displaced
persons (IDPs).
Under international law, refugees are people who have sought asylum
across an international border. As such, they are granted a degree of pro-
tection under the 1951 Refugee Convention and its 1967 Additional Protocol.
Although neither the Burmese or Thai governments have ratified these
treaties, they are generally considered to have gained the status of interna-
tional customary law. The most important element of the international
refugee regime is the principle that refugees should be protected against
forced repatriation (or refoulement).
The other sub-category of forced migration is ‘‘internal displacement’’.
The 1998 Guiding Principles on Internal Displacement (UN Commission on
Human Rights E/CN.4/1998/53/Add.2) define IDPs as:
persons or groups of persons who have been forced or obliged to flee or

to leave their homes or places of habitual residence, in particular as a
result of or in order to avoid the effects of armed conflict, situations of
generalised violence, violations of human rights or natural or human-
made disasters, and who have not crossed an internationally recognized
State border.
The costs of conflict 79
According to Dr Francis Deng, the previous Representative of the UN
Secretary General on Internally Displaced Persons (Forced Migration
Review February 2003):
The assumption is that, because they are within their own country,
[IDPs] should be protected by their own government. But here is the
problem. Internal conflicts are symptomatic of national identity
crises. They show the way a country defines itself and how benefits
accruing from that definition benefit only certain groups . . . Dis-
placement is a symptom of its causes – internal conflicts, communal
violence, violations of human rights and human-made disasters. These
causes themselves are the result of deeper structural problems, often
rooted in acute racial, ethnic religious and cultural divides.
Types of Forced Migration

The author’s research has identified three ‘‘ideal types’’ (Table 4.1), within
the spectrum of forced migration in Burma. These types are defined according
to the root causes of population movement:
Type 1: Armed Conflict-Induced Displacement – either as a direct

result of fighting and counter-insurgency operations, or because armed
conflict has directly undermined human and food security. Linked in
2007 to severe human rights abuses across Karen State, in eastern
Tenasserim Division, southern Mon State, southern and eastern Kar-
enni State, southern Shan State, and parts of Chin State and Sagaing
Division.
Type 2: State–Society Conflict-Induced Displacement (post-armed con-
flict, caused by military occupation and/or ‘‘development’’ activities) –
due to land confiscation by the Tatmadaw or other armed groups,
including in the context of natural resource extraction (e.g. logging
and mining); caused by small- and large-scale infrastructure construc-
tion (e.g. roads, bridges, airports); and as a product of predatory
taxation, forced labour and other abuses. This form of displacement
is related to the use of force, but does not occur in the context of
Table 4.1 Typology of Forced Migration (adapted from South/UN 2006)

Forced Migrants
Internally Displaced Persons Other Forced Migrants
Type 1 Type 2 Type 3
Armed State-society conflict-induced Livelihoods
conflict-induced (post-armed conflict) vulnerability-induced
(distress migration)
outright armed conflict. In 2007, all of the border states and divisions
were affected by militarisation- and/or ‘‘development’’-induced displace-
ment, including Arakan and Kachin States, as well as a number of urban
areas.
Type 1 and type 2 forced migrants are ‘‘IDPs’’, whose displacement are a
product of conflict. Type 1 is directly caused by armed conflict; Type 2 is
caused by latent conflict, or the threat of the use of force.
Type 3: Livelihoods Vulnerability-Induced Displacement – the primary

form of internal and external migration in and from Burma (and many
other developing countries). The main causes are inappropriate govern-
ment policies and practices; limited availability of productive land; poor
access to markets; food insecurity; lack of education and health services;
plus stresses associated with transition to a cash economy. Livelihoods
Vulnerability-Induced Displacement occurred across the country, espe-
cially in and from remote townships.
Type 3 forced migrants constitute a particularly vulnerable sub-group of

‘‘economic migrants’’ in general, as their movement is the product of very
limited choices faced by marginal populations. As such, this is a form of forced
migration (or ‘‘distress migration’’). Migration due to opium-eradication
policies is included under Type 3, because the proximate causes of movement
are related to livelihoods issues – i.e. (with the important exception of some
Wa areas), people are not ordered to move (see Chapter Five).4
There are important linkages between these three types of displacement,
each of which undermines livelihoods options, and depletes people’s
resource bases. Type 1 characterises zones of ongoing armed conflict, and
some adjacent areas; Type 2 is prevalent in and adjacent to ceasefire areas,
and also affects urban relocatees; Type 3 is characteristic of remote and
underdeveloped areas in general. This progression in causes of population
movement is not strictly linear: many people are in cyclic transit between
different phases of displacement, and may be categorised in different ways
at different times.
It should be noted that migration itself often constitutes a coping
mechanism. The following analysis adopts an actor-oriented perspective,
focusing on the agency of displaced people, rather than viewing them as passive
victims.
Access, Enquiry and Data

Most research on forced migration in and from Burma has a strong human
rights orientation, focussing on armed conflict and its impacts, mostly in the
eastern border zones. Such approaches are obviously appropriate, given the
widespread rights violations involved. However, the concentration on parts
of eastern Burma accessible to agencies working cross-border from Thailand
has tended to obscure assessments of forced migration in the country as a
whole. Much less is known about the situations in other areas, or about displaced
populations not accessible to the armed opposition groups with which
cross-border aid agencies cooperate. One consequence has been a lack of data
and analysis on military occupation- and ‘‘development’’-induced (Type 2)
displacement, or on livelihoods vulnerability-induced (Type 3) displacement.
Those investigating forced migration in, and from, the country generally
hold strong views regarding the promotion of socio-political change. These
agendas have determined the types of inquiry undertaken and the questions
asked, and, thus. the nature of the reality uncovered by research. This pro-
blem-finding focus has created a distorted picture of the wider reality, as it
does not include positive trends – such as the re-emergence of civil society
networks – which have emerged in some previously armed conflict-affected
areas (see below, and Chapter Six).
New forms of forced migration have also emerged in the vicinity of many
ceasefire areas. It can be expected that such patterns of population move-
ment will appear in areas currently affected by armed conflict, if/when
insurgency comes to an end along the Thailand border.
Displacement Figures
The causes of population movement within Burma and beyond its borders
are closely linked. These often relate to serious and systematic abuses of a
range of basic rights.
Migration Beyond Borders

For many Burmese citizens, patterns of cyclic migration often include peri-
ods spent abroad as (legal or otherwise) labourers, and/or (official or
otherwise) refugees in neighbouring countries. There are at least two million
migrant workers and their dependents in Thailand, most of whom come from
Burma (TBBC 2007).5 Hundreds of thousands more Burmese migrants live in
Bangladesh, Malaysia and Singapore. These people often endure very poor
social and working conditions (Amnesty International 2005).
Refugees on the Western Borders

Following a wave of suppression by the Tatmadaw in 1991–92, including the
massive use of forced labour and other systematic human rights abuses,
some 250,000 Rohingya fled to Bangladesh as refugees. (A previous mass
exodus had occurred in 1977–78.) Most of these people were repatriated by
the UN High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) in the mid- to late
1990s, although the voluntariness of this process was questionable. The
95 per cent of Rohingya refugees who were returned to Northern Rakhine
State faced a protracted humanitarian crisis, including annual food deficits,
exacerbated by widespread forced labour and other abuses, often related to
their statelessness. By mid-2007, about 28,000 Rohingya remained in refugee
camps around Cox’s Bazaar in Bangladesh. A further 100,000–200,000
Rohingya were living illegally in Bangladesh, including 5,000–10,000 people
settled in a makeshift camp near Teknaf.6
Unknown numbers of displaced Naga lived along both sides of the
Sagaing Division border with India. There were also tens of thousands of
Chin and other refugees in India and Malaysia.
Refugees on the Eastern Border

The first semi-permanent Karen refugee camps in Thailand were established
north of Mae Sot, halfway along the border, in the early 1980s (South 2005,
ch. 12). Since 1984, these camps have been supplied with food (and, more
recently, shelter and a range of other necessities) by a consortium of
INGOs, currently named the Thailand–Burma Border Consortium (TBBC).
The refugees’ health needs are addressed by a handful of medical agencies
and, since the late 1990s, a number of INGOs have been active in the camps
in the field of education.
By the end of 2006, the number of registered refugees in Thailand had
grown to 153,882 (TBBC 2007), living in 10 camps (one Shan, four Karenni
and five Karen). At least 4,000 Karen new arrivals had entered the kingdom
since December 2005, most of whom had fled Tatmadaw offensives in
northern Karen State. Furthermore, large numbers of people continued to
cross the border, without entering official camps. As there were no Shan
refugee camps in Thailand, these included most Shan new arrivals, about
1,000 of whom had been entering the kingdom every month, for several
years.7
The actual number of refugee camp residents included several thousand
(mostly newly arrived) people whom the Thai authorities refused to offi-
cially recognise. To a degree, this omission was compensated for by the
absence from camp of some registered refugees, who worked for extended
periods in the informal Thai economy. An additional 20,000 people were
located in nine NMSP, SSA-South and KNU-controlled settlements just
across the border. This caseload included some 12,000 Mon ‘‘returnees’’,
who had been living in NMSP-controlled ceasefire zones since their non-
voluntary repatriation in 1996.8 This had been organised by the Mon refugee
authorities and the BBC, while UNHCR neither supported nor protested
the move (see Chapter Six, and South 2005: chs. 12 and 15).
IDP Population Figures

This sub-section synthesises data on (mostly Type 1) IDP numbers provided
by groups working cross-border from Thailand, and information from
groups active in government- and ceasefire group-controlled parts of
Burma. However, the data available are still very patchy.
Counting only people forcibly displaced since 2005, the number of IDPs
in eastern Burma in 2007 was probably no more than 100,000 people.
However, the number of previously displaced people for whom no durable
solution had been found was well over 1,000,000, including vulnerable
communities who had been living in displacement for decades. Indeed, most
of the rural (and much of the urban) population of eastern Burma has been
displaced or otherwise affected at some point during the last 50 years,
although in many areas armed conflict and forced displacement are memories
of the 1960s. While some of these people have achieved a level of stability in
new settlements, many have not (see below).
In 2002, while working for the (then) Burmese Border Consortium
(BBC), the author conducted the first systematic survey of internal dis-
placement in Burma, in partnership with five partner groups: the Commit-
tee for Internally Displaced Karen People (CIDKP), Karen Office for Relief
and Development (KORD), Karenni Social Welfare Centre (KSWC), Mon
Relief and Development Committee (MRDC) and Shan Relief and Devel-
opment Committee (SRDC). This study (BBC 2002) estimated that
approximately 633,000 people were either living ‘‘in hiding’’ (about 268,000
people), or in more than 176 government-controlled relocation sites
(365,000 people) in central and southern Shan State, and in Karenni, Karen
and Mon States, and Tenasserim Division.
The annual TBBC IDP report has since become the benchmark in cal-
culating IDP numbers in eastern Burma. Based on almost 1,000 household
interviews, the October 2007 report again demonstrated the impressive data
collection and analysis capacities of the local NGOs with which the TBBC
works. The TBBC and partners found that, between 1996 and 2007, some
3,167 villages in eastern Burma had been destroyed and/or relocated en
masse, or otherwise abandoned.
In total, the TBBC estimated that 76,000 people were newly displaced by
armed conflict and associated human rights abuses in 2007, somewhat less
than during the previous year. The majority of new incidents of forced
migration (and village destruction) were concentrated in Northeast Karen
State and adjacent areas of Pegu Division, areas which were still subject to
armed conflict; across much of southern and central Karen State, the
situation for most villagers was relatively stable (a finding confirmed by
Karen sources inside Burma: Field Notes 28 October 07). The total
number of IDPs in eastern Burma (mostly ‘‘Type 1’’, plus some ‘‘Type
2’’) recorded by TBBC and its partners in October 2007 was 503,000.
These included 295,000 people in ceasefire zones, 99,000 IDPs ‘‘in hiding’’
in the jungle and 109,000 IDPs in relocation sites (TBBC October 2007: 3
and 25) (Table 4.2).
Meanwhile, since 2003, a number of local NGOs and community-based
organisations (CBOs) had been working with IDPs in government-controlled
Table 4.2 Distribution of Internally Displaced Persons (TBBC October 2007)
States and IDPs in IDPs in IDPs in Total IDPs
Divisions Hiding Relocation Ceasefire
Sites Areas
2006 2007 2006 2007 2006 2007 2006 2007
South Shan 13,300 13,700 31,300 24,100 131,000 126,000 175,600 163,800
Karenni 9,300 10,000 6,400 4,800 63,600 66,200 79,300 81,000
East Pegu 17,400 18,700 6,400 12,200 0 0 23,800 30,900
Karen 49,100 51,600 4,300 9,700 45,900 55,600 99,300 116,900
Mon 300 600 500 7,200 41,000 41,600 41,800 49,400
Tenasserim 5,600 4,400 69,100 51,000 5,500 5,600 80,200 61,000
Overall 95,000 99,000 118,000 109,000 287,000 295,000 500,000 503,000
Burma, in Karen and other areas. Although these groups had only limited
access to zones of ongoing armed conflict, they often had excellent infor-
mation regarding IDPs living in ceasefire zones and government-controlled
areas, including relocation sites (see below)9. In the case of the Karen,
groups working in areas under government control were the counterparts of
those working cross-border from Thailand: neither sector had complete
access to all displaced populations, but combining their data gave a clearer
idea of the total numbers and situation of Karen IDPs.
Data collected in 2005 by a coalition of local Karen (and some Karenni
and Mon) NGOs working inside Burma (confidential documents) indicated
that at least 155,110 people (141,340 Karen) in 29,603 families (26,635
Karen) from 626 villages (560 Karen) were internally displaced within gov-
ernment-controlled areas and some ceasefire zones of Karen and Mon
States, and parts of southern Karenni, and Pegu and Tenasserim Divisions.
Adding the total number of IDPs recorded in 2005 by TBBC partner groups
in Karen areas also accessible to groups working inside the country, gave a
total of 125,600 IDPs. This was quite similar to the number of 141,340,
recorded by ‘‘the coalition’’.
These calculations indicated that the total number of IDPs estimated
by TBBC in 2007 (approximately 500,000) was probably accurate, but did
not include Type 1 IDPs who chose not to make themselves available to
armed opposition groups, or large numbers of people who had achieved (at
least semi-) durable solutions to their plight, especially those living in
areas not directly affected by armed conflict (the great majority of the
country).
Long-Term Patterns of Displacement

Most studies of forced migration in and from Burma (e.g. those cited
above) focus on peoples’ often traumatic experiences, occurring over a
relatively short period of time. While appropriate from a rights-based per-
spective, this approach tends to obscure longer-term patterns of displace-
ment.
Forced migration among significant segments of the Karen and other
ethnic nationality communities is not a one-off phenomenon. It is rarely the
case that an individual, family or community used to live in ‘‘Place A’’, fled
to ‘‘Place B’’ (as an IDP or refugee), and can simply return to Place A. The
original Place A may have been occupied by the Tatmadaw or other hostile
groups, re-settled by other displaced people, and/or planted with landmines.
More complex, however, is the likelihood that Place A is in fact a multitude
of ‘‘Places A – N’’.
In-depth interviews, conducted in 2003–04 with a group of 36 Karen IDP
in the Papun hills,10 reveals that these people had experienced more than
1,000 migration episodes. The great majority of these were undertaken as a
direct result of fighting, because of severe human rights abuse (including
forced labour), or because armed conflict had directly undermined sustain-
able forms of agriculture.
Five people had been forcibly displaced more than 100 times, sometimes
dating back to the 1940s. One old woman first fled to the jungle during the
Second World War, when Japanese soldiers came to her village!
As Chris Cusano (Cusano 2001: 168; parenthesis added) notes, ‘‘when
[Karen] people are displaced for a long time, these adaptations become
normal; thus displacement starts as an aberration but becomes a constant
way of life’’. According to a Karen Churchwoman (Field Notes 29 May
2003) in Yangon:
Many of our people – all that they know is fear. Communities have
been forced to run and hide, run and hide, again and again. All they
know is movement and fear, so that it has become quite normal for
them. This is almost our biggest problem: explaining to people that
they don’t have to – or should not have to – live like this, and that
another, better life is possible.
Armed Conflict-Induced (Type 1) displacement often occurs among com-

munities that periodically shift their location, for socio-cultural reasons, and
to access agricultural land. However, the scale of displacement in Karen and
other areas over the past 50 years has been out of all proportion to any
traditional patterns of migration.
Southeast Asian hill people’s traditional response to oppression has been
to move away, further up into the hills. This pattern and ethos is embedded
in Karen culture, which is rich in myths of migration and dispossession
(thus, the recurring trope of the orphan). However, the strategy of organised
flight became less viable as the ‘‘land frontier’’ closed across mainland
Southeast Asia during the 1950s to 1980s. In Burma, as insurgent groups
lost territory to the Tatmadaw, the closure of the land frontier meant that
displaced people could no longer move further into rebel-controlled liberated
zones, behind the front-lines of conflict.
Armed Conflict-Induced Displacement (Type 1 Forced Migration)

For over half a century, much of rural Burma has been profoundly affected
by armed conflict. Traditional ways of life have been severely disrupted by
repeated incidents of displacement, interspersed with occasional periods of
relative stability.
The Tatmadaw has adopted highly successful counter-insurgency strategies,
in order to undermine villagers’ support for armed ethnic and communist
groups.11 The military government clearly views the forced relocation of
civilian populations as a legitimate response to insurgent activity (Taylor
1985).
Meanwhile, insurgent groups have positioned themselves as the defen-
ders of minority populations, adopting guerrilla-style tactics, which have
invited retaliation against the civilian population. Since the late 1940s,
the KNU has brought armed conflict to many Karen and other commu-
nities, without being able to protect civilian populations against Tatmadaw
reprisals.
The KNU and other insurgent groups have long had an interest in con-
trolling, or at least maintaining, civilian populations in their homelands, as
a source of legitimacy, and of food, intelligence, soldiers and porters, all of
which functions have been targeted by the Tatmadaw’s ‘‘Four Cuts’’ counter-
insurgency strategy (see below). In 2007, the KNLA still regularly organised
village evacuations, to protect civilians from Tatmadaw incursions (a service
that seems to be appreciated by many IDPs).
Clearly, therefore, insurgent organisations bear some responsibility for the
plight of civilians in areas where they operate. Nevertheless, the human
rights and humanitarian crises in eastern Burma is primarily due to the
actions of the Tatmadaw and its proxies.
‘‘The Four Cuts’’

Since the mid-1960s, the Tatmadaw has systematically relocated civilian
populations deemed sympathetic to armed ethnic and communist groups
(Taylor 1985; Smith 2007: 33). The process usually begins with a Tat-
madaw column issuing relocation orders to village leaders. Previously,
these were mostly written documents, which constituted evidence of state-
sanctioned abuse. However, since the growth of human rights doc-
umentation in Burma in the 1990s (see below), most relocation orders
have been issued verbally. Villagers are usually given a few day’s warning to
leave their homes. Sometimes they are told to move to a designated
relocation site, but often villagers are not told where to go, just to vacate
their homes.
As Cusano (2001: 149) notes, often ‘‘people assume a subtly defiant wait-
and-see attitude . . . [and] ignore the first notice’’. Sometimes villagers are
able to bribe Tatmadaw (or DKBA) officers, to abandon – or at least post-
pone – their relocation. Villages are also sometimes allowed to remain in
situ, if they promise not to have contact with insurgent forces, and to supply
the Tatmadaw with labour and other services and goods. Life in these
‘‘peace villages’’ (Nyein Chan Ye) is often extremely bleak.
Armed conflict areas cleared by the Tatmadaw are generally treated as
‘‘free-fire zones’’. Houses, animals and crops are looted and destroyed,
people are raped and murdered (Human Rights Watch 2005). In some cases,
the Tatmadaw purposefully launches offensives prior to the harvest, in order
to steal villagers’ crops. This is an effective military strategy: it depopulates
ethnic-nationality populated homelands, and denies insurgents a civilian
support base. Many destroyed or otherwise abandoned villages are subse-
quently re-settled, either in situ, or in a more remote location, which villa-
gers consider is less likely to attract the attention of the Tatmadaw, or other
combatants.
Where and when they can, insurgent groups attempt to hold-up Tatmadaw
incursions. A report from the Free Burma Rangers (27 January 2006)
describes the situation in many Karen areas:
in a typical area of 10–15 villages, in one month the Burma Army may
send 2 battalions that will patrol an area, steal from homes, maybe burn
a few field huts and rice barns (sometimes an entire village or villages),
lay landmines on main trails, threaten the population, then return to
their base. During these sweeps the resistance will try to protect the
population and 3–5 skirmishes will typically break out resulting in 2–5
dead and 5–10 wounded Burma Army soldiers and 1–2 wounded
resistance fighters total . . . They usually last only a few minutes but
buy time for villagers and IDPs to escape into the jungle with some
belongings before the Burma Army can arrive at their villages or
hide sites.
If the December 2003 KNU–SPDC ‘‘Gentleman’s Agreement’’ had been

consolidated, it might have delivered a substantial improvement in the
human rights situation on the ground, creating the space in which local and
international organisations could begin to address the urgent needs of a
war-ravaged population. However, as noted, in early 2006 the Tatmadaw
launched major operations against both the civilian population and a
diminished KNU insurgency, across northern Karen State. Nevertheless,
across much of southern Karen State and in Tenasserim Division – while
the Tatmadaw continued to perpetrate widespread rights violations – a
decrease in armed conflict allowed for a limited degree of optimism,
regarding the types of community-led rehabilitation that may be possible, if
a sustainable end to the armed conflict could be negotiated.
Responses to Forced Migration
Community Coping Strategies

The KHRG (September 2006) has documented some of the brave and
ingenious ways in which villagers evade the demands for forced labour and
other rights violations perpetrated by the Tatmadaw and state agencies.
These abuses include ‘‘forced agricultural programmes, forced labour, and
forced recruitment to SPDC-run organisations and administrative
structures . . . [combined] with systematic state-run extortion, looting, and
confiscation of land and crops’’.
People displaced by armed conflict or state–society (Type 1 and 2 IDPs)
generally adopt one or more of the following strategies:
1. Hide in – or close to – zones of ongoing armed conflict (with the hope of

returning home, but often remaining ‘‘in displacement’’ for years);
2. Move to a relocation site (if one is provided);
3. Move to a relatively more secure village, town or peri-urban area –
including behind the front-lines in war zones, in ceasefire areas, and in
government-controlled locations;
4. Pursue the increasingly difficult and dangerous option of seeking refuge
in a neighbouring country (e.g. Thailand).
In many cases, people from the same community, subject to the same
migration pressure (e.g. a relocation order), will adopt different respon-
ses. Even within a particular family, elderly people may attempt to stay at
home; adults might go into hiding in the jungle, or enter a relocation site or
seek new livelihood options in relatively more secure and stable villages,
towns or urban areas; while some children may be sent to join relatives
in town.
A displaced family or individual is more likely to adopt a life in
hiding, in a zone of ongoing armed conflict, if they have some form of pre-
established relationship with an armed opposition group, such as relatives
already living in insurgent-controlled areas, or family or friends in the
KNU. Similarly, Type 1 IDPs will tend to enter a ceasefire area or reloca-
tion site if they have non-threatening relations with the relevant ceasefire
group, or state authorities.
Following the ‘‘Gentleman’s Agreement’’, between 2004 and 2006,
unknown large numbers of Type 1 IDPs in central and southern Karen
areas began to return spontaneously from hiding places in the jungle (and
from relocation sites, and some refugee camps in Thailand), to build more
permanent (wooden) houses and grow irrigated crops. Especially in central
Karen State, many IDPs moved from ceasefire zones into relatively more
secure villages and peri-urban areas, influenced by both the government and
armed groups.
In areas where armed conflict has subsided, relocation sites tend to disperse,
as the authorities ‘‘turn a blind eye’’ to forcibly relocated communities’
efforts to return to their original land, or re-settle elsewhere. In other cases,
conditions in relocation sites begin over time to resemble normalcy (by the
standards of rural Burma), as people rebuild their communities in the new
location, often in partnership with CBOs and local NGOs (see below).
Residents may prefer life in the new village, to the uncertainties of return or
resettlement elsewhere, and the threat of being subject to further rounds of
displacement. Such ‘‘rehabilitated’’ relocation sites often offer better health
and education services, and access to markets, than the remote village from
which people were originally forced to move. For many displaced people,
therefore, rehabilitation in situ – rather than the option of resettlement
elsewhere – will be a preferred durable solution to their plight (see Chapter
Seven).
International Responses: Refugees in Thailand

In the 1970s, the KNU established a string of jungle villages on the Thai
side of the border, on the east banks of the Salween and Moeie Rivers,
opposite the Mannerplaw headquarters area. Symbolising the KNU’s
increasing dependence on Thailand, these secret villages resembled those
built by nationalist Chinese forces in Thailand, further to the north.
Each was dominated by a senior KNU commander, and his family and
cronies. (The author lived in one such village, from late 1992 until
early 1994.)
The first semi-permanent refugee settlements in Thailand were estab-
lished in Tak Province in 1984. (The author taught English in one such
camp, in 1991.) These were small camps, of a few hundred people only
(or a couple of thousand, at most). In these early days, the refugees
could enter and leave the camps more-or-less at will, and were able to
travel up and down the border, with passes issued by the KNU autho-
rities and Thai intelligence agencies. These unofficial refugees were able
to supplement the very basic supplies they received from Western chari-
table NGOs, by foraging for food in the forests around the camps (or
across the border in Burma), and by working in the informal Thai
economy.
Thailand – which is not a signatory to the 1951 Convention Relating to
the Status of Refugees, or its 1967 Protocol (although it is a member of the
UNHCR Executive Committee) – only accepted people fleeing the civil war
in Burma as ‘‘temporarily displaced people’’. However, the RTG did agree
to grant these people temporary refuge, so long as the task of providing
basic assistance was taken up by a handful of international INGOs. It was
not until April 1992 (eight years after the first regular Karen refugee camps
were established) that UNHCR staff undertook their first trip to the Thailand–
Burma border. Until July 1998, the role of the UN refugee agency was
mostly limited to irregular ‘‘long distance monitoring’’ of the refugees, from
the UN regional headquarters in Bangkok.
The Thai authorities tolerated some two dozen small refugee villages,
spread along the upper two-thirds of the border. Acting as civilian support
bases for the insurgencies, the refugee settlements continued a long tradition
of Karen (and later Karenni and Mon) groups playing low-key roles on
behalf of the Thai armed forces, gathering intelligence on and skirmishing
with the historic enemy, Burma.
In 1984, a small group of international, non-evangelical Christian agen-
cies established the loosely structured Consortium of Christian Agencies
(CCA), with the aim of supplying food and other essential relief items.
Medecins Sans Frontieres (MSF) and two other French agencies attended to
the refugees’ basic medical needs.
Unlike the Indochinese refugee caseloads in Thailand in the 1970s and
1980s (Robinson 1998), most Karen refugees initially fled with their
community structures more-or-less intact. The areas of Burma immedi-
ately adjacent to the refugee settlements in Thailand were still mostly con-
trolled by the KNU and other insurgents, so the refugees’ security was not,
at first, a major issue. Therefore, it seemed most efficient to deal with these
people through the refugee committees established by the KNU. This
approach suited the Thai authorities’ desire for a low-key solution to the
crisis. Above all, the RTG did not want to repeat the large-scale interna-
tional refugee-oriented intervention that had occurred in the late 1970s and
1980s on the Cambodian and Lao borders (ibid.). Furthermore, the Thai
authorities wished to avoid provoking Yangon, while at the same time ele-
ments in the Royal Thai Army and security agencies continued surrepti-
tiously to support the KNU. The NGOs, meanwhile, hoped to avoid
imposing alien structures upon the refugees, and to avoid creating ‘‘aid
dependency’’ among them. From the outset, therefore, the CCA and other
humanitarian agencies worked through the insurgent-nominated refugee
committees.
In the late 1980s, a number of non-religious NGOs joined the CCA, and in
1989 the consortium was reorganised, as the Burmese Border Consortium
(BBC); in 2004 it was re-named the Thailand Burma Border Consortium
(TBBC). The principal BBC/TBBC donors continued to be ecumenical
Christian agencies and Western governments, with the Swedes and Eur-
opean Union playing important roles from the outset. By 2007, the pro-
jected TBBC budget had grown to $34 million (TBBC 2007). (The author
worked as a field coordinator for the BBC from 1994 to 1997, and as a
consultant for the TBBC in 2002.)
Most of the TBBC member-agencies and other official INGOs working
on the border were registered with the Thai authorities, under the aegis of
the Committee for Coordination of Services to Displaced Persons in Thai-
land (CCSDPT). Established in September 1975 to coordinate the activities
of NGOs working with the Indochinese refugees, the CCSDPT (and its
Education and Medical Working Groups) were considered a model of best
practice in humanitarian governance. The monthly CCSDPT meetings in
Bangkok were attended by UNHCR and several of the Bangkok embassies,
and served as an information sharing forum and locus of the Thailand–
Burma border scene.
As well as the officially registered NGOs, by the 1990s a number of
small, unofficial groups had emerged, some of which consisted of only one
or two foreign volunteers. Members of the Burma-NGO community in
Thailand fell into two broad camps: those with a specific interest in Burma,
many of whom had little or no training in the fields of relief and devel-
opment, and those aid professionals who worked for international agencies
with a sectoral specialisation, but sometimes little interest in Burmese issues
per se.
Non-CCSDPT agencies undertook a wide range of mostly small-scale
relief and development activities, including programmes directed at Burmese
migrant labourers in Thailand. Many engaged in advocacy work, including
the documentation and denunciation of human rights abuses perpetrated by
government forces (but very rarely by opposition groups).
In 1984, most of those involved had assumed that the Karen refugee
crisis, and the resulting international response, would be short-lived. How-
ever, throughout the 1980s and 1990s, a humanitarian and human rights
industry grew up along the border, under the umbrella of the refugee relief
regime. The NGOs – and in particular the [T]BBC – provided aid via indi-
genous refugee committees, which were in effect the humanitarian wings of
insurgent organisations. Whilst this policy certainly empowered the refugee
leadership, the concerns of the majority of refugees remained largely
unheard. In retrospect, it was probably a mistake to rely so heavily on the
refugee committees, without providing the training necessary for them to
become more responsive to, and representative of, their clients’ needs. Fur-
thermore, in establishing such close relations with the Christian KNU elite,
the NGOs inadvertently contributed to a growing factionalism among the
Karen population along the border, fuelling the alienation of elements
within the Buddhist community.
By 1989–90, when the first Karenni and Mon camps were established in
Mae Hong Son and Kanchanaburi Provinces, the Burmese refugee caseload
had risen to 30,000 people (South 2005: 52). Like their Karen counterparts,
the Karenni and Mon refugee authorities administered the camps with a
laid-back paternalism that sat well with the NGOs’ low-profile mandate.
For the refugees, the camps were a safe haven from the civil war in Burma.
If those families with no members ‘‘in the revolution’’ were occasionally
asked to act as porters or pay tax to the insurgents, then few questions were
asked.
Until the late 1980s, the situation on the border suited most of these dif-
ferent stake-holders’ agendas. However, over the next few years all this
would change.12
The Impacts of Assistance
Until the early 1990s, the international community was largely unaware of
the impacts of armed conflict in Burma on ethnic minority populations
remaining inside the country. As a result of a series of well-documented
reports, produced over the following decade by various indigenous and
international rights-oriented groups, the appalling human rights and security
situation in the borderlands became better-known internationally, at least to
those who chose to enquire.
Increased levels of international awareness were matched by rising aid
budgets at last for refugees and IDPs along the Thailand border. By 2007,
about US$60 million was being channelled annually through Thailand-
based organisations supporting displaced people in and from Burma. Most
assistance was provided to the Karen and Karenni refugees, while about
$2.5–3 million went to IDPs inside Burma. In contrast, the amount of
humanitarian aid provided via Yangon remained minimal: prior to August
2005, when the UN Global Fund pulled out of Burma (see below), total
ODA was approximately $150 million per year (ICG 2006: 4), or less than
$3 per person, compared with $47 per person for Cambodia and $63 for
Laos (UN figures, quoted in Smith 2007: 55)
Neutrality, Impartiality and Solidarity

Until the mid-1980s, the issue of NGO neutrality was less problematic than
it became in the post-Cold War era. In general, humanitarian assistance
worldwide was delivered through – or with the permission of – state agen-
cies, or to refugees in neighbouring countries (with the agreement of host
governments). Whilst the major Cold War powers regularly interfered in the
internal politics of developing countries, the concept of state sovereignty
went largely unchallenged in international relations, or within the humani-
tarian community. In this context, NGOs were expected to adhere to a
concept and practice of neutrality.
‘‘Neutrality’’, as a concept in international law, can be traced to the First
Geneva Convention of 1864, the 1949 Geneva Conventions and their 1977
Protocol. The idea implies (ICRC 1994: 13):
the duty not to commit any act that could (be) interpreted by a party to
conflict as an act of belligerency . . . an obligation to refrain from acts
which . . . (are of) unilateral advantage to one party to the conflict. In
other words, the duty of abstention obliges neutral states and entities to
treat all the parties to any conflict equally and without discrimination.
The related concept of impartiality (ibid.) ‘‘imposes on neutrals the duty not
to . . . promote the interests of one party’’ to a conflict. This has been
interpreted by humanitarian agencies to mean that assistance should be
extended to beneficiaries according to need alone, without discrimination as
to ethnic, gender, socio-politico, religious, etc., identity.13
The ‘‘classical’’ humanitarian paradigm, therefore, calls for relief agencies
not to take sides in conflict (neutrality), but to assist the victims of conflict
according to their needs (impartiality). However, as a result of the international
community’s experience of providing aid in the war-zones of the Horn of
Africa, Kurdistan, Rwanda, former Yugoslavia and other ‘‘complex emer-
gencies’’, the appropriateness of a neutral position has been challenged,
especially by the NGO sector.
In the post-Cold War world, the notion of state sovereignty – the abso-
lute right of internationally recognised state parties to determine the nature
and extent of non-state interventions in ‘‘their’’ domain – has been gradu-
ally undermined by a ‘‘humanitarian imperative’’, which places the human
and civil rights of citizens above those of the state. According to this per-
spective – which is not without its critics (e.g. Rieff 2002; Terry 2002) –
NGOs cannot merely apply short-term aid, but should seek to address the
root causes of conflict. This interventionist position has involved some
agencies in fostering partnerships with local organisations, often overriding
state sovereignty in the process. From a position of solidarity with the vic-
tims of conflict, neutrality has been replaced with a robust version of
impartiality, which identifies with the oppressed against the oppressor.
Such approaches have been adopted by most aid agencies working cross-
border from Thailand, who justify their position in terms of solidarity with
the displaced, and partnership with the Burmese peoples’ self-proclaimed
legitimate representatives, the armed ethnic groups and opposition-in-exile.
Moving beyond the constraints of neutrality, these groups place the rights
of Burma’s citizens above those of the state of ‘‘Myanmar’’, which is itself
the primary agent of displacement.
Legitimacy and Conflict

Fiona Terry (2002: 45–46 and 221–24), lately of MSF, notes that in the process
of negotiating access to needy populations, humanitarian actors often serve
to legitimise non-state groups. In many such cases, aid agencies are happy
to empower conflict actors, whose cause they perceive as just.
In his classic study of Global Governance and the New Wars, Mark Duffield
(2001: 253) has analysed the ways in which relief and development aid can:
change and reinforce the dominant relations and forms of discourse

that it encounters and through which it flows . . . Such effects are not
confined to the material or organisational sphere; they can also include
social matters of legitimacy, political recognition or moral authority.
Another influential humanitarian analyst, Hugo Slim (2007), has similarly

argued that:
NGO programmes can give unwarranted legitimacy and undeserved
respectability to . . . armed groups in whose areas they work. With
powerful NGOs substituting for them, negligent governments and guer-
rillas are able to present themselves as socially responsible . . . Many
armed groups . . . have also been able to consolidate their grip on power
because NGOs have been the de facto welfare wing of their movement.
Clearly, the application of foreign aid can have multiple impacts on conflict
situations. However, in the case of Burma, aid agencies and donors have
generally been reluctant to examine these issues.
In the 1980s and 1990s, as the KNU lost control of its once-extensive
liberated zones, foreign aid insulated the organisation and its supporters
from the realities of life in Burma. The camps in Thailand provided refuge
to the victims of the civil war, and unofficial base areas for the KNU and
other armed groups. The existence of the refugees – and of some two mil-
lion other internally and externally displaced Burmese – provided testimony
to the abuses of the military government, while the KNU’s loose control
over this civilian population (many of whom were KNU family members)
bestowed a certain legitimacy on the insurgency.
As noted, since the nineteenth century, international actors have played
various roles in mediating ideas of Karen nationalism. To the present day,
international NGOs supplying the refugee camps in Thailand have empow-
ered camp administrations dominated by a self-selecting, S’ghaw-speaking,
largely Baptist elite, which the aid agencies accepted as the refugees’ natural
and legitimate representatives.14
In 1995, a groundbreaking survey of Karen refugee communities
(CCSDPT 1995) found that access to services and other opportunities was
much easier for male and female Christians, than for Buddhists or Muslims,
i.e. among the refugees, religion was a more important factor in structuring
inequality than was gender. Over the following decade, however, aid agen-
cies tended to downplay the significance of religious and political divisions
amid the refugee population, focussing instead on largely donor-driven
concerns regarding gender equity.
Throughout the 1990s, the KNU-controlled Karen Refugee Committee
(KRC)15 continued to administer the camps with little interference. How-
ever, since the expansion of UNHCR’s official mandate to cover the Bur-
mese camps in 1998, the UN refugee agency has worked with NGOs – and
to a degree, with the KRC and other Karen organisations – to address the
needs of more vulnerable members of the community, including women,
and non-dominant minorities. As a result, some progress has been made in
encouraging greater accountability from the refugee leadership (TBBC
2007). If greater efforts had been made earlier to encourage the KRC to
become genuinely representative of the wider refugee population, some of
the inequalities against which the DKBA rebelled in the mid-1990s might
have been mitigated, at least in the refugee environment.
The Thailand-based NGOs failed to investigate the impacts of foreign aid
on the conflict in Burma, and the ways in which their rice and rhetoric
supported the KNU’s programme of militarised nation-building, during a
period when the Karen insurgency was becoming increasingly centred on
the refugee camps. In part, this intellectual naivety (which the author
shared) may be explained by the lack of internationally experienced aid
workers along the border, at least until the late 1990s.
In the case of the Karenni, Sandra Dudley (an anthropologist) has
explored how aid agencies have reinforced the KNPP’s armed struggle. She
describes (2003: 26 and 29) how the insurgents’:
support base in the refugee community is . . . strengthened by relief

organisations . . . providing food and other material assistance. Beyond
that, in the eyes of recipients it also reaffirms the authority and leader-
ship of groups such as the Karenni’s KNPP. It acknowledges the KNPP
as the main point of contact with and representative of the refugee
population, and visibly affirms the authority of individual KNPP leaders
by visiting their houses . . . NGOs are important outsiders not only in
their shoring up of KNPP authority but also in their role as one element
in a wider international constituency amongst which the KNPP is as
keen to promulgate its aspirations as it is amongst Karenni refugees. The
elicitation of outsiders’ understanding, support, assistance and, ulti-
mately, legitimation, is crucial to the KNPP.
Ananda Raja (2002) has described a similar situation in the Karen refugee
camps, where ‘‘ethno-nationalism is being recreated anew with the further
reproduction of Karen ethno-history . . . Out of this and the ceaseless nar-
ration of nation in refugee camps will come . . . refugee-warriors’’. This phe-
nomenon is reflected in the ways in which education in the camps supports the
KNU’s nation-building programme.
In late 2005, the RTG reversed long-standing policies, to allow interna-
tional organisations working with refugees to expand their activities to
include more education (including vocational) services, and income genera-
tion schemes. Considerable progress was subsequently made in the field of
school support and curriculum design, in partnership with the KNU’s
Karen Education Department (KED). One largely unintended consequence
was the creation of a Karen education system which diverged from the
government’s, to a degree which made it almost impossible for Karen and
Karenni high-school graduates to re-integrate with the state system. With
the best of intentions – and mostly without examining the impacts of their
actions – foreign educationalists had helped to promote a separatist educa-
tion system, which precluded the possibility of Karen refugee children being
easily re-integrated back into Burmese society.16
At the same time, international aid programmes have sometimes inad-
vertently undermined local initiatives. For example, foreign-funded refugee
camp education and health projects have tended to draw local teachers and
medics away from under-resourced indigenous health and school systems,
while few international agencies along the border employ local people in
senior decision-making positions.
Many Thailand border-based INGOs are restricted by their mandates to
working in the refugee camps only. In the 1990s – when there were a larger
number of smaller camps, many of which were adjacent to insurgent-controlled
parts of Burma – it was impossible to work with the refugees and not be
aware that their plight and daily life was intimately connected to the social,
military and political situation across the border. Over the following decade,
however, the number of refugee camps fell, even as the number of refugees
grew. Over the same period, more – and increasingly specialised – INGOs
entered the scene. International agency staff rarely spent more than two
years in Thailand (often much less), and were seldom given a detailed
briefing regarding the socio-political background to the refugee crisis.
Therefore, they tended to conceive of their clients – the refugee population –
in isolation from the bigger picture of developments in Burma, but chose
instead to focus primarily on technical mandates.
Refugee Resettlement
In 2005, the RTG granted permission for Burmese refugees in camps
along the border – many of whom had been in limbo in Thailand for two
decades – to be resettled in neighbouring countries (TBBC 2007). After
various delays, 2006–07 saw substantial numbers of Karen and Karenni
refugees achieving the ‘‘durable solution’’ of resettlement to neighbouring
countries (primarily, but not exclusively, the US). Ironically, the same
international organisations that had for so long supported the KNU now
found themselves in the uncomfortable position of removing the insur-
gents’ support base, one of main objectives of the Tatmadaw’s Four Cuts
campaign.
According to the TBBC (2007; parenthesis added):
targets set by the resettlement counties for 2007 are considerably higher
than for 2006, totalling at least 20,000 including 15,000 to the USA . . .
As of the end of January 2007, roughly 6,600 of the original Tham Hin
[refugee camp] population of 9,680 had applied for resettlement in the
USA, representing some 68 per cent of the caseload.
These developments heralded the beginning of the end of the humanitarian

and human rights industry that had grown up along the Thailand–Burma
border since the 1980s, and propped-up an ailing insurgency. Many of those
registered for resettlement were teachers, medics, administrators, and others
from elite sectors of the refugee community (Banki and Lang 2007).
Although the resettlement programme attracted large numbers of new
arrivals from Burma into the refugee camps, most these people hoped to
move on soon, and had little interest in joining the KNU struggle.
In 2006–07, some 2000 new arrivals from Tavoy town entered Tham
Hinn refugee camp. Many of these people (who included college lecturers
and business people, as well as ordinary villagers) reportedly entered the
camp specifically to apply for resettlement overseas. Over the same
period, a number of new arrivals from Yangon (Insein) reportedly registered
at Mae La refugee camp, before returning home, to await the results of their
application. Twenty years after the first Karen refugees settled on the
border, newcomers were driven as much by ‘‘pull factors’’ (e.g. resettlement
in America) as ‘‘push factors’’ (Field Notes 23 April 2007).
Burma’s Other Borders

Rohingya refugees in Bangladesh received assistance from UNHCR, and
food aid from the UN World Food Programme (WFP). MSF withdrew from
the Rohingya camps in 2003, while education provision was severely limited
by the Bangladeshi authorities, who hoped thereby to pressure the refugees
into accepting repatriation. Meanwhile, out-of-camp Rohingya also experi-
enced a range of difficulties in securing basic human rights and livelihoods,
as did people of Burmese origin who had fled to India and Malaysia.
Cross-Border Aid
In general, cross-border aid operations are ‘‘impartial’’’ – inasmuch as aid is
distributed according to need – but far from ‘‘neutral’’. Assistance to dis-
placed peoples in Burma, provided cross-border from Thailand or other
neighbouring countries, is by definition illegal, as it challenges the sover-
eignty of the Burmese government, which most cross-border actors consider
illegitimate.
The Thai authorities have generally ‘‘turned a blind eye’’ to assistance
that lessens the prospects of IDPs from Burma entering Thailand. Never-
theless, the following assessment of cross-border work is necessarily rather
scanty, so as not to expose important but vulnerable operations.
Since the mid-1990s, most cross-border aid has been distributed in Karen
areas, and also in Mon and Karenni States. Due to the security situation
and capacity constraints, not much aid was provided in Shan State. The
cross-border aid networks were closely associated with opposition groups,
on which they relied for security and logistical arrangements. Indeed, most
cross-border personnel were members (or affiliates) of insurgent organisa-
tions. Many cross-border groups also engaged in human rights documenta-
tion and advocacy work, and in capacity-building with a range of
opposition groups.
With the fall of a string of insurgent bases in the late-1990s, civilians
displaced by armed conflict in Burma could no longer resettle behind the
front-lines, and the vulnerable IDP caseload increased substantially. In
response, a small group of INGOs and donors, who had been supporting
the refugee caseload in Thailand for a decade, helped the KNU and NMSP
establish initially small-scale and low-profile IDP assistance programmes.
As the humanitarian situation in the border areas deteriorated, the Karen
authorities formed a new (KNU-controlled) Committee for Internally Dis-
placed Karen People (CIDKP) in 1998. By April 2002, the cross-border aid
budget had grown to $1,000,000 annually, distributed through two main
Karen cross-border relief groups, and one each representing the Karenni,
Mon and Shan.
This short-term humanitarian assistance was intended to supplement vil-
lagers’ existing rice-sharing and other coping mechanisms, offering them a
chance to reconstruct their communities, once the immediate displacement
crisis had passed. In 2005, cross-border groups started planning compre-
hensively for community-based development initiatives in some armed con-
flict-affected areas, initiatives which were stimulated by the injection of
significant new American funds in 2006.
The majority of aid went to Type 1 IDPs in hiding in the conflict zones,
and was distributed to people in areas accessible to armed ethnic groups.
Due to the problems associated with distributing aid in a war zone in part-
nership with parties to the conflict, donors required that the cross-border
groups develop sophisticated and systematic needs assessment, monitoring
and evaluation, and information collection and dissemination systems.
As the cross-border groups’ capacities were strengthened, they grew
increasingly independent from the armed organisations out of whose social
welfare departments they had originally developed. Meanwhile, however,
another approach to cross-border aid was being pioneered, which explicitly
endorsed and supported Burma’s remaining insurgent groups.
The Free Burma Rangers

The FBR (established 1997; motto: de oppresso liber) were led and inspired
by an ex-US Special Forces officer. A Christian-oriented organisation, the
Rangers nevertheless included about 20 per cent non-Christians. Members
of FBR relief teams were mostly selected by insurgent authorities, and
included soldiers, teachers, administrators, medics and human rights
workers. Some were armed, but FBR teams were instructed not to engage
the Tatmadaw, unless IDPs are under direct attack, and then only as a last
resort.
Since 2005, the Rangers have provided the most reliable figures on dis-
placement in Karen areas. Indeed, it is largely due to the presence of FBR
teams that the 2005–07 offensive in northern Karen State was so well pub-
licised, in comparison, for example, with the great 1997 offensive, when the
number of people displaced and their situation only became apparent when
refugees arrived at the border (South 2005: ch. 17).
In 2006, 20 FBR teams operated in partnership with armed groups in
Karen, Karenni, Shan and Arakan States. They supplied medical services,
food (and sometimes cash), medicines, bibles, and mother-and-child kits to
needy communities of all faiths, in zones of ongoing armed conflict.
Health Services
A number of clinics and a few field hospitals were run by the military and
administrative wings of armed opposition groups. Coverage was mostly
limited to civilians in insurgent-controlled or-influenced areas, plus comba-
tants. These clinics were mostly funded by the NCUB-affiliated, Chiang
Mai-based, National Health and Education Committee (NHEC), ‘‘a clearing
house’’ for non-emergency cross-border foreign aid, which was established in
the early 1990s.
The Mae Sot-based Mae Tao Clinic and the Burma Medical Association
(BMA) also operated clinics in several conflict areas. In addition, the
Backpack Health-Workers Teams (BPHWT, established 1998) provided
services via several dozen mobile teams, which, in 2005, gave basic first-aid
and some community health care to about 170,000 people (mostly Type 1
IDPs), in areas accessible to Mon, Karen, Karenni, Shan, Kachin, Chin and
Arakanese armed groups.
Education
A network of some 900 community schools, teaching some 58,000 pupils,
existed across Karen areas of Burma in 2007, including ten high schools.
Several schools were linked to both the government and KNU education
systems. In many areas, IDP schools consisted of little more than
bamboo benches under the trees, which moved repeatedly, as villagers
were displaced by armed conflict. In the face of such difficulties, commu-
nities attempted to provide their children with some form of basic edu-
cation.
In partnership with local teachers, the KED attempted to coordinate
this under-funded system. The main local NGO supporting education in
areas of ongoing armed conflict was the Karen Teacher Working Group
(KTWG), which provided students with basic school materials, and tea-
chers with stipends and training (both on-the-job, and at a Karen Teacher
Training College, on the border). Opposition-oriented education systems,
in the remaining liberated zones and beyond, were also supported by the
NHEC.
Burma’s Other Borders

Some cross-border relief activities were carried out from Bangladesh, China
and India, together with limited human rights documentation initiatives.
These included low-profile medical assistance (including immunisation
campaigns), and training to local NGO staff, in Kachin and Wa ceasefire
areas along the China border.
The Military Government

Government aid to displaced populations has been provided to re-settled
ceasefire group soldiers and their family members, and (occasionally) to
civilians displaced by the armed conflict. Assistance consists mostly of local
infrastructure development projects undertaken by the Na Ta La.
According to the Humanitarian Research Project (Chulalongkorn
University HARP 2003):
the Relief and Resettlement Department of the Ministry of Social Wel-

fare, Relief, and Resettlement has reportedly provided aid to relo-
cated villagers. . . . For example, a government publication states that
the department had met the ‘basic needs of victims from reassembled
villages who had to move away from original villages due to insur-
gency’ in Chin State. The same document claims that the depart-
ment provided ‘necessary assistance including rice and construction
materials to victims of insurgency’ from Langkher Township in
southern Shan State and Phasaung Township in Karenni (Kayah)
State.
From the government’s perspective, new (or ‘‘reassembled’’) villages con-
stitute welfare and resettlement centres for displaced people. This sanitised
view ignores the fact that the Tatmadaw often forcibly relocates civilian
populations as part of its counter-insurgency strategy.
The majority of relocation sites are located adjacent to areas of ongoing
armed conflict (BBC 2002; Human Rights Watch 2005; TBBC 2006). The
Tatmadaw sometimes provides a few weeks or months’ supply of rice to new
arrivals, although this has often been taken from other villagers’ granaries.
In many cases, the state also provides limited education and health services,
as it does across much of rural Burma. Access to schools and markets – and
the ‘‘protection’’ from further bouts of relocation afforded by residence in
relocation sites – explains the reluctance of some residents to leave, even
when conditions allow.
Since the BSPP period, Tatmadaw units in front-line positions have
tended to ‘‘live off the land’’, taking provisions from villagers, and often
forcibly recruiting them to work as unpaid porters and labourers. Since the
late 1990s (and especially after 1998), Tatmadaw battalions have been
required to become more-or-less self-sufficient in rice and other basic sup-
plies, by appropriating virtually all their resources for subsistence (including
land to grow crops) from the civilian population (HARP 2003: 36). This
self-support policy has exacerbated conflict and displacement across much
of rural Burma (see Chapter Six).
International Organisations Inside Burma17
Following the violent suppression of the 1988 democracy uprising, most
donors terminated assistance to the new SLORC military regime. The
World Bank and Asian Development Bank have not provided any loans to
the government since 1987.
Against this backdrop, between 1991 and 1993, MSF Holland and
World Vision became the first INGOs to (re-)establish official pro-
grammes in Burma. Since the mid-1990s, the number of international
organisations working in the country has gradually increased. By 2007,
there were over 50 registered INGOs in Yangon, with Memoranda of
Understanding with the Government (mainly the Ministry of Health, and
also with the Na Ta La, Home Office and Ministry of Education), with
several others hoping to negotiate agreements, plus the two branches of the
International Red Cross.
Through to September 2004, international organisations in Burma
experienced an opening humanitarian space, and were able to begin to
access some previously out-of-bounds areas, including regions affected by
armed conflict. Under a dynamic UN Resident Coordinator (who in
2006 was designated Humanitarian Coordinator), INGOs and UN agen-
cies working ‘‘inside’’ Burma began to access greater levels of funding,
although some Thailand and overseas-based activist and lobbying groups
continued to oppose any international engagement with the SPDC regime
(see below).
International relief and development projects in Burma were still spread
very thinly in 2007. Yangon-based INGOs and UN agencies generally took
a long-term, incremental approach to expanding access into conflict-affected
parts of the country, starting programmes in areas adjacent to state capitals,
and gradually moving into more remote locations. Several agencies worked
in remote parts of Chin, northern Arakan, Shan, and Kachin States, and in
some villages in Karenni State and Tenasserim Division. Some were also
active in parts of Karen and Mon States – but were not given permission to
work in the most severely conflict-affected areas.
In general, international agencies were wary of antagonising the govern-
ment, by being seen to establish relations with ceasefire groups. (The
exception being parts of Shan State, where the UN Office for Drugs and
Crime, WFP and other international agencies engaged with ceasefire groups,
in the context of opium-eradication: see Chapter Five).
Very few international organisations operating inside government-con-
trolled Burma implemented programmes specifically targeted at IDPs, as
such. In part, this was due to the sensitivity of the issue; in part, it reflected
the difficulty of distinguishing between displaced and other vulnerable
populations. However, in 2006 the Resident Coordinator did oversee the
creation, within the UN Country Team, of a Population Movement Working
Group, which took some tentative steps towards addressing the gaps in
responding to the assistance and protection needs of IDPs in Burma (see
Chapter Seven).
UN Development Programme
Since 1994, UNDP assistance has been restricted to ‘‘programmes having
grass-roots-level impact in a sustainable manner’’ (UNDP June 1993).
This Governing Council mandate is designed to limit the agency’s engage-
ment with the military government, a highly unusual constraint, imposed
on the UNDP by its major donor, the US Government. In this restricted
environment, the UNDP implemented a Human Development Initiative
(HDI), focussed on the poorest of the poor (especially women and landless
people).
In 2005, the UNDP undertook a major expansion of the HDI, to cover a
total of 64 remote townships in Burma. The programme accessed armed
conflict-affected populations (including Type 1 IDPs), through its partnership
with a local NGO–CBO network.
UN High Commission for Refugees

In March 2004, UNHCR announced that it had negotiated access to areas of
potential refugee return, in Karen and Mon States, and Tenasserim Division
(Human Rights Watch 2005). Under this arrangement with the government, the
UN refugee agency was able to visit most of the townships from which the
majority of refugees in Thailand had fled, i.e. for the first time, the UN had
access to the Thailand border areas from inside Burma. However, UNHCR staff
were only able to visit areas securely under Tatmadaw control, and accessible by –
or a few hour’s walk off – road. Very few of the agency’s more than a hundred
‘‘quick-impact projects’’ were situated in areas affected by ongoing armed
conflict.
In 2004, the Ministry of Home Affairs requested UNHCR to assist
‘‘people returning from within the country’’ (i.e. IDP return and reintegra-
tion), in areas of refugee return. However, the status of this agreement
became unclear, following the fall of Khin Nyunt.
UN Children’s Fund
The UN Children’s agency (UNICEF) worked primarily through govern-
ment ministries, on education, immunisation and nutrition campaigns,
water and sanitation, community health and HIV/AIDS. In 2006–07, the
UNICEF health budget was larger than the government’s.
With the exception of a very few ceasefire zones, UNICEF had no regular
access to areas of population displacement, and did not target IDPs. How-
ever, UNICEF immunisation teams were able to reach some displaced
populations in Karenni and Karen States.
International Labour Organisation
In July 1998, an ILO Commission of Inquiry reported that the Burmese
government and military ‘‘treat the civilian population as an unlimited pool
of unpaid forced labourers and servants at their disposal’’. The report went
on to describe ‘‘a saga of untold misery and suffering, oppression and
exploitation of large sections of the population’’. Those affected included
large numbers of women, children and the elderly. Workers were usually not
provided with food and rarely received any payment or medical treatment.
Those perceived by their guards as ‘‘unwilling, slow, or unable to comply
with a demand for forced labour’’ were subject to ‘‘physical abuse, beatings,
torture, rape and murder’’.
The ILO established an office in Yangon in 2002. Over the next two
years, the amount of forced labour (loq-a-peh: ‘‘freely given labour’’)
demanded from civilian populations underwent a gradual reduction. How-
ever, in June 2005, the International Labour Conference concluded that
forced labour was still a major problem throughout Burma. Of particular
concern, was the SPDC’s prosecution of people reporting instances of
forced labour. Together with death threats made against the ILO repre-
sentative in Yangon, these problems contributed towards a climate of
impunity for state officials, despite the government having officially banned
the imposition of forced labour in October 2000.
Under pressure from the ILO, which had threatened to refer Burma to
the International Court of Justice and UN Security Council, in February
2007 the SPDC agreed to establish a mechanism enabling the organisation
to investigate allegations of forced labour. However, observers were sceptical
whether ILO would be able to operate freely and in a credible manner,
especially in areas affected by armed and state–society conflict.
International Committee of the Red Cross

The ICRC is generally sceptical of a separate category of ‘‘IDP’’. It argues
that humanitarian law (the 1949 Geneva Conventions – especially the
Fourth Convention on the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War –
and the two Additional Protocols of 1977) do not distinguish between dis-
placed and other conflict-affected civilians.
Between 1998 and 2004, ICRC sub-delegations were established in Pa’an,
Moulmein, Kengtung, Taunggyi and Mandalay, from where teams imple-
mented water and sanitation and other projects in conflict-affected areas,
with the aim of providing ‘‘protection by presence’’. However, following the
October 2004 purge of Khin Nyunt and colleagues, the ICRC experienced
significantly reduced access to most parts of eastern Burma. In mid-March
2007 the organisation announced the closure of its Moulmein and Keng-
tung field offices, and stated that prison visits were also being systematically
obstructed. On 29 June, the ICRC took the unusual step – for an organisation
which prefers to carry out its humanitarian work behind the scenes – of
publicly denouncing the military regime’s systematic abuse of prisoners, and
of civilians in conflict zones. The ICRC president, Jakob Kellenberger (29
June 07), stated that:
the persistent use of detainees as porters for the armed forces is a

matter of grave humanitarian concern. The actions of the authorities
have also resulted in immense suffering for thousands of people in
conflict-affected areas . . . The ICRC has repeatedly drawn attention to
these abuses but the authorities have failed to put a stop to them . . .
The repeated abuses committed against men, women and children living
along the Thai–Myanmar border violate many provisions of interna-
tional humanitarian law.
International NGOs
As of mid-2007, about 50 INGOs had agreed Memoranda of Understanding
with the government. Several of these agencies implemented programmes
that benefited forced migrants, such as Type 1 and 2 IDPs who had moved
into government-controlled areas (including some longer-established relo-
cation sites). A number of INGOs also focussed on the needs of vulnerable
economic migrants (including Type 3 forced migrants).
In general, INGOs in Burma operated with more independence than their
better-funded UN counterparts. While the Government could – and
increasingly did – restrict their access to sensitive areas (see below), the
private aid agencies were not told where or with whom they should work.
Like the UN agencies, most international NGOs in Burma concentrated on
humanitarian needs, although some did implement a broader range of
development-oriented programmes, often in partnership with local civil
society groups (see Chapter Six).18
Local Organisations Inside Burma

During the mid/late 1990s, a variety of civil society networks began to re-
emerge within, and between, ethnic nationality communities in Burma.
These included various religious groups and traditional village associations,
as well as more formally established organisations (see Chapter Six).
These local community and faith-based networks often had access to
remote, conflict-affected parts of the country that were beyond the reach of
international organisations. Their relief and development activities took the
form of self-help initiatives, undertaken by extended family and clan net-
works, as well as more systematic programmes, implemented by CBOs and
local NGOs, which established low-profile aid programmes in government-
controlled areas, and in some relocation sites and ceasefire areas in eastern
and northern Burma. These local organisations were sometimes also able to
work in zones of ongoing armed conflict, although their access tended to
fluctuate, depending on the local situation.
Contact with displaced populations was generally negotiated with Tat-
madaw (and/or ceasefire groups) commanders, usually by local or national
religious leaders. Most of the limited amounts of assistance provided to
displaced people from inside Burma was distributed by faith-based
groups, who attempted to ensure that aid was extended to all needy
people in the areas accessed, and not just to co-religionists, i.e. they
strove for impartiality.
Groups involved in providing support to IDPs in relocation sites have
been accused of abetting the state’s draconian forced relocation programme.
However, in providing relief in partnership with relocated populations, these
NGOs were helping to build community networks and develop ‘‘human
capital’’, in ways which contributed towards peace-making and conflict-
transformation, at least at the local level (see Chapter Seven).
Between 2004 and 2007, Karen groups (in particular) inside Burma
enhanced their capacities to assess the needs of, and deliver assistance to,
IDPs and other vulnerable communities (e.g. flood victims). Relief aid
usually consisted of food, medical supplies (including mobile outreach
teams) and community rehabilitation and local development activities. In parti-
cular, three separate church-based networks working with IDPs developed
increasingly sophisticated monitoring methodologies.
Protection Activities
Organisations working inside Burma could not afford to be as bold in their
advocacy roles as those in Thailand and overseas. However, the presence of
local and international agency personnel in conflict-affected areas did in
some places help to create the humanitarian space within which to engage
in ‘‘behind the scenes’’ advocacy with national, state and local authorities.
Progress was made by international organisations in the fields of harm
reduction and HIV/AIDS issues, and on trafficking and child rights. Local
civil society groups’ access to conflict-affected areas also had some protec-
tive impacts. Of necessity, however, this type of work had to remain low-
profile, and its significance was, therefore, under-appreciated.
Important protective work was nevertheless undertaken by local commu-
nity leaders, who were able to engage with power-holders (e.g. Tatmadaw
and ceasefire group commanders), to improve conditions for vulnerable
communities. Such interventions sometimes involved persuading authorities
not to relocate civilians, or to demand less forced labour from a village, or
perhaps to allow humanitarian access for international or – more often
local – NGOs and CBOs.19
Civil society actors could also sometimes ‘‘mobilise’’ agencies operating
outside of Burma, by passing on human rights information to contacts in
Yangon, or Thailand. Such informal protection and advocacy networks
helped to reduce the incidence of human rights abuses in some parts of Karen
and Karenni States. For example, Tatmadaw commanders were sometimes
reluctant to use forced labour in areas where this information was likely to be
passed on to advocacy groups in Mae Sot or Chiang Mai (see Chapter Seven).
Restrictions on Humanitarian Space

The ability of local and international agencies to address Burma’s pro-
tracted and interrelated displacement crises is in large part determined by
the amount and quality of political and humanitarian space available.
The period from November 2003 to September 2004 was one of rapidly
opening humanitarian space in Burma. In part, the government’s will-
ingness to allow international access to previously out of bounds areas was
a response to increased pressure, following the ‘‘Depayin incident’’ of 30
May 2003.
Following the October 2004 demise of Khin Nyunt and his military intel-
ligence colleagues, the extent and quality of political and humanitarian space
in Burma declined. For humanitarian agencies, this constriction was reflec-
ted in a set of draft Guidelines for UN Agencies, International Organisations
and NGO/INGOs on Co-operation Programme in Myanmar, issued by the
Ministry of National Planning and Economic Development in February
2006. According to the Guidelines, state officials would have to accompany
UN and INGO staff on all field trips, with enhanced supervisory roles to be
played by Central, State-Divisional and Township Co-ordinating Commit-
tees (including a prominent role for the USDA). The Government also
planned to vet all new Burmese staff of the UN and INGOs.
It seemed likely that, should these regulations be implemented system-
atically, some international agencies would withdraw from Burma. Already,
in August 2005, the Global Fund for HIV/AIDS, Malaria and Tuberculosis
has ceased operation in the country, although, in this case, there were
additional, politically driven considerations behind the decision to leave (see
ICG 2006, which accuses activist groups of lobbying for the Global Fund’s
departure; for an alternative view, The Irrawaddy 23 January 2007).20 In
February 2006, MSF-France also withdrew from Burma, claiming that
increased government restrictions, imposed since 2005, had made its opera-
tions in Mon and Karen States untenable. (As MSF avoids working with
local state or non-state structures, and thus does little to build local capa-
cities, it was ill-prepared to operate in an increasingly constricted humani-
tarian environment.)
A further consequence of the restrictive operating environment was that
most international agencies had very limited access to the upper echelons of
the SPDC, and were thus unable to engage in policy dialogue with, or
communicate advocacy messages to, the regime. Given these increasingly
bleak and repressive conditions, the UN (in particular) had a special
responsibility to advocate and act on behalf of the most vulnerable, conflict-
affected populations (see Chapter Seven).
Humanitarian Coordination
As noted, international organisations – whether based in Bangkok or
Yangon – had almost no direct access to the most vulnerable displaced
populations in Burma. Therefore, most assistance to IDPs was provided via
local NGOs and CBOs.
In general, the level of support to IDPs from across the Thailand border
was significantly greater than that provided from inside the country. The
major constraints on both sets of relief activity were limited capacities and
funding, plus government restrictions and the dangers of providing aid in
areas of ongoing armed conflict.
Groups working cross-border from Thailand varied in capacity and scope
of programmes. In general, they had access to a sub-set of the most needy
Type 1 IDPs in zones of ongoing armed conflict, as well as to a few reloca-
tion sites and ceasefire areas. Cross-border groups also provided aid to other
vulnerable groups in conflict zones, who might not be IDPs as such. This mostly
took the form of short-term emergency relief (food and medicines), plus some
education and community development. Although many cross-border groups
engaged in human rights education and documentation, and advocacy activities,
they could do little to actually protect civilians in the war zones.
Meanwhile, civil society networks inside Burma had access to people
displaced into or within government-controlled areas, and also to many
relocation sites and ceasefire areas. However, they had much less access to
IDPs in zones of ongoing armed conflict. Assistance from inside Burma
mostly took the form of community rehabilitation and development activ-
ities, plus some emergency relief aid. Civil society networks also undertook
important, low-profile protection activities, although they were unable to
take part in public advocacy, or denunciation of the government or other
power-holders.
There was, therefore, relatively little overlap in the populations assisted
by groups working from inside Burma, and those working cross-border
from Thailand. If the provisional KNU ceasefire (the 2003 ‘‘Gentleman’s
Agreement’’) had been consolidated, the two sets of relief actors might have
been expected to expand their operations, into new geographic areas. In this
case, local NGOs on both sides of the front-lines – which were already in
informal contact – would need to adopt more formal co-ordination activ-
ities.
In the meantime, the donors and other support networks that helped to
maintain assistance to displaced people in eastern Burma remained suspi-
cious of ‘‘the other side’’. Many groups working cross-border from Thailand
in particular, were antagonistic towards those working ‘‘inside’’ the country,
whom they suspected of somehow propping up the SPDC regime.
The need for confidence building and greater co-ordination was recog-
nised by both sides, and resulted in late 2005 in the first of series of low-
profile meetings in Bangkok, attended by key actors. This process received a
boost in 2007, when the UN Office for the Co-ordination of Humanitarian
Affairs (UNOCHA) began to address the need for greater co-ordination
between agencies working inside Burma, and those operating along the
Thailand border.
Shaping International Agendas on Burma

Since the mid-1990s, international agencies working inside ‘‘Myanmar’’ have
often held different views regarding the situation in the country – and
appropriate interventions and policy – to those working on ‘‘Burma’’ from
neighbouring countries and overseas. In the public discourse, the voices of
exiled political groups and their supporters have tended to prevail, at least
in Western capitals, and in multilateral forums such as the UN.
The following sub-section is not concerned with the merits of engaging or
isolating the SPDC per se (a topic briefly addressed in Chapter Seven).
Rather, it seeks to understand how Thailand border-based opposition
groups, and the relief and human rights networks which supported them,
came to dominate understandings of conflict and humanitarian crises in
Burma. (Except where stated, the analysis is drawn from the author’s
experience of working on both sides of the border, between 1991 and
2006.)
Perceptions of Legitimacy
The prevalence, in professional humanitarian circles, of ‘‘greed-based’’
models of conflict has tended to provoke scepticism, especially among
international agencies working ‘‘inside’’ Burma, of conflict actors’ claims to
represent the ethnic communities in whose name the civil war has been
fought. International agencies and observers with experience of armed con-
flict and its impacts in other parts of the world have generally assumed that
armed ethnic groups are motivated by political and economic self-interest.
They have tended to regard insurgent (and most ceasefire) groups as
warlord organisations, with little political legitimacy. As Duffield (2001:
128; parenthesis added) has observed, ‘‘the general approach of liberal
governance [the nexus of security and development] has been to delegiti-
mise indigenous leadership in violent conflict’’.21 However, such an
approach fails to appreciate that armed ethnic groups in Burma often
enjoy varying – if contested – degrees of legitimacy among their con-
stituencies.22
In contrast, opposition supporters, especially those based outside the
country, tend to emphasise the insurgents’ struggle against a repressive military
regime, and view armed conflict through the lens of ‘‘justice/legitimate
grievance’’ models. They are often uncritically supportive of anti-govern-
ment groups, and the manner in which ethnic nationality communities are
mobilised to support opposition agendas. Many observers (e.g. Rogers 2004:
see below) naively assume that insurgent groups are unproblematically
representative of ethnic nationality communities, without questioning whose
interests the armed conflict actually serves, and whether alternative strate-
gies might be appropriate to promote ethno-nationalist agendas (see Chap-
ter Seven). For example, a number of opposition supporters (individuals
and NGOs) withdrew their moral support for the KIO, after the latter
agreed a ceasefire with the government in 1994 (see Chapter Five). Over the
following decade, the ‘‘heroic Kachin freedom fighters’’ were transformed
rhetorically into ‘‘corrupt warlords’’.
Burma Viewed from Afar

Since the refugee (and later IDP) relief regime was established in the 1980s,
the international community has come to view the political and humani-
tarian situation in ethnic nationality-populated areas of Burma almost
exclusively from the perspective of Thailand border-based opposition
groups. As noted, understandings of the armed conflict and its impacts (e.g.
patterns of displacement) have been filtered through the reports of a Thailand-
based aid and human rights industry, which has specialised in denouncing
the military government. The author participated in these border-based
networks for more than a decade, and retains a good deal of respect for
many of those still involved (for example, the Free Burma Rangers, who
have never sought to deny their support for the KNU). In retrospect, how-
ever, the spectacle of aid workers and activists in Chiang Mai, London and
the USA cheering on the KNU, while Karen villages burned, was far from
edifying, especially as the insurgents were never going to win the war, and
thus the end was unlikely ever to justify the means.
Burmese and international activists and aid workers have produced a
series of well-documented reports on the horrors of life in rural Burma. The
situation in the eastern border zones has been so bad, for so long, that it
has not been difficult to find evidence of serious and systematic abuse on
the part of the Tatmadaw and its proxies, although much less attention is
paid to rights violations carried out by opposition groups. Little, if any, of
the testimony collected by border-based groups (and cited in this book) is
fabricated: life for civilians in the war zones really is that bad.
However, those who are most affected by conflict (villagers and commu-
nity workers) generally have the least ability to influence public advocacy
agendas, i.e. are denied a ‘‘voice’’, in comparison with relatively well-
educated urban and political elites. The civilian populations of the border
areas, whose suffering has been documented in countless reports, and
repeatedly used to denounce the military regime, have rarely been consulted
in setting advocacy goals and messages regarding their plight. As Lisa
Brooten (2004) observes, in a sympathetic critique of human rights-oriented
reporting, the ‘‘representation of ethnic minorities as victimised groups
rather than as active agents makes it easier to conceptualise and use these
groups as tools in local as well as geopolitical power plays’’.
Proposed solutions to Burma’s complex and inter-linked humanitarian
and political crises are often reduced to demands for greater diplomatic and
material support for opposition groups, including various cross-border and
exile organisations.23 This focus on exile agendas serves to reinforce the
position of often unaccountable groups and individuals, who – although
they may be experts in fund-raising and rhetoric – are often quite marginal
to the actual situation on the ground, inside Burma.
Exiled opposition politicians and parties obviously have an interest in
representing themselves as legitimate and capable actors, and presenting the
situation in Burma as a polarised deadlock, which can only be resolved by
their assumption of power (see Chapter Seven). Such discourse recalls the
fantasy’s spun in the corridors of power by Adnan Chalabi, before the 2003
invasion of Iraq. Unfortunately for Burma, and especially for the civilian
populations of conflict zones, the voices of exiled elites have often drowned
out better-informed, more nuanced and constructive views. In the zero-sum
struggle for resources and perceived legitimacy, genuine ‘‘peace-making’’
efforts have been sacrificed for political expediency.
For example, on more than one occasion, efforts to broker a KNU cea-
sefire have been stymied by the NCUB-NCGUB alliance. Since the early
1990s, the opposition-in-exile has been highly dependent on the KNU, for
its credibility as a movement with a presence inside Burma: if the KNU
were to cease armed conflict, the NCUB, NCGUB and other groupings
would be reduced to even more peripheral roles. Meanwhile, a number of
senior KNU officials have allied themselves with well-resourced actors
among the opposition-in-exile, and, in their struggles for power within the
post-Bo Mya KNU, have received significant support from powerful lobbies
within the NCUB and NCGUB.
According to David Taw (2005):
broader opposition groupings and alliances [have] played a role in the

KNU’s decision-making, reinforcing certain factions’ power (especially
because of overlapping leadership arrangements), and usually inveigling
against engagement with the ruling regime. The existence of a high-
profile pro-democracy movement that has overshadowed the Karen
cause internationally has also played a role in KNU thinking.
International Burma solidarity and support networks have played similar

roles. Sandra Dudley notes (2003: 29) that:
the relatively high level of contact, support and attention from Western
governments, agencies, and individual activists, journalists and scholars . . .
received by ethnic groups living in exile on the Thai–Burma border.
Focusing primarily on border politics may mean not seeing the ways in
which internal ethnic struggles have changed and moved on.
In their efforts to promote the ethnic cause and make the sufferings of
Burma’s minority peoples better-known, aid workers and activists have
often over-simplified the issues. An example is provided by a recent account
of Karen history, which views the ethno-nationalist movement from an
almost exclusively Christian perspective. In A Land Without Evil (2004),
Benedict Rogers portrays the Karen as a largely Christian people, although
in fact two-thirds are Buddhists. Thus, he perpetuates the perception of a
Christian elite-dominated KNU as the only legitimate political representative
of the Karen.
Notions of a homogenous and militant pan-Karen identity are also fos-
tered in the growing diaspora, among refugee and exile communities, espe-
cially in North America, New Zealand and Australia, and on the internet.
The ex-UN official Thant Myint-U (2006: 342–43; parenthesis added)
describes how exiles from the traumatic events of 1988–90 ended up:
in Thailand and India and then eventually emigrating to other countries,

like Australia and the United States [where] little communities grew
up . . . Like activists everywhere, by the late 1990s they were aggressively
using the internet, which soon sprouted hundreds of specialised Burmese
political sites, chat rooms, newspapers, and message boards. They were
joined by many non-Burmese, Americans, Australians, British, Scandi-
navians and others who have often worked selflessly and with great
dedication; together with the exiles, a formidable Burma lobby has
slowly taken shape [which] . . . has largely managed to stay on-message:
the military government is bad, Aung San Suu Kyi is good, and the
international community needs to apply pressure on Rangoon and
pressure means no aid, trade sanctions, and more isolation.
For Karen and many other refugee communities, the experience of exile
seems to have reinforced the most uncompromising elements of identity.
Driven by the imperatives of protecting a sense of self and community in a
distant land, exile groups and networks are often the source of strident,
uncompromising rhetoric. With large numbers of Karen refugees expected
to resettle in the US and elsewhere in the coming years, diaspora commu-
nities are likely to continue to play important roles in articulating forms of
nationalism.
Isolation, Disinvestment and the Denial of Aid

In moving Burma up the crowded international agenda, exile groups and
their supporters have enjoyed considerable tactical success. As Thant (ibid.
20) notes: ‘‘the cause of Burmese democracy flutters consistently on the
margins of high-level attention, with dedicated albums by U2 and REM,
Prime Minister Tony Blair personally lending his name to a boycott of
tourism in Burma, and US Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice styling the
country an ‘outpost of tyranny’’’.
The Burma Campaign UK (BCUK) website (http://www.burmacampaign.
org.uk/) lists some of the scores of Western companies that have been pres-
sured into withdrawing from the country since the early 1990s. However, in
the absence of Western businesses, Southeast Asian and Chinese companies
have invested heavily in Burma, but without the (albeit minimal) account-
ability that characterises most US and European-based multinationals.
In 1994, the Free Burma Coalition in the US, together with groups such
as the Open Society Institute’s Burma Project, persuaded the Clinton
administration to impose sanctions against the SLORC. These were sig-
nificantly strengthened in 2004, under President George W. Bush (for more
on sanctions, see Chapter Seven). In the UK, the BCUK and Ben Rogers’
Christian Solidarity Worldwide (CSW) have been similarly successful in
capturing the public debate over Burma.
As the country enjoys little strategic significance in the West, it has been
fairly easy for a handful of politicians and their aides to capture Burma policy in
Washington and London, making grand rhetorical gestures and statements,
which would be unimaginable in the case of a more geo-politically significant
human rights violator, such as China (for example). On a tactical level, Burmese
opposition and activist groups have formed partnerships with right-wing
elements of the Republican and Democrat parties in the USA, and the Con-
servative Party in the UK.
In the meantime, life for most Burmese citizens continued to deteriorate,
as a result of the depredations and abuses of the militarised state, and the
feeble nature of the economy, which undermined livelihood options for large
sections of the civilian population. However, despite the rhetoric of opposi-
tion supporters in neighbouring countries, in mid-2007 the government was
probably stronger than at any time since independence. This was in large
part due to the discovery in the late 1990s of huge offshore natural gas
deposits, which allowed the SPDC to play off against each other the energy-
hungry regional powers, China24 and India (and also Thailand). Discovery
of the gas fields also guaranteed the regime a supply of hard currency
(much of which was nevertheless squandered on vanity projects, such as
construction of the new capital at Nay Pyi Daw). Indeed, in May 2007 the
(generally pro-regime) Myanmar Times reported that Burma’s foreign
trade would exceed US $8 billion in 2007–08, a 40 per cent increase on
the previous year, despite the ongoing US and EU economic sanctions.
As noted, another area where exile groups have enjoyed dubious success
is in restricting the levels of humanitarian and development aid reaching
Burma. As the ICG (2006: 1) has noted, especially since 2004,
aid agencies have come under renewed pressure, most seriously from the
military government but also from prodemocracy activists overseas who
seek to curtail or control assistance programs . . . Some parliamentar-
ians and advocacy groups abroad have stepped up efforts to restrict and
micro-manage aid flows. This was particularly evident in respect to the
Global Fund, which in August 2005 terminated a planned $98 million
program in Myanmar after intense pressure from U.S.-based groups
undermined sensitive negotiations with the government over operational
conditions.
Unfortunately, as the SPDC went from strength-to-strength, influential

actors among the opposition-in-exile (and their support networks) con-
tinued to seem primarily concerned with undermining those working for
change inside the country. Fortunately, however, some political and huma-
nitarian actors on the ground were able to exploit the limited opportunities
available in military-ruled Burma.
Part III
State, ceasefires and civil society
5 The SPDC and the ceasefire movement
Militarisation and governance
Burma’s Three-way Political Scene

Since the colonial period, the ‘‘ethnic question’’ has been at the heart of
Burma’s protracted political, social and humanitarian crises. However, since
independence in 1948 – and especially following the military takeover of
1962 – ethnic nationalist politicians have been largely excluded from mean-
ingful participation in mainstream political life.
Since the early 1990s, annual UN General Assembly resolutions
regarding Burma have called for talks between the military government,
ethnic nationality representatives, and Aung San Suu Kyi’s NLD. Of these
potential parties to dialogue, the ethnic nationalist bloc is the most diverse,
and has not always presented a coherent political platform. Thus, its leaders
have risked being marginalised in discussions over the country’s political
future.
The ethnic nationalist community in Burma is composed of three broad
sectors:
1. Insurgent groups still at war with the government (in 2007, primarily the
KNU, KNPP, SSA-South and CNF), most of which are members of the
rump NDF, and support exile political formations;
2. Armed ethnic organisations that have agreed ceasefires since 1989;
3. The United Nationalities Alliance (UNA), established in 2002, and
representing 67 ethnic nationality candidates elected in 1990.
Most UNA members had been part of the loosely organised United
Nationalities League for Democracy (UNLD), the umbrella group of
ethnic nationalist parties that contested the 1990 election. In 1990, under
the Bo Aung Kyaw Street Declaration, the UNLD and NLD agreed in
principle to establish a democratic federal union of Burma (see Chapter
Seven).
Like the UNLD, the UNA has always worked closely with the NLD.
Prominent member-parties include the Mon National Democratic Front
(MNDF), with five MPs-elect; the Shan Nationalities League for Democracy
(SNLD), with 22 MPs-elect; and the Arakan League for Democracy (ALD),
with eleven seats.
On 16 September 1998, members of most of the parties elected in 1990
established a 15-member Committee Representing the People’s Parliament
(CRPP). Under the leadership of the NLD, the CRPP was committed to
achieving recognition of the results of the 1990 election, and convening the
parliament, which had never been allowed to meet.
The MNDF was established in 1988. Although it was outlawed in 1992, the
MNDF continued to be led by two veteran Mon politicians, Nai Tun Thein
and Nai Ngwe Thein, who had been prominent members of the MPF in the
1950s, but had not followed Nai Shwe Kyin back underground to join
the insurgent NMSP, after the military coups of 1958 and 1962. Instead, the
MNDF leaders bode their time, before re-emerging in the heady days of
1988–90, to lead a Mon political movement that aimed to work alongside
the mainstream (NLD-led) pan-Burmese democracy movement, within the
Union (South 2005: ch. 9).
The SNLD Chairman, the Shan businessman Khun Htun Oo, also led
the UNA. A pragmatic, urbane and principled democrat, Khun Htun Oo
represented the ethnic nationality position in councils with the NLD, and
met regularly with representatives of the international community, including
Yangon-based diplomats, and visiting UN Special Representatives, a role
for which he was eventually imprisoned (see below).
No explicitly Karen nationalist MPs were elected in 1990, reflecting the
disorganised and suppressed nature of Karen politics under the SLORC
(and also the fact that many communities voted for the NLD). The main
‘‘aboveground’’ Karen parties were the Karen National Congress for
Democracy (KNCD) and Union Karen League (UKL); Saw Harry See of
the KNCD was an ex officio member of the UNA (see Chapter Six).
None of the UNLD/UNA member-groups participated in the govern-
ment-organised National Convention (see below). Their absence – and that
of the NLD – created a political opening for a new generation of ethnic
nationalist politicians, associated with the groups that had agreed ceasefires
with the government since 1989.
Ceasefire Strategies
Until 1989, the Tatmadaw had been fighting two inter-connected civil wars:
one against the ethnic nationalist insurgents, the other against the Com-
munist Party of Burma (CPB). With the collapse of the latter in early 1989,
the People’s Army disintegrated into four ethnic militias, representing its
Kokang, Wa, Kachin and Shan-Lahu elements (see below).1
The NDF sent delegates to seek an alliance with the ex-CPB groups,
but – after decades of war – they found the government’s offer more
attractive (Martin Smith 1999: 376–77). The SLORC Secretary-1, and
head of military intelligence, (then) Major-General Khin Nyunt, devised a
The SPDC and the ceasefire movement 119
classic divide-and-rule strategy, under which ceasefire agreements were
struck with individual insurgent groups, while the SLORC refused to
negotiate with any joint front, such as the NDF or DAB.
Between 1989 and 1995, ceasefire arrangements were brokered with some
25 insurgent organisations, starting with the ex-CPB militias. With their
former communist foes in northern Shan State neutralised, the new military
government could concentrate its forces against the ethnic rebels and their
Mannerplaw alliance. From 1991, agreements were struck with several NDF
member groups, starting with the Kachin Defence Army (KDA, ex-KIO
Fourth Brigade), and PaO and Palaung forces (see below). Often, church-
men and other religious leaders played important roles in mediating these
truces (Smith 2007: 41).2
At least a dozen local militias also agreed unofficial truces with the Tat-
madaw during this period, including several armed factions that had split
from mainstream NDF groups. As well as the DKBA, these included the
Karen Peace Force (KPF), previously the KNLA’s 16 Battalion (based in
Kawkareik and Kya In Seik-Gyi Townships, KNU Sixth Brigade), which
surrendered to the Tatmadaw on the eve of the February 1997 offensive
against the KNU (see below). Another ex-KNU ‘‘peace group’’ was the
Thandaung Special Region (ex-KNLA Second Brigade), which agreed a
ceasefire later in 1997. Few of these small outfits had substantial political
agendas, beyond the maintenance of local autonomy.
In November 1993, Bangkok’s The Nation reported a series of speeches made
by Khin Nyunt in border areas of Southeast Burma, in which he called on
armed ethnic groups to ‘‘return to the legal fold’’. For example, on 23 November
in Ye, Mon State, Khin Nyunt (The Nation 27 November 1993) called on:
armed organisations in the jungle to return quickly to the legal fold

after considering the good will of the government . . . We extend our
invitation with genuine goodwill. We do not have any malicious
thoughts . . . This is official. Please respond as soon as possible.
In the case of some NDF member organisations – e.g. the KIO in 1994 and
the NMSP the following year (see below) – ceasefires were negotiated under
pressure from the Thai and Chinese authorities. Mostly, however, these
groups agreed to end hostilities because of the Tatmadaw’s military super-
iority, because of a deep war weariness among both the civilian population
and their leaders, and in expectation of receiving development and economic
assistance from the government and international community.
Ceasefire Dynamics
The degrees of legitimacy enjoyed by the ceasefire groups varies con-
siderably (see Steinberg, in Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007).3 In gen-
eral, leaders of ex-CPB (and some ex-NDF) ceasefire groups have been
notable for their significant levels of economic motivation, and interest in the
business opportunities associated with the truces (e.g. involvement in nar-
cotics production, and the granting of local monopolies on trade and other
economic activities). In this respect, the SLORC ceasefires recalled the for-
mation of Ka Kwe Ye (KKY) militias in the 1960s and early 1970s, when the
Tatmadaw allowed armed groups (many of them ex-insurgent outfits) con-
siderable local autonomy and police powers in conflict-affected areas, as
well as a free hand in the opium–heroin trade, in exchange for their support
against the insurgencies (Smith 1999: 95 and 351).
Since 1989, the ex-CPB groups have been largely devoid of political
ideology, beyond a broad and mostly ill-defined ethnic nationalist stance.
Most were considered close to Khin Nyunt, and did not seek to challenge the
government politically, at least while their patron remained the second most
powerful man in Burma. In return for their compliance, the ex-communists
gained access to limited state (and some international) development assis-
tance (especially in those areas affected by opium eradication: see below). In
comparison, most (but not all) ex-NDF groups continued to demonstrate
broad (but not uncritical) support for the NLD, and often sought to engage
the government in political dialogue (but without much success: see below).
In general, the ex-NDF ceasefire groups found it easier than the ex-com-
munists to continue to mobilise populations under their control, through
the use of ethno-nationalist rhetoric.
Some ceasefire groups (e.g. the Kokang and Wa) have been allowed to
establish legal political parties; others – such as the more ‘‘political’’ ex-
NDF groups – have not. As such anomalies indicate, the ceasefires are not
comprehensive peace treaties, and lack all but the most rudimentary
accommodation of the ex-insurgents’ political and developmental demands.
As Jake Sherman (Sherman and Ballentine 2003: 241–42) notes:
the ceasefires have improved physical security in some former combat

zones. Still, promised political dialogue and economic development
have not been forthcoming, and thus the deeper causes of conflict
remain unaddressed.
However, he acknowledges (ibid. 245) that:
the ceasefires have provided . . . space for engaging in economic activ-

ities, the initiation of health and development schemes . . . In the last ten
years a growing number of ethnic minority organisations have come to
see the provision of basic economic development as a priority equal to
that of democracy, and only achievable if they make peace with the
government . . . the ceasefires have been driven and maintained both by a
desire to avoid conflict and its humanitarian impact, as well as by the
economic self-interest of leaders from rival sides, for whom increased
access to resource wealth is a key motivation for ceasing hostilities.
In most cases, the ex-insurgents were allowed to retain their arms (but see
below), and granted de facto autonomy, and control of sometimes extensive
blocks of territory, in recognition of the military situation on the ground.
The military–political space created by the ceasefires also gave the ex-
insurgents access to (if not control over) areas and populations that they were
previously denied, and opportunities to organise among communities, which
they could only contact clandestinely, before the cessation of armed conflict.
As Smith (1999: 46–48) observes, the situation on the ground varied from
district to district. In some cases – e.g. the NMSP and KIO, and also the
United Wa State Army (UWSA) and Shan State Nationalities Peoples Lib-
eration Organisation (SSNPLO) – there was a fairly clear demarcation
between ceasefire group- and government-controlled territory. In the case of
ceasefire groups that enjoyed better relations with the government – e.g. the
PaO National Organisation (PNO) – there was more overlap in zones of
influence, with somewhat fewer checkpoints demarcating respective terri-
tories (see below). In yet others – e.g. the Myanmar National Democratic
Alliance Army (MNDAA), in Kokang – the distinction between state-
administered ‘‘Myanmar’’ and the borders of the Special Region was clear,
but the Tatmadaw maintained a strong presence within the ceasefire zone
(see below).
Another important nuance involved the distinction between ceasefire
zones – more-or-less firmly controlled by non-state groups, and usually
recognised by the government as Special Regions – and adjacent areas,
which might be formally controlled by the state and Tatmadaw, or could be
subject to a form of ‘‘mixed administration’’, influenced (and taxed) by both
the state and non-state forces. Such frontier areas were often the sites of
continued conflict and contests for power4 (Table 5.1 and Table 5.2).
Competing Agendas: Positive and Negative Assessments of the PaO

Ceasefire
The published and ‘‘grey’’ literature provides little balanced information or
analysis regarding conditions in ceasefire areas in Burma. Most assessments
of the ceasefires – and of prospects for peace in Karen, Karenni and
southern Shan States – are produced by opposition groups in exile, and the
international human rights and advocacy industries. These generally
underestimate positive developments,5 focussing instead on the many ongoing
problems in these troubled regions. As Thant (2006: 332) notes:
From the outside world there have been no words of congratulation or

encouragement for the ceasefires, no real offers of mediation . . . No
apparent interest in ending the world’s longest-running conflict or concern
that the whole thing could still unravel. No thought as to how this
tentative peace and move towards a market economy could be made
irreversible. Only deafening silence.
Table 5.1 Main Ceasefire Groups in Burma
Name of organisation Leader Date Region
Myanmar National Democracy Phone Kyar Shin 21 Mar 1989 Special Region-1, Northern Shan State
Alliance Army (Kokang) MNDAA
United Wa State Army UWSA Pao Yuchang 9 May 1989 Special Region-2, Shan State
National Democratic Sai Lin/ 30 Jun 1989 Special Region-4, Eastern Shan State
Alliance Army (Shan/Akha) NDAA Lin Ming Xian
Shan State Army Hso Ten 2 Sep 1989 Special Region-3, Shan State
(Shan State Progress Party) SSA
New Democratic Army-Kachin NDA-K Sakhone Ting Ying 15 Dec 1989 Special Region-1, North-East Kachin State
Kachin Defence Army Matu Naw 13 Jan 1991 Special Region-5, Northern Shan State
(ex-KIO 4th Brigade) KDA
Pa-O National Organisation PNO Aung Kham Hti 11 April 1991 Special Region-6, Southern Shan State
Palaung State Liberation Army PSLA Aik Mone 21 April 1991 Special Region-7, Northern Shan State
Disarmed in April 2005
Kayan National Guard Htay Ko 27 Feb 1992 Special Region-1, Kayah (Karenni) State
(ex-KNLP) KNG
Kachin Independence Zawng Kra 1 Oct 1993 Special Region-2, Kachin State
Organisation KIO
Karenni State Nationalities Htun Kyaw 9 May 1994 Special Region-2, Kayah (Karenni) State
Peoples’ Liberation Front KNPLF
(continued on next page)
Table 5.1 (continued)
Kayan New Land Party KNLP N/A 26 Jul 1994 Special Region-3, Kayah (Karenni) State
Shan State Nationalities Peoples’ Tha Kalei 9 Oct 1994 Southern Shan State
Liberation Organisation SSNPLO Split into two
factions in October 2005,
under Tha Kalei and
Chit Maung.
Shan State National Army SSNA Hso Ten 1995 Northern Shan State
In April 2005, some
units joined the SSA-South
and resumed armed conflict,
while others were disarmed
New Mon State Party NMSP Nai Htaw Mon 29 Jun 1995 Mon State
The PaO ceasefire provides a good example of how assessments of the truces
depend upon observers’ perspective and interests. In April 1991, the PNO, led
by U Aung Kham Hti, agreed a ceasefire with the SLORC. One of the first
non-communist insurgent groups to lay down (but not surrender) its arms,
the PNO was granted various business concessions, as well as substantial
government development assistance, and control over some territory in
southwest Shan State (Shan State Special Region-6). Mary Callahan (2007:
45) characterises the PNO’s post-ceasefire relationship with the government
as one of ‘‘pragmatic acceptance’’.
The PNO’s Ruby Dragon Company was established after the ceasefire,
and has interests in construction, hotels, gems and jade mining, agriculture
and tourism (ibid. 46–47). It is regarded as relatively transparent in its
dealings, and invests a portion of its revenues in local community develop-
ment schemes. Furthermore, since the ceasefire, the central government has
built (and staffed) a number of schools and clinics in the PNO ceasefire
areas. Despite the PNO’s prioritisation of education and administrative
development, however, like other ceasefire groups, the organisation still faces a
major problem: ‘‘how to make administrators out of revolutionaries’’ (ibid. 45:
Callahan interviewee, 2006).
Nevertheless, many PaO communities that were previously subject to a
range of armed conflict-related abuses – and had little access to education
or health services, or to humanitarian or development assistance – express
great respect and admiration for Aung Kham Hti (a former monk), and the
benefits of the ceasefire. Some analysts, therefore, consider the PNO to be
among the most successful ceasefire groups, with a genuine concern for the
people, and the ability to deliver the developmental benefits of peace.
However, those who seek to promote ‘‘regime change’’ in Burma (see
Chapter Seven) judge the PNO ceasefire a failure, when measured against
political – rather than developmental or humanitarian – values. Prior to the
ceasefire, the PNO controlled sizeable liberated zones, which enjoyed a
degree of autonomy from the military state, and were purportedly adminis-
tered according to federal-democratic principles. Since the ceasefire, many
of these isolated areas have been penetrated by the militarised state. Critics
of the ceasefire charge that the agreement has seriously undermined the
cause of PaO independence or autonomy (although they rarely question
whether enthusiasm for PaO separatism was widely shared beyond elite cir-
cles). Critics also use the example of education to support their case: the
expansion of government education services into the PaO ceasefire and
adjacent areas has increased centralised state control in these previously
semi-autonomous zones, promoting use of the Burmese language and the
gradual Burmanisation of indigenous PaO communities.
Thus, the very ‘‘success’’ of the PNO ceasefire (better relations with and
services from the state) may also be viewed as reasons for its ‘‘failure’’.
Indeed, proponents of regime change argue that any limited benefits gained
by the PaO at the level of community and economic development are more
than outweighed by the fact that the PNO has ‘‘sold out’’ politically. There
has clearly been a trade-off, whereby the PNO leadership has conspicuously
failed to challenge the government politically, in exchange for receiving a
range of material benefits. Unlike, for example, the KIO and NMSP, which
have repeatedly called for dialogue with the SPDC, and for political solu-
tions to Burma’s myriad problems – and have consequently been denied
access to development assistance and economic opportunities (see below) –
PNO leaders have been notably quiescent on the national political stage, for
example, at the National Convention.
The lack of objective information and analysis on the PaO and other
ceasefires makes it difficult for observers and actors to judge the desirability
of and prospects for truces in areas of ongoing armed conflict (e.g. Karen
State). In general, those who have benefited most from the ceasefires (villa-
gers and community workers) have had the least ability to influence advo-
cacy and political agendas, i.e. are denied ‘‘voice’’. In contrast, relatively
well-educated urban elites are more likely to resent the lack of political
progress since 1990, and often underappreciate the benefits of peace and
expanded civil society (to which they may have become accustomed, espe-
cially those too young to remember the period of armed conflict). Unre-
presentative urban-elite sectors of ethnic nationality society are more likely
than ordinary villagers to have access to foreign donors, media and advocacy
networks, and thus have more opportunities to express their political views.
Furthermore, opposition politicians (often in exile) have generally sought to
portray the situation across Burma in as bleak terms as possible, in order to
mobilise support around hard-line, anti-ceasefire positions. Members of the
NCGUB–NCUB alliance in particular, have sought to present the ceasefires
as failures and the ceasefire groups as opportunists (Table 5.36).
The National Convention, and Beyond

Since its refusal to recognise the popular will of the Burmese people, as
reflected in the results of the May 1990 election, the government has resisted
all options but a transition managed (by the military) to some type of
‘‘disciplined’’ or ‘‘guided’’ (by the military) democracy. On 30 August 2003,
Burma’s newly appointed prime minister (and military intelligence chief),
General Khin Nyunt, announced the resumption of a National Convention
to draft a new constitution, followed by a referendum and eventual elec-
tions, as part of a seven-stage ‘‘road-map to democracy’’. (Burma has had
two previous constitutions, promulgated in 1947 and in 1974.)
The SPDC was clearly positioning itself to control a transitional process,
the perceived legitimacy of which would depend on who participated in the
National Convention, under what conditions, and how the resulting con-
stitution was endorsed and promulgated. Despite serious misgivings in many
quarters, Khin Nyunt’s ‘‘road-map’’ became the only political game in town, at
least at the national-elite level of politics.
Table 5.2 Other Ceasefire Forces (not always officially listed by government)
Democratic Karen DKBA Tha Htoo Kyaw Dec 1994 Karen State
Buddhist Army (ex-KNU)
Karenni National KNDA Lee Rey 1996 Karenni State
Democratic Party/
Defence Army (Naga Group: ex-KNPP)
Homong Region Development SSSA Maha Ja 1996 Southern Shan State
and Welfare Group/
Shan State South Army (ex-Mong Tai Army)
Shwepyi Aye Group (ex-MTA) N/A N/A 1996 Southern Shan State
Manpan Peoples Militia (ex-MTA) N/A N/A 1996 Northern Shan State
Karen Peace Force (Hongthayaw KPF Saw Tha Mu Hei 24 Feb 1997 Southern Karen State
Special Region Group: ex-KNU)
Rakhine State All National Races CPB-A Saw Tun Oo 6 Apr 1997 Arakan (Rakhine) State
Solidarity Party (CPB Arakan State)
Mon Army Mergui District (ex-NMSP) MAMD Nai Ong Suik Heang May 1997 Southern Tenasserim Division
Mon Peace Group N/A Nai Seik Chan

Thandaung North Group (ex-KNU) TDNG Ko Kyi 1997 Northern Karen State
Thandaung Special Region (ex-KNU) N/A Saw Farrey Moe 8 Nov 1997 Northern Karen State
P doh Aung San Group(Phayagon/ N/A P doh Aung San Apr 1998 Pa’an area
Nyeinchanyay Myothit Group: ex-KNU)
Hoya Group (ex-KNPP) N/A Koo Ree 1999 Karenni State
Karenni National Solidarity Organization KNSO Ka Ree Htoo 2002 Karenni State
Arakan Army (National United Party AA Khine Lin Naing 2002 Arakan State
of Arakan faction)
Kachin Solidarity Council KSC Lasang Awng Wa 2005 Central Kachin State
Rebellion Resistance Force (Kachin-Rawang) RRF Ahdang 2006 Northern Kachin State
Three days before the National Convention re-opened, on May 14 2004,
Burma’s two main opposition parties announced that they would not join
the proceedings (although they had not in fact been invited). The govern-
ment had failed either to release Aung San Suu Kyi, or to reassure the NLD
and UNA that it would permit genuine debate over key issues. The con-
vention was, therefore, widely perceived as illegitimate, both inside Burma
and abroad. This perception was unlikely to change unless the constitution-
drafting process was broadened to include meaningful participation on the
part of the NLD and its allies.
The NLD has indicated (Alan Smith 2007: 194–95) that it broadly
favours federalism, and a transition to democratic rule based on the 1947
constitution. However, it would prefer to deal with ethnic issues only after
democracy has been achieved in Burma. The NLD’s value as a political
partner has been questioned by some ethnic nationality politicians, who if
they are to deal with urban-Burman elites, prefer to do so with those who
hold power (the military regime), rather than an increasingly isolated poli-
tical opposition. Such views are based on a perception that – nearly two
decades after the 1990 election, and with most of its top leaders in deten-
tion – the NLD is no longer the major political force it once was (although
Aung San Suu Kyi’s personal popularity remains undiminished).
Ceasefire Groups at the National Convention

While the UNA parties made common cause with the NLD, and boycotted
the National Convention, most of the ceasefire groups participated – initi-
ally, with a sense of guarded optimism. This was to be the most important
national-level political arena since the 1990 election, and perhaps even since
the military takeover of 1962. While the National Convention was unlikely
to result in an acceptable political settlement to the country’s many pro-
blems, it would at least provide a forum for the ceasefire groups to promote
the ethnic nationalist agenda.
Most of the 1,076 delegates to the National Convention were hand-
picked by the government. Therefore, the over a hundred representatives
from 28 ceasefire groups were among the few participants who could cred-
ibly claim some independence from the regime.7
As noted, the ceasefire groups were a mixed bunch, enjoying varying
degrees of legitimacy. Nevertheless, they did share a number of common
concerns, and in their deliberations at the National Convention were able to
develop coherent positions on several key issues. If nothing else, the cease-
fire groups’ participation in the convention created opportunities to focus
on the centrality of the ‘‘ethnic question’’ in Burmese politics. Whether or
not their demands were accepted, in expressing their concerns the ceasefire
groups laid important groundwork for the future.
In June 2004, representatives from 13 ceasefire groups made a joint sub-
mission to the National Convention outlining their main demands. This
document called for the promulgation of state constitutions (to grant state
governments significant legislative and administrative powers), proposed
that all residual powers lie at the state level (rather than with central gov-
ernment), and demanded the formation of local ethnic security forces (a
new role for the ceasefire armies). Although rather vague in parts, the cea-
sefire groups’ demands included formation of a federal union of Burma,
under the rubric of ‘‘ethnic or national democracy’’.
Soon afterwards, representatives of the most politically active ceasefire
groups were summoned by the Convening Work Committee, headed by
Chief Justice U Aung Toe, and informed that their proposals would not be
included on the convention’s plenary agenda. They were told that – as
the National Convention was recalled to conclude the work suspended in
1996, and to propagate the regime’s 104 proposals – their submissions
would be noted, but not included in the draft constitution (which some
participants suspected the SPDC had already written).
The Consequences of Regime Consolidation

The ceasefire groups had been among Khin Nyunt’s major clients; the
existence of these agreements lent the ex-prime minister considerable
kudos and political power. After the purge of Khin Nyunt’s military
intelligence network, Tatmadaw commanders in border areas inherited
responsibility for relations with the ceasefire groups, and were given scope
to move against non-compliant organisations, as the opportunity arose
(see below).
On 13 February 2005 – four months after the fall of Khin Nyunt – six
ceasefire groups issued a statement, repeating their demands at the National
Convention the previous year, and calling for a review of the draft con-
stitution’s Principle No. 6, which provided for the military to continue to
play a leading role in politics. They also asked for non-ceasefire groups to
be granted observer status at the convention, and for the proceedings’
minutes to record dissenting views.
When the National Convention re-reconvened a few days later, it did so
without the participation of the Shan State Army-North (SSA-N). This
ceasefire group boycotted the convention following the arrest on 9 February
of nine Shan politicians, including Maj-General Hso Ten of the Shan State
National Army (SSNA) and Khun Htun Oo, leader of the SNLD and
UNA. They had been detained following a meeting of Shan political leaders
in Taunggyi, under the rubric of the Shan State Academics (or Technical)
Consultative Council. The government accused this body of being in con-
tact with the SSA-South insurgents. The Shan leaders were sentenced in
November to prison terms of between 75 and 106 years.8
On 7 March 2005, the UN Commission on Human Rights published a
forthright criticism of the convention (E/CN.4/2005/130). This stated that it
‘‘remains the Secretary-General’s view that the National Convention, in its
Table 5.3 Ceasefires in Burma: Positive and Negative Developments
Positive Post-Ceasefire Developments Negative Post-Ceasefire Developments
Positive assessments of the ceasefire movement focus as Following ceasefires, the Tatmadaw has generally expanded into
much on process, as on the substance of short-to-middle- previously contested zones (on the frontiers of demarcated ceasefire
term results. areas), increasing militarisation, and undertaking widespread land
confiscation, in the context of development projects (bridge, road,
airport construction), and in order to fulfil the Tatmadaw’s
self-support policy (leaders of some ceasefire groups have also
confiscated village land). Causes forced migration
(internal displacement).
Relative decrease in most serious forms of human rights abuse Continuing incidence of forced labour and other human and civil
(less murder, rape, torture, forced displacement, although rights abuses in areas adjacent to ceasefire zones. Also,
incidents still occur), in those areas where ceasefires have held. resumption of cute human rights abuses in the two main areas
Research indicates that humanitarian conditions are where truces have broken down, and armed conflict recommenced
significantly better in ceasefire areas, than in (Karenni State and southern Mon State). Causes forced migration
government-controlled or war zones. People can live without (internal displacement).
fear of their village being burnt down and their community
being violently disrupted.
Efforts to rehabilitate and resettle displaced populations, and Chronically under-resourced welfare services. Lack of state and
reconstruct communities. Some successful community and international assistance has often undermined local rehabilitation
economic development activities. If international donors had and development activities (although some projects have been
done more to support the ceasefires, more carried out under the Border Areas Development Program).
could have been achieved.
Expansion of indigenous language school Environmentally damaging and unsustainable natural
and literacy programs, and the re-emergence resource extraction, by companies associated with
of civil society networks within and between government and ceasefire groups: logging (widespread),
conflict-affected communities, are among the most gold and jade mining (Kachin State).
significant (but underappreciated) aspects of the
social and political situation in Burma over the
past decade. Civil society initiatives, building
local participation in the education, community
development and welfare sectors, are better
established in some geographic areas
(e.g. Mon and Kachin States), and among
some socio-religious communities
(e.g. Christians) than others; local
capacities are often quite limited.
Top-down political cultures, and lack of accountability,

transparency and effective governance in many Special
Region administrations (also a problem among non-ceasefire
groups, and in state agencies). Consolidation of opportunistic
local power-holders (ceasefire group commanders, and their families and
financial backers) whose motivation is primarily
economic-extractive, many of whom are involved in illegal
drugs production and trafficking (or the protection and taxation thereof).
Civilians who previously only had to pay tax to one
(state or insurgent) group, have subsequently had to provide
money, goods and services to both the Tatmadaw and one of
more ceasefire groups. Such problems are particularly acute
and widespread in areas where more than one (often predatory)
ceasefire group has claims over the populace (e.g. in parts of north
and south Shan State).
In many respects, the ceasefires have frozen – rather than

addressed – the socio-political issues structuring half a century of
armed conflict in Burma. Lack of progress on the
national political stage has been frustrating for the KIO in particular,
as the prospect of political dialogue with Yangon was one of the key
reasons for leaving the (KNU-dominated) NDF–DAB alliance, and
negotiating a ceasefire between 1992–94.
Widespread disillusionment with the ceasefire agreements and groups,

especially among young people.
Moves by the government (and some ceasefire groups) to restrict

the activities of local NGOs and CBOs, in ceasefire and adjacent
areas.
present format, does not adhere to the recommendations made by the
General Assembly in successive resolutions’’.
The situation became yet more complicated in late April 2005, when two
battalions of the SSNA ceasefire group were pressured by the Tatmadaw
Northeast Command into surrendering their weapons. Then, on 29 April,
another northern Shan State-based ceasefire group, the (ex-NDF) Palaung
State Liberation Army (PSLA), was also forced to surrender its weapons,
with the reported consequence of a rapid escalation in banditry in and
around Special Region-7.
The government seemed to be intent on picking-off the ceasefire groups
one-by-one, persuading the smaller and less well-organised militias to
disarm first, before perhaps moving on to the better established Wa,
Kachin, Mon and other forces. In response to these developments, in late
June the SSNA leader, Colonel Sai Yi, took three battalions (but only a
hundred-or-so men) back to war with Yangon, merging his forces with the
SSA-South. This was the first time in a decade that a ceasefire group had
resumed armed conflict with the military government.
Around the same time, leaders of the NMSP and the northern Shan
State-based Kachin Defence Army (KDA) detected unusual Tatmadaw
troop movements in areas adjacent to their ceasefire zones, and put their
forces on alert. However, after several tense days, the Tatmadaw columns
returned to their barracks. Ceasefire group commanders concluded that the
two April disarmaments (of the PSLA and SSNA) had been driven by an
opportunistic Tatmadaw (Northeast) Regional Commander, who was sur-
prised by the return to war of some SSNA forces, and subsequently adopted
a more cautious approach, deciding to withdraw his troops, for the time-
being at least.
Such alarms contributed to an expectation that the government would
eventually order the ceasefire groups to give up their weapons, probably
on promulgation of the new constitution. Senior Tatmadaw commanders
generally considered the continued existence of armed non-state groups as
an affront to their authority. The SPDC was, therefore, serious in its intent
to disarm the ceasefire groups, sooner or later. This was perhaps the issue
that was most likely to provoke a renewal of armed conflict. If, and when,
the government forced the issue of disarmament, some ceasefire groups
might re-invent themselves as government-orientated militias, or local
police forces, in which case any surrender of arms would be largely sym-
bolic. However, the NMSP, KIO, UWSA and some other organisations had
indicated that they would not accept disarmament by the military govern-
ment, although it was always possible that a few old weapons and ammu-
nition stockpiles could be decommissioned. A probable scenario was that,
if/when they were ordered to disarm, elements of most ceasefire groups
would comply, while other units (in some cases, the majority of the ceasefire
group’s forces) would resume armed conflict, as occurred with the SSNA
in 2005.
In the meantime, since 2005, Tatmadaw commanders had been stricter
than their military intelligence predecessors, in their interpretation of the
ceasefire agreements. For example, the NMSP’s Mon National Liberation
Army (MNLA) found its troop movements increasingly restricted, and several
ceasefire groups had their engagement in tax collection activities curtailed. In
Shan State, following the SSNA’s return to armed conflict, the government
moved against several Shan literacy and other civil society organisations, which
had flourished since the ceasefire (S.H.A.N. 17 June 2005: see also Chapter Six).
Internal Reform
In response to criticism from the ethnic communities they seek to represent,
a few ceasefire groups have grappled with internal reform. The NMSP and
KIO in particular, have demonstrated a degree of democratic political culture,
reflecting their 20 years of participation in pro-democracy alliances, such as
the NDF and DAB.
Policy-making within NMSP and KIO leadership circles usually involves a
degree of debate and disagreement, which has sometimes resulted in damaging
schisms and splits (see below). However, both organisations have proved fairly
responsive to pressure from their constituencies inside Burma, and from over-
seas-based exile and activist groups (which, as noted, are often dis-
proportionately represented in public advocacy). Since the late 1990s, both the
NMSP and KIO have attempted to elicit public participation in decision-
making, by consulting with religious and civil society leaders from their com-
munities, regarding whether and how to engage with the military government.
For example, the Kao Wao News Agency (23 September 2006) reports
that, over the 2006 rainy season, the NMSP leadership:
sought out public opinion on whether it should attend the National

Convention . . . A retired NMSP leader said, ‘The majority of Central
Executive Committee members favour a more forceful approach
including armed struggle. However, the CEC may face a tough debate
with 18 members of Central Committee who play a key role in the
party’s operation. Without consensus of its second leaders, the party’s
operation will not be active’.
The following year, the party held a further series of public meetings, in
order to gauge the feeling of the Mon community (IMNA 3 September
2007). The NMSP was in a particularly difficult position. The three small
blocks of territory granted to the party under the June 1995 ceasefire
agreement were vulnerable to Tatmadaw incursion. Neighbouring Thailand,
whose security establishment had helped to push the NMSP into the cea-
sefire, was unlikely to be sympathetic to any resumption of armed conflict in
Mon areas. Furthermore, the party was militarily weak, and had few
financial resources with which to wage a sustained military campaign,
especially as the SPDC cancelled key business and logging concessions (and
rice payments), as a result of the party’s lack of co-operation.
Despite these constraints, the NMSP has been the most outspoken of the
ceasefire groups. Indeed, since December 2005, the party has refused to
endorse the National Convention, sending only a small team of ‘‘observers’’
to the forum. Although some activists would have liked the party to go
further in its defiance of the government, the NMSP could have done little
more, without definitively breaking the ceasefire, and bringing humanitarian
disaster to Mon State.
From Convention to Constitution?

In early June 2007, the SPDC announced that the final session of the
National Convention would begin on 18 July. Asked about the conventions’
resumption, a senior NMSP leader quoted by the Independent Mon News
Agency (IMNA 12 June 07: www.monnews-imna.com) said that the party
‘‘harbours no hope from the National Convention’’. The same month, on
the twelfth anniversary of the NMSP–SLORC ceasefire (IMNA 29 June 07),
Nai Hongsa, the party’s General Secretary, stated that:
the ceasefire is in a deadlock. The relationship between us and the junta

is not good but there is still no serious pressure. It means both sides are
trying to maintain the ceasefire agreement.
A few days before the National Convention re-started for the last time, a
coalition of 12 UNA member-parties (elected in 1990) urged ‘‘the military
regime to draft a true constitution that creates a union’’ (The Irrawaddy 12
July 2007: www.irrawaddy.org), along the lines envisioned at Panglong in
1947. The ethnic parties also called for the release of all political prisoners,
including Aung San Suu Kyi and Hkun Htun Oo.
Among the ceasefire groups, the KIO again took the lead, by presenting a
detailed proposal, outlining a series of amendments to the draft charter.
This 19-point document (KIO July 2007) called for changes to the proposed
state structure and legislative powers, to allow greater autonomy for ethnic
nationality areas. Indeed, the KIO urged (Items 1 and 2):
in the strongest sense possible, that a specific constitutional mandate be

included for a federal system of union . . . We believe that much more
legislative power should be granted to the major divisions and con-
stituent states than currently envisaged.
In response to this initiative, the Tatmadaw Northern Command put pres-

sure on the KIO, demanding that the organisation vacate key bases along
the China border. Some Kachin opposition groups predicted that these
tensions might lead to the breakdown of the ceasefire (Kachin News Group
7 August 2007: www.kachinnet.com).
In the meantime, relations between the SPDC and several other ceasefire
groups (including the UWSA) were also deteriorating (see below). Nevertheless,
the government still seemed intent on buying ceasefire group support for the
constitution-drafting process, by offering concessions over the issues of
most concern to ethnic nationalist communities, such as regional autonomy,
language use and local control over resources. This strategy would allow the
government to dilute ethnic state-level demands, by offering concessions to
several relatively small groups, at the sub-state level. It would also expose
long-standing tensions between the post-1988, predominantly urban-based
democracy movement (which was determined to see a democratically elec-
ted central government), and the movement for ethnic rights, dating from
the years before independence.
In their analysis of the National Convention, Ardeth Maung Thawngh-
mung and Maung Aung Myoe (2007: 196) note that, under the draft char-
ter, the Tatmadaw would control 25 per cent of the seats in the two houses
of the Parliament, as well as the key portfolios of defence, home affairs and
border affairs. The Tatmadaw will also retain institutional autonomy, and
control the police and paramilitary organisations.
The basic territorial division of the country into seven ethnic States and
seven predominantly (but not exclusively) Burman-dominated Divisions
would be retained in the new constitution (Alan Smith 2007: 193). The new
charter would also create semi-autonomous, sub-provincial administrations
for some ethnic nationality groups (five in Shan State, plus a Naga auton-
omous region in Sagaing Division). These arrangements provided for legis-
latures, with very limited powers, at the state level, while at the central level
there would be a lower ‘‘house of the people’’ (Pyithu Hluttaw) elected by
popular vote, and an upper house (Amyotha Hluttaw), containing equal
numbers of representatives from each of the regions and states (ibid. 194).
Alan Smith, one of the most astute analysts of constitutional issues in
Burma, has worked on strategy with a number of key ethnic nationalist
actors, including both National Convention delegates, and those who have
boycotted the process. He asks (ibid. 189–90) a series of key questions
regarding the political space that may emerge as a result of the protracted
constitution-drafting exercise:
will the new structure allow for even a slightly more open society in
which political views other than those of the military can be legally
manifest? Will the new parliament have freedom to debate? What degree
of control will the government have over political parties, civil society
and the media? What degree of control will the military and government
have over the economy? How hegemonic will be the role of the govern-
ment’s party/mass organisation (the USDA)? In terms of the distribution
of power between the ‘players’ at the centre, the model being prepared
looks as though it may be about as democratic as Suharto’s Indonesia
with a government-supported ‘state’ party and tolerated but severely
managed others. This still leaves unanswered vital questions about the
likely space for the development of the ‘other’ parties and civil society.
Smith notes that the creation of ethnic State legislatures may actually facil-
itate the participation of local political and civil society organisations, in at
least some sectors of public life. According to this view, any constitution is
better than continued direct rule by the military. Although the space available
to ethnic nationality and other parties under the new constitution is likely to be
very limited, it will at least allow them to participate in aboveground politics,
from ‘‘within the legal fold’’.
In the meantime, it was unclear how the next stage of the SPDC’s ‘‘road-
map to democracy’’ would proceed, after the National Convention con-
cluded on 3 September 2007. During the final session, delegates discussed
the role of political parties, conditions for declaration of a state of emer-
gency, and creation of the national flag and anthem. The next phase in the
‘‘road-map’’ would see the deliberations of the National Convention incor-
porated into a constitutional document, to be presented to the Burmese
people. However, the events of September–October 2007 made it question-
able whether any proposals presented by the SPDC, even in the form of a
tightly controlled referendum, would be accepted by the populace.
‘‘The Saffron Revolution’’

The military government – which had ruled Burma, in one form or another,
for 45 years – remained deeply unpopular. However, the Tatmadaw was still
the most cohesive and powerful institution in Burma, dominating most
aspects of political, economic and social (even cultural) life. In many
respects, the Tatmadaw was the state, and was fearsomely jealous of this
prerogative. Nevertheless, military rule did not go unchallenged.
In August and September 2007, members of the ‘‘88 Generation’’ of student
activists led a series of small demonstrations in Yangon and some other
urban centres, in protest against a huge increase in fuel prices, caused when
the government removed state subsidies on 15 August. The fuel price rise
had a devastating impact on many sectors of the already impoverished
population, especially in urban areas (where annual inflation was at least 40
per cent), illustrating the degree to which livelihoods had been eroded under
the SLORC–SPDC. In late August and early September, Min Ko Naing and
about 180 other protesters were arrested by the authorities.
These small ‘‘hit and run’’ demonstrations illustrated the 88 Generation
activists’ assumption of key roles within opposition networks (especially in
urban-Burman areas), further marginalising the ageing NLD leadership.
Suppression of the protests was also attended by a worrying new phenomenon:
the deployment of gangs of USDA members and People’s Vigorous Asso-
ciation militia-men (PVA, or Sorn Arr Shin: see Chapter Six), to intimidate
and harass the protestors (Mizzima News 24 August 2004).
Although many (perhaps the great majority) of citizens supported the
protestors, most were too fearful of the well-entrenched military regime to
participate directly in the demonstrations. However, the situation changed
on 5 September, when police abused protesting monks in Pokokku, in cen-
tral Burma. Two weeks later, groups of young monks began taking to the
streets of Yangon and Mandalay, chanting the metta [loving kindness] sutra
as they marched, and demanding an apology from the authorities. For sev-
eral days, increasingly large columns of up to 2000 protesting monks went
unchallenged by state security forces. In a deeply symbolic moment, on 22
September, they were even allowed to meet briefly with Aung San Suu Kyi,
exchanging words across the locked gates of her compound (where ‘‘the
lady’’ remained under house arrest).
The sangha-led protests arose out of the monks’ dissatisfaction with the
manner in which their brethren in Pokokku had been treated by the autho-
rities, and were driven by widespread frustration with military mis-governance,
and the regime’s failure to address the concerns of ordinary citizens. A
hastily organised Monks Union (Samagyi) played an important role in
loosely coordinating the protests, and articulating the monks’ demands. The
activist monks were drawn primarily from the politically disaffected younger
generation, and included few ‘‘mid-career’’ or senior phongyis. A handful of
the protest leaders had received ‘‘political defiance training’’ a few years
previously, on the Thailand border (Field Notes 14 October 2007). How-
ever, the protests were, in large part, a spontaneous demonstration of the
power of civil society in Burma. Significantly, established opposition parties
were largely absent from these historic events (although some individual
politicians and community leaders did participate), illustrating the degree to
which the NLD and various border-based and exile groups had become
marginal to the country’s social and political realities.
From the third week of September, large numbers of civilians began to
join the protesting monks, and accompany them on the daily marches from
the Shwedagon and Sule pagodas, and in the restive townships of North
and South Okkalapa, in northern Yangon. While the Tatmadaw might be
reluctant to open fire on the sangha, the soldiers had no such compunction
when the monks were joined by tens of thousands of other civilians. On
25 September, a crowd of 100,000 people took to the streets of Sittwe, in
Rakhine State. On the same day, the government issued a directive banning
gatherings of more than five people, and imposed curfews in Yangon
and Mandalay (Associated Press 25 September 2007). A crackdown was
imminent.
Starting on 26 September, security forces conducted a series of night raids
against the most active monasteries in and around Yangon, arresting hun-
dreds of monks (many of whom were subsequently released, although
others were repeatedly abused and killed in detention: The Irrawaddy 27
October 2007). During this period, the authorities also cracked-down hard
on lay protestors, who were no longer protected by the presence among
them of large numbers of monks. Soldiers and riot police attacked the
crowds with rubber bullets, and also with live ammunition. Estimates of the
number of people killed, after the violence escalated on 27 September, vary
from ten (according to government sources) to some 200 people (including a
Japanese photo-journalist); thousands more were arrested (Associated Press
4 October 2007). Throughout October, the authorities continued to harass
and detain monks and others associated with the protests (in the case of
Mon State, see Kao Wao 19 October 2007). Among the more insidious tech-
nologies of repression was the government’s use of the same digital
images that had alerted the international community to the protests in
Burma, to identify and arrest many of those who had participated in the
demonstrations.
A small network of intrepid bloggers broadcast images of the ‘‘saffron
revolution’’ – and the subsequent brutal crack-down – around the world. In
response, the UN Secretary General’s Special Representative to Myanmar,
Ibrahim Gambari was dispatched to visit the country on 29 September, and
was subsequently able to meet with Aug San Suu Kyi (twice) and (eventually,
after a somewhat humiliating delay), with Gen. Than Shwe.
On 11 October, the UN Security Council issued a fairly critical – but
non-binding – Presidential Statement regarding the situation in Burma.
However, neither China nor Russia were inclined to increase the pressure on
the SPDC, by agreeing to impose sanctions. The European Union did
announce some new measures against the SPDC, and, on 19 October, further
US government sanctions came into effect, freezing the bank accounts of an
additional 25 military officials and 12 businessmen associated with the
regime (The Irrawaddy 26 October 2007).
On 25 October, a government minister held talks with Daw Suu Kyi.
However, the lack of substantial progress only served to illustrate the
international community’s lack of leverage with the SPDC, despite the
renewed attentions of the Security Council (Associated Press 25 October
2007).
The suppression of the ‘‘saffron revolution’’ marked a huge setback for
democratisation in Burma. In particular, it made the prospects for incre-
mental democratisation, led by civil society actors, more problematic, as the
regime was now likely to pay close attention to, and further suppress,
autonomous institutions, such as the sangha. Another consequence of the
protests was that overseas-based democracy activists were likely to target
Burma’s monks – as a newly discovered element of the ‘‘democracy move-
ment’’ – and thus expose them to further harassment.
With the killing of monks and other protestors, the military government
had crossed a line, making the supposedly Buddhist Tatmadaw deeply
reviled by most citizens of Burma. The brutal suppression of the ‘‘saffron
revolution’’ ensured the perpetuation of hard-line, polarised positions
regarding the political situation in the country, both on the part of the
entrenched military government, and within opposition camps.
Case Study: the Kokang and Wa Ceasefires, and Opium
Eradication9
Since the 1950s, Shan State – the largest and most ethnically diverse in the
Union – has been subject to a wide variety of ethno-nationalist, and later
communist, insurgencies. By the late 1980s, four decades of civil war had
devastated many communities. Although communist victory in the armed
conflict was by this point unlikely, the non-Burman troops that made up the
bulk of the CPB People’s Army in northern Shan State continued to suffer
large numbers of casualties. Meanwhile, local ethnic nationality elites
within the communist hierarchy were becoming increasingly alienated from
the ageing, mostly Burman CPB leadership. The scene was set for the
dramatic series of ceasefires that swept much of Shan State between 1989
and 1991.
Blue-Print for the Ceasefires: Special Region-1

Shan State Special Region-1 (SR1) consists of two townships, situated in the
mountains between the Salween River and the Chinese border. The popu-
lation is approximately 70 per cent Chinese-speaking Kokang, 12 per cent
Palaung, 3 per cent each Miao (Hmong) and Lisu, and 2 per cent Wa.
About 140,000 people lived in SR1 in 2005–06, after some 50,000 Chinese
immigrants left the area in 2003 (see below.)
Since the late 1960s, the area has been controlled by a series of warlords,
first under the CPB, and later in the name of a poorly articulated Kokang
nationalism. On 12 March 1989, the local CPB leader, Phone Kyar Shin (or
Peng Jia Sheng), who had joined the communists in 1968, broke away, and
formed the Myanmar National Democratic Alliance Army (MNDAA, ori-
ginally the Kokang Democracy Party). The Kokang rebels soon became the
first armed ethnic group to agree a ceasefire with the SLORC. The retired
‘‘opium warlord’’ and ex-KKY militia leader, Lo Hsing Han (or Luo Xing
Han), played a key role in mediating the truce, in exchange for which his
Asia World Company was granted a number of business concessions
(Martin Smith 1999: 427).
In the years that followed, SR1 experienced an economic boom, based
largely on expanded opium and heroin production, and the casino business.
Top MNDAA leaders and their associates invested millions of dollars in
profits from the narcotics trade in semi-legitimate companies, such as Asia
World and the Burma Peace Group.
In 1991, Phone Kyar Shin was temporarily ousted, following a power
struggle with members of the Yang dynasty of Kokang warlords. Having
spent time in China, and in Special Region-4 in eastern Shan State (an area
commanded by his son-in-law, Lin Ming Xian), in 1996 Chairman Phone
returned to power in Kokang, with the backing of the UWSA (which had
previously supported the Yangs).
As the price of the SLORC’s acquiescence in these intrigues, the Tatma-
daw was allowed to establish bases on a number of strategic hilltops
throughout SR1. As a result, while MNDAA militia-men continued to
control checkpoints and collect taxes in the region, Tatmadaw units could
travel freely throughout SR1, their presence sending a message to the
Kokang population and authorities regarding who wielded ultimate power.
Although the MNDAA still controlled some 3,000–4,000 troops in 2007,
SR1 was being gradually absorbed into the government’s border areas
administration. Unlike the situation in Wa SR2, which the Tatmadaw could
only enter with the permission of the UWSA (see below), the MNDAA had
become a client of the Burmese military.10
One consequence of the Tatmadaw’s arrival was the confiscation of large
amounts of land and other resources, to support new garrisons (Field Notes
May 2006 – c.f. the Kachin and Mon case studies: see below). However,
Kokang villagers have generally had to do less portering for the
MNDAA since the ceasefire, than they did for the old CPB (although
non-Kokang civilians are still sometimes called upon to work unpaid for the
Kokang authorities). Most communities must also provide recruits and
taxes to the MNDAA (Field Notes 18 June 2005 and 28 April 2006).
The capital of SR1, the town of Laukkai, sits in a plateau in the middle
of the southern half of the region. It is surrounded to the north and west by
tall peaks, and bordered to the east by nearby China. Once a large village,
in the 1990s Laukkai grew into a garish boom-town, with several multi-
story buildings (including a couple of hotels with aspirations to four-star
status), several dozen casinos,11 a great many brothels, banks, boutiques,
and a huge Drug Eradication Museum (from which photographs of the
ex-prime minister, Khin Nyunt, were hastily removed in late 2004).
Towards a Wa State? Special Region-2

Special Region-2 (SR2), the largest ceasefire zone in Burma, is a remote and
mountainous area. It is administered by the UWSA – and the barely dis-
tinguishable United Wa State Party (UWSP) – under four Provinces, with
its capital at the old CPB headquarters of Pang Sang (or Pang Kham). The
de facto Wa sub-state consists of steep hills and narrow valleys. Less than a
third of the land is suitable for rice cropping, and although the hills were
once heavily forested, the area saw large-scale deforestation in the 1990s,
especially by Chinese logging companies. The UWSA also controls a
Southern Command zone, about 150 km south of SR2, in the Mong Hsat-
Mong Yawn area on the Thailand border.
There are about 600,000 Wa people in Shan State, with a further 300,000
living in two adjacent, autonomous provinces in China, and a few thousand
related Lawa people in northern Thailand. Most Wa in Burma are animists,
and some were head-hunters, until the practice was abolished by the com-
munists in the 1970s; about 50,000 are Christians (with another 100,000 Wa
Christians in China). In the north of SR2, the population is mostly Wa,
with minority Shan, Lahu, Palaung, Akha, Kokang, Kachin (Jinghpaw and
Lisu), Han Chinese and other groups. The lower portion of SR2 and the
UWSA Southern Command area are likewise ethnically mixed, but with a
higher proportion of non-Wa villagers. As a consequence of this ethnic
diversity, and due to the underdevelopment of Wa literacy and dominance
of Chinese culture and business networks, the UWSA uses Chinese as the
language of administration and commerce.
The geography of the Wa sub-state lends itself to ethno-political frag-
mentation. During the pre-colonial and colonial periods, the often-feuding
Wa and other ‘‘hill-tribe’’ clan chiefs enjoyed considerable local autonomy
from the Shan sawbwas, and their distant British masters (Kramer 2007). In
many respects, such feudal-style power relations still characterise the region,
with the scions of Wa chiefly families continuing to play important political
roles (as do their Shan counterparts).
Across much of Shan State, the last vestiges of local autonomy were
abolished in 1952, when Tatmadaw battalions entered the area to defend
Burma’s sovereignty against invading Chinese nationalist Kuomintang
(KMT) forces. Within a few years, the KMT had begun to expand the
opium business in Shan State.12 Although martial law was revoked in 1954,
the Tatmadaw continued to use national security concerns as a pretext to
militarise Shan State.
In the late 1960s, a handful of Wa and other minority chieftains were
courted by the CPB, and helped bring large swathes of north-eastern Shan
State under communist control, although it was not until 1985 that the Wa
leaders Kyauk Ni Lai (or Zhao Ni Lai) and Bao You Xiang (or Pauk Yu
Chaung) were co-opted onto the CPB Central Committee (Smith 1999:
351). Wa boys and men also fought and died for the KMT, Khun Sa’s
Mong Tai Army (MTA), the SSA and the Tatmadaw, as for two decades the
community was caught up in bitter struggles for political and military
supremacy, and the control of natural resources in Shan State.13
Following its leaders’ rejection of the CPB on 17 April 1989, the newly
established Burma Democracy Solidarity Army (BDSA, renamed in
November as the UWSA) controlled some 12,000–15,000 mostly ethnic Wa
soldiers. The following month, it agreed a ceasefire with Yangon.
Four years later, the UWSA-controlled Myanmar National Solidarity
Party (MNSP) was allowed to participate in the National Convention. During
this period, the Wa SR2 received limited development assistance from the Nat
Ta La, and, later, from a handful of international agencies (see below).
However, as Kramer (2007: Executive Summary) notes:
Relations with the government remain tense, and there is no peace

yet . . . The UWSP has not built strong political alliances with other
opposition groups in the country. Instead it has preferred to focus on its
own affairs.
In 1995, Kyauk Ni Lai suffered a major stroke, from which he has yet to
fully recover. Control of the UWSA fell to the army commander, Bao You
Xiang, under whose rule the party’s top-down leadership style was rein-
forced. Nevertheless, many UWSA field commanders enjoy considerable
local autonomy (ibid.), allowing them to operate as players in the narcotics
business. Furthermore, Chinese businessmen and ‘‘political advisors’’ continue
to exert considerable influence over the UWSA.
Since 2005, Bao You Xiang’s own health has been in decline, and many of
his responsibilities have been assumed by his three brothers (one of whom
died in 2007), and his deputy, Xiao Min Liang. Together with Kyauk Ni
Lai, Chairman Bao had been a strong supporter of the Wa state-building
project. The two men shared a vision of the Wa people – for so many years
subjects to Shan, then British and later Burman communist overlords –
claiming their own state, and deciding their own political future. As Mary
Callahan notes (2007: 30):
Wa leaders have continuously pressed the SPDC to designate Wa terri-

tory as a ‘state’ (or something greater than a ‘special region’) in the
coming constitution. Wa leaders want no part of being ruled by any
state-level government emanating from what now constitutes Shan
State.
The UWSA Southern Command

Since 1989, the UWSA has established an enclave on the Thailand border,
well to the south of its main strongholds. The Southern Command was
built-up between 1989 and 1995, by UWSA units under the command of
the notorious ‘‘drugs warlord’’ Wei Xue Kang (officially the UWSA’s eco-
nomic advisor),14 which were engaged in a bitter dispute with Khun Sa’s
MTA over control of the strategic Doi Lang area, 50 km southwest of
Tachilek. During this period, the UWSA brought at least 2,000 troops
down from the north, plus their family members. These new arrivals
received logistical and material support from the Tatmadaw, and Wa leaders
are reported to have been promised control over parts of southern Shan
State.
Since Khun Sa’s surrender in 1996, the UWSA has continued to clash
regularly with the re-formed SSA-South (and sometimes with its sponsors,
the Royal Thai Army), battles that constitute a proxy war between the
Tatmadaw and insurgents (and also with the ‘‘neighbouring country’’, as
Thailand is often called in the Burmese state-controlled media). Creation of
the Southern Command allowed the UWSA to consolidate a Wa presence
in Southeast Shan State, lessening the party’s dependence on China, and
boosting the power of the emergent Wa State. The Wa move south also
suited Chinese state interests: the People’s Republic stood to benefit from
the relocation of narcotics factories away from the Yunnan border, and was
keen to extend its influence to the south, both in order to develop trade
networks, and to undermine the position of remnant KMT networks allied
with Taiwan, which had long operated in the area.
The Wa move South also suited Tatmadaw strategists, who used the Wa–Shan
conflict as an opportunity to divide-and-rule ethnic nationalist commu-
nities. However, opinion and strategic interest on the government side was
not unified. With the demise of Khin Nyunt, who had brokered the Wa and
other ceasefires, the regular army was less sympathetic to the UWSA’s state-
building agenda. Indeed, in mid-2007, reports began to emerge that the
SPDC had ordered the UWSA to withdraw from the Southern Command.
When the UWSA did not comply, observers noticed a further deterioration
in relations with the Tatmadaw, which some thought might threaten the
stability of the 18-year ceasefire (S.H.A.N. 31 July 2007). In 2007, the
UWSA also moved to strengthen relations with other ceasefire groups,
including the KIO (Field Notes 8 September 2007).
The UWSA, therefore, had a strong interest in maintaining its armed
forces, which in 2007 stood at an estimated 20,000–25,000 men, plus as
many as 50,000 reserves. (One child in every family has to join the UWSA,
which includes large numbers of female soldiers: Field Notes 5 July 2007.)
By this time, the UWSA had 8,000-plus troops stationed along the Thailand
border. Many were loyal to Wei Xue Kang, but several units answered to Ta
Thaung, a UWSA commander who was sent to the area in 1994, in order to
keep the former under control.
Meanwhile, Mong Yawn, in the heart of the Southern Command, had
grown into a thriving town. Built largely by Thai contractors, Mong Yawn
had been mostly funded by drug money, and the proceeds of a number of
logging concessions. By 2001, it was a provincial city of some 50,000 people
(many of whom had been more-or-less forcibly relocated from the north: see
below), with its own hydro-electric plant, hotels, schools and hospitals.15
The Opium Trade

Many upland villages in Shan State and elsewhere in Burma suffer rice
deficits of up to six months per year. In order to make up the shortfall,
opium has long been cultivated as a cash crop, leading to financial, and in
some cases to physical, dependency on the poppy.
Large-scale trade in opium was introduced to Burma by the British. Fol-
lowing independence, widespread poverty and underdevelopment associated
with conflict drove the expansion of opium production and heroin refinery.
The drugs business has destroyed the social fabric across much of Burma,
while money laundering operations associated with the trade distort local,
regional and national economies.
According to the 2005 United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime
(UNODC) Opium Survey – based on data provided by the government’s
Central Committee for Drug Abuse Control (CCDAC) – 193,000 house-
holds in Burma (181,000 in Shan State) were dependant on opium cultiva-
tion, deriving on average 70 per cent (US$160 per year) of household
income from the poppy. Over 90 per cent of drugs trade profits go to tra-
ders and cartels. Nevertheless, income from opium production allowed vil-
lagers to buy food and medicines, pay school fees, and invest in limited
community infrastructure, as well as ceremonial occasions. One of the few
certainties of the complex armed conflicts in the region has been that rice
and other easily appropriated goods are likely to be taxed by one or more of
the various, overlapping sets of combatants. Villagers have, therefore, often
preferred to grow a cash crop that has a short harvest period (September–
March), is difficult to steal while out in the fields, and once harvested is
easily hidden and simple to transport.
For about eight years following the ceasefires (until the mid-1990s), the
volume of opium harvested in – and of heroin produced and trafficked out
of – northern Burma increased. The Kokang, Wa and other ceasefire
groups, and their patrons in the Tatmadaw, took advantage of the end of
armed conflict to expand their interests in the drugs trade, while poor
farmers, experiencing the first period of sustained peace in half a century,
tended their fields with renewed vigour.
The increasing drugs flows alarmed the international community, result-
ing in high-level discussions between the governments of Burma, China,
Laos and Thailand, and the UNODC (until 2002, the UNDCP). In 1999,
the SPDC announced a 15-year plan to eradicate narcotic drugs (UNODC
2006).
The Opium Bans16

During the negotiation of – or soon after – the ceasefire agreements, most
armed groups in Shan State pledged to eliminate opium production in the
areas under their control. However, it was not until the late 1990s that the
opium bans began to come into effect. Mong La (SR4) and Kokang (SR1)
were declared drugs-free in 2001 and 200317 respectively; in 1990, the
UWSA announced that the Wa sub-state (SR2) would be opium-free from
June 2005. The PNO has declared that opium poppy will be eliminated in
PaO areas under its control in 2007.
Between 1998 and 2006, opium poppy cultivation in Burma decreased
from 130,300 to 21,500 ha, a reduction of 83 per cent (ibid. 6). During the
same period, according to the UNODC, Burma’s ‘‘share of the world opium
poppy cultivation fell from 63 per cent . . . to only 11 per cent’’ (ibid. 8).
Nearly 4,000 ha of poppy fields were reportedly eradicated in 2006, and
opium production was reduced to 315 metric tons (ibid.). However, espe-
cially since 2005, opium production in southern Shan State, and in Chin
and Kachin States (especially in areas controlled by pro-government mili-
tias) has been on the rise (ibid.; see also S.H.A.N. 2006 and 2007). Also, the
reduction in heroin manufacture has been accompanied by an unprecedented
increase in methamphetamine production, especially in Wa-controlled areas
(Kramer 2007).
Jeremy Milsom (lately of the UNODC), who has probably spent more
time in Wa areas than any other Westerner in modern times, states (in
Jelsma, Kramer and Vervest 2005: 86) that the Kokang and Wa authorities
are sincere in their opium-eradication policies. He identifies three main rea-
sons: the developmental and state-building vision of local leaders, based on
the model of neighbouring China (probably more relevant for the UWSA
than the MNDAA); changes in regional geo-politics, including China and
Thailands’ pursuit of stability and trade; and (a distant third) international
pressure.
Impacts of Eradication: Special Region-1

For the visitor to SR1, among the most striking results of the opium ban is
the huge impact on the local economy. Laukkai and several of the larger
villages in Kokang (e.g. Chinshwe Haw in the south and Tar Shwe Tan, the
Yang family’s old seat) contain rows of shop-houses and modern markets,
built during the opium boom of the early to mid-1990s. However, many of
these are shuttered and closed-down, their proprietors having returned to
China (see below).
Nevertheless, the many casinos of Laukkai and surrounding areas are still
quite busy. The plush downtown establishments are patronised mostly by
Chinese visitors, on illicit cross-border gambling sprees; the smaller, less
glamorous gambling houses in peri-urban areas are more likely to be fre-
quented by locals and rough-clad Chinese peasants, chancing their last few
Yuan notes. Gambling seems to be deeply entrenched in the Kokang region,
but the opium days are probably over for good.
Following the opium ban, 60–70 per cent of families in Kokang faced
rice shortages of six months or more per year. Lack of income prevented
farmers from purchasing tools, seeds or fertiliser, and led families to cut
down on the number of meals taken, which had a very serious impact on
nutrition levels. Another result of drastically reduced household incomes
was a 30–50 per cent drop in school enrolment, with many teachers
returning to China, and children being withdrawn from school and sent to
work.
According to the UNODC (2005), 80 per cent of land in northern Shan
State is owned by farmers. However, the proportion of landless Palaung and
other groups in SR1 was considerable. Most of those who did not own land
had previously worked as day labourers for Kokang villagers (and/or Chi-
nese entrepreneurs) in the poppy fields. While the latter could re-invest their
capital elsewhere, or switch to alternative crops following the poppy ban,
those who had worked in the fields for them lost their only source of
income.
Population Movement
The opium ban forced large numbers of people out of the hills, down
towards the towns and roads. As noted by the UNODC’s 2005 Opium
Survey (33; parenthesis added), ‘‘migration in the Shan States is directly rela-
ted to the food security situation: about 40 per cent of the farmers [who]
migrated [did so] because of lack of food and about 35 per cent because of lack
of income’’.
According to the Kokang authorities, one-third of the population migrated
from SR1 in 2003, after the opium ban, i.e. 60,000 people out of an
estimated population of 180,000–200,000 departed. Anecdotal evidence
suggests that those who left in 2003–04 included many non-Kokang (e.g.
Palaung) villagers.
Most residents of SR1 had no Burmese identity papers, and their move-
ment options were, therefore, limited. Many of those forced to migrate had
little choice but to relocate to SR2 (the Wa sub-state). Whole villages (for
example, Taushwe in central Kokang) reportedly relocated to the UWSA
Southern Command, as well as nearer to home, around Hopang in the
north of SR2 (Field Notes 23 May 2005). The Wa authorities reportedly
offered one year’s supply of rice to any Kokang family that moved into the Wa
sub-state. In return, new arrivals were expected to ‘‘give one son to the UWSA’’
(Field Notes 15 June 2005).
Local and International Responses: Special Region-1

The UNODC has focussed on the linkages between poverty and opium culti-
vation in Burma, although this approach has been criticised for depoliticising
the issues (see Chao Tzang Yawnghwe’s critique, in Jelsma, Kramer and Ver-
vest 2005). In his Foreword to the 2004 Opium Survey (parenthesis added),
UNODC Executive Director Antonio Maria stated that ‘‘the international
community . . . has a responsibility to support this [opium eradication] process
by providing alternative sources of income to those families in Burma whose
livelihoods are affected by the loss of opium-generated revenue’’.
However, international and state agencies have enjoyed only limited suc-
cess in promoting sustainable alternative livelihoods in ex-poppy-growing
areas. During the 2005 Burma Opium Survey, 41 per cent of villagers
reported having received some kind of external assistance since 2004. For-
eign aid reportedly ‘‘improved health services, education, water supplies and
access roads’’ (UNODC 2005: 35). However, less than 10 per cent received
assistance to switch to alternative crops.
State Authorities (SPDC and MNDAA)

In the late 1990s, the Na Ta La and Tatmadaw tarred the road from Laukkai to
Tar Shwe Tan. There are SPDC hospitals at Chinshwe Haw, Laukkai and
Kone Chan, and one MNDAA-run ‘‘people’s hospital’’ at Laukkai, all of
which are supported by INGOs.
In 2006, the government ran 32 schools in SR1. In order to ‘‘promote the
Kokang language and culture’’, the MNDAA claims to support 125 primary
schools (including the SPDC schools) and five middle schools, plus a com-
puter school, with a total of 11,200 students.18
Most villagers seem resigned to the opium ban, and the sacrifices they
have been called upon to make, by the international community, the distant
Burmese government, and their authoritarian local leaders. Illustrating its
top-down command style, the MNDAA has ‘‘ordered people to grow more
food’’. However, the MNDAA expects to continue to rely on the govern-
ment and international community for aid for some time to come.
International Agencies
The Japanese International Co-operation Agency (JICA) has been involved
in crop substitution in SR1 since the mid-1990s. However, its attempts to
substitute opium poppy with buckwheat cultivation have been largely
unsuccessful (mostly due to a lack sustainable markets). Nevertheless, JICA
projects have greatly enhanced the supply of electricity (from China) to
remote parts of Kokang, substantially upgraded a number of roads
throughout the region, provided much-needed agricultural support, helped
to combat infectious disease (especially malaria, through the distribution of
bed nets, and training), and supported education in the Special Region.
The UNODC has been at the forefront of co-ordinating the humani-
tarian response to food insecurity as a result of opium eradiation in Shan
State. It was the lead agency behind the Kokang–Wa Initiative (KOWI),
established in 2003. Unfortunately, this integrated, multi-agency approach did
not receive adequate support from other partners. The international response
has, therefore, been largely restricted to the provision of emergency food aid,
which has cushioned the shock of income loss and provided ex-poppy farmers
with short-term food security, but failed to move from a relief phase, to
develop sustainable alternative livelihoods (as envisaged in the original KOWI
plans).
In the absence of a sustained, politically sophisticated developmental
approach, the WFP has taken the lead in addressing food insecurity in SR1. In
late 2003, the WFP began emergency food assistance to 50,000 ex-poppy farm-
ers, in partnership with the Na Ta La. In 2004–05, the operation was expanded
to include parts of Wa SR2, Kachin (KDA) SR5, Pa-O SR6 (including PNO
and SSNPLO-controlled areas), Palaung (PSLA) SR7, and the Muse and Tang
Yang areas (which enjoy varying degrees of state and militia control).
By 2006, WFP was assisting about 350,000 people, from families with less
than six month’s food supply. Most WFP projects were implemented by 14
local and international NGOs, via ‘‘food for work’’ activities and food for
(primary) school attendance programmes.
Opium Eradication in Special Region-219
In 1990, the UWSA announced that the Wa sub-state would be opium-free
within five years.20 Chairman Bao You Xiang famously swore that, if a
single poppy plant was found in SR2 after 26 June 2005 (the International
Day Against Drug Abuse and Illicit Trafficking), he would have his head
chopped off.
The UWSA does seem to have implemented the opium ban quite thor-
oughly.21 An international network of activists and scholars (Burma Centre
Netherlands and Transnational Institute 2005) has estimated that some
350,000 opium-farming households (about 2,000,000 people) are likely to be
affected.
Nevertheless, in 2006, the US Department of Justice indicted eight Wa
leaders on drug trafficking charges, including the UWSA Chairman and his
brothers, as well as Wei Xue Kang. Although some observers feared that
this move by the US Government could undermine narcotics control efforts
in Shan State, the UWSA responded to the incitement with plans to hold a
‘‘Wa State Drugs Free Ceremony’’ on 24 June 2005 (two days before the
opium ban came into operation), at the Wa capital Pang Sang. However,
this celebration was cancelled at the last minute, as the SPDC Vice-Chairman,
General Maung Aye, was reportedly unhappy at the Wa leaders’ claims to
statehood, contained in the official invitation (Kramer 2007).
In the meantime, methamphetamine production in SR2 and elsewhere
continued to flourish. According to S.H.A.N. (5 March 2007), during the
2007 dry season: ‘‘millions of methamphetamine pills [were stockpiled] on
the Thai–Burma border’’.
Population Movement (Type 3 Forced Migration)

The Wa opium ban has caused widespread suffering – and growing resent-
ment – among the civilian population (S.H.A.N. June 2007). It has also led
the UWSA to take drastic action, in an ill-considered attempt to re-model
the demographics and livelihoods base of SR2.
The large-scale forced migration of Wa villagers dates from 1967–70,
when the CPB started to concentrate its forces in Northeast Burma, and the
Tatmadaw responded by stepping-up the Four Cuts campaign. By 1995,
there were reportedly about 83,000 Wa IDPs living in 31 camps along the
China border (Field Notes 18 November 2001).
The period from 1996–98 saw an increase in Wa and Han Chinese immi-
gration from Yunnan (where land is in short supply), to Pang Sang and
Mong Pawk in central SR2, where the new arrivals staked claims for farm-
land and house plots in the emerging urban centres of the ceasefire zone.
Such developments increased pressure on the area’s remaining natural
resources. Furthermore, since the 1990s, the Wa ceasefire zones have been
subject to large-scale and unsustainable deforestation, with the extraction
of valuable pinewood and other timber stands, mostly by Chinese compa-
nies. The UWSA leadership has sought to deal with the resulting livelihoods
crises by opening up new territory further to the south, and by relocating a
substantial portion of the civilian population under its control.
Estimates of the number of Wa and other villagers relocated between
1999 and 2001 – from the north of SR2 to the Southern Command area,
400 km to the south – vary from 50,000 to 200,000 people.22 At least 5,000
relocatees died of treatable conditions (BBC 2002; LNDO 2002). While
many were forced to walk at least part of the way, others were transported
by Wei Xue Kang’s Hopang Co. (Kramer 2007). Relocated villagers
received some support from the Wa authorities, in the form of rice and
cash. Meanwhile, many of the area’s original inhabitants (mostly Shan and
Lahu villagers) were displaced by the new arrivals, with several thousand
being forced across the border into Thailand (LNDO 2002).
Local sources report that large numbers of relocatees have since returned
to the north, despite being heavily guarded and severely punished if they
attempt to go home (Field Notes 15 February 2004). However, the Wa
authorities have continued to move people into the Southern Command
area, often against their will (S.H.A.N. 5 January 2005 and 21 April 2006).
The UWSA’s stated reason for the relocations is to break villagers’
dependency on opium cultivation (Kramer 2007). Wa leaders view the
transmigration program as a positive contribution to the development of
their people, providing desperately poor villagers with new lands and socio-
economic opportunities. Another important influence has been the example
of neighbouring Yunnan Province (and parts of northern Laos), where the
construction of new roads and villages has facilitated the (often non-voluntary)
resettlement of opium-growing hill-tribes.
The UWSA resettlement policy should, therefore, be understood as a
poorly implemented attempt to break the link between Wa villagers and
opium cultivation, as well as a strategic move to consolidate the expansion
of a nascent Wa State. However, the programme clearly contravenes many
of the 1998 Guiding Principles on Internal Displacement. The lack of con-
sultation with ‘‘source’’ or ‘‘host’’ communities reflects the UWSA’s hier-
archical, top-down leadership style, which owes much to Burmese political
culture, and to ideas of the ‘‘leading role of the party’’ inherited from the
CPB.23 These factors are exacerbated by the very limited social and eco-
nomic opportunities in the Wa sub-state, the minimal quantity and poor
quality of education and health services, and the pervasive corruption,
political violence and warlordism associated with the drugs trade.
International Responses
The UN has been engaged in drug control operations in northern Shan
since the 1970s (as have US government agencies). International involve-
ment was stepped-up in the late 1990s, with the introduction of the Wa
Alternative Development Program (WADP), covering townships in central
SR2.
International relief efforts have mostly focussed on the supply of food to
ex-opium-producing families. However, the WFP and other agencies have
been accused of providing too little assistance, too late (S.H.A.N. June
2007).
Meanwhile, with only limited funding, the UNODC and partners have
aimed to build infrastructure, promote alternative livelihood strategies, and
support public health and education in ex-poppy-growing areas. According
to a recent assessment (KOWI 2003), ‘‘community development concepts . . .
sometimes conflicted with the top-down (Wa) Authority approach. When
efforts were made to involve the villagers . . . the Authority felt threatened’’.
Nevertheless, over the past few years the UNODC and WFP, and their
NGO partners, have provided substantial infrastructure and agricultural
inputs in SR2. However, efforts to promote community development and
the emergence of CBOs have been only moderately successful (see Kramer
2007).
In most cases, villagers relocated by the UWSA were moved from (and
to) areas outside of the WADP project area. This perhaps indicates that the
presence of international agencies had some protective value, inasmuch as it
discouraged forced relocation in the areas where UN agencies and INGOs
were working (see Chapter Seven).
The ‘‘Relief-Developmental Continuum’’

For the SPDC and ceasefire groups, the opium-eradication policy seems to
be a ‘‘given’’, which is unlikely to be re-examined (unless the ceasefires break
down). However, it will take many years to move from an opium-based
agricultural economy, towards a more sustainable and diverse livelihoods
base in northern Shan State. Given the realities of limited international
funding, the prevalence of militarised governance structures and dysfunc-
tional state–society relations, and the low levels of local capacities in the
Special Regions, the current opium-eradication time-frame is almost cer-
tainly too ambitious.
The UN agencies and NGOs working in the Shan State ceasefire zones
have attempted to ‘‘kick-start’’ alternative development processes. However,
a more co-ordinated and better-funded approach is required, with greater
participation by local communities, if the political economy of these remote
areas is to move on to a more sustainable and equitable footing.
Case Study: Conflict and Ceasefires in Kachin State

According to the UN’s Myanmar Vulnerability Mapping and Monitoring
System (UNDP June 2005), Kachin State had a population in 2003 of
1,335,000 people (2.53 per cent of the total for Burma). Some 500,000
members of the six main Kachin sub-groups (Jinghpaw, Maru, Lashi, Atsi,
Rawang and Lisu) lived in Kachin State. There were also about 175,000
Kachin in adjacent areas of northern Shan State, and about 32,000 in
Mandalay Division. An additional 120,000 or so Kachin (mainly Jinghpaw)
people lived in a semi-autonomous zone in neighbouring China, and a few
thousand in India. For many communities, these kin groups – which often
extend across the artificially imposed borders of modern sovereign states –
represent social realities that are at least as important as the abstract
notions of ‘‘Myanmar’’ or ‘‘China’’ (Dean 2002).
Armed Conflict and Displacement

The Kachin Independence Organisation (KIO) was established in 1961 by a
group of university students. Partly in response to Prime Minister U Nu’s
plans to promote Buddhism as the state religion, the KIO went under-
ground in 1962.
Under its widely respected Chairman, Brang Seng (who died in 1994), the
KIO was a founder-member of the NDF and DAB opposition fronts, based
at the KNU’s Mannerplaw headquarters. It was later to become the most
significant member of the inter-locked NDF–DAB–NCUB alliance to agree
a truce with Yangon (see below).
In contrast to its long-standing commitment to the ethnic nationalist
cause, the KIO enjoyed an uneasy relationship with the communists,
including periods of armed conflict in the decade after the creation of the
CPB’s Northeast Command in 1968. However, the KIO eventually accepted
Chinese support, channelled via the CPB, in 1976.
The KIO leadership entered into ceasefire talks with the Ne Win regime
in the early 1970s, and again in 1980–81. However, these negotiations broke
down, leading to a renewal of armed conflict and counter-insurgency in
Kachin State. The Four Cuts policy in Kachin State was especially harsh in
the late 1980s and early 1990s. However, only limited data is available on pre-
ceasefire civilian displacement, in part, because of the very low levels of
international advocacy or assistance to Kachin IDPs, or to refugees in China
or India.
According to KIO sources (Field Notes 24 September 2003), at the time
of the 1994 ceasefire, about one-third of the Kachin civilian population was
internally displaced. The number of Kachin IDPs in 1994 has been esti-
mated by the BERG (2002) at 67,000 people, with about 100,000 having
been displaced since the 1960s. Since the ceasefire, thousands more have
undergone internal migration, due to ‘‘the impoverishment of many rural
dwellers following three decades of strife’’ (ibid. see below).
According to data published by the KIO on the eve of the ceasefire
(1993), 658 villages in five districts of Kachin State were destroyed by the
Tatmadaw between 1961 and 1993. During April 1991 alone, the Tatma-
daw’s operations Scupper and One Hundred Outposts reportedly relocated
28 villages. Other KIO documents (20 March 1991 and 25 May 1991)
list 324 villages in Kuktai District (the Kachin-populated area of north-
ern Shan State) that were destroyed and/or forcibly relocated the same
year.24
Ceasefires in Kachin State

According to the Kachin Development Networking Group (KDNG 2007),
between 1992–2006, the number of Tatmadaw battalions in Kachin State
increased from 26 to 41, despite the ceasefires. There have nevertheless been
some positive developments during this period.
The New Democratic Army-Kachin

When the CPB split into four ethnically aligned factions in early 1989, these
included the ex-People’s Army 101 War Zone, which had defected from the
KIO in 1968. Now re-named the New Democratic Army-Kachin (NDA-K),
this group was commanded by Zahkung (or Sakhone) Ting Ying, and was
mostly composed of non-Jinghpaw Kachin. Under pressure from China, in
December 1989, the NDA-K agreed a ceasefire with the SLORC, and was
granted control over Kachin State Special Region-1, with its headquarters
at Pang Wa in Chipwe Township.
In 2005, NDA-K reportedly controlled a population of some 55,000
people. According to Mary Callahan (2007: 42), the ‘‘NDA-K operates
more like an armed syndicate, while the KIO has tried to establish a kind of
state-within-a-state’’. In comparison with the KIO, the NDA-K was con-
sidered relatively close to the military government, as well as to the Chinese
authorities. Perhaps reflecting the legacy of communist political culture, the
population of the NDA-K ceasefire zone generally had few opportunities to
participate in decision-making or development activities. However, the NDA-
K did administer a few hospitals and clinics, and more than 60 schools
(including three high schools). The NDA-K leadership was implicated in a
number of questionable business dealings, including large-scale and unsus-
tainable logging activities in many of the areas under its control (see below).
The Kachin Defence Army

In 1991, the KIO’s military wing, the Kachin Independence Army (KIA)
suffered a major setback, when its Fourth Brigade succumbed to Tatmadaw
pressure, split from the KIO, and agreed a separate truce with Yangon. The
Kachin Defence Army (KDA) was allowed to maintain control over a large
Kachin-populated area, north of Lashio, centred around Kuktai in northern
Shan State.
Parts of the KDA’s Shan State Special Region-5 overlapped with KIO-
controlled areas, ensuring the continuation of tensions between the two
Kachin armed groups. In general, like most of rural Burma, the KDA cea-
sefire zone remained severely underdeveloped. However, after the ceasefire,
the KDA Chairman, Maj-Gen Matu Naw, and his leadership circle oversaw
the construction of several new school and hospital buildings, as well as a
hydro-electricity plant, near the Kung Khar headquarters area (Field Notes
26 April 2006).
The Kachin Independence Organisation

Having consulted with their NDF and DAB allies, in 1992 the KIO leader-
ship commenced ceasefire negotiations with the SLORC. In 1994, when the
KIO ceasefire was finalised, the KIA fielded at least 6,000 troops, plus local
militias (Global Witness 2003: 92).
The KIO Deputy Foreign Affairs officer, James Lum Dau, in his Kachin
Brief History (2002: 17) states that the ceasefire was:
the first prerequisite for any serious discussions over lasting solutions to
Burma’s many grave problems. We sincerely hope that this will also help
set the stage for a countrywide cessation of hostilities among all groups
and organisations.
The late-KIO Chairman Brang Seng had a clear ceasefire strategy: insur-
gency having failed, Burma’s ethnic nationalists needed to conduct politics
on the national stage, as aboveground actors, from ‘‘within the legal
fold’’. The KIO leader expected his allies along the Thailand border
to follow him into ceasefire negotiations with the SLORC, and thus
establish a nationwide ceasefire. History (the interpretation of which is
always contested) has yet to determine whether Brang Seng’s vision will
be fulfilled.
Following nearly two years of negotiations, the KIO ceasefire agreement
was formalised in the Kachin State capital of Myitkyina on 24 February
1994, with the KIO ceasefire area officially designated Kachin State Special
Region-2. The SLORC–KIO ceasefire agreement is the only one known to
have been formalised in a written document, signed by the leaders of both
parties, as well as by three civilian mediators.
Although the KIO ceasefire was a product of discussions between two
military organisations – the KIO/KIA and the SLORC – it also involved
non-insurgent members of the Kachin community, whose contributions
were crucial to the truce’s longevity. During the important early confidence-
building stages of the negotiations, contacts between the KIO and military
intelligence were mediated by the Reverend Saboi Jum, General Secretary of
the Kachin Baptist Convention (KBC) – and later founder of the influ-
ential Shalom Foundation (see below) – his brother, the influential busi-
nessman Khun Myat, and a former Burmese ambassador, the ethnic
Kachin, U La Wom.
Mary Callahan (2007: 42 and 44) characterises the relationship between
the KIO and SLORC/SPDC since the mid-1990s as one of ‘‘uneasy accom-
modation’’, in which the Tatmadaw regional commander:
oversees and regulates most economic activity in the state and whom
the ceasefire groups are required to support . . . The ceasefire arrange-
ments have led to multiple sites of overlapping and indefinite authority.
Foreign companies, local business owners, the KIO and NDA-K frequently
pay SPDC and tatmadaw personnel to ignore informal or illegal
economic activity.
Following the ceasefire, the KIO retained control of some 15,000 square
miles (39,000 sq. km) of territory, consisting of 20 demarcated zones,
including a headquarters area along the China–Burma border; another area
further to the south (Third Brigade); a zone to the north of the Kachin
State capital of Myitkyina; and a large triangle of territory between the
Mali Hka and Nmai Hka rivers (‘‘the triangle’’ – traditional homeland of
the Jinghpaw). The KIO also continued to hold sway over a number of
villages in northern Shan State, and along the Indian border. The population
of these KIO-controlled areas was perhaps 300,000 people.
The KIO, along with several other ceasefire groups, has repeatedly called
for political engagement with the military government. Thus, the sig-
nificance of the National Convention, which it was hoped would provide a
forum for the KIO and other ceasefire groups to advance their key demands
(thus, moving towards fulfilment of Brang Seng’s vision).
Meanwhile, for several years after the ceasefire, the KIO managed to
avoid internal disputes manifesting themselves as outright splits. However,
the truce was by no means universally popular within the Kachin commu-
nity. Members of the Kachin diasporas in Europe and North America in
particular were often critical of KIO leaders’ engagement with Yangon.
Furthermore, like their counterparts in the NMSP and the broader Mon
nationalist movement (see below), large numbers of rank-and-file KIO
members and Kachin civilians quickly became dissatisfied with the ceasefire
agreement.
Many KIO officials and supporters felt that the government was deliber-
ately suppressing Kachin rehabilitation efforts, in an effort to emasculate
and marginalise the KIO. For example, since 1994, the authorities have
systematically disrupted attempts to link the KIO-controlled Special Region
economy to those of China and the rest of Burma: contracts have been
cancelled, and checkpoints closed arbitrarily (Field Notes 11 November
2003).
Opposition activists and analysts accuse the government of attempting
(with some success) to separate the ceasefire groups from those that remain
at war with Yangon, and to divide both from ‘‘their’’ civilian populations.
According to this perspective, the standings of the KIO and other politically
active ceasefire groups have been undermined by the military government,
due to a lack of progress in the fields of politics and human rights, and
through the extension of corrupting economic incentives to senior leaders.
The regime’s intention is said to be to promote disillusion with, and provoke
disputes within, ethno-nationalist communities, causing armed organisa-
tions to lose support.
Inter-Kachin Politics Since the Ceasefires

Such frustrations – in combination with the settling of old grudges, and dis-
agreements over resource allocation – undoubtedly helped fuel the February
2001 coup and January 2004 attempted coup at the KIO’s headquarters.
Tensions at Pajao came to a head on 24 February 2001, when General Zau
Mai25 was replaced as KIO Chairman by his deputy, Brig-General Lamung
Tu Jai.26 The new leadership explained their actions by reference to the need
for democratic reform within the KIO, and accused their predecessors of
having become too close to the government, both politically and in terms of
business ventures.
This was a central dilemma for the ceasefire groups: if they did not pros-
per financially, they were unlikely to remain significant politically, or be able
to maintain troops in the field. However, given the relationship between
power and money in Burma, economic progress was largely dependent on
developing closer relations with the Tatmadaw and government-related busi-
ness interests, relations which often exposed ethnic nationalist politicians to
accusations of corruption and betrayal.
It was probably only a matter of time before another putsch was
attempted. On 30 January 2004, the new KIA Chief of Staff, Gen N’ban La,
and General Secretary, Dr Tu Ja, held a public meeting in Laiza, near the
KIO headquarters at Pajao. They announced the foiling of an ‘‘internal coup
attempt’’, led by Colonel Lasang Awng Wa, head of KIO Intelligence and a
prime mover behind the 2001 coup, and the exiled Kachin businessman,
Bawmwang La Raw (who had made his fortune trading jade in the 1980s,
and claims since then to have donated US$3.6 million to the KIO).
Although he had backed the February 2001 coup against Zau Mai, Bawm-
wang La Raw was disappointed with the lack of progress since, and espe-
cially with the KIO’s participation at the National Convention. He was also
reportedly frustrated at not having been granted a role in the re-formed KIO
leadership.
Following their failed initiative, the alleged plotters fled to China.
Although initially black-listed by the KIO, in early September 2004
Bawmwang La Raw was invited to attend a pan-Kachin meeting held at
Mai Ja Yang, the main town in the KIO’s Eastern Division (see Chapter
Six). An agreement was made that his Kachin National Organisation
(KNO, founded in exile in 1999) would work together with KIO, but not
challenge the latter on policy matters. In part, this deal was agreed in order
to avoid Bawmwang La Raw and colleagues linking up with the KIO’s
rivals for leadership of the Kachin nationalist movement, the NDA-K,
which in 2003–04 began to infiltrate troops into timber-rich areas north of
the KIO headquarters at Pajao (on the border of the two groups’ respective
ceasefire zones), following which several armed clashes were reported with
the KIA.
Tensions between the KIO and NDA-K were patched-up somewhat at a
meeting held in Myitkyina in mid-November, which was facilitated by the
Kachin Consultative Assembly (KCA). Established as a forum for intra-
Kachin dialogue in October 2002, the KCA had played an important role in
co-ordinating a joint KIO, NDA-K and KDA position regarding the
National Convention, which in mid-2004 had allowed the ‘‘three K’’ ceasefire
groups to go down to Yangon, having already established a consolidated
Kachin platform. They had, thus, been able to play important roles in co-
ordinating the input of other ceasefire groups participating in the convention
(Field Notes 13 January 2005).
The formal reconciliation of KIO and NDA-K territorial disputes was
followed a few days later by another meeting at the KCA, in which
Lasang Awng Wa and colleagues agreed to re-unite with the KIO (The
Irrawaddy 16 November 2005). This truce seems to have been agreed pri-
marily in order to facilitate logging activities in the rich forests of Northeast
Kachin State, rather than due to any great revival of fraternal spirit
(see below).
The serious and ongoing nature of intra-Kachin tensions was illustrated
on 10 December 2004, when the NDA-K Chairman, Sakhong Ting Ying,
narrowly escaped with his life when his motorcade was bombed. The NDA-
K was quick to blame the KIO for the assassination attempt. Although
other plotters were later arrested, the damage to KIO–NDA-K relations
had already been done. There was, therefore, a degree of inevitability to the
news that emerged, in February 2005, of an alliance between the NDA-K
and troops loyal to Lasang Awng Wa, whose new militia, the Kachin
Solidarity Council (KSC), fielded about 400 soldiers, based in the NDA-K’s
southern zone.
On 18 March 2005, the KIO General Secretary, Gunhtang Gam Shawng,
was promoted to Commander-in-chief of the KIA, and replaced in the
civilian wing by Dr La Ja. Four days later, Colonel Gam Shawng addressed
a public meeting at Mai Ja Yang, attended by about 500 people. He later
told The Irrawaddy (23 March 2005) that ‘‘the public have doubts about
whether the organisation (KIO) should attend the NC or not . . . He said
the KIO had explained to the public that the group had to attend the NC
because otherwise there would be no one to represent their rights’’.
In June 2005, the KSC reported that the KIO had arrested 40 of its
members and supporters (The Irrawaddy 21 June 2005). One well-informed,
long-time observer (confidential memo) summarises the NDA–KIO–SPDC
intrigue thus:
all those on the Kachin margins and who have fallen out with the
mainstream movements in the past are now trying to find common
cause, backed by the SPDC, against the KIO . . . All the ethnic move-
ments have long since faced these kind of problems, which is why the
cycle of conflict and grievance continues while the military continue to
control government.
Having purportedly split from the KIO in opposition to the ceasefire,

Lasang Awng Wa and colleagues now attempted to negotiate their own
agreement with the Tatmadaw. However, on 6 August 2005, when they met
with government officials in Myitkyina, the KSC leaders were told that they
would not be allowed to unite with the NDA-K, or be given official ceasefire
group status. They were eventually given control of a small area at Gwi Htu
Pa, a few miles north of Myitkyina.
In the meantime, there had again been something of a rapprochement
between the KIO and NDA-K, which agreed to establish a joint commission
to investigate the Ting Ying assassination attempt. Another by-product of
the apparent thaw in intra-Kachin relations was the re-activation of the
KCA. This rapprochement was somewhat undermined by a brief interregnum
at Pang Wa, in September 2005.
On 14 September, General Secretary Layawk Zelum led a group of dis-
affected NDA-K officers – said to be close to key figures in the KIO – in
ousting Sakhone Ting Ying’s inner circle from power (The Irrawaddy 19
January 2005).27 The coup group claimed that the ageing NDA-K
Chairman’s rule had become unaccountable and corrupt, and that Sakhone
Ting Ying was too close to Chinese business interests. They were also
unhappy with the division of spoils from the NDA-K’s extensive natural
resource extraction and other commercial activities, many of which were
dominated by Chinese interests. Following a serious of armed clashes, on
the evening of 26 September troops loyal to Sakhone Ting Ying (includ-
ing elements of Lasang Awng Wa’s KSC) ousted the coup group from
Pang Wa.
The following year, 2006, Rawang and Lisu elements in the Kon-
glangphu area, near Putao in northern Kachin State, split from the NDA-
K, to form a new Rebellion Resistance Force (RRF), which was sup-
ported by the Tatmadaw Northern Regional commander. The split led to
some armed clashes between the two groups in 2007 (Kachin News Group 21
August 2007).
Meanwhile, the three main Kachin ceasefire organisations had moved to
reinforce their fragile alliance, on the occasion of large-scale celebrations at
Laiza, on the 45 anniversary of the formation of the KIO, on 5 January
2006. However, the festivities were overshadowed by growing tensions
between the government and ceasefire forces, exacerbated by the killing of
five KIA soldiers by Tatmadaw troops, near Naung Hant village in northern
Shan State, on 2 January (The Irrawaddy 9 January 2006). This incident
recalled an earlier attack in the same region, in which nine Kachin soldiers
and two civilians (who were apparently mistaken for Shan insurgents) were
shot dead by government forces, on 22 March 2001. In November 2007
reports emerged that the KIO (and also the NMSP and UWSA) were
refusing to condemn Aung San Suu Kyi, despite being pressured to do so by
the government. Tensions between the KIO and SPDC were further exa-
cerbated when government forces raided a KIA outpost near Laiza, and
arrested six Kachin soldiers, in late November 2007 (The Irrawaddy 22 and
26 November 2007).
Such ceasefire violations – combined with ongoing forced labour and
other human rights abuses across Kachin State (see below) – reinforced the
attitudes of those who opposed the truces. Urban elites, youth groups and
exiled activists and politicians in particular were critical of developments
since the ceasefire.
Despite the alienation of sections of Kachin youth, however, the KIO
has still been able to attract fairly large numbers of young people to the
nationalist cause. Between 2002 and 2007, the organisation’s youth wing –
the Economic and Education Development for Youth (EEDY) – conducted
a series of military-political trainings in the ceasefire zones, with Kachin
university and college students (male and female), aimed at producing a
new generation of KIO cadres. By mid-2007, eight such trainings had been
conducted, turning out over 4,000 graduates (Field Notes 12 June 07). It
seemed, therefore, that the Kachin nationalist cause still exerted a powerful
influence within the community, although the ceasefire groups’ leadership
was increasingly challenged.
Case Study: Conflict and a Contested Ceasefire in Mon State

According to the UN’s Myanmar Vulnerability Mapping and Monitoring
System, in 2003 Mon State had a population of about 2.6 million people
(5.12 per cent of the total for Burma). At least 30 per cent of the popu-
lation of Mon State are Burmans, Tavoyans (Dawei), Pwo and S’ghaw
Karen, and Bengali Muslims (who arrived in Burma during the period of
colonial rule). Among the Mon population, sizeable groups live in adjoining
areas of Karen State, and to a lesser extent also in Pegu Division, capital
of the ancient Mon kingdom of Hongsawaddy. The total Mon population in
Burma is probably about 1.5 million people (South 2005: 57–63).
Insurgency and After

As noted, the New Mon State Party (NMSP) was established by Nai
Shwe Kyin in 1958, when the bulk of existing Mon insurgent forces
agreed a ceasefire with the U Nu civilian government. Like the KIO, the
NMSP was from the outset a close ally of the KNU, and joined the NDF
and DAB.28
For nearly 40 years, the NMSP was in the vanguard of the armed strug-
gle for an independent – or at least autonomous – Monland. During these
long decades, the party and its armed wing, the Mon National Liberation
Army (MNLA, established 1971) suffered many setbacks, while retaining
the broad support of many sections of the Mon community, including
several senior monks.
Among the most serious human rights violations suffered by the civilian
population in Mon State during this period was a massive government
campaign of forced labour in the early 1990s, used to construct the 160 km
Ye-Tavoy railway, linking the underdeveloped but resource-rich Tenasserim
seaboard with lower Mon State. Later in the decade, human rights abuses
and land confiscation also attended the development – by a consortium of
international oil companies – of the Yadana and Yetagun natural gasfields
in the Gulf of Martaban, and the construction of two gas pipelines linking
these to Thailand (ibid. ch. 13).29
In 1990, following the fall of the NMSP headquarters near Three Pago-
das Pass, the first regular Mon refugee camps were established in Thailand,
where nearly 50,000 Karen and Karenni refugees were already living along
the border, further to the north. By 1995, the Thai military authorities had
more-or-less forcibly repatriated all but 2,500 of the nearly 10,000 Mon
refugees, moving them into the NMSP-controlled ‘‘liberated zones’’.
(UNHCR refused to publicly criticise this case of obvious refoulement.) By
pushing the civilian victims of the civil war back across the border, the Royal
Thai Army and National Security Council hoped to pressure the NMSP
into agreeing a ceasefire with Yangon, which in turn would open the way for
the economic exploitation of newly pacified parts of lower Burma (ibid. chs
14–16).
Ceasefire negotiations, which began in late 1993, were finalised on 29
June 1995, when an NMSP delegation in Moulmein reached agreement
with the SLORC. The terms were similar to those agreed with the KIO
in 1994, under which the ex-insurgents would continue to control speci-
fied areas, in recognition of the situation on the ground. The NMSP was
granted 12 (mostly adjacent) cantonments, constituting a ceasefire zone
spread out along the Ye River in southern Mon State (including parts of
Tavoy District in Tenasserim Division, which the party was supposed to
vacate the year after the ceasefire, but in fact still occupied, more than a
decade later). The NMSP also continued to administer two small, but
prosperous and densely populated ceasefire zones further to the north, in
Moulmein and Thaton Districts, the latter overlapping with KNLA Sixth
Brigade, in Karen State (ibid. chs 11 and 17).
At the time of the ceasefire, the government offered the NMSP some
development assistance. General Khin Nyunt also promised that the
human rights situation in Mon State would improve (see below). For a
decade after the ceasefire, the government also provided the NMSP with 3.5
million Kyat (c. US$3,500) a month (and sometimes rice too), to replace lost
revenues, as a result of the party having access to less income from taxa-
tion.30 However, this financial support was terminated in mid-2005, due to
the SPDC’s dissatisfaction with the NMSP’s strongly articulated demands at
(and later, boycott of) the National Convention. At around the same time, a
logging concession in the Kanni area, on the Ye River – which benefited the
NMSP leadership, if not the local population – was also cancelled by the
regime (Field Notes 18 July 2005).
Although critics have accused ceasefire group leaders of profiting financially
from these agreements, this has generally only been true of narco-trafficking
militias in northern Burma (such as the MNDAA and UWSA). Since the
ceasefires, the coffers of both the NMSP and KIO have been depleted, due
to reduced opportunities to collect taxes in areas previously patrolled by
their troops, combined with their leaders’ inability to exploit the few
economic openings presented by the post-ceasefire situation. The ex-insur-
gents have not demonstrated much commercial acumen: while the NMSP-
controlled Rehmonya International Company has made some money from
logging and fishing licences, its trading and transport ventures have not
flourished.
Like the KIO and some other ceasefire groups, the NMSP has
repeatedly called for political engagement with the government. However,
since the mid-1990s, the party has tended to oscillate between two strategic
poles: at key moments, the NMSP has supported the NLD, attempting to
pressure the government into reform. However, party leaders have often been
forced to back down, and acquiesce to the government line. Unsurprisingly, such
inconsistency has provoked criticism, both from the SPDC and the opposition.
It has also led to power struggles and defections within NMSP ranks (see
below).
Having agreed to a cessation of hostilities, the NMSP leadership had
no clear vision of the party’s future role (see Chapter Six, and South in
Gravers 2007). Many of those who supported the agreement saw no
option, other than to pursue a new, closer relationship with the military
government; others remained sympathetic to the armed and political
opposition, and proposed an open alliance with the NLD. In the context
of such debates, a new Mon umbrella group emerged, following a Con-
gress of Mon National Affairs held in the NMSP Tavoy District the year
after the ceasefire (South 2005: ch. 16). The Mon Unity League (MUL)
went on to play an important role in Mon politics, acting as a link
between the NMSP, Burmese and Mon groups in Thailand and overseas,
and the growing international campaign for democratic change in Burma.
For the first decade, the post of MUL General Secretary was held by Nai
Sunthorn Sriparngern. He was elected MUL President in 2007, the year in
which the league was re-organised, to focus on promoting the activities of
Mon grass roots and civil society organisations. The previous year had seen
the launch of a new Mon umbrella political organisation, the Mon Affairs
Union (MAU), in which the NMSP played a leading role.
Splits Since the Ceasefire
Since 1995, a total of five ex-Mon National Liberation Army (MNLA)
factions have split from NMSP, and several more small anti-ceasefire local
militias have emerged, especially in those parts of Ye and Yebyu Townships
from which the NMSP had to withdraw following the ceasefire. The most
significant of these has been the Hongsawatoi Restoration Party (HRP;
later, the Mon Restoration Party), led by veteran NMSP Central Committee
member, and former MNLA Southern Strategic Commander, Colonel Nai
Pan Nyunt (ibid. ch. 19–20).
Nai Pan Nyunt went back to war on 9 September 2001, taking about 150
MNLA troops with him. His men maintained positions in the northern part
of Ye Township, on the edge of the main NMSP ceasefire zone, harassing
the Tatmadaw, and negotiating an alliance with another anti-ceasefire fac-
tion, the Mon National Defence Army (MNDA, or ‘‘Mon National War-
rior Army’’), which had been active in the area for the past two years. Nai
Pan Nyunt claimed that his primary reason for defecting from the NMSP
was its leaders’ inability to prevent the confiscation of Mon lands (see
below), particularly in villages previously under his control. The NMSP,
however, accused him of instigating rebellion to avoid facing corruption
charges brought against him by the party leadership.
The emergence of another anti-ceasefire faction, so close to its head-
quarters, threatened the basis of the NMSP’s truce with the SPDC. Some
party activists, and many MNLA veterans, joined forces with Nai Pan
Nyunt; others sensed an opportunity for the NMSP to throw off the much-
resented ceasefire agreement, and return to a policy of outright, armed
opposition to the SPDC.
On 29 November 2001, Nai Pa Nyunt’s faction united with the MNDA to
form the HRP, and the Monland Restoration Army (MRA), fielding about
300 troops. The new force began collecting taxes on the road and in villages
near Three Pagodas Pass, and was soon recruiting in the area, and laying
landmines (as was the MNLA).
With several MNLA-HRP – and Tatmadaw-HRP – clashes reported in
January–March 2002, the future of the Mon ceasefire looked highly pre-
carious. However, by the end of the year, loyal MNLA troops had expelled
the main HRP force from the vicinity of the ceasefire zones, and Nai Pan
Nyunt’s men found themselves either trapped along the border, or pushed
back into the MNDA base areas in southern Ye Township.
By late 2003, the HRP rebellion had all but petered out. Many troops
returned to the MNLA, while Nai Pan Nyunt and a few followers moved
down to the old NMSP Mergui District base in Tenasserim Division, 280
miles (450 km) to the south (opposite Thailand’s Prachuab Kiri Kahn Pro-
vince), an area from which the MNLA had withdrawn under the 1995 cea-
sefire agreement. The rump HRP continued to receive some support from
Mon exile groups overseas and in Thailand (including some radical monks).
Nai Pan Nyunt re-formed his group as the Mon Restoration Party
(MRP) in August 2007, and began to collect taxes from the long-suffering
villagers of southern Ye Township (IMNA 1 September 2007). However, by
now this small outfit was quite marginal to the larger Mon and Burmese
political scene. With the MRP replacing (and absorbing) the remnants of
the MNDA in Ye Township, it seemed likely that the Tatmadaw would
continue to abuse the human rights of villagers in the area, with impunity
(see, for example, The Mon Forum February 2007).
The decline in Nai Pan Nyunt’s fortunes was symbolised by a horrific
event which occurred on 18 September 2004 (the sixteenth anniversary of
the SLORC), and epitomised the sort of ugly local conflicts which have,
for half a century, undermined the solidarity of Burma’s ethnic nation-
alist movements. That morning, a unit of the KNLA’s 11 Battalion stormed
the HRP headquarters near Nong Hoi, killing all five of Nai Pan
Nyunt’s daughters, and two Mon soldiers, and injuring the HRP chairman
and his wife (IMNA 20 September 2004). Although this killing has never
been properly investigated, it seems to have been spurred by a conflict of
economic interests, centred around territorial control, and the taxation of
local villages.
Other Mon splinter groups still active in 2007 included remnants of the
Mon Army Mergui District (MAMD), based south of the Maw Dawng
Pass in Tenasserim Division (South 2005: ch. 17). The MAMD had split
from the NMSP the year after the ceasefire, and subsequently made its own
deal with the Tatmadaw in June 1997. Based in three villages in the Chaung
Chee area, the MAMD sent one delegate to the National Convention. A
very small ‘‘Mon Peace Group’’ based on the southern Tenasserim coast
also sent one delegate to the convention.
Case Studies Continued: Post-Ceasefire Displacement in Kachin and

Mon States
The case studies present mixed pictures of the post-ceasefire situation in
Kachin and Mon States. With the end of armed conflict, patterns of (Type 1)
displacement generally came to an end (with the exception of parts of
southern Mon State). Unfortunately, however, other types of forced migration
soon emerged.
Since the ceasefires, local communities have had large amounts of land
confiscated by the Tatmadaw and associated business groups, often in the
context of ‘‘development projects’’ and unsustainable natural resource
extraction. Furthermore, civilians in these areas continued to be subject to
widespread forced labour, and other systematic human rights abuses.
Nevertheless, the KIO, NMSP and some other ceasefire groups, and their
local civil society partners, were able to implement a range of resettlement,
rehabilitation and development programs, despite limited human and
financial resources. Although more could have been achieved, with greater
government and international support, there was a ‘‘peace dividend’’ in
Kachin and Mon States (see Chapter Six).
Housing, Land and Property (HLP) Rights Violations in Kachin State31

Although, since 1993, there have been no Four Cuts-type forced relocations in
Kachin State, communities continue to lose their land. Some of the most
common causes of post-ceasefire (Type Two) forced migration are described
below.
Military Occupation and Confiscation of Farmland

Following the ceasefire, the Tatmadaw reportedly confiscated land for sev-
eral new garrisons around Putao, in northern Kachin State, even though the
area had not recently been contested between the KIO and government
forces. When troops arrived in these new areas, they were usually billeted in
villagers’ houses, without paying for food and accommodation (Field Notes
20 November 2003).
Similarly, before the ceasefire, there were four Tatmadaw battalions in the
four townships around Bhamo, in southern Kachin State. By 2004, there
were eleven, each of which reportedly confiscated about 400 acres of land
(Field Notes 20 May 2003).
Natural Resource Extraction

Before the advent of the post-ceasefire ‘‘natural resource rush’’ in Kachin
State, many villagers maintained livelihoods through labour-intensive (non-
mechanised) gold-panning. Since the mid-1990s, however, these activities
have been undermined by outside business interests – such as the Tatmadaw’s
Northern Star Company, and various Chinese operators – which employ
large-scale, non-sustainable technologies. In the process, land has been
expropriated, livelihoods ruined and large stretches of water poisoned by
mercury used in the gold-extraction process.
Unfortunately for the KIO, it has not been able to keep up with the
increasingly mechanised and capital-intensive nature of post-ceasefire gold
and jade mining. From the mid-1960s until 1994, taxation of the jade trade
in particular provided the KIO with a substantial portion of its finances.
Since the ceasefire, however, the KIO and its business partners have had to
compete for concessions with well-connected Chinese and other outside busi-
nessmen (including some Wa and other ceasefire group leaders).32 Logging,
therefore, replaced mining as the KIO’s main source of income, with disastrous
consequences for the environment, and for many local communities.33
In 2005, Global Witness estimated that the China–Burma border timber
trade was worth about $300 million a year. The KIO’s slice of this business
derived from logging concession fees, and the taxation of timber passing
through various checkpoints on the way to China. However, a significant
portion of these revenues reportedly never reached the KIO treasury, but
was diverted by corrupt Kachin officials (Global Witness 2005).
A glimmer of hope for the beleaguered forests of Kachin State emerged in
late 2005, when the Chinese authorities began a clamp-down on the illegal
cross-border timber trade, prompted in part by the advocacy of campaign-
ing groups such as Global Witness. However, critics pointed out that these
restrictions impacted disproportionately on the KIO, as timber originating
from Burmese government sources was deemed ‘‘legal’’, and not subject to
the Chinese ban. This interpretation was reinforced in July 2007, when the
Tatmadaw Northern Commander, Maj-Gen Ohn Myint, announced a total
ban on gold mining and logging in Kachin State, thereby increasing eco-
nomic pressure on the KIO, NDA-K and Lasang Awng Wa’s group, in the
run-up to the final session of the National Convention (Field Notes 17 July
2007).
Especially since 2001, the most widespread deforestation has occurred in
the NDA-K ceasefire zone in Northeast Kachin State (Global Witness 2005:
98). Meanwhile, as the forests along the Chinese border became logged-out,
the timber companies expanded further inside Burma. Of particular concern
was a huge logging and mining operation begun in 2001–02 in the pristine
N’Mai Hku forest, north of the NDA-K ceasefire zone, part of one of the
most important ‘‘bio-diversity hotspots’’ in the world. Under a deal nego-
tiated between a small group of Kachin leaders, and Chinese and Malaysian
companies, proceeds from the N’Mai Hku Project are being used to finance
hydro-power dams and other KIO development projects (see Chapter Six).
Hukawng Valley Tiger Reserve

The Hukawng (or Hugawng) valley is a remote, mostly forested area of
western Kachin State, near the Indian border. In 2001, the government and
the US-based Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS) established the world’s
largest tiger reserve in the valley (with an area of 21,890 sq. km). Since the
mid-1990s, however, there has been a significant expansion of the gold
mining industry in the valley, including the introduction of new extraction
techniques, which have had a terrible impact on the environment (KDNG
2007). This ‘‘gold rush’’ was accompanied by large-scale land confiscation –
of at least 100 acres of house plots, and more than 150 acres of farmland,
between 1991 and 2005 – to build new Tatmadaw bases, in Danai Township.
The mining boom also saw an influx of transient populations, and asso-
ciated problems of drug addiction and HIV/AIDS in the valley (ibid.).
Agriculture Projects
New agricultural practices and patterns of land ownership also some-
times cause mass dispossession. Where villagers have failed to re-settle
land they had previously abandoned during the armed conflict, this has
often been sold to investors. The state’s attitude to natural resources seems
to be ‘‘use it or lose it’’. Virgin (or ‘‘waste’’) land that is not formally occu-
pied is liable to be taken over by the state, and leased to agri-companies
with connections to the military. According to BERG, the government
opened 27,000 acres of ‘‘fallow’’ land in Kachin State for paddy production
in 2000.
Large-scale Development Projects

The government’s aggressive drive to develop infrastructure projects in
Kachin State has had a number of negative consequences. For example, the
construction of a new bridge, and expansion of the airport, at Myitkyina in the
1990s both displaced long-established local communities (Field Notes 25 May
2003).
Population Transfer
Although the phenomenon is not well documented, since the 1970s, the
military government has been organising the migration of ethnic Burman
families into ethnic nationality-populated areas (see below), including the
establishment of several of new villages north of Myitkyina (Field Notes 26
May 2003). The KIO and NDA-K have also been involved in population
transfers, by moving villagers down from the hills to be re-settled in more
agriculturally productive areas (c.f. the Wa transmigration policy).
HLP Rights Violations in Mon State

According to the TBBC and Mon Relief and Development Committee
(MRDC), the population of the Mon ceasefire zones in 2006 was about
60,000 people, including 2,000 newly arrived IDPs since 2005 (TBBC 2006).
In the decade since their repatriation (in 1996), some Mon refugees had
returned home, but most remained in limbo, in camp-like conditions just
over the border, with only limited access to agricultural land. Although now
largely invisible to the Thai authorities and international community, the
Mon returnees continued to face chronic livelihoods and food security pro-
blems, and remained partially dependant on decreasing amounts of cross-
border humanitarian aid. Meanwhile, as a consequence of renewed out-
breaks of insurgency and ongoing human rights abuses in Mon State, newly
displaced villagers continued to seek refuge in the Mon ceasefire zones and
refugee resettlement sites.
In August 2005, the Human Rights Foundation of Monland
(HURFOM) reported that the following abuses were prevalent in Monland
(especially in non-ceasefire areas of southern Mon State): extra-judicial,
summary or arbitrary executions; arbitrary detention; torture and other
cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment; rape and sexual violation of
women; forced labour on road construction, in army and police camps, and
on infrastructure projects; forced portering for the Tatmadaw; land con-
fiscation; movement restrictions; and denial of the right to education.
Military Occupation and Confiscation of Farmland

As in Kachin State, some of the most serious post-ceasefire problems in
Mon State related to Housing, Land and Property (HLP) rights. In October
2003, the HURFOM published No Land to Farm, a report documenting the
confiscation of 7,780 acres of land from Mon farmers, between 1998 and
2002.34 Adding insult to injury, farmers were often forced to work on the
confiscated lands, building barracks and growing crops for the Tatmadaw.
In some cases, the NMSP and local monks were able to intervene with
the authorities, and achieve limited compensation for victims. For example,
on 22 August 2003 NMSP leaders met with General Khin Nyunt, and
demanded compensation for lost lands. However, the limited amounts of
money paid were well below the value of the stolen land (The Mon Forum
October 2003). Following the purge of Khin Nyunt, the confiscation of
Mon lands continued, especially in Thambuzayat and Ye Townships (see,
for example, The Mon Forum June 2005 and IMNA 5 June 2007).
‘‘Development’’-induced and Urban Displacement

Since the 1995 NMSP–SLORC ceasefire, the government has built a net-
work of roads and bridges across Mon State, often on confiscated land,
using conscripted labour. The state has also engaged in large-scale ‘‘urban
renewal programmes’’.
In 1990, a UN Centre for Human Settlements (UN Habitat) report on
Human Settlements Review in the Union of Myanmar estimated that at least
1.5 million people living Yangon, Mandalay, Moulmein, Pegu and Taunggyi
had been forcibly relocated by the Department of Housing and Settlement,
between 1988 and 1990. Their previous homes were demolished to make way
for wider streets, to sanitise major cities and historic sites, and in order to
build new factories and housing developments. Several new ‘‘satellite towns’’
were created, including four sites on the outskirts of Moulmein.
In 1996, the government started constructing a new ring-road around
Moulmein. Again, according to BERG (2002), ‘‘hundreds of households
were evicted from their homes . . . without being given any compensation or
[alternative] housing’’.
Livelihood Vulnerability-Induced Migration

Type 3 (livelihoods insecurity-induced) migration is more widespread
than the more acute types of forced migration in Burma (Types 1 and 2), and
affects most ethnic nationality-populated parts of the country. Type 3
migrants are not physically compelled to move, by the use or threat of force.
However, this type of migration is ‘‘forced’’, inasmuch as people generally
have little or no meaningful choice to remain. These ‘‘distress migrants’’ con-
stitute a particularly vulnerable sub-group of the larger ‘‘economic migrant’’
population.
The ‘‘push-factors’’ behind Type 3 forced migration include natural
disasters (floods and tsunami, fires, etc.), population pressures, soil degra-
dation and land fragmentation, lack of access to health and education ser-
vices, poor access to markets, and inappropriate government policies
(especially in the agriculture sector35), which often combine to make it
impossible for poor families to sustain livelihoods in remote areas. The
limited available evidence suggests that, since the 1990s, both temporary
(seasonal) and permanent Type 3 migration has increased in Burma, as
large numbers of people seek precarious livelihoods in the town and cities
(as well as in rural areas). Periphery–centre population movements have
generally increased following the agreement of ceasefires between the gov-
ernment and insurgent groups. During periods of armed conflict, travel in
and from rural areas is usually difficult and dangerous, while the political
economies of war – and control over civilian populations – are priorities
for combatants on all sides. However, following the cessation of hosti-
lities, civilians often exploit the new movement opportunities brought by
relative peace.
Militarised Forms of Governance

For half a century after independence, various insurgent organisations were
able to exercise greater or lesser degrees of authority over often extensive
liberated zones, establishing de facto (although internationally unrecog-
nised) mini-states, on the peripheries of the official Burmese polity. These
were oriented towards neighbouring countries, via clandestine networks that
extracted and marketed Burma’s raw materials, and through relationships
with shady national security and intelligence agencies, in India, China and
Thailand.
In areas where the remit of neither the Tatmadaw nor insurgents held
sway, locally powerful militia leaders would pay ‘‘tribute’’ to field comman-
ders on both sides. In exchange, they were allowed a high degree of
autonomy, in running the affairs of – and extracting wealth from – their
petty fiefdoms. For example, throughout most of the 1980s and 1990s, var-
ious Karen strong-men dominated (mostly extractive) business and orga-
nised violence in parts of northern, southern and western Tenasserim
Division (KNU Mergui-Tavoy District, KNLA Fourth Brigade). These
included men such as Da Bleh at Ka Mo Thwey, in Leh Deh Soe Town-
ship, who ran his home village and its satellite settlements as a personal
fiefdom, under an informal agreement with KNLA’s Tenth Battalion
(Fourth Brigade). The KNU rarely entered the area, as it lacked the
resources to impose the authority of Kaw Too Lei, and Da Bleh did not
pose a political challenge to the mainstream insurgency.
Until the early 1990s, Burma’s black market and narcotics economies were
dominated by armed organisations that opposed the government, in name at
least. In practice, however, realities on the ground were sometimes more
complex. As armed conflict and counter-insurgency became institutionalised,
so too did patterns collaboration between supposed battlefield enemies.36
During regular visits to the KNU’s Duplaya District (KNLA Sixth Bri-
gade) in the 1990s, the author witnessed evidence of extensive co-operation
across the front-lines of conflict. On one occasion, in 1996 near Ganelli, I
drove with the KNU for perhaps two miles past stacked piles of huge logs,
many of which looked to measure over a metre across. However, we had to
keep moving, as Tatmadaw officials were due to visit the log-yard later that
afternoon, to check the amount of timber, and calculate what kick-backs
were due to whom. Co-operation among local military elites, in the extrac-
tion of natural resources across the ‘‘front-lines’’, extended to the lead mines
in lower Duplaya District (Kya-In Seik-Gyi Township), and helped to
explain the absence of major Tatmadaw offensives against the KNU in the
district, at least until 1997 (see below).
The Re-orientation of Border Networks

A decade and a half after the first ex-CPB groups agreed ceasefires with the
SLORC, most of the insurgent-controlled liberated zones had disappeared,
and low-level fighting was largely confined to a few pockets of jungle in the
eastern border areas. It was clear that the Tatmadaw had all-but won
Burma’s long-running civil war, although the end-game was still being
played out along the Thailand border. The military government and its
proxies dominated the complex and unstable situations that emerged in the
aftermath of armed conflict.
This post-armed conflict scenario could hardly be described as ‘‘peace’’.
Along most of the Thailand border, the Tatmadaw still operated as a mar-
auding army, terrorising the local population. Even in areas of greater
stability, day-to-day life for most people was a struggle for survival, in the face
of deteriorating local economies, and systematic injustices and structural
violence, perpetrated by a range of predatory power-holders.
As the Tatmadaw gained a decisive upper hand in the 1990s, the axis of
power shifted decisively towards Yangon. This period saw the emergence of
new forms of ‘‘political regime’’ (the structure of interests and institutions,
which shape policy, and the practices of state and non-state actors) in
remote, ethnic nationality-populated areas. As Mary Callahan notes (2007: 5),
‘‘the central state flexes its muscles throughout much of Burma, changing
the behaviour of elites and masses alike even in places where it has to
negotiate with and accommodate nonstate authorities.’’
As the insurgencies lost ground, so too did their ability to enforce a
minimum degree of at least symbolic compliance upon ‘‘neo-patrimonial’’
strong-men operating on the peripheries of their shrinking fields of influ-
ence. The authority of the old insurgent mandalas had at one time per-
meated most border networks; by the 1990s, however, the Tatmadaw
constituted the dominant centre of power in these contested areas.
For example, in the late 1990s in Leh Deh Soe Township, Da Bleh
became increasingly close to the Tatmadaw, which had greatly expanded its
presence in the area, as a result of the construction of the Yadana gas
pipeline. Tatmadaw commanders were content to let Da Bleh’s militia pro-
vide security in the southern sector of the ‘‘pipeline corridor’’, which in
practice meant denying the KNLA access to the area. With his authority
enhanced by Tatmadaw patronage, Da Bleh was able to impose a degree of
stability in his area of control, and began to attract some displaced villagers to
settle in what amounted to an unofficial ceasefire zone. Around this time, a
handful of KNDO soldiers defected to Da Bleh’s militia, and began working
with him on local logging deals. Following some internal disputes regarding
the division of revenues, the ex-KNDO men decided to move against Da
Bleh. During the conflict, militia-men loyal to Da Bleh burnt down the ex-
KNDO contingents’ camp. On 6 March 2001, the latter retaliated, attacking
Da Bleh’s house, and killing him, and his wife and son (Field Notes 24 April
2007).
Another example of changing loyalties on the front-lines of conflict is
provided by the case of Lt-Colonel Tha Mu Hae and the Karen Peace Force
(KPF). Since the late 1980s, Tha Mu Hae’s KNLA Sixteenth Battalion had
operated more-or-less independently of Brig-General Shwe Hser’s Sixth
Brigade Headquarters, near Azin. Officials from the mainstream KNU
could only enter Tha Mu Hae’s area of control, in Kawkareik Township, if
accompanied by 50-plus soldiers. Tha Mu Hae’s battalion was in effect a
private warlord army, which acknowledged the symbolic leadership of the
KNU, but was by no means under the latter’s control. Until the late 1990s,
it suited both parties to maintain the fiction that Tha Mu Hae and his
henchmen represented Kaw Thoo Lei.
In February 1997, the Tatmadaw launched a devastating offensive against
the remaining KNU strongholds in Fourth and Sixth Brigades. Tha Mu
Hae saw which way the military-political wind was blowing, and quickly
switched his allegiance to the SLORC. This move allowed the Tatmadaw to
gain control of much of the Sixth Brigade area, without encountering
organised resistance. The fall of Duplaya District caused a mass exodus of
refugees to flee into Thailand (South 2005: ch. 17). The following month,
Tha Mu Hae was featured on Burmese state television, in a ceremony
during which his men (few of whom had been forewarned) handed over
their weapons to SLORC Vice-Chairman, General Maung Aye (who earned
the undying enmity of many Karen nationalists, by stepping on the Karen
national flag during the proceedings).
In exchange for his compliance, Tha Mu Hae’s Karen Peace Force
(KPF, or Haungthayaw Peace Group) was given control over three ceasefire
zones: near Moulmein, in the Three Pagodas Pass area, and near Kyaik
Down in central Duplaya District. The group was also granted various,
mostly small-scale business concessions.37 This arrangement served to fur-
ther divide the Karen armed groups, not least by setting-up a rivalry in
lower Karen State between the KPF and another government client, the
DKBA.38
During the same two-week period in February 1997, which saw the fall of
Sixth Brigade, the Tatmadaw also overran most of the KNU’s only other
extensive liberated zone, the Fourth Brigade (Mergui-Tavoy District,
Tenasserim Division). In this case too, the local KNLA Brigadier and his
family were suspected of having contact with Tatmadaw officials prior to the
offensive, to discuss ongoing logging deals and possible future business
arrangements (including the construction of a road through from Tavoy to
the Thailand border at Bong Htee).
The 1990s saw the emergence of several other armed Karen factions in
areas previously controlled by the KNU, most notably the DKBA. In
addition, a number of counter-insurgent ‘‘people’s militias’’ (Pyithusit) were
formed by the authorities (see Chapter Six).
In areas where the Tatmadaw did not exercise total and direct control, it
was often able to dominate, manipulate and extract tribute from client net-
works, controlled by self-interested local power-holders. For example, in
eastern Shan State, a number of ethnic Lahu and other militias operated
under licence from the SPDC. They were encouraged to oppose the SSA-South
insurgents, and earned money from various logging and drugs businesses, and
by extorting the local population (LNDO 2006).
Further to the north, the Mong La area (Shan State Special Region-4),
under the control of the ex-CPB National Democratic Alliance Army
(NDAA), became famous for its casinos, although in 2006 many of these
were forced to close by the Chinese authorities, due to the large amounts of
money being lost over the border by mainland Chinese citizens (including
state officials). The NDAA, therefore, diversified into coal and other
(mostly Chinese-owned) mining enterprises, which reportedly caused exten-
sive environmental damage, and eroded the traditional way of life of the
indigenous En people (a Wa sub-group: ibid.).
Like their insurgent counterparts, a number of ceasefire groups also
fractured, splitting into warring factions, and sometimes creating pretexts
for the Tatmadaw to intervene. For example, in 1995 a newly formed
Mongko Region Defence Army (MRDA) – based in the stronghold of that
name, to the west of the Salween River (in northern Shan State) – broke
away from the Kokang-dominated MNDAA, which had controlled the east
bank of the river since its 1989 ceasefire (Martin Smith 1999: 440). Within a
few weeks, the Tatmadaw Northeast Command had used this split in the
ceasefire group ranks as a pretext to intervene, and forcibly take over the
running of Mong Ko. In the process, several MRDA militiamen were killed
by government forces.
A similar fate almost befell the Shan State Nationalities Peoples Liberation
Organisation (SSNPLO) ceasefire group, which in October 2005 split into
two factions: one under its veteran Chairman, Tha Kalei, and a larger
group led by Chit Maung. The SSNPLO had sometimes attempted to
engage with the government politically, in concert with other ceasefire
groups. However, Chit Maung’s new PaO Regional Nationalities Unity
Organisation (PRNUO) was closely allied with the PNO, and enjoyed close
relations with the SPDC.
In early 2006, armed clashes broke out between the two groups. The Shan
Herald Agency for News (1 March 2006; parenthesis added) noted that,
‘‘when the two sides split, the poppy-producing areas west of the Pawn,
went under Chit Maung, while the heroin refineries remained under the firm
control of the Taklay [sic] faction’’. In July 2007, the PRNUO ‘‘exchanged
arms for peace’’ with the SPDC, handing over a stockpile of weapons and
ammunition.39 Again, the government had been able to fragment an armed
ethnic group, and re-orient elements away from the opposition camp,
towards a compromised and controlled status as clients of military
regime.
As noted, following the fall of Khin Nyunt in October 2004, the SPDC
moved to incorporate some of these networks of compliance into more formal
relationships, under a new constitutional arrangement. A number of ceasefire
groups supported the governance structures emerging in the National Con-
vention, either because they had no choice, because they considered acquies-
cence politically expedient, or because they perceived advantages in doing so
for their communities (and/or their leaders’ vested interests).
6 Civil society and social change
Contested domains
Burma faces a complex range of inter-linked humanitarian and social crises.

In order to address these structural problems, political changes are required,
at both the local and national levels. As well as elite-level ‘‘regime change’’,
it is necessary to broaden approaches to democratisation in Burma, to
include community participation, and the promotion of civil society as an
engine for socio-political transition.1
Civil Society: Contested Concept, Contested Domain

‘‘Civil society’’ is a contested concept, in at least two ways. Firstly, there are
a number of definitions of the term, used in different ideological traditions
(primarily the liberal–Tocquevillean and Marxist–Gramscian: see below2).
The notion of civil society is, of course, rooted in European and US poli-
tical thought, making its application to non-Western contexts potentially
problematic. However, defined as a space (or domain) for social and poli-
tical action, the concept is a useful tool for analysing state–society relations
in Burma.
Secondly, this domain itself is contested – i.e. there are multiple civil
society actors, which may be in competition (either implicitly or explicitly),
and subject to diverse pressures – including by a militarised state that
prioritises control of the population above most other considerations. Thus,
civil society can have a number of characteristics, including ‘‘the dark side
of civil society’’ (see below).
The notion of ‘‘civil society’’ used here is derived primarily from de Toc-
queville (1994), and denotes voluntary, autonomous associations and net-
works that are intermediate between the state and the family, and concerned
with public ends. These include a broad range of CBOs and NGOs, media
and social welfare organisations, as well as religious and cultural groups
(traditional and modern), and more overtly political organisations. How-
ever, commercial companies, and political parties seeking to assume state
power, are not part of civil society, although they may promote or inhibit its
development.
From a Gramscian perspective, civil society is conceived of as a contested
realm, in which competing forces and interest groups seek to establish
positions, in a protracted struggle for power (Gramsci 1971). While some
actors aim to influence, subvert or overturn government policy, others are
more concerned to carve out areas of relative autonomy; in contrast, the
forces of state power (including para- and non-state authorities) may seek
to penetrate the civil society domain, and co-opt or suppress autonomous
actors.
A number of scholars and activists have commented on the roles played
by civil society actors in the overthrow of communism in eastern Europe in
the late 1980s (see ICG 2001; Lorch 2006). According to Alagappa (2004:
469), under conditions of tyranny ‘‘civil society is the only available space in
which oppressed segments can organise (formally, informally, or in the
underground), inculcate values, construct counternarratives, and develop
assets to recover their dignity and ensure their cultural, political and eco-
nomic survival’’.
As Alagappa and Lorch3 warn, it is important to acknowledge the
potentially ‘‘dark side of civil society’’: the sector may have significant dis-
contents (‘‘uncivil society’’). The domain of civil society is not inherently
progressive, but can include reactionary, unaccountable and repressive ele-
ments. Indeed, civil society in Burma tends to be dominated by elites, which
often reproduce the inequalities of society at large (see below).
Nevertheless, functioning civil society networks are essential for the
achievement of ‘‘bottom-up’’ social and political transition in Burma, and
for conflict resolution at both the national and local levels. In order for
democratic change to be sustainable, the country’s diverse social and ethnic
communities will have to enjoy a sense of ownership in any transitional
process, and equip themselves to fill the power vacuum that may emerge,
either as a result of abrupt shifts in national politics, or of a more gradual
withdrawal of the military from state and local power (see Chapter Seven).
The abilities of communities to organise and assume control over aspects of
their lives, which since the 1960s have been suppressed by the military
(including insurgent armies), will depend on such grassroots mobilisation.
The creation of ‘‘social capital’’, and the related concept of ‘‘political
trust’’, through voluntary co-operation in the mutually accountable activ-
ities of civil society, is one of the hallmarks of citizen engagement in liberal
democracy.4 In the Burmese context, this is related to a shift in power rela-
tions, from ‘‘power over’’ (the mode of military government, reflected in
much of the wider society) to an empowering, innately democratic ‘‘power
with’’ form of participatory social organisation.
As Larry Diamond notes (1999: 228 and 238):
the more their organisational practices are based on political equality,

reciprocal communication, mutual respect, and the rule of law, the
more civil society organisations will socialise members into these
Civil society and social change 175
democratic norms and the more they will generate the social trust, tol-
erance, cooperativeness, and civic competence that undergird a vibrant
and liberal democracy. . . .
There is a useful distinction here, between ‘‘Big D’’ and ‘‘little d’’ democracy
promotion. A recent survey of Democracy as Development in Asia (Ottaway
and Carothers 2000: 136–44; parenthesis added) notes that ‘‘assistance
geared towards formal systems of governance – ‘democracy with a Big D’ –
attempts to make elections, judiciaries, legislatures . . . and other core
democratic institutions and practices’’. Such activities are clearly not on the
agenda in contemporary Burma. ‘‘In contrast, assistance intended to foster
‘democracy with a small d’ aims in part at socio-economic progress of dis-
advantaged people [but]. . . . It differs from much mainstream development
work . . . in the means it employs – community mobilisation’’. Although not
mutually exclusive, ‘‘many [‘Big D’] democracy efforts build on mainstream
[‘little d’] work in health, livelihoods, education’’.5
According to Jasmin Lorch (2006), the spaces within which Burmese civil
society actors operate include three specific areas:
firstly, within the ambit of changes within the state itself; secondly, in
various sectors of the weak welfare state; and thirdly, within some of the
negotiated spaces of relative ethnic autonomy in ceasefire areas. While
these rooms for manoeuvre are always relational to the authoritarian
nature of the military regime, civil society actors use every space available
in order to tackle the welfare needs of their respective communities.6
The following analysis focusses particularly on the third of Lorch’s three

‘‘relational’’ types of civil society activity (within and between ethnic
nationality communities). However, there is obviously a good deal of overlap
with her second (and to a degree, first) category.
CBOs and NGOs

In discussions of the civil society sector, the terms (local) NGO and Com-
munity Based Organisation (CBO) are often used interchangeably. However,
there are important conceptual and practical differences between the two
types of organisation.
A CBO is used here to mean a grassroots membership organisation,
based in the community, which is locally managed and whose members are
its main beneficiaries. CBOs usually exist in just one community, or a group
of adjacent communities. In contrast, (local or international) NGOs are
service providers, which work for the benefit of the community. Staff may be
local, national or international, but are not necessarily drawn from the
beneficiary community. Although NGOs often employ participatory
approaches, they usually work in broader thematic and geographic areas
than do CBOs. In the long term, Burmese CBOs may be transformed (and/or
aggregated) into regional or thematic NGOs in their own right. A GONGO,
meanwhile, is a Government-Organised Non-Government Organisation.
State–Society Relations Under Military Rule7

For nearly half a century, the state has sought to penetrate and mobilise
Burma’s diverse social groups. Following the military takeover of 1958, and
especially after the 1962 coup d’etat, the government began extending its
control over previously autonomous aspects of social life. Kyaw Yin Hlaing
(in Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007: 155; parenthesis added) notes espe-
cially the significance of the 1964 National Security Act:
that outlawed all existing political organisations, and . . . allowed only

the BSPP and its affiliated organisations to exist . . . Furthermore, the
government also created [a number of GONGOs,] claiming they were
more formal channels for the public to make their needs and problems
known to the higher levels of government.
The Ne Win regime actively suppressed diverse social groups deemed anti-
pathetic to the modernising state-socialist project. The BSPP’s hostility
towards non-Burman cultural and political identities was epitomised by the
banning of minority languages from state schools, a move that drove a new
wave of disaffected ethnic minority citizens into rebellion in the 1960s.
According to David Steinberg, ‘‘civil society died under the BSPP; per-
haps, more accurately, it was murdered’’ (BCN and TNI 1999: 8). Under the
1974 constitution, all political activity beyond the strict control of the state
was outlawed (Taylor 1987: 303–09). By 1980, even the previously indepen-
dent sangha – members of which had played key roles in Burma’s struggle
for independence – had been brought under at least partial state control
(ibid. 112)8 Nevertheless, Burma’s 250,000 monks and novices retained a
prestige and influence that extended across all strata of society. Among the
few institutions in Burma not directly controlled by the state, the sangha
and the Christian churches remained among the most powerful sectors of
civil society (see below).
Popular participation may be mobilised either for – or against – an
authoritarian regime, and it seemed for a few weeks in the summer of 1988
that ‘‘people’s power’’ might prevail in Burma. The failure of the 1988
democracy uprising in Burma, like that of the May–June 1989 ‘‘democracy
spring’’ in China, was in part due to the underdeveloped nature of civil
society in these authoritarian states.
According to Alagappa (2004: 13; parenthesis added), ‘‘the rise and fail-
ure of the 1989 Tiananmen democracy movement . . . is attributed by [some]
scholars to the weakness of the incipient civil society’’. A lack of democratic
culture prevented powerful gestures of political theatre from initiating sustained
political change. Unlike those in Eastern Europe in the late 1980s, in the
Philippines in 1986, or in Thailand in 1992, the Burmese and Chinese
democracy activists had little social space within which to operate, or to
build upon the people’s evident desire for fundamental change. In parti-
cular, Burma and China had no counterpart to the Catholic Church or
trades unions, which played important roles in the Polish and Filipino
democracy movements. (Furthermore, capital markets and outside forces –
e.g. US pressure – played more important roles in determining the course of
events in the Philippines and Thailand than they did in isolated Burma and
China, with their relatively ‘‘closed’’ societies.)
The Ne Win regime had succeeded in denying social groups a foothold in
mainstream politics or the economy, except under strict state control.
Potential opposition was thereby marginalised and forced underground
(or into informal networks9), and could emerge only in times of crisis
and upheaval, presenting the military with a pretext to clamp-down on
‘‘anarchy’’ and ‘‘chaos’’ (thus, the State Law and Order Restoration
Council).
Under the SLORC, the operation of independent political parties (such
as the NLD) continued to be restricted, as were freedoms of expression and
association, and access to information and independent media. State–
society relations were further centralised, and attempts made to penetrate
and mobilise the country’s diverse social groups. Particularly following the
ascension of Senior General Than Shwe in 1992, social control was rein-
forced by the reformation of local militias and mass organisations, and the
indoctrination of civil servants. The police, and even the Fire Brigade were
brought under military control, and the SLORC established a number of
GONGOs, the formation of which was intended (Rudland and Pedersen
2000: 4) ‘‘to pre-empt the formation of a genuine civil society’’.
Organisations such as the Myanmar Maternal and Child Welfare Asso-
ciation (MMCWA) and Myanmar Red Cross Society (MRCS) were often
compromised by their relationship with the government, and their inde-
pendence was severely restricted. Nevertheless, many of their local staff were
committed to improving conditions in the communities where they worked.
Furthermore, due to the ‘‘top-down’’ command style of Burmese political
culture, such GONGOs could often work well with the authorities and
implement programmes quite efficiently.
The ‘‘mother of all Burmese GONGOs’’, the Union Solidarity and
Development Association (USDA, or Kyant Phut) was established in Sep-
tember 1993 (the year in which the National Convention opened). By 2007,
it had some 20 million members (Callahan 2007: 8), many of whom had
been pressurised into joining, and/or did not take their membership ser-
iously. Reflecting the Tatmadaw’s self-appointed state- and nation-building
role, the USDA’s objectives10 included upholding the regime’s ‘‘Three
National Causes’’ (non-disintegration of the union, non-disintegration of
national solidarity, and perpetuation of national solidarity).
Many observers expected the USDA to eventually be transformed into a
pro-regime political party, along the lines of GOLKAR in Indonesia. In
2006–07, elements of the USDA were involved in the intimidation and
harassment of protestors in Yangon and elsewhere.
Notwithstanding such heavy-handed attempts to suppress and co-opt
autonomous socio-political activities, since the early 1990s, civil society in
parts of Burma has undergone a limited regeneration. In part, this
development has been an inadvertent result of government policy, a con-
sequence of the ceasefire movement, of the increased presence of inter-
national NGOs in the country, and of the partial opening-up of the
economy. The local NGO and CBO sector in particular, has experi-
enced significant growth – both in government-controlled areas, and
beyond.
Civil Society Actors

Overseas-based activists and Burma-watchers sometimes assume that there
is no civil society in Burma. This is far from true. By 2007, extensive civil
society networks existed in and between the ceasefire and warzones of
Burma, as well as in areas under government control (the majority of the
country).
Zones of Ongoing Armed Conflict

As noted, the ideals of democracy have not always reflected in the practices
of armed ethnic groups in Burma. Indeed, aspects of life in the ‘‘liberated
zones’’ have generally been characterised by top-down tributary political
systems, which sometimes recall pre-colonial forms of socio-political
organisation. Insurgent leaders have tended to discourage the expression of
diverse opinions, and socio-political initiatives beyond the direct control
of militarised hierarchies have often been suppressed.
However, in recent years, civil society networks have begun to expand
in non-government controlled areas. The decline in military-political pro-
wess of Burma’s main insurgent groups in the 1980s and 1990s opened
the space for the emergence of new and more participatory forms of
social and political organisation within opposition ethnic nationality
communities. A number of NGOs were organised by Chin, Kachin, Shan,
Lahu, Karenni, Karen, Tavoyan, Mon and all-Burma student and
youth, women’s, environmental and human rights groups in the border
areas.
By 2006, a mapping exercise identified at least 160 Burmese CBOs oper-
ating along the Thailand border (confidential documents). Representing
new models of organisation, these networks constituted one of the most
dynamic aspects in an otherwise bleak political scene. As a result of their
activities, those engaged in the struggle for ethnic rights and self-determination
in Burma were obliged to acknowledge the importance of women’s rights,
community-level participation and democratic practices – not just as distant
goals, but as ongoing processes.
In a parallel development, since the 1990s the refugee and other relief
and welfare organisations along the Thailand border have also matured
in interesting ways. Like the women’s and youth wings associated with
most insurgent groups – e.g. the Karen Women’s Organisation (KWO)
and Karen Youth Organisation (KYO) – the Karen, Karenni and Mon
refugee committees were originally controlled by dominant factions
within the insurgent hierarchy.11 As noted, the fall of the liberated zones
in the 1990s caused the number of refugees in Thailand to grow, and the
camps to become gradually more internationalised. With the presence of
more international NGOs – and since 1998, UNHCR – the refugee
committees were obliged to become more responsive to their clients, the
refugees.
A particularly dynamic sub-sector of the border-based local NGO scene
was composed of cross-border relief and development groups. As noted, in
the early 1990s, Karen – and later Chin, Shan, Karenni and Mon – teams
began to provide humanitarian relief and undertake community develop-
ment and educational work among displaced communities, in what had
once been the ‘‘liberated zones’’ (behind the front-lines of war), but were
now mostly zones of ongoing armed conflict. In doing so, they helped to
develop community networks of trust and support, and to strengthen civil
society, under the most difficult of conditions.
Meanwhile, however, in those areas contested between the state and the
KNU (and other insurgent groups) the civilian population continued to
experience a range of systematic human rights of abuses. Conflict-affected
communities were also liable to be caught up in the state’s often draconian
‘‘development’’ programmes.
A 2007 report by the Karen Human Rights Group described how ‘‘the
SPDC’s ‘development’ agenda has . . . brought increased military control
over civilian lives, undermined villagers’ rights and delivered deleterious
humanitarian outcomes contradictory to the very rhetoric the junta has used
to justify its actions’’. The KHRG authors accused ‘‘foreign governments, UN
agencies and international NGOs of aiding the SPDC’s militarisation of
ethnic nationality-populated areas’’.
The KHRG correctly stated that ‘‘development programmes are inescap-
ably political acts [and] must meet the requirements of transparency and
accountability to the civilian population while furthermore ensuring that it
does not undermine the rights of local peoples’’. This report made impor-
tant points regarding the manner in which the military regime has sought to
co-opt development projects and practitioners, in order to make political
capital and undermine autonomous civil society initiatives. It was also
valuable in its focus on the voices of Karen villagers in Burma, and their
experience of the ‘‘SPDC development model’’.
However, while it addressed the militarisation of aid in government-
controlled projects, the KHRG failed to examine the political impacts of
assistance supplied via armed opposition groups (see Chapter Seven). Fur-
thermore, at a time when issues of aid to Burma were becoming increasingly
politicised, the KHRG seemed keen to attack those agencies inside Burma
that were trying to address underdevelopment, rather than engaging them in
dialogue.
Government-Controlled Areas
Although the state generally inhibits their formation, a variety of local civil
society networks exist among ethnic nationality communities inside Burma.
These include Christian and Buddhist organisations, and many traditional
village associations (e.g. funeral societies), as well as more formally estab-
lished local NGOs (e.g. literature and culture associations and business-
support groups). Examples of CBOs in Burma include farmer field schools
and other rural interest groups, village development committees, community
savings groups, early childhood centres, and local Parent–Teacher Associa-
tions (PTAs).12
A groundbreaking survey conducted in 2003–04 by Brian Heidel, of Save
the Children UK, found that large numbers of new CBOs and local NGOs
had been established during and since the 1990s, and that Burma ‘‘might be
on verge of [an] NGO/CBO explosion’’. The last time the country saw such
a marked increase in civil society activity was during the relatively open
1948–62 parliamentary era (Heidel 2006).
Publication of the SCUK survey meant it was no longer possible for
pundits to claim that ‘‘there is no civil society in Burma’’. It found that
some 214,000 CBOs were operating throughout the country, plus a total
of 270 local NGOs.13 Of the CBOs, 48 per cent were affiliated with religious
groups, 24 per cent were PTAs and 21 per cent ‘‘social organisations’’
(ibid. 42). However, less than half of the NGOs were legally registered with
the authorities (mostly under the 1988 Organisation of Association law).
The survey found that 63 per cent of local NGOs classified themselves as
‘‘religious’’, of which 43.2. per cent were associated with the Buddhist
community, and an equal number with the Christian churches (compared
with estimated populations of 90 per cent Buddhists and 5 per cent
Christians in Burma); 6.6 per cent were Muslim, and 4.5 per cent Hindu.
Several of these organisations are involved in inter-faith dialogue activities
(ibid. 8–17).
Most NGOs and CBOs were working at the ‘‘primary’’ level (welfare
activities), with a few NGOs expanding to the ‘‘secondary’’ level (community
development), but almost none at the ‘‘tertiary’’ level (rights-based activities, and
conflict resolution). Local NGO budgets varied greatly, averaging US$38,300
per year (derived mostly from international donors, but also raised from local
communities: ibid. 19–26).
Ceasefire Areas
The tentative re-emergence of civil society networks among and between local
communities ‘‘inside’’ Burma – beyond the zones of ongoing armed conflict – is a
complex phenomenon, owing much to the political space created by the ceasefire
process. As noted, the ceasefires are not peace treaties, and generally lack
all but the most rudimentary accommodation of the ex-insurgents’ political and
developmental demands. Furthermore, ethnic nationalist cadres are generally
more familiar with the ‘‘top-down’’ approaches used in military and poli-
tical campaigns, than with ‘‘bottom-up’’ development and conflict resolu-
tion methods. As elsewhere in the country, local initiatives are frequently
undermined by poor governance, parallel exploitative practices, and a lack of
strategic planning and implementation capacities. Nevertheless, the ceasefires
have created some opportunities for the reconstruction of war-torn commu-
nities.
According to the Human Rights Foundation of Monland’s Mon Forum
(May 2005):
although there have been many negative developments after the 1995
ceasefire between the NMSP and SPDC . . . the people in Mon areas
could travel and communicate easily and could launch the community’s
practices more than before the ceasefire. This is also the positive devel-
opment after ceasefire for the Mon CBOs.
However, few indigenous Burmese NGOs have been allowed to register

legally with the authorities in Yangon. This is why religious – and particularly
church-based – groups play such important roles (see below).
The two most well-known ‘‘aboveground’’ local NGOs in Burma were
established after the 1994 KIO–SLORC ceasefire. The Shalom Foundation
was founded in 2001 by the Reverend Saboi Jum, a key figure in the cease-
fire process. It worked on mediation and conflict resolution issues, building
capacity in these key sectors.
The Metta Development Foundation was established in 1998, and ten
years later had a budget of well over US$500,000. Although its importance
to the broader scale of development initiatives in Burma was sometimes
overstated by admirers, Metta was a success story that other fledgling local
NGOs and CBOs sought to emulate. Metta implemented projects in Kachin,
Shan, Karenni, Karen and Mon States, and the Irrawaddy Delta, which
employed participatory methods, encouraging the creation of village-level CBOs
and action plans.
However, Metta Director Daw Seng Raw, has complained that (Robert
Taylor 2001: 161–62):
many ethnic groups feel extremely disappointed that in general foreign

governments are not responding to the progress of these ceasefire or
indeed even understand their significance or context. Rather, it seems
that certain sectors of the international community have the fixed idea
that none of the country’s deep problems, including ethnic minority
issues, can be addressed until there is an over-arching political solution
based upon developments in Rangoon.
New organisations like Metta and Shalom were not countrywide institu-
tions or membership groups, but often acted as facilitators and innovators
for longer-established associations. Many of the latter were religious bodies,
among the few non-government controlled social institutions allowed to
exist in Burma, especially under the BSPP.
The Anglican, Baptist, Roman Catholic and other churches in Burma
had well over two million members. Although most of their activities were
religious-pastoral, the churches devoted considerable energy and resources
(including some international funds) to education, social welfare and com-
munity development projects, including in some armed conflict-affected
areas (Lorch 2007). However, they also faced considerable skills and capacity
constraints (Heidel 2006: 65–66).
Many Buddhist voluntary associations and networks existed too.
Although senior monks had often been co-opted by the military regime, the
sangha still had great potential as a catalyst in civil and political affairs (see
below). However, Buddhist and other traditional networks tended to be loca-
lised, and centred on individual monks, who did not conceptualise or present
their aims in a manner readily intelligible to Western agencies or donors. Such
non-formal approaches were, therefore, often invisible to Western (and
Western-trained) INGO staff.
The ‘‘Other Karen’’

Since 1949, the KNU has pursued a strategy of armed conflict against the
central government, which has come to dominate public discourse regarding
Karen nationalism in Burma. For those living in government-controlled
areas (a sizeable majority of the Karen population), identification with the
KNU’s militant nation-building exercise remained a central element of
political belief – especially for Christians and disaffected young people. It
should not be doubted that – even after the setbacks of 1994–95, 1997 and
2005–07 – the KNU remained a key political actor, with perhaps a unique
role to play. However, it represented only one strand of the Karen nation-
alist community.
As Will Womack (2005: 198) notes:
The international press (popular and academic), cut off from mean-
ingful contact inside Burma’s borders, has been concerned primarily
with the largely KNU-oriented Karen diaspora in Thailand, Britain,
and the United States. Yet for many years, the Karen communities
inside Burma have maintained their identity in the structures of civil
society . . . largely in the form of religious institutions and official
literature and culture committees.
These ‘‘other Karen’’ voices have been marginalised in discussions of Karen

nationalism in Burma, especially in the English language discourses produced
by outside actors (missionaries, aid workers and activists). Nevertheless,
those Karen civilians who are not members or active supporters of the
KNU constitute a very large majority of the population.14
The ‘‘Union Karen’’

The ‘‘Union Karen’’ perspective incorporates a loosely defined set of ideas
of Karen nationalism quite different to the KNU’s militarised nation-
building programme. Associated with elites in Yangon and the Irrawaddy
Delta, this less aggressive nationalist stance has sought an accommodation
with the state of Burma/Myanmar, rather than challenging its foundations.
A broad range of Union Karen views were quite well-represented through
the independence and parliamentary periods, for example, by the Karen
Youth Organisation (KYO), in the post-Second World War years. However,
since the imposition of military rule in 1962, and especially following the
events of 1988–90, the Union Karen voice has been marginalised, in com-
parison with the uncompromising rhetoric produced by opposition groups
along the Thailand border.
In part, this exclusion is explained by government restrictions on inter-
national access to Karen groups working inside the country. However, rela-
tively few outside agencies have actually made efforts to engage with this
sector of Karen political and civil society. Members of the Burma activist
community often assume that any socio-political actors working ‘‘inside’’
the country must be stooges of the military government. (In its most
extreme form, opposition discourse denies the legitimacy of any activity
carried out in government-controlled areas, beyond the out-and-out opposi-
tion of the NLD and its allies.) Furthermore, due to the restrictions and
frustrations of working in military-ruled Burma, the Union Karen have had
to adopt strategies of subterfuge, working behind-the-scenes, in ways that do
not attract attention, and producing writings that have to be read between-
the-lines.
Karen community and (‘‘small-p’’) political leaders have been active in
government-controlled areas of Burma throughout the period of military
rule (South April 2007). In most cases, these Union Karen networks operate
under the patronage (and ‘‘umbrella of protection’’) of a handful of
mostly elderly politicians, many of whom are retired state officials, or poli-
ticians who ‘‘returned to the legal fold’’ in the 1950s and 1960s (often
due to frustration with the KNU’s hard-line nationalist position). In most
cases, these elites subscribe to a broad, and not particularly sophisticated,
Christian-oriented Karen identity, similar to that held by border-based
groups. However, they do not perceive a fundamental contradiction
between citizenship of a centrally governed state, and the pursuit of greater
economic, social, cultural and linguistic autonomy for their community.
Karen actors inside Burma operate in a very constricted and shifting
political space. In general, this diverse community has sought to engage
with the government, to win limited concessions, and create the social and
political space within which civil society actors may operate. The wide range
of activities carried out by CBOs and local NGOs within this loose network
demonstrate that it is possible to forge space for autonomous community
organisation, at least at the local level in Burma.
The danger of exposing vulnerable groups and individuals precludes a
detailed description of Karen networks operating inside Burma. However,
at least 35 Karen groups are legally registered with the authorities (con-
fidential documents). In addition, two Karen political parties are tolerated
by the government.
The Karen National Congress for Democracy (KNCD) was founded
in 1989 by Saw Harry Si; most members are Christians. Although it
fielded candidates in the 1990 general election, they did not win any seats,
and the KNCD has since been closely allied with the NLD. The KNCD
was banned by the SLORC government in 1991, but its leaders were not
arrested.
The Union Karen League (UKL) was established by Delta Karen at
the end of the colonial period, in 1946 (Martin Smith 1999: 147). Many
members are Pwo Buddhists. In the 1950s, the UKL Chairman, and Karen
State Education Minister, Ba Maung Chein, attempted to mediate between
the KNU and the government. In 2007, the UKL was still officially regis-
tered, and led by Saw Than Aung. It attended the National Convention,
where it mostly supported the government. The aptly named Union Karen
Organisation (UKO) is also firmly pro-government in its views (Gravers
2007: 247).
Alan Saw U, a key Karen civil society actor in Burma, has stated (in
Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007: 221) that:
Many Karen people in Myanmar have become very weary and fed up
with the prolonged civil war and its consequences. They are of the opi-
nion that it is imperative . . . to direct their energies to mobilising their
cultural wisdom, [inter-faith] religious knowledge and social under-
standing so as to constructively work towards a better future. Since the
beginning of the 1990s, various Karen groups in Myanmar have been
trying . . . to build confidence and strengthen capacities of the various
elements in the Karen community and to foster cooperation between
them. The Karen leaders in Myanmar have projected the idea of trans-
ferring the ‘armed struggle in the battle field’ to the ‘political struggle
around the table’.
Thra Alan goes on to provide a surprisingly frank account of civil society
and low-profile political developments within the Karen community, since
the mid-1990s (the details of which are corroborated by the present author’s
own experience). He describes activities in the fields of peace-making,
including various initiatives to resolve the armed conflict, undertaken by
Karen community (mostly religious) leaders (ibid. 222–25). He also analyses
community development and humanitarian activities undertaken by a range
of Karen civil society groups, including establishment of the Karen Devel-
opment Committee (KDC) in June 1994 (ibid. 226–234).
Over the following decade, under the able leadership of Dr Simon Tha,
the KDC developed an innovative health care programme. The initial Kwe
Ka Baw clinic at Insein (the name of which was taken from the famous
limestone outcrop near Pa’an – a symbol of the Karen nation) was followed
by outlets elsewhere in Yangon, and in other towns across the country. Dr
Simon’s team also undertook regular mobile outreach trips to remote parts
of the country, including armed-conflict affected areas of Karen State and
elsewhere (Field Notes 14 May 2006).15 Other KDC projects included the
Karen Women’s Action Group (KWAG), and the Rising Sun youth group.
In April 2002, the Karen Peace Mediator Group (KPMG) convened the
first Karen Forum on Development, at the Karen State capital of Pa’an.
The opening address was given by Professor Tun Aung Chein, the retired
director of the Myanmar Historical Commission, and a leading member of
the Union Karen community.
This revival in community activism also led to the formation of the
Karen Development Network (KDN), which emerged out of the KDC
Education Sub-Committee in 2002, and was formally established in 2004.
Originally a loose network of individuals, drawn from a number of Karen
(and later Karenni and Mon Christian) organisations, the KDN focussed
particularly on networking and training, at the leadership and community
levels. It established an internationally accredited distance-learning Com-
munity Management Programme, implemented at centres in Yangon,
Moulmein, Pa’an, Bathein, Toungoo, Lashio and elsewhere. The KDN also
convened a series of meetings, leading to a co-ordinated approach to doc-
umenting and analysing the situation and needs of internally displaced
populations in Burma.
In 2005–07, the KDN enhanced its co-ordination activities, and began
the delicate process of prioritising assessments of needs among displaced
communities. It also sought funds for, and began implementing projects to
meet the needs of, displaced Karen and other communities inside Burma.
The KDN also helped to organise a series of annual exposure trips, in
which Karen youth and community organisers from inside Burma visited
community projects in Thailand and along the border.
These considerable achievements notwithstanding, the KDN remained a
Christian-dominated organisation. However, representatives of the Buddhist
community did participate in most of the network’s activities.
Over the past decade, and especially following the KNU–SPDC ‘‘Gen-
tleman’s Agreement’’ of December 2004, contacts have increased between
Karen leaders from inside Burma (especially those representing Christian
communities), and those on the border. Although necessarily remaining
low-profile, such relationship-building has helped to strengthen ‘‘human
capital’’ within and between Karen communities. (However, the participation
of some ‘‘Rangoon Karen’’ in the Htein Maung adventure earned those
involved considerable distrust in the community.)
Primordial Voices
The Christian-dominated (mostly S’ghaw-speaking) Karen elites described
above constitute only a small minority within the wider Karen society. As
Womack (2005: 149) notes:
many overlapping and sometimes competing identities persist in the

Karen world . . . While missionaries and colonial agents participated in
many of these interactions during the nineteenth century, the impact of
their participation is often overstated. The adoption of what are
assumed to be ‘western’ modes of behaviour, idioms of power, institu-
tional structures, and stylistic trappings must be considered within the
context of local culture and historical experience.
Karen society has produced various – sometimes competing – expressions
of ethno-nationalism, many of which emanate from historically margin-
alised sections of the community. These projects have generally not been
granted significant legitimacy by outsiders, as they are not framed within
the ‘‘rational-bureaucratic’’ discourse favoured by socio-political analysis.
Mikael Gravers (1999) and Will Womack (2005 PhD) have documented
the emergence of rebellious millenarian sects among Karen communities in
Burma, since before the nineteenth century. As noted, during the colonial
era, elements of the mission-educated Christian community articulated,
and – with the help of their missionary patrons – attempted to consolidate a
modern pan-Karen identity, which broadly supported the colonialists’
‘‘civilising enterprise’’. Meanwhile, other elements of the Karen community
were engaged in more localised forms of mobilisation.
In most cases, colonial era rebellions originated with charismatic leaders
in the remote hill-tracts, who often aspired to the status of min laung
(Buddhist messianic prince).16 Concentrated especially in the Papun-Salw-
een areas, colonial-era millenarian projects were as much expressions of
religious and localised political identity, as emanations of a self-consciously
‘‘Karen’’ nation-building project. Nevertheless, many of the main actors
were Karennic-speakers, whose aims included the creation of a socio-political
space, for the enjoyment and expression of proto-Karen identities.17
Locally-centered millenarian sects – led by charismatic figures, often
credited with occult powers – have continued to emerge among Karen
communities in crises. Among the most well-known of these in the modern
period have been the Telecon and Leke cults. Both of these millenarian,
syncretic Buddhist–animist groups await a Karen saviour, who will lead the
people in a spiritual and social – and perhaps, political – revival.18
The Telecon
At least two branches of the long-haired Telecon (or Telakhon) sect exist, in
the villages of Kya-In Seik Kyi and Kawkareik Townships (KNLA Sixth,
and parts of Seventh Brigade). Sadly, the majority of the original 40-plus
Telecon villages Kya-In Seik Kyi fled to the border in the late 1990s, as a
result of Tatmadaw offensives against the KNU.
The Telecon sect was founded by a charismatic spiritual leader – the Poo
Kyaik – in the mid-nineteenth century. While acknowledging the importance
of the historical Buddha (Gautama), the Telecon look toward the coming of
a ‘‘white monk’’, who will prepare the way for the future Buddha-to-come
(Arimettaya). In the meantime, members of the cult (who include both
S’ghaw and Pwo speakers) – and especially its cadre of monks – observe
numerous taboos, and perform various rituals associated with the Karen
animist heritage. Telecon leaders have at times positioned themselves as the
‘‘true’’ Karen, guardians of the ancient heritage, in opposition to the mod-
ernist KNU.
Until quite recently, Telecon monks in the Kawkareik area engaged in
military activities, especially during the full-moon period, when their faith
and purity – together with magical practices and assorted talismans – was
considered to make them invulnerable. With the aid of various supernatural
entities (including life-size, animated statues), they have occasionally
engaged the Tatmadaw, but with only mixed success. Martin Smith (1999:
Appendix) recounts how the Telecon attacked a Tatmadaw outpost in
Kyaikto in 1967, after first giving the garrison there a written warning. As
this was not taken seriously, the Telecon force was able to kill several gov-
ernment soldiers. However, when the attackers returned, 24 of their number
were killed by the Tatmadaw.
In KNLA Sixth Brigade in 1972, the Poo Kyaik – who was twelfth in
succession from the sect’s founder – explicitly challenged the KNU for local
leadership of the Karen nationalist community, calling the Telecon the only
culturally ‘‘pure’’ Karen.19 Having been invited to the brigade headquarters
for talks, a dozen Telecon leaders were put on trial, and executed at the
orders of the Sixth Brigade Commander. Since the 1970s, however, KNU–
Telecon relations in the area have been fairly trouble-free (at least according
to the thirteenth Poo Kyaik, when the author visited his forest temple on
several occasions in the mid-1990s). However, Telecon relations with the
Thai authorities have been more problematic.
In November 1992, the Telecon of Thug Yai Naresuan forest (a World
Heritage site, north of Sangkhlaburi on the Thailand–Burma border),
became embroiled in clashes with the Thai Border Patrol Police, who had
disrupted their religious practices. The conflict lead to the death of five
policemen, and six Karen villagers (The Bangkok Post 7 February 1993).
Further clashes occurred during the 1999 dry season (Reiner Buergin, in
Delang 2003: 43).
The Leke
This sect was established in 1860 at Hnitya village near Pa’an, during a
period of ‘‘religious fervour’’, and competition between Baptist missionaries
and indigenous religious leaders, east of the Salween River (Womack 2005:
154). Like the Telecon, the predominantly Pwo-speaking Leke (or Lehkai)
are a millennial sect, who look to the coming of Buddha Arimettaya. Also,
like the Telecon, their spiritual specialists wear long white smocks, and keep
their hair in top-knots.
Leke villages are found in the Megatha Forest complex, on either side of
the border around Three Pagodas Pass, and in the Kwe Ka Baw (Burmese:
Zwe Kabin) area, near Pa’an. Less militaristically inclined than the Telecon,
the Leke refer to a holy book composed in the ‘‘chicken-scratch’’ script,
which is possibly the earliest Karen orthography (ibid. ch. 6).20
God’s Army
Millenarian tendencies have also emerged in Karen communities further
to the South, in Tenasserim Division (KNLA Fourth Brigade). ‘‘God’s
Army’’ – or ‘‘The Soldiers of the Holy Mountain’’ – was formed in the
immediate aftermath of the major Tatmadaw offensive against the KNU,
in February 1997. Following the collapse of the Kaw Thoo Lei forces, villa-
gers and KNLA remnants in the Htee Hta-Mor Hta area rallied around
two 12-year-old twins – Johnny and Luther Htoo – who led their followers
to some surprising, if minor victories, in armed clashes with the invading
forces.21
Guided – or manipulated – by local Karen elders, the twins and their
200-strong, rag-tag militia enjoyed some notoriety in the Thai and interna-
tional media. However, God’s Army eventually broke up, under pressure
from the Thai authorities, following the bloody siege of a hospital in
Ratchaburi (Thailand) in January 2000. This incident was blamed on God’s
Army, but was in fact instigated by the shadowy Vigorous Burmese Student
Warriors (VBSW),22 whose members had taken refuge with the twins and
their followers, before taking-over the hospital (and, ultimately, being killed
by the Thai security forces).
Following their surrender to the Thai authorities in 2000, the Htoo twins
were quietly settled at Don Yang refugee camp, near Sangkhlaburi, where
they later married and had children of their own. In June 2006, Johnny
returned to Burma, having apparently been tricked into leaving Don Yang
refugee camp, by government intelligence operatives. By this time, Saw Shwe
Bya, one of the original adult leaders of God’s Army had joined forces with
the Tatmadaw, and established a ‘‘Karen Peace Group’’ near Myitta, on the
Tenasserim River (Field Notes 23 April and 9 June 2007).
The DKBA and Karen Buddhist Nationalism

Outsiders have generally regarded the traditionally oriented movements
sketched above as historical or cultural oddities. The Telecon et al. have not
been deemed serious political actors, largely because such groups have
expressed their concerns and aspirations, and organised their activities,
according to traditional conceptions of power. Another group of non-Christian
(often Pwo-speaking) Karen political actors is also associated with tradi-
tional elements of the community, but in the more easily (for outsiders)
digestible form of the Buddhist sangha.
The DKBA is of particular interest, as it represents a full-blown Karen
nationalist project, in direct military and political competition with the
KNU. The Buddhist-nationalist idea of ‘‘Karen-ness’’ is derived from many
of the same historical roots as the mainstream KNU, with additional
themes drawn from the rich Buddhist tradition (for example, both the KNU
and DKBA claim KNU founder Saw Ba U Gyi as a key progenitor).
However, the Karen Buddhist community in Burma encompasses more
than just the DKBA (in the same way as the Christian community is not
limited to the KNU political–cultural milieu). In particular, a number of
prominent Karen monks have been among the most influential civil society
leaders in the country.
For centuries, monasteries in Burma have functioned as havens of peace
and refuge (Gravers 2007), and Karen monks have long provided assistance
to vulnerable members of the laity. In recent years in Karen State, this has
especially been the case at Myaing Gyi Ngu and in some other DKBA-
controlled areas, and most famously at the Thamanya monastery near
Pa’an. The late sayadaw of this large monastic complex (an ethnic PaO)
oversaw a feeding programme of more than 10,000 people a day, supported
mainly by the donations of pilgrims. Although the venerable, 93-year-old
monk passed away in December 2003, his successors continued his work,
albeit on a somewhat reduced scale.
One of the most prominent of a younger generation of Karen monks was
the abbot of a monastery just north of Pa’an. A highly perceptive and
charismatic individual, this sayadaw was able to mobilise the community
around agricultural and other local development projects; he also played a
leading role in inter-faith dialogue with Karen Christian leaders. His influ-
ence extended throughout central Karen State, where he was regarded as a
‘‘democracy monk’’, and something of a competitor to U Thuzana, patron
of the DKBA. As such, he received considerably less support from the
government than has the Myaing Gyi Ngu sayadaw.
Case Studies: Post-Ceasefire Rehabilitation in Kachin and Mon States
Chapter Five examined the background to, and dynamics of, the ceasefires,
including the many problematic developments. Although assessments of
these truces remain contested, there have been some important peace
dividends.
Kachin State
The NDA-K and KIO truces ended more than 30 years of armed con-
flict in Kachin State. Following the 1994 ceasefire, the KIO organised the
return of some refugees from China (although the majority underwent
‘‘spontaneous’’ repatriation23). Over the following half-decade, with assis-
tance from Kachin NGOs – mainly the Kachin Baptist Convention (KBC),
and the Metta and Shalom Foundations – the KIO also resettled about
60,000 IDPs, in KIO- and joint KIO and government-controlled zones
(KIO 1995).
These rehabilitation activities were not well documented, mostly due to
the absence of international support. Furthermore, due to the limited
human and financial resources available, resettlement and reconstruction
projects often exhibited poor strategic and site planning, and there was only
limited consultation with affected communities. Nevertheless, the KIO
implemented an impressive range of infrastructure developments, building a
network of roads,24 bridges, schools and clinics (see below).
Electrification
In the decade after the ceasefire, the KIO made significant progress in
harnessing the natural resources of Kachin State, although often at con-
siderable cost to the environment. A particular focus of development activities
was the generation of hydro-power (Lum Dau 2002: 17).
In a symbolically important development, which encapsulated much of
what the KIO hoped to achieve through the ceasefire, in late 2006 the
organisation’s Buga Company was ready to supply Myitkyina with elec-
tricity, from the Mali hydro-power project.25 Twelve years after the cease-
fire, the KIO was prepared to demonstrate its centrality to the development
of Kachin State, by improving the woefully inadequate supply of power to
the state capital (where most households received only a few hours of elec-
tricity a day, at best). However, at the time of writing (August 2007), the
Tatmadaw Regional Commander was blocking this possibility, due to con-
cerns that the KIO would gain enhanced respect among the population,
should it be credited with improving their daily lives in so dramatic a
manner.
On a local level, since the mid-1990s, several villages along the China
border had paid for connection to the Chinese electricity supply grid, by
allowing logging companies to operate in the surrounding forests. Unfortu-
nately, the villagers were often cheated of their trees, but received little
substantial development assistance in return.
Health and Education

The KIO received some international support for health and education
programmes. In 1997, the organisation was operating 28 hospitals or health
centres; a decade later, it administered 10 hospitals and 65 clinics, as well as
mobile health teams (Field Notes 10 October 2003 and 29 March 2005).
However, many villages still had no access to health care, due to the rough
terrain and poor roads in most KIO-controlled areas.
In 2005–06 the KIO Education Department administered 150 schools
(including four high schools and 16 middle schools), teaching over 15,000 stu-
dents.26 These followed the government curriculum, but included Kachin
(mostly Jinghpaw) language classes. In an important post-ceasefire develop-
ment, repeated in Mon State and elsewhere (see below), Kachin national high-
school graduates were able to sit government university entrance examinations.
There was also a KIO Teacher Training School at Mai Ja Yang, on the
Chinese border (see below), from which 350 trainees graduated between 1998
and 2006. Most went on to teach in KIO primary and middle schools, or
became KIO officials. Although this institution was housed in an impressive
new building, human and educational resources remained quite limited.
Opium Eradication
The KIO banned opium production and drug trafficking in 1991, and has a
record of fairly strict narcotics eradication and control. However, patches of
poppy cultivation still existed in 2007, and had been expanding since 2003
(UNODC 2006). In 2002, the KIO and NDA-K (and further to the south,
the KDA), instigated a fairly rigorous opium eradication campaign (Field
Notes and Jinghpaw language documents: March 2005). However, villagers
were rarely helped to pursue alternative livelihoods or plant different crops,
as the Kachin organisations had very limited funds available for such
programmes, which were not assisted by the international community.
Nevertheless, since the ceasefires, a number of UN agencies and INGOs
have begun operations in Kachin State. Although most work only in gov-
ernment-controlled areas, there are a few internationally supported projects
in the KIO ceasefire areas, and a few donors have funded local NGOs
working on both sides of the ‘‘ceasefire front-line’’.
Welfare and the Environment

Since the 1990s, a non-state ‘‘GONGO’’, the Kachin Relief and Develop-
ment Committee (KRDC), has undertaken liaison between KIO departments
and a limited number of INGOs, as well as implementing its own welfare
programmes. Another local agency with strong links to the KIO is the
Kachin Women’s Association (KWA), which runs popular nursery and pri-
mary schools, and a string of community health centres. Like several other
post-ceasefire development initiatives, these projects have in part been
funded by logging concessions, granted by the KIO.
In response to the large-scale deforestation and environmental degrada-
tion that has characterised post-ceasefire Kachin State, a handful of ‘‘green
CBOs’’ have been established. According to Zao Noam (2007):
local NGOs, CBOs and (mainly Christian) faith-based organisations . . .

have been working quietly with local communities in ethnic areas on
projects directly or indirectly related to the environment for the past
decade. Activities include capacity-building, small-scale sustainable
development projects, environmental education and awareness, farmer-
to-farmer exchange programmes, indigenous seed cultivar preservation
and exchange, sustainable agriculture demonstration plots, community
forestry, agro-forestry, and documentation of environmental threats,
among many others. Some INGOs have also been supporting grass-
roots environmentalism through small-scale projects carried out by
local field staff, usually of the same ethnicity as their target group,
working out of provincial and township offices.
Elsewhere, Noam (2004) notes that:
Environmentalism is a strategy open to all players. At the same time

that the Burmese military government appropriates environmentalism
to support their political needs . . . ethnic political opposition groups
also put environment on their agenda.27 . . .
The Kachin activists take advantage of the seemingly apolitical
environment arena by becoming involved in environmental activism
that focuses on environmental-human rights – a window into social
justice and local capacity building. Environment, then, acts as a politi-
cally less threatening cover to engage in socio-political resistances pre-
cisely because of the apolitical tone of global environmentalism . . .
ethnic resistance in Kachin State is converging into an emerging pan-
Kachin ‘ethno-ecological movement’.
Among other local organisations, the KBC and Myanmar Baptist Conven-
tion (MBC) have implemented environmental awareness raising, research
and conservation programmes. These ‘‘eco-Christian networks’’ (to use
Noam’s phrase) are complemented by the low-profile environmental con-
servation activities of some Buddhist laypeople and monks, and a growing
number of secular environmental CBOs.28
The Kachin Baptist Convention
The KBC has a network of over 300 local churches in Kachin State. It runs
several schools in remote areas, which the KIO and government education
departments are unable to reach. However, even the well-motivated Baptist
communities are short of teachers, as it is ‘‘difficult to persuade relatively
better educated youth to return to the hills, once they have received an
education in town’’ (Field Notes 11 January 2005).
In 2005, the KBC’s Development Department consisted of 13 staff, plus
local association representatives. It implemented income generation, micro-
finance and fish farming projects, and worked with communities to develop
appropriate local farming techniques. However, KBC staff complained that
they could do more, and work in more remote areas, if donors were more
flexible regarding often arduous monitoring requirements (ibid.).
The Pan-Kachin Development Society

The PKDS was established after the ceasefire by the influential – and con-
troversial – Kachin businessman, Bawmwang La Raw. With some funding
from international donors, it ran projects in Thailand, and in some KIO-
controlled areas, including agriculture schemes, computer and English lan-
guage courses, an HIV/AIDS programme, and environmental, political and
human rights trainings.
The PKDS opened a Pan-Kachin College at Mai Ja Yang in October
1999, with donations from the KIO and prominent Kachin businessmen.
The college encourages critical thinking and political discussion among the
students, the best of whom are sometimes found scholarship places at fur-
ther education institutes in India and Thailand (Field Notes 12 July 2004).
Since its founder fell-out with the KIO leadership in late 2003, relations
between PKDS and the ‘‘mother organisation’’ have often been strained.
Tensions came to a head in October 2005, when the KIO censored a forth-
coming PKDS environmental report, which was critical of both the Gov-
ernment and Kachin leaderships’ logging activities. Since then, the KIO has
from time-to-time threatened to close (or take over) the Pan-Kachin Col-
lege.
Mai Ja Yang: a KIO New Town

Mai Ja Yang is located on the China border, 75 km south of the KIO
headquarters at Pajao, and 20 km south of Warabum (which until 2003 was
the KIA Third Brigade headquarters). Ten years after the ceasefire, this was
the largest KIO-controlled town, and – together with Laiza – the only offi-
cial non-government controlled border crossing in Kachin State. Much of
the KIO Eastern Division’s income was derived from the tax gate on the
China border (Field Notes 10 November 2003).
The little town had become something of an epicentre for development
activities undertaken by the KIO, and by local NGOs like the PKDS. In the
mid-1990s the KIO Eastern Division’s Rural Development Committee
launched an ambitious development scheme in Mai Ja Yang, building a
large hotel, and a hospital and school. In total, since the ceasefire, the KIO
has constructed 51 basic nursery and primary schools (plus contributions
towards building 41 government schools), 19 clinics, and two hospitals in
the Eastern Division. At least 49 km of road have also been constructed,
connecting several of the dozen new villages along the border (Field Notes
13 November 2003).
In 2001, Chinese businessmen opened the first of several casinos in Mai
Ja Yang, under licence of the KIO. As with the half-dozen other non-state
controlled, casino-driven boom towns along the Sino–Burmese border (e.g.
Laukkai in SR1 and Mong La in SR4), the gambling business brought with
it an increase in the sex and drugs trades. The impacts on local communities
were also felt across the border in China. In response, the Chinese autho-
rities have on several occasions applied pressure on the KIO to close down
the casinos, at least temporarily.
Mon State29
As well as providing humanitarian supplies (rice and medicines) to the
repatriated Mon refugees, after 1995 the TBBC and MSF France worked
with the Mon Relief and Development Committee (MRDC) to develop
basic infrastructure (schools, bridges, wells and hospitals) in the resettle-
ment areas. Meanwhile, as a consequence of ongoing human rights abuses
(especially in Ye and Yebyu Townships), thousands of (Type 1 and 2) IDPs
continued to enter the NMSP ceasefire zones. Many were resettled by the
Mon authorities in a dozen new ‘‘IDP villages’’, where they received some
cross-border aid.
Health and Livelihoods

The Mon returnees and IDPs faced chronic livelihoods and food security
problems, as there was insufficient land available in the resettlement areas
for most families to cultivate rice farms. Therefore, they remained partially
dependant on continued humanitarian aid.
In 2005 (following their withdrawal from the Karen refugee camps),
MSF-France experienced increasing difficulties from the Thai authorities
in gaining permissions to work across the border from Sangkhlaburi, in
the Mon ceasefires zones. When MSF pulled-out at the end of the year, the
Mon returnees were left without medical support, in an area characterised
by very high levels of drug-resistant malaria. Fortunately, by 2007 the
TBBC had mobilised a small group of INGOs and donors, to respond to
this health crisis. However, in order to encourage the Mon returnees to
grow more of their own food, the TBBC’s support to this population was
pegged at 60 per cent of estimated needs, causing many of the poorest and
most marginalised families in the resettlement sites to withdraw their chil-
dren from school (IMNA 20 June 2007).
As of mid-2007, the Mon refugee authorities reported that 11,649 people
were living at four main NMSP-controlled resettlement sites along the
border (MRDC July 2007).30 The majority of Mon civilians – including
most of those in the NMSP-controlled ceasefire zones – lived in longer-
established (‘‘organic’’) villages, beyond the resettlement sites. For many of
these people, the post-ceasefire period had seen increased agricultural pro-
duction, and new opportunities to trade across the former front-lines of
conflict.
Culture, Community Development and Education

One of the most rapidly growing sectors of Mon civil society since the cea-
sefire had been among artists and traditional performance troupes. More
explicitly ethno-nationalist activities were conducted by Mon National Day
celebration committees, although the authorities generally restricted the
celebration of this lunar event (held every February) to the boundaries of
Mon State.
Important progress was also made at the level of community develop-
ment. For example, since the ceasefire, the NMSP-affiliated Mon Women’s
Organisation (MWO) had succeeded in extending its income generation,
adult literacy and other training activities beyond the NMSP-controlled
zones, to Mon communities across lower Burma. Having been confined to
the Mon refugee camps before the ceasefire, after 1995 the MWO flour-
ished. Efforts to promote gender equity within the male-dominated NMSP
received a small boost in 2006, when the party selected its first woman
Central Committee member, who was given responsibility for running the
Education Department.
Like the KIO and other armed ethnic groups, the NMSP administered a
substantial education system, which relied on both community and donor
support. Despite some serious setbacks, during the 2006–07 school year the
party managed to run 186 Mon National Schools and 189 ‘‘mixed’’ schools
(shared with the state system), attended by nearly 58,236 pupils (NMSP
2007), 70 per cent of whom lived in government-controlled areas. Like
graduates of the Kachin National School system, students who passed
through the NMSP-run high schools were able to sit government matricu-
lation exams, and enter the state higher education system.
The success of the NMSP education system served to bolster the party’s
standing and perceived legitimacy within the Mon community. It was,
therefore, not surprising that local Tatmadaw commanders and government
officials often moved to close down Mon National Schools. Although this
suppression was well documented (e.g. The Mon Forum January and
December 2005), most of these schools re-opened after a short hiatus, or
were replaced by new Mon National Schools opening elsewhere. However,
the continued expansion of the Mon education system was generally
ignored by Thailand-based human rights activists, who preferred in their
advocacy to focus on the bad news coming out of Burma, rather than
positive developments. (However, since 2005, the NMSP schools have come
under renewed and concerted pressure by the state authorities.)
Although the NMSP and other ceasefire groups provided the political
and military space within which civil society re-emerged after the ceasefires,
the key actors often came from religious and social welfare networks. These
included ethnic minority literature and culture promotion groups, many of
which had been established in the 1950s, only to be suppressed after 1962.
Since the early 1990s, the Chin, Karen, Kachin, Mon, PaO, Shan and
other Literature and Culture Committees have been among the few specifi-
cally ethnic-orientated, non-religious organisations tolerated by the govern-
ment. As the state school system has deteriorated, such networks have
pioneered alternative community education approaches.31 For example, long
before the NMSP ceasefire, Mon literacy training and cultural education
had been organised on an ad hoc basis, by individual monasteries across
Mon State. The year after the truce, between April and May 1996, about
10,000 students received training under the auspices of a new Mon Litera-
ture and Buddhist Culture Association (MLBCA), together with the Mon
Literature and Culture Committee (MLCC). The eager trainees studied
Mon language, culture and ethno-history, sitting competitive exams in each
of these subjects. By 1997, nearly 27,000 students participated, and by 2000
the number had risen to 46,435 (Mon Language Literacy Training Course
2005 Report).
Despite some attempts by the government and military authorities to
restrict their activities (by asking monks and parents not to participate, or
setting up rival, Burmese language courses), over the next few years the
MLBCA extended the literacy trainings from the countryside to several
towns across Mon State. By 2006, 63,310 state school students (60 per cent
of them girls), studied Mon in over a hundred monasteries and schools, in
14 townships across lower Burma (Mon and Karen States, and Tenasserim
Division).
Only a small proportion of the funds for this major initiative came from
foreign donors, the rest being raised within the community, at pagoda festi-
vals, etc. Members of the sangha in particular were able to mobilise the Mon
community to support the literacy programme, while at the same time nego-
tiating with the military authorities to allow the trainings to go ahead.
However, in June 2007, reports began to emerge that the township
authorities in Mon State – and elsewhere, including Shan State32 – were
refusing to allow Literature and Culture Associations to renew their official
registration (IMNA 6 June 2007). The government was moving to suppress
autonomous civil society (and potential political) actors, in the run-up to a
referendum and elections, following the completion of National Conven-
tion. As noted, suppression of civil society actors increased dramatically,
following the events of August to October 2007, when the Buddhist sangha
was at the forefront of popular protests against the military regime.
Renewed State Attempts to Penetrate or Suppress Civil Society

With the partial exception of the ICRC (until 2005, at least), international
agencies working in Mon State operated only in government-controlled
areas. MSF France had been one of the few INGOs to establish operations
in remote and conflict-affected areas of Southeast Burma, including two
rural townships in central Mon State. The French medical agency hoped
eventually to be able to access the NMSP ceasefire zones (which critics
accused it of abandoning in 2005). However, MSF-France withdrew from
Burma in 2006, citing increased government restrictions on humanitarian
space.
Until mid-2007, local Burmese NGOs were not particularly affected by
the SPDC’s Guidelines for UN Agencies, International Organisations and
NGO/INGOs on Cooperation Programme in Myanmar, introduced in early
2006. However, the militarised state was clearly intent on increasing its
efforts to penetrate and control the contested domain of civil society. As
Kyaw Yin Hlaing notes (in Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007: 162), those
‘‘associations which refused to comply with the demands of local authorities . . .
ran the risk of being harassed’’.
In 2006, reports emerged that the USDA was seeking to take over the
Free Funeral Services Society (FFSS, founded in 2001), which ran a clinic
in Yangon providing free health care for the poor (The Irrawaddy 23 March
2007). In May 2007, the Ministry of Home Affairs moved to restrict the
activities of a number of other charitable organisations in Yangon and other
urban areas, including the Chinese Traders Association (founded in 1909).
At the same time, the USDA opened a number of free medical clinics in
Yangon, and promoted these as alternatives to more independent health
initiatives (The Irrawaddy 17 May 2007).
Similar trends emerged in Mon State and other ethnic nationality-populated
areas, where the USDA coerced villagers into attending various training
courses, and began to organise local militias, reportedly in order to resist
‘‘foreign invasion’’ (presumably by the US and its allies: Kao Wao News
Group 23 September 2006). Since 2005, the Tatmadaw in Mon State had
also conscripted large numbers of villagers into the para-military People’s
Vigorous Association (PVA, or Sorn Arr Shin), which was armed with
batons and rubber bullets. PVA membership was drawn from the MRCS,
MMCWA, USDA, Fire Brigades, Myanmar Women’s Affairs Association
(MWAA) and veterans’ groups. According to Mon sources (IMNA 30
August 2006), ‘‘the intention of the organisation is to stand up to any
movement for democracy or uprising’’.
State-sponsored community mobilisation was also stepped-up in Karen
State, where the MWAA reportedly compelled young women to join its
ranks, and extorted funds from villagers (IMNA 3 April 2007). Also in
Karen State, a number of Village Peace and Development Councils were
reportedly instructed to send 20 to 30 trainees each, to be inducted into
local pro-government militias (IMNA 31 May 2007).
The government’s suspicion of autonomous local networks was probably
reinforced by the interest shown in civil society by some overseas-based
political activists. For example, after representatives of a prominent US-
based anti-government group visited the Yangon offices of a local NGO in
early 2007, members of this community development network received a visit
from the Special Branch, and were told not to include any foreign resource
people in their future activities (Field Notes 23 March 2007). Similarly, a
number of church-oriented networks were investigated by the authorities, fol-
lowing publication by the UK-based Christian Solidarity Worldwide (2007) of
a report accusing the SPDC of suppressing religion in Burma.
Ceasefires, Civil Society and Socio-Political Change

Burma presents a complex environment of conflict and development, stag-
nation and change. Since the mid-1990s, extensive networks within the clan-
based Kachin society, and among Mon and Karen Buddhist and Christian
communities, have begun to re-emerge. However, the Wa sub-state and
other historically neglected areas continue to be characterised by chronic
underdevelopment.
The negotiation of ceasefires in some ethnic nationality-populated areas
has proved a first step towards addressing the needs of rural communities,
and building local participation in decision-making (‘‘democracy from
below’’). However, in most cases, conflict resolution has yet to go beyond
the necessary first stage of ceasefires (‘‘peace-making’’), to address the
underlying issues that structure conflict in Burma (‘‘peace-building’’). As
Tin Maung Maung Than observes (in Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007:
195), ‘‘though state-centric ‘national security’ has been greatly enhanced by
the peace agreements in Myanmar, the ‘human security’ of those inhabiting
the border lands . . . is yet to be assured’’.
Although the impacts of the ceasefires have been mixed, the consequences
of their failure would be devastating. As well as the costs in human suffer-
ing, a return to civil war would jeopardise important local efforts at poli-
tical reform and socio-economic development. If the ceasefires can be
turned into vehicles for the long-term reconstruction of local communities
and economies, they may yet promote reconciliation and reform at the
national level, and perhaps over time foster the emergence of genuine
peace. In achieving this kind of development, modest and incremental
change may be the most sustainable, and have the most significant long-
term impacts.33
The Limits of Bottom-Up Change
As Khin Zaw Win has remarked (in Heinrich Boll Foundation 2006: 82),
‘‘as things stand it is very difficult to envisage ‘change from below’’’ in
Burma. Nevertheless, since the early 1990s, the civil society sector has
undergone a significant regeneration.
Elements that had been suppressed, gone underground, or remained
dormant during the Ne Win period have begun to re-emerge as key actors
in the gradual transformation of state–society relations. However, it must be
noted that other aspects of civil society have been thoroughly up-rooted by
the state, and are still largely absent, especially in the field of public advo-
cacy. One must, therefore, look to the opposition-controlled border areas,
and refugee and exile communities, to find elements of a free media, human
rights organisations or trades unions.
As noted, the domain of civil society ‘‘inside Burma’’ contains a dis-
proportionately large number of Christian-oriented NGOs. This finding is
explained by the churches having relatively coherent national structures, and
often enjoying well-established international contacts. However, a variety of
socially oriented traditional associations also exist among non-Christian
communities. Many of these non-formal associations are unfamiliar with
the rational-bureaucratic frameworks employed by donors, which may lead
such indigenous CBOs to go unrecognised by international observers and
donors.34
Furthermore, civil society organisations often reproduce the unequal
power relations prevalent within the wider society (e.g. lack of gender awareness
and balance). The civil society sector is also not immune to rivalries, oppor-
tunism, ‘‘rent-seeking’’ or corruption. However, the greatest constraint on the
domain has been – and will remain for the foreseeable future – government
distrust and suppression.
Some ceasefire groups also distrust autonomous associations. Even rela-
tively progressive organisations, such as the NMSP (South, in Gravers
2007), jealously guard their power, and are often reluctant to allow civil
society actors to gain credit with the community, by implementing successful
development projects (Field Notes 19 April 2007). In general, perhaps the
best that local NGOs and CBOs can hope for is the ‘‘benign neglect’’ of
local (state or ceasefire group) authorities.
7 Re-imagining communities
Development and democracy
Political failure, conflict and humanitarian crisis in Burma are closely inter-
linked. The situation is especially grave in ethnic nationality-populated areas,
many of which are – or have recently been – affected by armed conflict.
Although better governance, on the part of state and non-state autho-
rities, may begin to address some of these issues, the root causes are poli-
tical, and require more than just technical solutions. Substantial change is
needed, at both the local and national levels.
The protests of August–September 2007 demonstrated that the military
government is deeply unpopular, and its control over the country (and the
economy) quite brittle. The brutal suppression of monks and civilians has
further undermined the regime’s legitimacy, and increased its isolation, both
domestically and in the international arena. At the time of writing, however,
‘‘regime change’’ has not occurred.
Although dramatic, spontaneous and radical political change in Burma
can never be ruled out, the options for ‘‘top-down’’, national-level transition
remain limited. Barring unforeseen events, they will probably remain so for
some time. This is especially the case given the relatively supportive rela-
tionships that the SPDC has developed over the past decade with the
ASEAN regional grouping1 (which Burma joined in 1997) and the rising
Asian powers, China and India.
Chapter Six examined some of the opportunities for – and constraints
on – local-level ‘‘democratisation from below’’ (or from the ‘‘bottom-up’’),
which exist in and between ethnic nationality communities in Burma. Such
an approach involves a broad understanding of democratisation, including
community participation, and the promotion of civil society as an engine
for change. As noted, civil society includes more than just NGOs and CBOs,
the majority of which are focussed on welfare and local development activ-
ities, and do not espouse explicitly political agendas (at least in government-
controlled areas). Nor are civil society groups always very democratic in their
forms of internal governance. Nevertheless, these networks are building local
capacities in Burma, and can help to drive political and social transition.
Mobilising, strengthening and democratising civil society in Burma can
help to prepare communities to respond positively to changes that may
Re-imagining communities 201
occur at the national/elite level of politics, and to ensure that these actually
affect the lives of ordinary villagers in remote areas. However, this incre-
mental approach to political transition is not sufficient in itself: political
transition at the national/elite-level is still necessary.
The international community is thus presented with a set of dilemmas:
how to address the most pressing humanitarian needs in Burma; how to
develop local technical and strategic capacities, without at the same time
supporting the very conflict actors that have caused such distress; ultimately,
whether and how to engage with the military government (or at least its
service and welfare departments), and with the armed ethnic groups which
have for so many years opposed it?
This final chapter discusses these issues, without making any claims to
comprehensive answers. It focusses in particular on responses to forced
migration in Burma, and sketches an approach that could build on concrete
humanitarian issues, in order to protect vulnerable populations, while
developing sustainable tripartite dialogues: between international agencies,
the militarised state and complex and dynamic social groupings.
The analysis then reverts to the Karen case study, suggesting that the
diversity of this community can be viewed as a source of strength, rather
than a problem to be overcome. In order to achieve a degree of functional
‘‘unity amid diversity’’, it is necessary to address issues of internal
democracy and the tolerance of diversity. Bringing these arguments full
circle, the book revisits the complex problems of ethnic identity in a plural
society, and concludes by examining a set of issues associated with ideas
of federalism.
Types of Transition
Two sets of attitudes inform thinking on political change in Burma:
1. Regime Reform: adopting long-term, transformative and developmental

methods to promote better governance, among state and non-state
actors; accepts that the Tatmadaw will continue for many years to play a
major role in politics and society; seeks to resolve conflict through
reconciliation (win–win scenarios).
2. Regime Change: adopting explicitly political methods, to resolve conflict
through confrontation and abrupt regime replacement (zero-sum scenarios).
‘‘Regime reformers’’ tend to advocate for increased resources, to promote a

more developmental version of the current military-controlled ‘‘political
regime’’.2 Some ‘‘regime changers’’ (including elements of the NLD) may be
prepared to accept short-to-middle-term compromise with the SPDC.
However, their ultimate aim is to replace the military government. Regime
changers generally oppose increased aid to, or engagement with, the SPDC,
and are suspicious of efforts to pursue development or better governance
from within the current political regime (although they may support
engagement with selected non-state actors).
It is generally against regime changers’ interests for the government to be
portrayed as capable of substantial reform. To the extent that the SPDC is
viewed as having (redeeming) progressive tendencies – and especially if sus-
tained development and conflict resolution can be achieved within the cur-
rent military-controlled political regime – then regime change positions are
in danger of being undermined. It is, therefore, in regime changers’ interests
to deny the possibility of positive change under the military government, as
this would detract from their credentials as a viable alternative.
In the discussion that follows, these opposing paradigms are presented in
greatly simplified (or ‘‘idealised’’) form, in order to highlight the importance
of mapping stakeholders’ interests, which in turn structure the positions
they adopt. The two sets of stakeholders analysed below do not include the
military regime (which itself is not homogenous) or a range of ‘‘conflict
entrepreneurs’’, which promote or exploit conflict, to further their own
interests. Neither of these powerful sets of actors is likely to regard equitable
conflict resolution as desirable.
Approaches to Conflict Resolution

According to Mary Callahan (2003: 224–25 and 227–28):
The removal of the handful of top generals and colonels . . . and their
replacement with elected officials, will not transform overnight the
century-old command relationship between state and society. Breaking
the political deadlock between the opposition and the SPDC will be
only the first tiny step in the direction of demilitarising this polity. . . .
The difficulty of ensuring minority rights within a sovereign national
state would not go away if a democratically elected government were to
take over. . . .
Conflict over views have always been framed as winner-takes-all
[zero-sum] battles of ‘good guys’ (‘us’) versus ‘bad guys’ (‘them’ or ‘the
enemy’) . . . national-level leaders . . . have behaved as though . . . the
only way to eliminate conflict was to enforce absolute unity and soli-
darity. The future of Burma will continue to be bleak until its leaders
develop organisational frameworks that can manage and moderate
conflict.
Assessments of the strategic options for conflict resolution in Burma must

acknowledge that the nature of conflict in the country is understood
differently by competing stakeholders. International and national actors
working ‘‘aboveground’’ inside the country, and those in opposition and
exile circles, will judge the desirability of particular scenarios and outcomes,
depending on: what kind of transition they consider positive (regime reform
or regime change); how transition is thought likely to occur (gradually, or
through abrupt change); what are identified as the principle obstacles to and
engines of change; and the legitimacy accorded to various actors and insti-
tutions.
These judgements are partly ideological and value-driven, and partly
based on pragmatic analyses of the situation. They are derived from differ-
ent types of information available to various actors, data which is assessed
according to different principles. Due to a combination of strategic interest
and lack of political awareness, underlying positions are often not stated
explicitly. Nevertheless, they frame the debates and strategic options for
change.
As noted, not all actors desire negotiated settlements, resolving conflict
through reconciliation. Regime changers identify the military government as
the principle obstacle to reform and development, and therefore regard its
replacement as an absolute necessity, in order to address the country’s pro-
blems. This fundamental principle structures their responses to conflict
resolution and reconciliation. (Likewise, many elements within the military
government aim to ‘‘crush’’ – rather than be reconciled with – ‘‘internal and
external destructive elements’’.)
Regime changers tend to regard conflict as positive, inasmuch as it forms
the arena of their struggle for democracy or ethnic self-determination. They
are, therefore, interested in radical ‘‘peace-building’’ (addressing and trans-
forming the issues which structure conflict), rather than mere ‘‘peace-
making’’ (suppressing violent conflict, in the interests of surface harmony).
Regime changers are likely to be critical of the application of ‘‘do no
harm’’ frameworks (Anderson 1996), as naı̈ve or overly simplistic. They may
agree that aid interventions should avoid exacerbating conflict. However,
they tend to be critical of the neutral positions adopted by international
humanitarian actors, and of assumptions that all parties to (armed) conflict
are morally equal. According to this perspective, if ‘‘doing no harm’’
involves suppressing conflict, in order to achieve short-term humanitarian
and developmental gains for civilian populations, this may be counter-pro-
ductive. Having identified with one side in the dispute, regime changers are
likely to oppose ‘‘peace-making’’ moves to freeze conflict in Burma, and
argue instead for approaches, which address its underlying causes.
Among those who regard explicitly political change as essential, second-
ary considerations revolve around whether significant transition is con-
sidered more likely to occur abruptly (in the short term), or on a gradual
(long-term) basis. Proponents of the former view tend to support hard-line
positions, aimed at isolating and bringing down the military regime. However,
they rarely identify the mechanisms whereby this process will occur. In
particular, the limited capacities of opposition networks makes this
opproach to change problematic
Another set of debates revolves around whether transition is driven by
elites (top-down) or by broader social groups (bottom-up). Proponents of
the latter perspective are more likely to support engagement with selective
actors in Burma (e.g. the civil society sector), especially if they regard the
likelihood of a quick transition from military rule as remote (Table 7.1).
The Dilemmas of International Engagement

After 20 years of restrictions on aid (since 1988), and a decade and a half of
Western sanctions (since 1994), international isolation of the military regime
has not produced the desired results. Selective economic sanctions no doubt
embody a moral message, that the West considers the military government
to be beyond the pale. However, these measures have not been a strategic
success. In 2007 the SPDC was stronger than ever, while the US and other
Western governments had forfeited any leverage with the regime, leaving the
field open to China and other pragmatic regional powers (including India),
which were keen to court the generals, and gain access to the country’s
natural resources.
According to Thant (2006: 342):
the long years of isolation since 1962 . . . had placed anyone with a
more progressive mind-set at a disadvantage, and had fuelled the
attitudes that entrenched the status quo. And yet the response of the
west was to isolate the country further . . . The assumption is that
Burma’s military government couldn’t survive further isolation when
precisely the opposite is true. Much more than any other part of
Burmese society, the army will weather another forty years of isolation
just fine.
International isolation has strengthened the position of (often xenophobic)

hard-liners within the SLORC–SPDC, and may have undermined moder-
nisers, such as Khin Nyunt and colleagues. It is difficult to imagine that a
regime fully engaged with the international community would have reverted
to the ‘‘bunker mentality’’ of the isolationist Ne Win years, as embodied in
the retreat to Nay Pyi Daw. However, it is also by no means clear that a
more internationally engaged and modernising SPDC would embrace the
tenets of good governance, or respect the basic rights of its citizens.
Foreign Aid and Civil Society: Burma is Not a Blank Slate

In June 2001, the heads of mission of eight UN agencies in Yangon
publicly expressed their concern (UN Office of the Resident Coordinator 30
May 2001) over the ‘‘silent humanitarian crisis in the making’’ in Burma.
The agency heads stated that ‘‘assistance to Burma is a moral and ethi-
cal necessity’’, and noted that ‘‘strengthening human capital, developing
leadership capacity, and encouraging a more dynamic civil society will
contribute to laying the foundations for democratic processes’’.
Table 7.1 Types of Transition (Regime Reform and Regime Change)
Variable Regime Reform Regime Change
Discourse Indicator Myanmar Burma

Governance Promoting better governance and a more Better governance will
developmental state. enhance regime legitimacy, and thus prolong military
rule, and should therefore be resisted.
Economic Tools Development aid. Sanctions.
Humanitarian Primary agenda Focus on the humanitarian Secondary agenda.Humanitarian aid viewed as a
Approach imperative, and on Millennium Development political tool. May be impartial (assisting
Goals, etc. Formally neutral and impartial. beneficiaries according to need alone), but usually
not neutral (partisan in intent).
Protection Activities Primarily assistance (and protection by Primarily advocacy-oriented, in denunciation mode
presence)-oriented; some advocacy activities, (often directed at political objectives).
in persuasion mode.
Conflict Resolution Resolving conflict through reconciliation; Resolving conflict through confrontation; zero-sum
win–win scenarios. Focus on peace-making scenarios. Emphasis on addressing the issues
and confidence-building. underlying conflict.
Political Transition Secondary agenda. Change depends on Primary agenda. Radical regime change is necessary,
incremental improvement of before humanitarian assistance and/or
governance, in the part of state and non-state development aid can be effective. Expectation that
agencies.Expectation that some form of military military government can and will fall.Taking
government will remain in place for many years. advantage of political crises: strategies aimed at
Capacity-building for gradual change abrupt political transition (mass uprising desired).
(mass uprising would be disastrous).

Variable Regime Reform Regime Change
Legitimacy Accorded to government (or state agencies), Accorded to NLD, opposition-in-exile, and often also
and to selected civil society actors. to armed opposition groups, as well as selected civil
society actors (including in liberated zones and exile).
Ethnic Nationalism Sceptical of elite claims to represent ethnic Often uncritically supportive of elite-generated
communities. ethno-nationalist agendas, without questioning how
these are generated, or whose interests they serve.
Political Economy Emphasis on social, political and economic Emphasis on struggle for political justice; legitimate
opportunism; greed models of conflict. grievance models of conflict.
Access Primarily to government-controlled areas; access Primarily to non-state controlled areas, but restricted
(increasingly) restricted/controlled by by armed conflict. Some ability to work in remote
the state. Some ability to work by proxy in areas, via local civil society partners, accompanied by
remote areas, via local civil society partners. armed groups; preferred mode of assistance:
cross-border.
Information and Analysis Lack of reliable data, especially for border and Lack of data for non-armed conflict areas. Limited
other conflict-affected areas. Lack of protection peace-conflict and political analysis in programming.
aspects and political analysis in programming. Production of denunciation-oriented advocacy
Production of limited-circulation grey literature materials, focussing on political and human rights topics.
on specialised (mostly developmental) topics.
Since the UN agencies made their dramatic plea, a number of interna-
tional donors have realised that the seriousness of the humanitarian and
developmental crises facing Burma demand urgent action, rather than con-
tinued isolation. The debate has shifted from if to how to engage with
Burma, in ways which address humanitarian vulnerability, and at the same
time support processes of change.
Although the role of foreign aid is limited, it can contribute towards the
creation of an enabling environment, strengthening local efforts to achieve
peace and development. As noted, impressive local initiatives do exist, and
are worthy of support.
In fostering the development of civil society, a nexus between develop-
ment and democracy may gradually emerge. Donors have another good reason
to support CBOs and local NGOs in Burma: access. Due to danger and gov-
ernment restrictions, international organisations cannot work directly with
many of the most needy people, in armed and state–society conflict-affected
areas. However, in many cases, local NGOs and CBOs do implement humani-
tarian and community development work in such zones. It is important that any
international interventions be conducted in partnership with these local actors.
Towards ‘‘Selective Engagement’’

On 12 January 2007, Russia and China vetoed a US-sponsored UN Security
Council resolution on Burma.3 These regional powers did not accept that
the SPDC regime constituted a threat to international security. Given the
dire situation in Iraq, and the much higher-priority dilemmas posed by
North Korea, it seemed unlikely that a consensus would emerge from the
Security Council, regarding the desirability of a global sanctions regime, or
of forcing regime change on the Burma.
However, the UN could yet take the lead in persuading the SPDC to
engage with the international community – and its own citizens – on a
range of key issues. Although China and Russia (UNSC permanent mem-
bers) oppose further isolation of the SPDC, they might be willing to
encourage the generals to talk with the UN, regarding specific humanitarian
issues. What is required is not necessarily more aid – although this might
help in some areas – but rather a strategic policy dialogue with carefully
selected Burmese actors. As well as improving the humanitarian situation on
the ground, international engagement should focus on building capacities for
political transition (see below).
A co-ordinated policy of ‘‘selective’’ (or ‘‘targeted’’) engagement would
require important decisions, regarding which issues to prioritise for discus-
sion with the SPDC, and also with ceasefire groups, which constitute the de
facto local government in many of the most needy areas. Most civil servants
and technocrats (including ceasefire groups personnel) in the welfare, service
delivery and development sectors are likely to remain in their positions,
regardless of the make-up of any future national or local government in
Burma. They should, therefore, be supported in their work, especially at the
Township and District levels (as envisioned in Article 5 of the EU Common
Position on Burma). Efforts should be made to avoid working only with elites,
especially in promoting ‘‘democracy from below’’. Analysis and planning
should, therefore, focus on the participation of women, ethnic and religious
minorities, and other marginalised and potentially vulnerable groups.
Burmese civil society is still underdeveloped, and changes coming from
the sector will be gradual.4 Although it will take decades to re-shape state–
society relations, the promotion of civil society in Burma is nevertheless a
‘‘win–win’’ policy option.
Humanitarian Dialogues
Given appropriate support and leverage, civil society actors may play key
roles in responding to conflict and promoting change at both the national-
elite and local levels in Burma. Social welfare and humanitarian issues
should be used to facilitate processes of dialogue: in addressing issues such
as displacement (refugees and IDPs), land rights, education or HIV/AIDS,
local stake-holders might be brought into needs analysis, planning, imple-
mentation and monitoring–evaluation activities, which could be used to foster
models of collaboration, within and between communities, and with state (and
ceasefire group) agencies. Co-operation in the humanitarian sector might later
be expanded, and developed to include more explicitly political discussions of
state–society and centre–periphery relations. A focus on land rights in particular
(development of a secure property regime, and access to land tenure), would
help to ensure ethnic nationality participation in such processes, as most people
displaced in and from Burma come from ethnic nationality communities.
For humanitarian issues to become vehicles for transformative dialogue
and peace-building would require careful preparation, including consulta-
tion with affected communities. In general, what is required is more – and
better-quality – engagement between international and state agencies
(including ceasefire groups5) and local communities. International agencies
working in Burma should also do more to address forced migration, and
other humanitarian protection issues.
The difficulties and dangers of attempting to engage the government, on
political or humanitarian issues, were illustrated by the un-scheduled
departure from Burma of Charles Petrie, the UN Resident/Humanitarian
Coordinator. On 24 October 2007 the UN Country Team in Yangon
released a principled and strongly-worded statement, calling on the ‘‘Gov-
ernment of Myanmar to take all necessary measures to address the political,
economic, humanitarian, and human rights issues that are the concern of its
people . . . The concerns of the people have been clearly expressed through
the recent peaceful demonstrations, and it is beholden on all to listen.’’ In
response, on 2 November (the day before UN envoy Gambari visited the
country), the government ordered Charles Petrie’s expulsion.
Responding To Forced Migration6
Chapters Four and Five described generally overlooked aspects of forced
migration in Burma, including the phenomenon of repeated (or serial) dis-
placement. Many IDPs and others have had to move repeatedly, sometimes
for a combination of different reasons (i.e. a mixture of the Types 1–3);
others have been displaced for some time, and have found at least semi-
durable solutions to their plight; many are living inter-mixed with commu-
nities who are not – or have not recently been – displaced.
Forced migrants’ needs can only be assessed, and appropriate inter-
ventions planned, if the full complexity of displacement situations in Burma
are understood. Humanitarian (and political) actors should, therefore,
respect and respond to the voice and agency of forced migrants, and enrol
their participation in all aspects of programme planning and imple-
mentation.
In most cases, forced migrants, and communities threatened by displacement,
have special protection vulnerabilities, related to the causes of migration
(especially armed and state–society conflict). These concerns link humani-
tarian needs to explicitly political issues.
The Search for Durable Solutions

Protection from forced migration, and the rehabilitation of displaced
populations, depend ultimately on settlements to the conflicts that cause
displacement. Humanitarian, development and political actors’ abilities to
understand the complexities of conflict and forced migration in Burma are
particularly important, given the evidence from Kachin and Mon States
that conflict and displacement may not come to an end with the agreement
of ceasefires. The Mon and Kachin case studies also illustrate the range of
projects that can be implemented by local authorities (ceasefire groups) and
civil society, in the context of less-than-ideal truces. More might have been
(and still could be) achieved, with greater support from the government and
international agencies.
As noted, after a provisional ceasefire was agreed between the govern-
ment and KNU in December 2003, the incidence of armed conflict reduced
across much of lower and western Karen State, with fewer acute human
rights violations reported. However, civilians were still subject to a range of
abuses, including new problems similar to those experienced post-ceasefire
in Kachin and Mon States.
These developments raise the subject of displaced people’s rehabilitation,
including issues of resettlement and return, and refugees’ and IDPs’
rights to recover their original homes, lands and properties.7 Due to the
prevalence of refugee-oriented mindsets, humanitarian and political strate-
gists often assume that all displaced people want to go home (the equivalent
of refugee repatriation, but with less legal protection). However, the research
presented in Chapter Four cautions against such assumptions: at least some
forced migrants may prefer to remain in situ, in the places to which they
have been displaced (zones of ongoing conflict, relocation sites, ceasefire
areas, or relatively more secure villages and peri-urban areas). The ‘‘durable
solution’’ of local integration may allow IDPs to escape cycles of displace-
ment, and begin to re-build their lives and communities.
Whether they want to stay in their present settlement, or return to a
previous place (which may, or may not, constitute ‘‘home’’) will, in part,
depend on IDP’s degree of livelihoods and human security in situ (i.e. whe-
ther they have found at least semi-durable solutions to their plight).
Another important factor will be their knowledge of what has happened to
their old homes and land, whether these have since been occupied by the
Tatmadaw (or other armed group), by private commercial interests (often
linked to state or para-state agencies), or by other civilians (‘‘secondary
occupants’’: quite possibly, other IDPs). As in refugee repatriation, the
principle of informed voluntariness should be central to any decisions
regarding solutions to internal displacement in Burma.8
Humanitarian Protection
The ICRC and the UN Inter-Agency Standing Committee (Caverzasio
2001) define ‘‘protection’’ as ‘‘activities aimed at obtaining full respect for
the rights of the individual in accordance with the letter and the spirit of
the relevant bodies of law (i.e. international human rights law, interna-
tional humanitarian law and refugee law)’’. This definition includes pro-
tection against violence and coercion, and against the deprivation of
rights.
The protection of these rights is first and foremost the responsibility of
states. However, not all states are signatory to all aspects of international
law (e.g. Burma has not ratified the instruments of UNHCR, or the Inter-
national Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights). Furthermore,
in cases such as Burma, where the government is unwilling or unable to
protect its citizens, the ‘‘responsibility to protect’’ may – many would argue,
‘‘must’’ – be assumed by international community.9
Some international agencies (e.g. UNHCR and UNICEF, and the ICRC)
are specifically tasked with protecting certain rights, or categories of people.
In addition, the UN system in general has a broad mandate to protect and
promote human rights.
In attempting to address issues of humanitarian action and protection,
international agencies have developed a number of conceptual frameworks.
Among the most common and useful of these is the ‘‘modes of protection’’
approach (Slim and Bonwick 2005), which focusses on:
Provision of previously non-existent assistance to vulnerable populations

(substitution mode);
Provision of assistance via existing (government or non-state) structures
(support to services/ capacity-building mode);
Advocacy activities (persuasion, mobilisation and denunciation modes).
Humanitarian Assistance
At its broadest, the notion of ‘‘humanitarian protection’’ includes securing
the right to life (physical security, and access to shelter, food and water).
This may take the form of material aid (substitution mode), supplied directly
to the target population, e.g. the provision of assistance to victims of the
2004 Tsunami; or WFPs’ distribution of rice to communities which have
suffered as a result of opium bans in Shan State (or due to government
restrictions on citizenship, in the case of the Rohingya of northern Arakan
State).
Humanitarian actors may also work in partnership with state or non-
state actors to deliver goods and services (substitution mode). For example,
UNICEF supports the government ministries of health and education, by
providing training to staff and funding the acquisition and distribution of
medicines (including vaccination campaigns). Other international donors
support local Burmese NGOs and CBOs (including the welfare arms of
insurgent organisations), to provide a range of services to displaced popu-
lations in Burma, often in conflict-affected areas, which are beyond the
reach of international agencies.
Beyond Assistance
Humanitarian assistance alone tends to be responsive or remedial in nature.
However, this mode of intervention is often insufficient to alleviate suffering
and protect human dignity, because it does not address the underlying
causes of distress. The concept of protection implies prevention, which in turn
draws attention to the reasons for deprivation: the actors and structures
which cause violence and suffering.
In a constrained working environment such as Burma, it is often easier to
focus on service delivery and relief activities, than on more politically chal-
lenging issues, such as protection. There is a danger that power-holders
(especially the government) may withdraw the access to vulnerable popula-
tions which is necessary to deliver assistance, should humanitarian actors
seek to engage power-holders on sensitive issues.
Therefore, one of the greatest challenges facing international agencies in
Burma is how to achieve a balance between short- and longer-term assis-
tance interventions, while keeping a focus on protection concerns. ‘‘Assis-
tance versus protection’’ is not a zero-sum game: where access to provide
assistance is possible, forms of protection can also often be provided. By
employing a range of strategies – including supporting the practices of
affected communities – it is often possible to address protection concerns, in
the process of meeting other basic needs.
Advocacy – to Speak for and with the Oppressed

According to Slim and Bonwick (2005: 84), ‘‘advocacy’’ means ‘‘convincing
decision-makers to change . . . [and] encompasses everything from persuad-
ing the village chief to allocate land to displaced families to influencing a
senior General on the conduct of his army’’. As noted, humanitarian advo-
cacy – aimed at protecting civilians from, or alleviating the impacts, of abuse –
falls under three broad modes: denunciation, mobilisation and persuasion
(‘‘responsibalisation’’).
Rights-oriented groups based outside the country often denounce the
abuses involved in (for example) forced displacement, and call for funda-
mental changes in Burma, or at least radically improved behaviour on the
part of the government and armed groups. However, organisations working
in government-controlled areas cannot afford to be as confrontational in
their advocacy roles.
The presence of humanitarian personnel in conflict-affected areas can
though, help to create a ‘‘humanitarian space’’, in which to engage in
behind-the-scenes advocacy. A consciously adopted protective presence (on
the part of international and local agencies) may constrain local power-hold-
ers’ opportunities for abuse – because authorities worry that information
regarding violations will be communicated to the international community,
and/or because the presence of witness shames them into adopting better
behaviour (persuasive mode of advocacy).
This is an area where international agencies in Burma have from time-to-time
made some progress. Confidential advocacy with national and local autho-
rities has helped to build a more protective environment, especially in the
fields of harm reduction and HIV/AIDS issues, and trafficking and child
rights (UNICEF June 2005). The ICRC’s ‘‘protective presence’’ in areas of
ongoing armed conflict had also proved quite effective, until the Red Cross
had its access significantly curtailed in 2005. On a more positive note, in
2007 the ILO seemed to have persuaded the government to allow it to
investigate allegations of forced labour in Burma.
Unfortunately, however, most international (and especially UN) agencies
inside Burma demonstrate only limited awareness of protection issues. In
December 2005, the UN Inter-Agency Standing Committee assigned to
UNHCR primary responsibility for leading a ‘‘cluster of agencies’’ in co-
ordinating assistance to, and the protection of, the estimated 20–25 million
IDPs worldwide. Hopefully, adoption of the new ‘‘cluster approach’’ will
encourage the UN to make greater efforts toward protecting the victims of
armed and state–society conflict in Burma.
Adopting a different set of tactics, some local civil society groups inside
the country have been able to ‘‘mobilise’’ agencies operating in persuasive
or denunciation modes. For example, CBOs in rural areas may pass on
human rights information to their local and international counterparts in
Yangon, or Thailand. There is evidence that such protection and advocacy
networks have served to reduce the incidence of human rights abuses (for
example forced labour) in parts of Karen and Karenni States.
Case Study: Karen Nationalist Communities10

Large numbers of S’ghaw, Pwo, Bre, etc. (Buddhist, Christian and animist)
people in Burma consciously identify with the ethnonym ‘‘Karen’’. Many
within these diverse communities despise the government, respect Aung San
Suu Kyi, and would like to support a specifically Karen solution to the
problems of underdevelopment and human insecurity experienced in their
daily lives. They are gravely disappointed by the outcome of the DKBA
adventure, but have also been alienated by the KNU. They are available for
political mobilisation, but within what framework, and according to what
idea of ‘‘Karen-ness’’?
For six decades, the KNU has pursued a policy of armed conflict with the
government (with intermittent – but largely unsuccessful – peace talks). Mean-
while, particularly since the fall of the KNU headquarters at Mannerplaw in
1995, other elements within the nationalist community – including break-
away ex-KNU factions, such as the DKBA – have sought to distance them-
selves from the mainstream insurgents, and forge links with the military
government.
The fragmentation of the armed nationalist movement notwithstanding,
the last few years have seen an expansion and deepening of contacts
between Karen elites – and within Karen civil society more broadly –
including across the front-lines of armed conflict. However, most outside
observers still focus only on the military-political situation in the border-
lands, rather than on various community development and civil society
capacity-building initiatives undertaken by Karen groups inside the country.
In part, this distortion is due to lack of international contact with Karen
communities ‘‘inside’’ Burma; in part, it reflects ideological assumptions
regarding the legitimacy of certain actors and strategies.
Unity, Diversity and Consociational Democracy

Calls for unity among and between different sectors of Karen society are
widespread, and heartfelt. However, history has proved the quest for Karen
unity to be elusive, and perhaps illusory.
Since before independence, various actors have attempted to impose a
homogenous idea of ‘‘Karen-ness’’, and a monolithic political unity, upon
this diverse society. However, such projects have often proved divisive and
provocative in practice, resulting in the creation of new conflicts. For
example, elite formations within the insurgency have presented themselves as
the sole legitimate representatives of the Karen, often violently suppressing
dissenting or alternative voices. This approach is fundamentally undemocratic,
and has actually provoked fragmentation.
In contrast to efforts to establish a single Karen identity and political
leadership, a more pluralistic approach to social and political diversity
within and between Karen communities would be to accept the segmented
nature of this ‘‘plural’’ society as a starting point, and seek to make a virtue
out of this necessity. Such political arrangements, based on negotiations
between heterogeneous (sub-)groups, have been labelled ‘‘consociational’’’.
The classic text on consociationalism is Arend Lijphart’s Democracy in
Plural Societies (1977). The main elements of consociational democracy are
rule by a ‘‘grand coalition’’ of elites (representing the different segments of
society), the provision of minority vetoes, proportional representation in
decision-making and social sectors (and in allocation of funds and services)
and segmental autonomy, or federalism. The basic idea is that – if a high
degree of co-operation and goodwill can be achieved between elites – then
‘‘unity in diversity’’ may be accepted, and even celebrated.
The literature and limited practical examples of consociational democracy
have generally focussed on inter-communal issues, and political structures at
the level of the nation-state (e.g. Austria, Belgium, the Netherlands and
Switzerland; and in the Asian context, Lebanon from 1943–75 and Malay-
sia from 1955–69: ibid. chs 2 and 5). However, consociational analysis and
engineering may also be applied at the level of a particular community, such
as the Karen. Rather than trying to change and artificially unify Karen
society, by forcibly re-forming its competing norms and values, a consocia-
tional approach would aim to build models of co-operation within and
between different sectors of the community. The diversity of Karen society
might then become its strength, rather than a source of perceived weakness.
If the KNU could reach an accommodation with leaders of the DKBA
and other groups, they might be able to present coherent pan-Karen posi-
tions on issues such as the Salween dams, or Burma’s future constitutional
arrangements. It may yet be possible to salvage something from over 50
years of armed conflict, in which so many lives have been lost or ruined, but
time is running out.
A start could be made through exploring accounts of some key episodes
in Karen history. At present, most narratives are mediated by interest
groups, and tend to present rather biased views. Discussing partisan issues –
such as the emergence of the DKBA – from multiple perspectives may
encourage mutual respect between members of currently antagonistic sub-
groups.
In the meantime, it is encouraging to note that Karen nationalists have
convened a series of Seminars on Karen National Unity (or National Con-
sultative Conferences), aimed at bridging some of the divides in their com-
munity. Since the initial meeting on 25 January 1999, these occasional
gatherings have served to build common understandings on a number of
key issues, among elites from the diaspora, the border areas (including the
KNU), and from ‘‘inside’’ (including a small number of Buddhist leaders).
Back to the Future: a Return to Pluralist Politics?

In his March 2007 report to the UN Human Rights Council, the Special
Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights in Myanmar, Paulo Pinheiro
(who had been denied access to the country since November 2003), stated
(A/HRC/4/14) that:
the Special Rapporteur has been very concerned about the 10 years of
intensified military campaigns in ethnic areas of eastern Myanmar and
its impact on the humanitarian and human rights situation, especially
on civilians who have been targeted during the attacks. The situation
should be considered in connection with the widespread practice of
land confiscation throughout the country, which is seemingly aimed at
anchoring military control, especially in ethnic areas.
The following month, at a gathering in the DKBA-controlled village of

Walee, over 600 Karen villagers demonstrated against the ongoing armed
conflict in Karen State. According to The Irrawaddy (19 March 2007):
the demonstrators . . . carried placards that called for peace, freedom to

work and the cessation of fighting by armed groups, including the
DKBA, the KNU and Burmese government troops. The villagers also
called on armed groups to stop the use of forced labor . . . The demon-
stration was organised by the leaders of 19 villages in the affected area
because whenever fighting broke out, the villagers were victims of the
fighting, including deaths and injuries from exchanges of gunfire and
from landmines planted by both sides.
For this group of Karen villagers at least, the human and economic costs of
ongoing armed conflict had become too serious to justify any possible vic-
tory for the ‘‘forces of democracy’’. Indeed, as events in KNLA Seventh
Brigade in 2007 demonstrated, the distinction between armed opposition
groups and pro-government militias had become somewhat arbitrary, as the
disintegration of the KNU caused local strong-men to scramble for power
and patronage along the border.
By this time, it should have been clear that the claims of Burma’s ethnic
insurgent groups to be the sole legitimate representatives of ‘‘their’’ com-
munities were problematic. Insurgent elites enjoyed differing degrees of
(often contested) legitimacy among the communities they sought to repre-
sent, and were motivated by a combination of deeply held beliefs and
varying measures of political and economic opportunism (i.e. most indivi-
duals and organisations were characterised by a complex and shifting
combination of ‘‘greed and grievance’’). Insurgent factions, non-armed
civil society groups and ‘‘aboveground’’ political parties competed with the
KNU for leadership of the Karen community. However, many aid workers
and activists continued to regard the KNU as synonymous with ‘‘the
Karen’’.
The notion of armed conflict waged in the name of a particular ethnic
group was problematic in other ways also. As Leach argued half a century
ago, vis-à-vis the Kachin and Shan, ethnicity is not an essential character-
istic, but is relational (see FKL Chit Hlaing, in Gravers 2007: ch. 4; see also
Robinne and Sadan 2007).
In their Postscript to Social Dynamics in the Highlands of Southeast Asia
(ibid.), François Robinne and Mandy Sadan note that the fixation on ethnicity
as a primary identity category:
found its legitimacy in the two Constitutions of 1947 and 1974 and
corollary developments during nearly half a century of civil war. Toge-
ther with the tendency to institutionalise ethnic categories, the question
of how to name oneself became particularly significant for local ‘ethnic’
leaders who claimed and sought geopolitical recognition in the newly
independent state. . . .
The strength and the ambiguity of the word ‘ethno-linguistic’ is that
it presupposes a sociological continuity upon a linguistic category. It
refers implicitly to the notion of a common sociological stock derived
from a linguistic basis. However, it is clear that the linguistic criterion
has to fit also with the dynamics of economic networks, social rela-
tionships and religious interactions, each of which are daily involved in
the process of social construction and re-composition. . . .
This does not entail denying the significance of ethnic categories
when they are claimed by the people themselves; it requires just that
they be introduced when they appear relevant and that we should not
assume them to be an a priori determinant of identity and social
coherency.
In their struggle for political and socio-cultural recognition, ethno-nation-

alist elites have often imposed homogenising ideas of identity upon the
varied communities they seek to represent. For example, S’ghaw and
Jinghpaw leaders have promoted the reproduction of stylised and simplified
cultural and social models of ‘‘Kachin-ness’’ or ‘‘Karen/ni-ness’’, and
imposed these on diverse communities. These processes of cultural homo-
genisation are not dissimilar to the military government’s practices of
Burmanisation, which the ethno-nationalists have long opposed.11
Elsewhere, Sadan argues (in Gravers 2007: 36–37) for the need to
‘‘decolonise’’ ethnic categories in Burma, and challenges the ‘‘uncritical
authority being attached to the statements of key local representatives
who have taken on the role of spokesperson for their communities’’.
This approach brings into focus the roles of (sometimes self-selecting) local
representatives and leaders, and outside ‘‘experts’’. As Sadan notes (ibid. 35;
parenthesis added):
in some cases, [the] concern not to aggravate the internal tensions of

particular groups has produced a tacit agreement on the part of
researchers that certain issues relating to ethnic diversity are best kept
out of the public domain. [This desire] . . . leads to a perpetuation of the
essentialising, reductionist usage of terms such as ‘Kachin’, ‘Chin’,
‘Karen’ etc. These perpetuate the historical notion that ethnic cate-
gories are essentially unproblematic in the present and reflect coherent
ethnic entities in the past. Nonetheless, for discussions of ethnicity and
ethnic diversity in Burma to be able to transcend these limiting dis-
courses, more nuanced understandings of these terms need to be
deployed.
In the complex and contested arena of Burmese politics, the attachment to

essentialising (primordialist) notions of ethnicity has proved unhelpful.12
However, this does not mean that analysts or actors need to abandon ideas
of ethnic distinctiveness, or cease to celebrate the rich histories and
achievements of local cultures. Instead of rejecting ethnicity as a basis for
political identification, sympathetic outsiders and local elites should be
more nuanced in their investigations and representations. What is required
is a critically engaged ethnography, which respects the diversity of its sub-
jects, and their agency in constructing their own socio-political realities.
This book has described some of the ways in which political elites in
Burma have mobilised support around notions of ethnicity, and have often
been encouraged to do so by a range of internal and external actors. Such
findings should not be taken to suggest that ethnic nationalist leaders and
their supporters have acted in bad faith. However, the tendency to fetishise
ethnicity has led to a type of zero-sum politics, which has benefited few in
the country, beyond restricted leadership circles. Meanwhile, the military
government has implemented an often brutal nation/state-building pro-
gramme, based on ill-conceived notions of a polity dominated by the
Burman historical tradition.
Ethnicity, Territory, Homeland and Citizenship

The fixation with ethnicity in Burma has led to a conflation of ethno-lin-
guistic nation, political state and homeland territory. The idea that ethnicity
is a ‘‘natural’’ (or primordial) quality of individuals or groups of people is
derived from colonial era classifications, viewed through the lens of more
than 50 years of bitter conflict. To quote Gravers again (ibid. 13), ‘‘the
major difference between the pre-colonial period and the present is that
ethnicity . . . has become . . . mapped in the modern nation state’’.
One of the most important aspects of identity formation in the modern
era has been the construction of ethno-national territories, which translate
socio-cultural heritage into a geographic and political landscape. Often
based on ideas of a ‘‘pure’’ ethnic homeland, the close association of ethnicity
and territoriality has had bloody inter- and intra-national history, over the past
two centuries (Hobsbawm 1990). As Robert Kaiser observes (in Conversi 2004:
ch. 12), ‘‘the homeland . . . tends to be perceived by members of the nation as
exclusively theirs, consigning all non-members to the status of foreigners or
outsiders’’. In Burma, the identification of ethnicity with a particular territory
has resulted in sometimes highly unrealistic territorial claims, such as the KNU’s
demands for control of nearly half the country, in the late 1940s.
Claims to territory are closely linked to issues of statehood and citizen-
ship. On the subject of Karen citizenship (in Thailand), and the power of
state-centric systems of classification, Pinkaew Laungaram notes (in Delang
2003: 21; parenthesis added) that ‘‘Karen people have come to occupy a
vulnerable position in relation to the modern Thai state . . . Ethnic classifi-
cation is a type of technology of power . . . [and the Karens’] classification as
‘hill tribe’ still renders them as non-citizen’’.
Unlike the Thai Karen – who have had to adopt specifically Thai iden-
tities, in order to be visible to the state, and recognised as legitimate citizens –
a person can be Karen (‘‘Kayin’’), or a member of any of the 135 ‘‘national
races’’, and at the same time a citizen of Burma/Myanmar. This recognition
of pluralism – in principle at least – is a key feature of Burmese politics.
The Nationality–Minority Debate

Unlike in Thailand (at least in the modern period), Burma’s ethnic elites
have generally been reluctant to describe their communities as ‘‘minorities’’,
preferring instead the designation ‘‘nationality’’. For example, in 1984 the
KNU (Government of Kawthoolei 1984) stated that ‘‘the Karens are much
more than a national minority. We are a nation’’.
Building on Will Kymlika’s work on minority rights, Alan Smith (2007:
197) notes that:
There is a . . . reluctance by ethnic leaders to allow the term ‘minorities’

to be applied to them or to enter much into discussion of ‘minority
rights’, insisting instead on the language of ‘nation’ or ‘ethnic nation-
ality’, or in some cases ‘indigenous people’, in order to be able to claim
what they see as the wider rights of self determination of ‘peoples’. This
is understandable but unfortunate as the evolving UN human rights
provisions aimed at preventing discrimination and enhancing the
situation of ethnic, religious and linguistic minorities can provide a
basis for achieving many of the same substantive goals as the ‘self
determination of peoples’. In many cases, representatives of the non-
Burman ethnic nationalities proudly reject the application of the term
‘minority’ to their community, seeing this as reducing their status to
that of immigrant minorities in Burma such as the Chinese and Indians.
Ethnic minority elites’ almost exclusive focus on their communities’ status

as nations has been shared by the military government. However, while the
latter has promoted a strong, unitary state as the solution to the ‘‘problem
of diversity’’, ethno-nationalists have preferred to explore federalist
formulations of ‘‘unity amid diversity’’.
Federalism, and its Discontents

In the 1970s and 1980s the KNU, KIO, NMSP and their allies worked hard
to establish the ethnic insurgencies on a coherent (non-communist) political
footing. The formation of the National Democratic Front (NDF) in 1976
was a major achievement, which for the first time instituted federalism as
the basis of the ethno-nationalist platform. However, in the 1990s the fed-
eralist position was modified by the inclusion of new political demands,
emanating from the urban-based (predominantly Burman) democracy
movement.
Approaches to Autonomy
In a January 2007 lecture in Stockholm, given on the occasion of receiving
the Martin Luther King Prize, Dr Lian Sakhong, General Secretary of the
Ethnic Nationalities Council (ENC), called for a re-conceptualisation of
Burmese politics. He stated that ‘‘nation-building’’ of a kind which involves
notions of ‘‘one ethnicity, one language and one religion’’ is inappropriate
to a multi-ethnic society, such as Burma. Dr Lian instead proposed a model
of ‘‘state-building’’ in which ‘‘the state knows only citizens no matter what
nationality each individual belongs to, no matter what kind of religious
belief he or she worships, no matter what kind of language he or she
speaks’’. He also stated that ‘‘the only solution . . . is to establish a genuine
Federal Union of Burma, which will guarantee the fundamental rights for
all citizens of the Union’’.
Federal systems are characterised by power-sharing (or mixed sovereignty)
arrangements, between a central (federal) government and constituent (state)
governments. This apparently simple formulation raises questions regarding
the type of federalism that is best suited to Burma’s complex society.
Two sets of approach coalesce around notions of ‘‘territorial’’ or ‘‘rights-
based’’ (or ‘‘corporate’’) federalism. The former identifies particular ethno-
linguistic groups with specific territories, as proposed in the draft constitu-
tions developed by the NCUB and ENC (see Yawnghwe and Sakhong 2003;
Williams and Sakhong 2005). The identification of ethnicity with territory
(albeit with very different permutations of power) is also found in the
SPDC’s constitution-drafting process.
Inspired by the ‘‘spirit’’ of the 1947 Panglong Agreement, the NCUB
charter proposes the establishment of eight ethnic states – including one for
the Burmans – each with a legislative assembly. According to this model,
ethnic self-determination is tied to control over spatially bounded ‘‘home-
land’’ territories (e.g. Karen State, Shan State), within which it is assumed
that the Karen and Shan (for example) constitute the majority. This for-
mulation includes provision for minorities within a particular state (e.g.
Karen in Mon State, or PaO in Shan), through the creation of local sub-
states, and (Yawnghwe and Sakhong 2003: 107; parenthesis added) a
‘‘system of de-centralised administration . . . [for] the democratic control of
highly autonomous local governments’’.13
It is perhaps not surprising, in a country where conflict has focussed to
such a degree on the control of land and resources, that proposed solutions
should have become so territorialised. In contrast to exclusively territorial
solutions, however, models of rights-based (or corporate) federalism are
more flexible: people of a particular ethnicity (e.g. the Karen, who are
spread out over half the country, and often live side-by-side with people
from other groups) would retain certain rights – for example, regarding
language use and political self-determination – wherever they live. This
version of federalism relates to the focus in ‘‘consociational democracy’’
(Lijphart 1977) on segmented societies, and ethnic communities’ veto rights
over key issues. According to the corporate-consociational model, inter-
spersed ethnic groups are subject to specific laws and institutions, and enjoy
certain rights, wherever they may live (for example, the Walloons and
Flemings in Belgium are not demarcated territorially, but are treated as
separate, ‘‘overlaid’’ constituencies.)
Ethnic nationality leaders in Burma have generally supported federalism,
as a safeguard against the Burman domination of state and society. How-
ever, formally symmetrical federalism is only one of way of safeguarding
‘‘the fundamental rights for all citizens of the Union’’ (to quote Dr Lian).
Alan Smith (2005 and 2007) has explored other forms of decentralisation,
appropriate to a diverse and a multi-ethnic state such as Burma. These include
various types of asymmetrical territorial arrangement, such as local autonomy,
which according to a leading theorist of decentralisation (Yash Ghai 2000: 8):
is a device to allow ethnic or other groups claiming a distinct identity to

exercise direct control over affairs of special concern to them, while
allowing the larger entity those powers which cover common interests.
Autonomy can be granted under different legal forms.
In practice, since the mid-1990s, the ceasefire groups have enjoyed a variety
of different types and degrees of (asymmetrical) regional autonomy, under
their agreements with the military government. (The insurgent-controlled
liberated zones also demonstrated de facto local autonomy, until the
majority were overrun in the 1980s and 1990s.) The challenge facing such
non-state actors is how to safeguard these forms of local (elite) control,
under the new arrangements emerging out of the government-controlled
constitution-drafting process (or in the unlikely event of the opposition
alliance being able to implement its draft federal constitution). In consider-
ing their strategic options, ethnic nationality leaders would be wise not to
focus exclusively on territorial-based federalism, but consider the full range of
structures for self-determination, including aspects of corporate federalism,
and decentralisation.
The great majority of the ethnic nationality/minority population – living
beyond the ceasefire zones – will be largely unaffected by the territorial
calculations of armed ethnic groups. Of more concern to these communities
will be the degree to which they are able to exercise basic rights, and enjoy
human security.
As Alan Smith (2007: 207) notes, sustainable conflict resolution in
Burma requires more than simple territorial autonomy for ethnic minority/
nationality groups. It is also necessary to reform the state’s abusive treat-
ment of its citizens, and to explore a new politics, which ‘‘can satisfy the
demands of a complex multiethnic, multilingual and multicultural
society’’. Such an approach would move beyond a fixation with territory, to
focus on rights-based issues and processes of democratisation more
generally.
Elections and Tactics

The government-controlled constitution-drafting process has not resulted in
a charter which includes significant elements of the federalist agenda.
Whatever its deficiencies, however, any future election will confer at least a
degree of legitimacy upon those elected. Ethnic nationalist elites and their
communities are, therefore, likely to be faced with a dilemma, regarding
whether and how to participate in any elections that may be organised
under the new charter. For organizations such as the NMSP and KIO,
important decisions must be made regarding whether and how to participate
in the constricted space of ‘‘above ground’’ politics in military-controlled
Burma.
A further set of issues will involve whether to support all-Burma par-
ties (such as the NLD), or to endorse for specifically ethno-nationalist
groups, raising the subsidiary issue of tactical voting and the formation
of electoral alliances.14 Historically, elites representing some ethnic groups,
such as the Mon, have successfully competed in elections in Burma (e.g.
in the 1950s and in 1990: South 2005), while others, such as the Karen,
have not.
A significant indicator for the future will be whether the ceasefire groups
are prepared to risk testing their electoral popularity. Since the ceasefires,
organisations such as the KIO have seen their standing among the wider
Kachin population decline (especially with opinion leaders, and among
youth activists). Nevertheless, since 2004, the main Kachin, Mon and Shan
ceasefire groups have devised strategies for any forthcoming elections.15 In
the process, they have consulted their potential constituents (or at least
spoken with community leaders), as well as their possible rivals (the ethnic-
aligned parties elected in 1990). Another interesting trend to observe will be
the fortunes of emergent nationality blocs, such as the PaO and Wa, and the
Union Karen, and their ability to represent diverse community interests,
within the constraints of a militarised polity.
History suggests that, unless political elites can forge workable alter-
natives to the cycle of (ethnic) conflict and violent suppression, further suf-
fering may be unleashed upon the citizens of this beautiful but deeply
troubled country. The need for change in Burma has never been greater.
Epilogue
The Referendum
In early February 2008 the government announced that it would hold a
referendum in May, in order to seek endorsement of the new constitution,
drawn up under its control. Following the poll (assuming the regime was
able to engineer a ‘yes’ vote), elections were scheduled for 2010.
It was generally accepted that the referendum would be neither free nor
fair, by any reasonable criteria. The draft constitution was only made available
to the public less than a month before the vote (at a cost of 1000 Kyat, or
nearly US$1 – more than a day’s wages for most people). Furthermore, in
the weeks leading up to polling, reports emerged from across the country
that state agents, including the USDA, were employing various tactics, in
order to manipulate the outcome. These included one-sided coverage in the
media; mobilisation of military, government and GONGO personnel to
encourage the populace to vote ‘yes’ (by means of deception and coercion);
pre-registration of voters; and fabrication of affirmative ballot papers.
Burma’s disparate opposition movements at first seemed unsure whe-
ther to call for a boycott of the referendum, or ask their supporters to
vote ‘no’. However, by polling day the NLD and various exile groups
had issued more-or-less explicit calls for a widespread ‘no’ vote. The
strategy seemed to present a win-win scenario: in the unlikely event of the
government announcing a substantial rejection of the referendum, oppo-
sition groups could claim to have mobilised their supporters for an his-
toric victory; in the more probable event of the regime announcing a
substantial majority in favour of their charter, the opposition could justifi-
ably cry foul, and claim that the vote had been rigged.
Some political actors inside the country decided pragmatically to accept
the constitution, arguing that any charter was better than continued,
unmediated military rule. Others, such as the NMSP, publicly condemned
the exercise. (The KIO leadership was also highly critical of the constitu-
tion, but stopped short of rejecting it outright.)
At the end of the first week of May, such considerations of principle and
strategy regarding Burma’s future constitution were overwhelmed by a
224 Epilogue
massive natural disaster, which struck the southwest of the country. Cyclone
Nargis and its deadly impacts, and the government’s appallingly inadequate
response to the ensuing humanitarian crisis, dominated the global news
headlines for weeks. These events constituted the most significant social and
political episode in Burma since 1988 (some would argue, since the military
takeover in 1962). To many Burmese, this terrible force of nature was seen
as an omen, indicating the fatal illegitimacy and incompetence of the mili-
tary government, and the hubris of its self-serving referendum.
Despite the utter devastation in areas affected by the cyclone, and the
obvious need for government and army personnel to be deployed in relief
activities, the SPDC went ahead with a nationwide referendum on 10 May –
although in the 47 most cyclone-affected townships, the poll was delayed for two
weeks (until 24 May). Numerous reports emerged from across the country
of officials manipulating the poll, including by physically separating the
‘yes’ and ‘no’ boxes, by excluding members of the public from scrutinising
vote-counting, and simply by stuffing the ballot boxes with ‘yes’ votes.
The results were clearly engineered to produce a fraudulent endorsement
of the military-drafted constitution. An incredible 99 per cent of eligible
voters were said to have participated in the referendum, with 92.4 per cent
voting in favour of the constitution.
Cyclone Nargis
Tropical Cyclone Nargis struck Burma on the night of Friday 2 May 2008,
and continued through the next morning. Wind speeds reached 130 mph,
but the most extensive damage was caused by a sea water storm surge, of up
to 4 meters in height, in coastal areas of the low-lying Irrawaddy Delta. The
first news to emerge was from Yangon, where the cyclone caused extensive
damage to property, destroying roofs and walls, and ripping hundred year
old trees up by the roots. The once green and beautiful ex-capital, with its
many decaying (and structurally weak) colonial-era buildings, was deva-
stated. Particularly badly affected were the flimsy shantytown buildings of
the city’s outlying satellite settlements.
Over the next two days, it became apparent that the most serious impacts
had been experienced in the villages of the southern Irrawaddy Delta –
Burma’s main rice-growing area, populated by Karen, Burman and Indian
communities. (Although the weakened cyclone moved through upper Mon
and central Karen States, causing heavy rains, these areas were not sig-
nificantly affected.)
This was the worst natural disaster to strike the country since before the
Second World War. By the end of the weekend, the government and media
were reporting several hundred deaths. Within a few days, by 7 May, the death
toll had risen to 22,000 dead, with over 40,000 missing. In total, the number
of fatalities as a direct result of the cyclone was at least 150,000 people, with
some two million displaced (creating a new ‘Type’ of Internally Displaced
Epilogue 225
Person in Burma: natural disaster-induced IDPs). In addition, the Delta
region suffered massive destruction of property, food and infrastructure. In
Labutta and Bogale Townships in particular, reports emerged of almost the
entire population of many villages being killed; a week after the cyclone
hundreds of settlements remained under water.
Other short-term impacts included price hikes for food, fuel and water,
both in Yangon and the Delta – a development which was particularly sig-
nificant, given the manner in which fuel price increases had ignited popular
anti-government protests the previous August. Over the following weeks,
communities in affected areas were hit by a second wave of suffering, as
waterborne and other diseases took hold. In combination with a lack of
food and clean water (compounded by the terrible fact that many thousands
of bodies had been left to rot in the open), thousands more people lost their
lives as a result. Many could have been saved, if the government had been
prepared to allow adequate levels of humanitarian assistance into the
cyclone-affected areas (see below).
Among the middle-to-long-term impacts of the cyclone were the devas-
tation of infrastructure (roads, bridges, water and electricity networks etc.),
and widespread food insecurity – in the Delta and nationwide. In 2007
Burma had exported 600,000 tons of rice. However, up to half of the fields
in the Delta – the country’s main rice growing area – were inundated with
salt water. Even under optimal conditions for recovery, it would take several
years for agriculture to be rehabilitated. However, in the aftermath of
Cyclone Nargis, emergency response and recovery conditions were very far
from optimal.
Responses
Before the cyclone struck land, low-key weather reports had been placed in
The New Light of Myanmar and on state-controlled television. However,
most official media channels (i.e. the great majority of publicly available
information sources in Burma) concentrated on promoting the forthcoming
referendum. Therefore, despite meteorologists predicting the cyclone’s arrival
at least 48 hours in advance, most communities were unprepared.
In the immediate aftermath of the cyclone, the government and Tatmadaw
were conspicuous by their absence. The lack of a state-led response, until
troops started to clear trees from Yangon streets on 5 May, caused wide-
spread frustration and derision, further discrediting the military regime. By
the time that intermittent water and electricity had been restored to some
parts of Yangon (on 7 May), the full horror of the cyclone’s impacts in the
Irrawaddy Delta were becoming apparent.
Over the following week, international aid began to trickle into Burma.
However, the government insisted on strictly controlling the relief opera-
tion. The Tatmadaw, local government and USDA were accused of dis-
tributing assistance through military-controlled patronage networks,
226 Epilogue
directing much-needed food, water, medicines and shelter towards their own
supporters. Credible reports emerged that relief items were being sold, in
Yangon and the Delta, while emergency supplies were sequestered in Tat-
madaw warehouses. During the second week, the government began to dis-
perse some highly vulnerable communities away from the monasteries and
other centres in which they had spontaneously resettled, towards govern-
ment-controlled camps. Meanwhile, individuals and organisations not
directly associated with the regime (such as some prominent Burmese
celebrities) were prevented from distributing relief items. In contrast how-
ever, well-connected tycoons, such as the notorious Tey Za (of Htoo Trad-
ing Company), were allocated cyclone-affected areas, and told to provide
relief assistance, in exchange for which they were promised government
contracts to redevelop these areas in the future. Concerns began to emerge
that displaced villagers might find it difficult to return to their homes, and that
unscrupulous power-holders could use the natural disaster as an opportunity
to dispossess vulnerable populations of their land and property, as hap-
pened in some countries following the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami.
There was an ethnic dimension to the government’s response. The
majority of the cyclone-effective population were ethnic Karen (Pwo and
S’ghaw, Buddhist and Christian). In a bungled 1991 operation, the KNU
had tried to infiltrate forces into the Delta region, through Bogale. The
Tatmadaw had responded with extreme brutality, and had since suspected
the population of being insurgent sympathisers, who were unlikely to receive
sympathetic treatment.
In the meantime, local communities took the initiative in responding to
the unprecedented humanitarian crisis which had engulfed lower Burma. In
Yangon and elsewhere, monks helped to clear the streets of debris, and
undertake emergency rescues and repairs. This was a politically significant
development, given the government’s violent suppression of the sangha-led
‘saffron revolution’ the previous year. A broad array of civil society net-
works and local community groups, including church and other organisa-
tions, mobilised to deliver what assistance they could, and undertake impact
assessments in the Delta. Once again, local community networks were at the
forefront of relief and development activities in an ethnic nationality-popu-
lated area. The role played by local civil society actors was particularly sig-
nificant, given the lack of a humane government response – and in particular,
because the military regime actively restricted the international humanitarian
community’s access to affected populations.
Approximately 48 INGOs and 10 UN agencies were already operating in
Burma at the time of the cyclone, of which several were working in the
Irrawaddy Delta. In its immediate aftermath, they were able to access sev-
eral areas, without undue government interference. Among these, Merlin,
Save the Children, World Vision and other international NGOs responded
quickly, providing much-needed relief. The Burmese national staff of these
agencies deserved particular credit for their selfless and life-saving actions.
Epilogue 227
For those already on the ground, lack of physical access (due to the
destruction of bridges, roads and other infrastructure) was initially the
greatest constraint. However, by week two, even the international staff of
officially-registered organisations were being denied access to the Delta, as
the Tatmadaw moved to cordon off the area. Therefore, responsibility for
providing aid to the cyclone victims increasingly fell on the national staff of
international NGOs and UN agencies, and local Burmese NGOs and other
civil society actors.
Although, following the cyclone, the government had announced that it
would accept international assistance, it was much less willing to allow
professional aid workers to enter the country. Exhibiting behaviour in
keeping with its paranoid, xenophobic character, the SPDC severely
restricted access for international humanitarian workers not already in the
country, rejecting numerous visa applications in the weeks after the cyclone
struck. It seemed that the government was unwilling to expose its paltry
relief efforts, and more generally the repressive and brutal nature of the
militarised rule in Burma, to international scrutiny. While the regime was
willing to receive material aid, it would not accept the professional disaster
response experts whose presence on the ground was necessary to ensure that
assistance reached the most needy people, in appropriate ways. Although – after
some crucial delays – the US government and major aid agencies, such as the
UN World Food Program, were able to send in some relief shipments, people
in the Irrawaddy Delta continued to suffer more than was necessary. In the
meantime, the SPDC leadership attempted to take credit for those items
which were distributed, by ensuring that the state-controlled media reported
extensively on their ‘relief activities’.
It seemed almost as if the government was punishing the population for
their protests of the previous year. Furthermore, the regime feared that the
situation in the Delta might be exploited politically by opposition groups, in
the same way as had occurred with the armed conflict-induced humanitar-
ian crisis in the eastern borderlands.
A UN Flash Appeal was launched within a week of the cyclone, for a
total of US$187 million. It was unclear however, how much of this aid
would be allowed to reach the most needy.
With an irony which went largely un-remarked, some of those exile-based
organisations which had previously been most vociferous in their arguments
that Burma should be denied overseas aid were now at the forefront of
demands that assistance now flood into the country. However, the global
attention paid to government-controlled Burma as a result of Cyclone
Nargis might result in a further reduction of funding for border-based
refugee support organisations, which were already experiencing a finan-
cial crisis, as a result of soaring food and other commodity prices in the
region. Among its other impacts, the cyclone probably hastened the end of
the international community’s once-exclusive focus on the old ‘border
paradigm’.
228 Epilogue
Implications
In the best case – although unfortunately, least likely – scenario, Cyclone
Nargis could have represented an opportunity to re-build relations between
the (western) international community and the Burmese military govern-
ment. Models of engagement to address the humanitarian crisis might
eventually have been extended, to include corporation in the social – and
even political – sectors. However, the government’s widely-criticized
response demonstrated that Senior General Than Shwe and colleagues were
determined to ‘tough it out’, and would refuse to work with international
humanitarian experts – or their own citizens.
As the protests of August and September 2007 had indicated, the military
government was deeply unpopular (the engineered referendum results not-
withstanding). The humanitarian crisis instigated by the cyclone resulted in
food and fuel shortages, and rising prices, which might ignite further anti-
government protests. However, the prospects of a popular uprising toppling
the regime seemed distant. Therefore, some observers looked to internal
disputes within the SPDC as a vehicle for regime change.
While Than Shwe remained in power, Burma was unlikely to see major
changes in governance. However, the massive humanitarian, social and
political crises engendered by the cyclone might encourage ambitious but
frustrated second-line leaders within the military to move against the Senior
General and his allies. Although Burma-watchers had long anticipated
splits in the Tatmadaw, since independence the military had remained the
most powerful and cohesive force in the country. However, the terrible
events of May 2008 might yet precipitate the downfall of the ruling clique –
if not necessarily the end of military rule in Burma.
Following the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami, peace-talks began in Aceh,
Indonesia. However, in Sri Lanka the tsunami response became politicized,
triggering a return to civil war. Historical precedent and comparisons within
the region therefore could point either to radical changes in Burma, as a
result of Cyclone Nargis, or a continuation of the status quo.
Whatever the longer-term consequences of the natural disaster (which struck
three weeks before this book went to press), it seemed clear that the military
government - and in particular Than Shwe - had lost most vestiges of legitimacy
and respect, within the wider population. At the same time, it was obvious that
the generals, in their isolated new capital of Nay Pyi Daw, had grown out-
of-touch with the realities of life, in the country they had dominated for decades.
In contrast to the situation during the great historical events of 1962,
1974 (the protests surrounding the funeral of Burma’s ex-UN Secretary
General, U Thant) and 1988–90, by 2008 Burma was more closely con-
nected to the global political economy. With new forms of trans-national
communication and economic transaction having penetrated the country
over the previous decade, the isolationist ‘bunker mentality’ of the Ne Win
years was no longer a viable strategy.
Epilogue 229
The internationalisation of what the SPDC considered Burma’s ‘internal
affairs’ was illustrated by the Western condemnation of the government’s
inadequate response to the cyclone. Debate crystallised around the principle
of the ‘Responsibility to Protect’.
In international law, the primary responsibility for the protection of civi-
lians lies with their governments. However, during the 1990s, a new protec-
tion regime emerged, under which the international community recognized
an obligation to act in situations of extreme crisis, when civilian populations
were affected by large-scale threats to their ‘human security’. At the UN’s
60th Anniversary World Summit in 2005, one-hundred and fifty world leaders
made an historic decision: to embrace the Responsibility to Protect (R2P)
vulnerable populations from genocide and other mass atrocities. The UN
Security Council subsequently endorsed the ‘R2P’ principle, in resolutions
concerning the protection of civilians in southern Sudan and Darfur.
Put simply, the ‘R2P’ calls for the international community to act, in
order to prevent atrocities from occurring, or ameliorate their impacts. It
implicitly challenges the notion of state sovereignty as an absolute and
inviolable principle. However, serious questions remain regarding the will-
ingness of high-level actors to take concrete action in living up to the
language of R2P.
In the case of Burma, and the impacts of and response to Cyclone
Nargis, some powerful actors (such as the French Foreign Minister, and
MSF founder, Bernard Kouchner) argued that there was a moral imperative
to persuade the military government to accept aid, and prevent the suffering
of its people. If the SPDC should refuse to accept this responsibility, it was
argued that aid should be supplied (imposed) unilaterally. However, advo-
cates of this position did not specify how airdrops (for example) could be
undertaken in a way that directed much-needed aid towards the most vul-
nerable. Furthermore, by talking up the prospect of humanitarian inter-
vention (with or without the backing of the UN Security Council), the
advocates of such action dramatically raised the stakes. If the international
community did not follow-through with concrete action, there was a danger
that the doctrine of humanitarian intervention, and the ‘Responsibility to
Protect’, might be significantly damaged, undermining the prospects of
future initiatives.
While some advocates of humanitarian intervention went so far as to argue
for a military ‘solution’ to the crisis, others focused on the need to engage
with the SPDC’s allies – especially UN Security Council permanent mem-
bers, China and Russia – to persuade the military government to co-operate
with the international community. The SPDC seemed more willing to accept
assistance, and possibly advice, from its powerful patrons. Several Asian
governments donated relief supplies, and in some cases also specialist per-
sonnel. For example, in the second week after the cyclone, the Thai gov-
ernment sent several dozen doctors to the Delta, and the Indians and Chinese
provided a further 50 medical professionals each.
230 Epilogue
One way forward seemed to be to co-operate with ascendant Asian
powers, in order to improve and professionalise their capacity to respond to
the crisis. Two weeks after Cyclone Nargis struck, the British Deputy Foreign
Minister (and ex-senior UN official) Mark Mallock-Brown visited Burma.
He subsequently championed the idea of a specifically ASEAN response to
the humanitarian crisis. The following day, on 19 May, an ASEAN Foreign
Ministers Meeting held in Singapore announced the formation of an
ASEAN Task Force to coordinate international assistance to victims of the
cyclone. When he visited Burma on 22 May, the UN Secretary General,
Ban Ki Moon, expressed his support for the ASEAN approach.
Such a regionalized intervention might set precedents for future interna-
tional action – breaking the pattern of disaster response as an exclusively
western-led enterprise. Indeed, as the world came to experience more cata-
strophes of this kind in the coming years, each region would have to
develop its own capacity to respond. However, a response led by Asian
states – many of which were characterized by authoritarian political cultures –
was unlikely to focus on the human rights-based principles which under-
pinned the global humanitarian regime, as it had developed since the end of
the Cold War. The aftermath of Cyclone Nargis might therefore herald a
new era of localised ‘humanitarianism with Asian values’.
The cyclone also represented other opportunities for change – to review
unhelpful and outmoded strategies regarding social and political transition
in Burma. Over the previous decade, the country’s opposition movements
(the NLD and its allies, the opposition-in-exile, and the weakened armed
ethnic groups – with and without ceasefires) had found themselves increas-
ingly marginalised, and out-manoeuvred by the military government.
Equally – if not more – worrying, the various opposition networks were
desperately short of ideas. Indeed, to impartial observers, the strategic and
ideological weakness, and general lack of capacity, among Burma’s opposi-
tion actors was among the most worrying aspects of the country’s sad situation.
The cyclone and its aftermath presented an opportunity to re-examine
the important roles played by various civil society actors. The manner in
which local NGOs and community networks had delivered assistance, while
helping to develop ‘human capital’, had impressed many observers and
victims of the cyclone.
The crisis also presented elite-level opposition actors with a chance to
reassess their positions on a range of issues (as discussed in the final chapter
of this book). If such reforms were not undertaken, the widely-reviled
SPDC regime might yet fall, but any such development would occur
despite – not because of – the Burmese opposition. The lesson of the
cyclone to Burma’s opposition actors – and their support networks – might
therefore be: review, reform and re-engage.
Dartmoor, 20th May 2008

Appendix
Main non-ceasefire groups in Burma
Thailand border
Karen National Union (KNU – armed wing: Karen National Liberation Army)
The idea of a Karen nation emerged during the British colonial period. In 1948
S’ghaw-speaking, Christian elites established the KNU, which went under-
ground in 1949. The insurgency was concerned with protecting Karen vil-
lages from attacks by Burman-dominated militias, as well as achieving some
form of Karen independence across lower Burma. As an anti-communist group
during the Cold War, the KNU received covert support from Thai national
security forces along the border. However, the KNU has been significantly
weakened by a half-century of civil war, as well as by internal conflict,
leading to the formation of the DKBA and other factional groups. Never-
theless, the KNU remains the oldest and, to many Karen people and outside
observers, the only legitimate Karen ethno-nationalist group. Furthermore,
having never followed other groups into the ceasefire movement, the KNU
retains significant credibility amongst the Burmese opposition-in-exile.
Karenni National Progressive Party (KNPP – armed wing: Karenni Army)

The KNPP was established in 1957, with the aid of the KNU. An ideolo-
gical split occurred in 1978, leading to the formation of the pro-communist
Karenni Nationalities People’s Liberation Front (KNPLF). The KNPP
suffered further setbacks after a failed ceasefire agreement in 1995 (which
broke down after only three months) and due to further splits in the Kar-
enni nationalist ranks.
Shan State Army-South (SSA-S – political wing: Restoration Council of

Shan State)
Established after the defection of Khun Sa and the collapse of his Mong Tai
Army in 1996, the SSA-S is the only major insurgent group still operating
within Shan State.
Hongsawatoi Restoration Party (HRP) and Nai Chan Don Group

Anti-ceasefire NMSP breakaway factions.
232 Appendix
Lahu Democratic Front (LDF)
Kachin National Organization (KNO)
Mergui-Tavoy United Front (Myeik-Dawei United Front: MDUF)
Wa National Organization (WNO)
All Burma Students Democratic Front (ABSDF)

Mostly ethnic Burman; pan-Burmese ideology.
Bangladesh border
Rohingya Solidarity Organisation (RSO)
Islamist.
Arakan Rohingya National Organisation (ARNO)
Arakan Liberation Party (ALP)
National United Party of Arakan (NUPA)
India border
Chin National Front (CNF – armed wing: Chin National Army)
The CNF was formed in 1989 by a group of university students. In March
2007 ceasefire negotiations opened between the CNF and the Tatmadaw.
National Socialist Council Of Nagaland (NSCN)

Two factions, also operational in India.
Notes
Preface
1 For a discussion of terminology regarding Burma/Myanmar, see Mary Callahan

(2007: ix–x).
1 Michael Aung-Thwin (2005) has proposed that the first kingdoms of mainland
Southeast Asia developed in the interior. Controversially, he denies the existence
of Mon kingdoms prior to the foundation of Pagan.
2 Case Study based on South (2005: Part 1).
3 The Excluded (later, ‘‘Frontier’’) Areas comprised 47 per cent of the land area of
the colony, but only 16 per cent of the total population (Gravers 2007: 16).
4 The Shan States were officially designated as such by the British in 1887 (Sai
Kham Mong, in Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007: 259).
5 According to Taylor (1987: 13), ‘‘indirect rule in effect increased the power and
authority of indigenous rulers and attempted to freeze ethnic relations . . . Bamar
Buddhist politicians, on the other hand, were sometimes prohibited from travel-
ling to the region for fear that they would import their nationalist ideologies’’.
6 On integrative/exclusive patterns of nation-building in Indonesia and Vietnam,
see Anderson (1991: 114–19).
7 The Shan nationalist and scholar Chao-Tzang Yawnghwe (2001: 3) has provided
an alternative view of such developments: ‘‘under the British, there was no
‘Burma’’’. According to this reading of history, the British cannot be accused of
dividing Burma. Rather, the division between Burma proper and the Frontier
Areas constituted a recognition of the political independence of these areas in the
pre-colonial era.
8 Lian Sakhong (2003) lists 63 different Chin sub-groups.
9 The research and arguments in this section were first developed in ‘‘Con-
temporary Southeast Asia’’ (South April 2007).
10 According to a recent survey (BERG 1998: 34), the Karen people speak twelve
mutually unintelligible, but related, dialects.
11 According to Sandra Dudley (in Gravers 2007: 78), ‘‘under the wide ‘Karenni’
umbrella are grouped perhaps a dozen self-distinguishing but related groups,
principle among whom are the Kayah, Kayaw, Paku Karen and various Kayan
sub-groups. The boundaries of these groups are ambiguous and fluid’’.
12 Among the most important indigenous sources of Karen cultural knowledge is
the Thesaurus of Karen Knowledge Comprising Traditions, Legends or Fables,
234 Notes
Poetry, Customs, Superstitions, Demonology, Therapeutics, etc., a four-volume
encyclopaedia of lore, published between 1847–50, partly revised in 1915, and
re-printed in by the KNU in Thailand in 2003 (Renard, in Delang 2003: 3–4).
13 Kaw Thoo Lei may be variously translated as ‘‘the land burned black’’ (by ‘‘slash-
and-burn’’ farming, or by warfare) ‘‘the pure land’’, ‘‘the old land’’ or ‘‘the land
of the thoo lei plant’’. In 1947, when the term was invented, Kaw Thoo Lei did
not refer to a specific geographic area, but rather to a ‘‘symbolic space’’ (Gravers
2007: 245).
14 For an exploration of the historic relationship between newspapers and the
emergence of nationalism, see Anderson (1991).
15 Separate administrations for the Chin and Kachin hills were officially estab-
lished by the British in 1895 (Sai Kham Mong, in Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing
2007: 259).
16 For a fascinating discussion of the term ‘‘Jinghpaw’’ – and of ‘‘Wunpawng’’, a
modern alternative to ‘‘Kachin’’ – see Sadan, in Gravers 2007: 53–60.
17 Sadan notes that aspects of the Jinghpaw tradition have been selected and stan-
dardized by elites, in order to strengthen the culture. For example, the stylized,
concrete manau ritual posts erected in Myitkyina and elsewhere over the past
decade, are ‘‘clearly derived from Jinghpaw models, although the elders who
designed them genuinely hope they will be accepted as the standard for all the
Kachin communities . . . This relates to contemporary negotiations about the
degree to which the different sub-groups feel that they must subordinate them-
selves within the collective ‘Kachin’ identity to prevent them from being sub-
sumed within the ‘Burmese’ or ‘Myanmar’ identity, and the degree to which a
standardised structure may represent them all’’.
18 The following decade saw Rawang elements of the National Democratic Army –
Kachin (NDA-K) ceasefire group break away, to form their own militia (see
Chapter Five). Subir Bhaumik (in Limaye, Wirsing and Mohan 2004: 225) has
explored the phenomenon of ever smaller ‘‘cascading . . . local nationalisms’’ in
Northeast India, in which micro-group identities emerge out of a larger ethnic
category, previously considered homogenous.
2 State and society, grievance and greed, ethnicity and insurgency

1 The KNU was formed from elements of the old Karen National Association
(KNA), the Buddhist-dominated Burma Karen National Association (BKNA),
the AFPFL-oriented Karen Central Organisation (KCO) and the Karen Youth
Organisation (KYO).
2 For an indigenous account of The 1947 Constitution and the Nationalities, see
Universities Historical Research Centre (1999).
3 Karen and Mon insurgents briefly seized Moulmein and other towns and villages
in July–August 1948 (South 2005: ch. 7); the KNU went underground for good,
at the battle of Insein in January 1949 (see below).
4 This section is developed from South (in Gravers 2007).
5 For an account of these issues from the perspective of the Tatmadaw, see Maung
Aung Myoe (1998).
6 Echoing Geertz, Anthony Smith (1988: 17) warns that ‘‘the result of turning
nationalism into an ‘official’ state ideology is to deny the validity of claims by
any community which cannot be equated with an existing state . . . If the state
does not itself possess long and inclusive traditions, its dominant ethnic com-
munity is liable to seek to impose its traditions on the rest of the state’s popula-
tion, and this usually ignites the fires of separatism’’. Similarly, writing about
Burma, David Brown (1994: 36–37) describes a ‘‘situation where the state acts as
the agency of the dominant ethnic community . . . in which recruitment to the
Notes 235
state elite . . . and government is disproportionately and overwhelmingly from the
majority ethnic group . . . The ethnocratic state is one which employs the
cultural attributes and values of the dominant ethnic segment as the core elements
for the elaboration of the national ideology. . . . and its political structures
serve to maintain and reinforce the monopolization of power by the ethnic seg-
ment’’.
7 Paul Brass has studied the ways in which elites in India mobilise political support
around issues such as ethnicity, in the incidence and representation of communal
violence. He (1997: 6–7; parenthesis added) notes that ‘‘riots . . . [are] so
labeled . . . in large part as a consequence of their functional utility for all domi-
nant political ideologies . . . their persistence helps local, state and national lea-
ders if different ideological persuasions in capturing or maintaining institutional
or state power by providing convenient scapegoats . . . and by providing as well
dangers and tensions useful in justifying the exercise of state authority’’.
8 Similarly, in her study of Burmese political culture Christina Fink (2001: 5) notes
that ‘‘the military’s propaganda and ways of operating have profoundly shaped
even those opposed to military rule’’.
9 According to the 1983 census, 89.4 per cent of the population of Burma was
Buddhist, 4.9 per cent Christian, 3.9 per cent Muslim, 0.5 per cent Hindu and 1.3
per cent Animist (Government of Burma 1986).
10 Scott considers Karen-style shifting cultivation as inherently ‘‘fugitive’’, as this
form of agriculture tends to evade state control (ibid. 282).
11 For a compelling and insightful account of day-to-day life in the liberated zones,
see Jonathan Falla’s True Love and Bartholomew (1991). This memoir of huma-
nitarian work in the KNU’s Mergui-Tavoy District (KNLA Fourth Brigade:
Tenasserim Division) in the mid-1980s is particularly interesting in its descrip-
tions of self-identity among city-born Karen who had joined the insurgency, only
to find themselves ill-equipped for the rigours of jungle life, but who nevertheless
felt that, as Karen, they should be able to hunt, build a house out of bamboo etc.
12 Martin Smith (ibid. 364) reports that in 1980 the CPB claimed to control a lib-
erated zone in Northeast Shan State of 28,000 square-km, with a population of
436,000.
13 For example, on Arakanese nationalism in the 1940s and ‘50s, see Smith 1999
(79–84); on the Arakan Liberation Party (ALP), one of the longer-standing
insurgent groups in the west, see ibid. (238–46); on the trans (India-Burma)
border insurgency of the National Socialist Council Of Nagaland (NSCN), see
ibid. (321–32 and 387–89).
14 Unfortunately, at this historic juncture the Mon and Karen insurgent ‘‘allies’’
were engaged in a short and nasty little war at Three Pagodas Pass, over what
was basically a financial dispute – a poignant illustration of the persistent fac-
tionalism of Burmese opposition politics (South 2005: ch. 12).

1 Although some estimates put the strength of the Tatmadaw in 2007 as high as
400,000 men (the SPDC’s stated goal), well-informed academic and diplomatic
observers consider the actual number to be considerably lower, as many batta-
lions are significantly under strength.
2 The ‘‘Three National Causes’’ (non-disintegration of the union, non-disintegration
of national solidarity, and perpetuation of national solidarity) had been ann-
ounced as the basis of SLORC rule in September 1988 (Maung Aung Myoe
1999: 3–14).
3 As Mary Callahan (2003: 223) observes, at least until 1988, ‘‘the displacement
and killing of citizens of Burma’s frontier regions occurred mostly off the radar
236 Notes
screen of the population residing in central regions’’. To this day, the inhabitants
of central Burma remain largely unaware of the systematic abuses perpetrated in
their name by the Tatmadaw in border regions; the same might also be said of
some foreign observers, whose experience of the country is restricted to firmly
government-controlled areas.
4 On interpretations of the move to Nay Pyi Daw, see Maung Aung Myoe (2006).
5 According to the UN’s Myanmar Vulnerability Mapping and Monitoring System
(UNDP June 2005), Kayin State had a population in 2003 of about 1.5 million
people (2.86 per cent of the total for Burma). The 1983 census recorded 57.1 per
cent of the population of Karen State as ‘‘Karen’’, and 6.5 per cent in Tenasserim
Division (Renard, in Delang 2003: 8).
6 One of the main architects of KNLA guerrilla strategy was (then) KNLA Sixth
Brigade Commander, Brig-General Mutu Say Po.
7 Kayin is the Burmese exonym for the Karen. Observers found it suspicious that an
avowedly nationalistic Karen organisation should adopt a Burmese language name.
8 According to Gravers (2007: 229), Pwo Karen communities tend to be dis-
advantaged compared to the S’ghaw, whom the former generally perceive to be
the dominant sub-group.
9 ‘‘The typical civil war lasts . . . around seven years’’ (Collier et al. 2003: 3).
10 The KNU delegation was led by P’doh Htoo Htoo Lay.
11 The KNU delegation was led by P’doh David Taw.
12 In November 2004, a coalition of Karen NGOs reported that three-quarters of
the 85 villages in the vicinity of the planned dam sites had been forcibly relocated
since 1995, displacing tens of thousands of civilians.
13 In the 1990s, Mon and Karen civilians in northern Tenasserim Division were
forcibly displaced, prior to the construction of the Yadana gas Pipeline, between
Burma and Thailand (see Chapter Six).
14 Between 1996 and 1998, villagers in the vicinity of the proposed Tasang Dam, in
central/southern Shan State, were subject to extensive and well-documented
bouts of forced relocation. About 300,000 people (56,000 families) were forced to
move to relocation sites, or to flee (Shan Human Rights Foundation 2003).
Further rounds of forced relocation were reported in these areas in
2005–06.
15 The KNLA replaced Htein Maung as Seventh Brigade commander with Col.
Johnny.
16 In May, the Independent Mon News Agency (IMNA) reported that the military
authorities were forcibly collecting ‘‘donations’’ from local villagers, and con-
fiscating land, to pay for development projects and house building in the area
given to Htein Maung (24 May 2007).
17 The KNU/KNLA PC blamed the onset of intra-Karen fighting on an ambush
staged on 1 April against Htein Maung’s son-in-law, Col. Ler Mu, which ser-
iously injured the target, as well as two young civilians. According to the KNU/
KNLA PC’s Maung Kyaw (who had previously been a refugee in Germany,
where he had represented the KNU), ‘‘the attack was deliberate and was planned
to kill Col Ler Mu and his followers’’. However, KNU General Secretary Mahn
Sa denied the allegations (Mizzima News 5 April 2007: www.mizzima.com). On
21 March, there had been a grenade attack on KNLA Commander-in-Chief
Mutu’s house in Mae Sot.
18 An earlier, and particularly notorious, pocket army in Shan State was the KKY
militia led by the Kokang Chinese warlord, Lo Hsing Han (on whose colourful
exploits, see Martin Smith 1999: 95–96, 253–57 and 378–80). Another KKY
militia was led by the Wa prince, Maha San, who went back to war with Yangon
in 1973, founding the non-communist Wa National Organisation (WNO) on the
Thailand border in 1976 (ibid. 350–51).
Notes 237
19 In May 2007, the SSA-South opened ceasefire negotiations with the Tatmadaw
Triangle Regional Command (The Irrawaddy 22 May 2007). However, the
fledgling peace process stalled, when the two sides could not agree on a venue for
talks.
20 The NRP aims to foster agreement among ethnic groups on common agendas,
and to encourage ethnic nationality and pro-democracy groups to work together.
It is supported by the NCGUB.
21 According to the leading architect of the draft federal constitution, the late Dr
Chao-Tzang Yawnghwe (in Yawnghwe and Lian Sakhong 2003: 105), ‘‘federation
is about how different territorial entities will relate to one another within a larger
nation-state configuration’’. Uncle Eugene (as he was also known) also noted
(ibid. 58) that ‘‘the end goal of the state constitutions drafting process is not to
produce actual state constitutions, but to prepare leaders, activists . . . for a time
to come in the near future . . . when a new Union will be rebuilt’’.
22 Callahan (ibid. xv) also makes the important observation that ‘‘these emerging
political complexes also provide alternative . . . lifelines for hundreds of thou-
sands of Burmese citizens living in areas poorly served by the formal economy
and government agencies’’. Another useful analysis of the political economy, and
beneficiaries, of violence in Burma is provided by Catherine Brown (1999).
23 According to Philippe Le Billon (2001), ‘‘natural-resource control and
exploitation . . . can create or exacerbate conflict, as well as extend and intensify
it. Where it is a factor, however, a generalised interpretation of war as ‘greed-
driven’ can dangerously depoliticise the fighting and thus prolong it. Initiatives to
prevent and resolve conflict, therefore, need to understand better the role of
resource (mis)governance in shaping greed and grievance – and their inter-
action’’. Le Billon notes that ‘‘conflict resolution approaches tend to assume a
clear division between pro-war and pro-peace constituencies or between a crim-
inalized war economy and a licit peace economy. But network war dissolves the
conventional distinctions between people, army and government . . . In border
areas this intermingling and overlapping of various ‘licit’ and ‘illicit’ flows – of
arms, drugs, smuggled luxury goods along with wheat, water melons and refu-
gees – is most apparent, though not always visible. These borders are places of
opportunity and exploitation. Borderlands are also places of constant flux as the
geography of the conflict ebbs and flows and the policies of neighboring coun-
tries change . . . Opium laboratories tend to be located close to borders’’.
24 The KNLA Fourth Brigade in Tenasserim Division has been implicated in laying
landmines to protect forests for logging, and, in the process, killing and injuring
local Karen civilians (Field Notes 11 April 07). However, such practices are not
limited to the Fourth Brigade.
25 The KNU has been accused of demanding excessive protection money (one mil-
lion baht, or nearly $30,000) from Thai contractors building this road (The
Irrawaddy 26 April 07).

1 The biggest killer is malaria, which infected 12 per cent of the population acces-
sed by the BPHWT (2006).
2 The following material is developed from South/UN (2006) and South (February
2007).
3 On the concept of ‘‘human security’’ in Burma, see Tin Maung Maung Than (in
Ganesan and Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007).
4 This conceptual framework may be compared with that advanced by Hugo
Slim and Andrew Bonwick, in the Active Learning Network for Accountability
and Performance in Humanitarian Action (ALNAP)’s Protection Guide for
238 Notes
Humanitarian Agencies (2005: 22–23). Slim and Andrew Bonwick state that pro-
tection needs arise in five main situations: 1. Armed conflict, 2. Post-conflict
situations, 3. Natural disasters, 4. Famine, and 5. Protracted social conflict. The
typology developed in this book would classify Slim and Bonwicks’ ‘‘Situation 1’’
with ‘‘Type 1’’ forced migration; ‘‘Situations 2 and 5’’ with ‘‘Type 2’’ forced
migration; and ‘‘Situations 3 and 4’’ with ‘‘Type 3’’ forced migration.
5 In 2006, the Interior Ministry extended the work permits of 460,014 migrant
workers in Thailand, of whom 405,379 were from Burma. The RTG also issued
new work permits to an additional 208,562 people (163,499 Burmese). These
figures do not include dependents, or illegal migrants (Field Notes 27 May 2007).
6 Between October 2006 and April 2007, some 3000 Rohingya (most of whom
originated in Northern Rakhine State) left Bangladesh by boat, to seek a very
uncertain asylum in Malaysia; many were stranded en route in Thailand, or
drowned at sea.
7 According to the TBBC (2007), over 200,000 forcibly displaced Shan arrived in
the kingdom between 1996 and 2006, and ‘‘are mostly living on farms, orchards
and construction sites throughout northern Thailand’’.
8 Probably less than half of the c.12,000 Mon ‘‘returnees’’ were actually among
those repatriated more than ten years ago, the rest being new arrivals, who had fled
persecution and acute livelihoods insecurity in Burma since the NMSP ceasefire.
9 See also COHRE (2007).
10 Documented by the author for Human Rights Watch (2005).
11 The calculated and brutal manner in which community trust and cohesion
is broken down under conditions of militarization in the border areas is described
in a report by the campaigning NGO, Burma Issues: After the 1997 Offensives (2003).
12 For a comprehensive account of the Thailand border refugee regime (focussing
on the Mon refugee caseload), see Lang (2002).
13 The principle of impartiality underpins moves in recent years towards the stan-
dardization of humanitarian assistance, at least within the Anglo–American aid
community (e.g. the SPHERE Project, initiated in 1997).
14 A recent study (Lischer 2003: 79–109) notes that ‘‘state-in-exile and persecuted
groups are more likely to coalesce around militarist leaders and view refugee
relief as an instrument of war . . . Under such conditions humanitarian organi-
zations will find it difficult (if not impossible) to ensure their resources are used
in a neutral and impartial manner’’.
15 According to Sangkook Lee (2001: 53), ‘‘the KNU seems to still govern the
refugees . . . many people admit that even the KRC is under the control of the
KNU’’.
16 In her 2001 MA thesis, Sangkook Lee (ii) observes that ‘‘the Karen refugees
maintain their nationalism movement by . . . the cooperation with the NGOs, the
help of overseas Karen, and the attraction of human rights from outside world’’.
Regarding educational reform among Burmese exile communities, Rosalie Metro
notes (2006) that ‘‘history curricula impact students’ ethnic prejudices . . .
[and] . . . are tied to political goals’’. She discusses the benefits of designing multi-
ethnic curricula, in order to develop constituencies for peace-building, and con-
cludes that ‘‘educational reform can create a social space in which conflict
transformation (as opposed to mere ceasefire) is possible’’.
17 Parts of this sub-section derives from COHRE (2007).
18 Following suppression of the sangha-led protests of September–October 2007
(see Chapter Five), a group of 13 INGOs in Burma issued a rare public statement,
calling on the military government to allow them to provide assistance to the
poorest members of society. Later the same month, the UN WFP announced that
some 5,000,000 people in Burma were chronically short of food, but that the gov-
ernment was restricting the agency’s access to 300,0000 of the 500,000 people it
Notes 239
aimed to assist (The Irrawaddy 20 October 2007 and Associated Press 29
October 2007).
19 As Mary Callahan notes (2007: xiii; parenthesis added): ‘‘NGOs [and] some
ethnic minority political organizations, and other nonstate actors can serve as
buffers or mediators between authority figures and local populations’’.
20 Following the withdrawal of the Global Fund, donors established a Three Dis-
eases Fund, under which (since April 2007) local government, national and
international agencies had access to $98 million (over five years), as part of a co-
ordinated campaign against HIV/AIDS, malaria and tuberculosis. Donors
viewed this initiative as a test case for whether the international humanitarian
system in Burma could carve out a sphere of greater independence, and exert
some influence over government policy.
21 Duffield adds (ibid. 131) that ‘‘even the most war-affected countries and regions
necessarily maintain structured forms of political authority and social practice,
even if they are not of an expected or conventional aspect’’.
22 On definitions and discussions of legitimacy in Burma, see Steinberg (in Ganesan
and Kyaw Yin Hlaing 2007); see also Ang Cheng Guan (2007).
23 See, for example, Burma Campaign UK (BCUK 2006): 19–20.
24 In late 2003, Daewoo International of South Korea discovered a new natural gas
field off the coast of Arakan State, in the Shwe (‘‘Gold’’) block, the scale of
which equalled that of the Yetagun and Yadana combined. In 2006, the Gov-
ernment signed a MoU with PetroChina for the sale of 6.5 trillion cubic feet of
gas from the Shwe field. This deal has increased the likelihood of an overland
(2380 km, $1 billion) pipeline from Arakan State through central and northern
Burma to Yunnan Province, plans for which received Chinese government
approval in April 2006 (Shwe Gas Movement 2007).

1 When the CPB collapsed, a few hundred People’s Army Southern Command
soldiers and their families were stranded in Tenasserim Division, far to the South.
In 1995, they formed the Tavoyan (Dawei) ethno-nationalist Mergui-Davoy United
Front (MDUF). Having failed to negotiate a ceasefire with the SLORC in 1996–97,
a handful of MDUF remnants continued to operate in KNLA Fourth Brigade
(South 2005: ch. 19).
2 Martin Smith (2007: 6) counts ‘‘28 ethnic ceasefire groups that administer their
own territories with the SPDC’s agreement’’.
3 For interesting perspectives on the ceasefires and their significance, see the arti-
cles in the Burmese language Chit Kyi Ye (Unity Journal), published by a coali-
tion of ceasefire groups (first issue, September 2003).
4 In her typology of Political Authority in Burma’s Ethnic Minority States, Mary
Callahan (2007: xiii-xiv; parenthesis added): identifies three ‘‘patterns of rela-
tionship between the national state and locally-based, often nonstate actors [that]
have emerged since 1988: near devolution, military occupation, and coexistence.
The first pattern of authority can be seen in the Wa regions and to a lesser degree
in the Kokang territory in Shan State [where] the authority of the SPDC is lim-
ited, and there appears to be a near devolution of power to networks of former
insurgent leaders, traditional leaders, businesspeople, and traders. In Northern
Rakhine State, Kayah and Karen States, the SPDC, the tatmadaw . . . and other
state agencies constitute dominant and oppressive occupying authorities. Third, in
parts of the border states where there have been ceasefire agreements, a range of
strategic partners – including ceasefire group leaders, business operators, USDA
leaders, traders, religious leaders, NGO personnel, and government officials –
have achieved to varying degrees a kind of coexistence’’.
240 Notes
5 For a rare positive appraisal of post-ceasefire developments in Kachin State, see
Ratana Tosakul-Boonmathya (28 August 2002).
6 Derived from South (February 2007).
7 For a detailed breakdown of ceasefire groups and other parties attending the
National Convention, and the main non-ceasefire groups, see the Appendix to
Martin Smith (in Kyaw Yin Hlaing, Tin Maung Maung Than and Robert Taylor
2005: 78–80).
8 One of the group, Math Myint Than, died in Sandoway prison (Arakan State)
on 2 May 2006.
9 This sub-section is partly based on South/UN (2006)
10 Martin Smith (ibid. 412) notes that Kokang forces fought for the SLORC against
the KIO in 1990.
11 According to Mary Callahan, (2007: 27): ‘‘the Kokang Authority has licensed
Chinese companies to construct and operate . . . casinos . . . However, these
operations offer little in the way of economic opportunities to most locals . . . 80
percent of casino employees in Laukkai are actually from China’’.
12 Martin Smith reproduces a famous quote from the KMT General, Tuan Shi-
wen: ‘‘to fight you must have an army, and an army must have guns, and to buy
guns you must have money. In these mountains, the only money is opium’’
(Weekend Telegraph 10 March 1987; quoted in Smith 1999: 314).
13 According to Martin Smith (ibid. 351), over 30,000 Wa died in the service of the
People’s Army alone.
14 Wei Xue Kang (an ethnic Chinese) defected from Khun Sa’s MTA in 1989, and
lent his expertise in the drugs trade to the burgeoning UWSA.
15 According to Mary Callahan (2007: 28), in 2007 the Southern Command area
had a total population of about 600,000 people.
16 The following overview should be read in the context of Chao Tzang Yawnghwe’s
caveat (in Jelsma, Kramer and Vervest 2005: 25) that ‘‘opium production
figures . . . are highly suspicious . . . [and often] . . . quite overblown’’.
17 By 2000, it was clear that the opium ban in SR1 had not succeeded. However,
since 2002, it has been vigorously enforced by the Tatmadaw.
18 When the author asked schoolchildren near Tar Shwe Tan what country they
lived in, they replied ‘‘Kokang!’’ (Field Notes 17 June 05).
19 For an authoritative account of the politics of opium in SR2, see Kramer (2007).
20 For a Wa perspective on the drugs trade, see Ta Saw Lu, The Bondage of Opium
(UWSP 1993).
21 However, the September 2005 arrest (by the Tatmadaw) of a senior Wa leader,
who was in possession of over 400 kg of heroin processed before the ban (S.H.A.
N. 14 October 2005), indicated the degree to which powerful Wa leaders were
implicated in the narcotics trade.
22 One of the best-researched reports on the Wa relocations, by the Lahu National
Development Organisation (LNDO 2002) estimates that 126,000 men, women
and children were forcibly relocated.
23 Communist states and parties tend to inhibit the development of the ‘‘inter-
mediate associations’’, which constitute civil society. Marxist–Leninist ideology
in particular, insists on the leading role of the vanguard party, in guiding the
development of state and society. Under this ‘‘dictatorship of the proletariat’’,
any autonomous activity not controlled by the party apparatus may be suspected
of (bourgeois) counter-revolutionary tendencies, and thus suppressed. Insistence
on the leading role of the party leaves little room for the development of civil
society, and tends to limit individuals and social groups’ capacity for indepen-
dent decision-making and action (see Chapter Six).
24 For details and analysis of forced migration in Kachin State, see Sanmann (MA
thesis 2000).
Notes 241
25 For a portrait of the ex-KIA Chief-of-Staff and KIO Chairman, see Shelby
Tucker (2001: 87–95).
26 In mid-February a group of 30–40 disgruntled KIA officers (led by the soon-to-be
KIA Chief-of-Staff, Maj-General N’ban La, and intelligence chief, Lasang Awng
Wa) had demanded that Zau Mai resign. In response, he announced that he
would retire in June or July, due to ill health. However, this was not acceptable to
the ‘‘Young Turks’’, and on 20 February they repeated their demands at a stormy
protest meeting held at KIO headquarters in Pajao, on the Chinese border. Soon
after, Zau Mai agreed to step down.
27 Ting Ying had been ousted once before (just after the KDA-K ceasefire), on
similar grounds, only to return to power (Smith 1999: 381).
28 Nai Shwe Kyin passed away on 13 March 2003. He was replaced as NMSP Pre-
sident by Nai Htin, who died on 14 March 2005. The current NMSP President is
ex-MNLA Commander-in-Chief, Nai Taw Mon.
29 In 1996, allegations regarding rights violations associated with construction of
the gas pipelines formed the basis of lawsuits brought against UNOCAL, on
behalf of a number of refugees from the pipeline area, in the Los Angeles courts.
The suits were settled out-of-court. (Similar cases were also filed against Total-
Fina, in French and Belgian courts.)
30 The KIO has never received such payments from the government.
31 For details of HLP rights violations in Burma since the ceasefires, see COHRE
(2007).
32 During the ceasefire talks, the KIO reportedly mishandled negotiations over the
future of Phakant and other jade-rich areas, due to poor knowledge of geology,
geography and negotiation strategy.
33 Deforestation probably contributed to the unusually severe flooding in Myitkyina
during the 2004 rainy season, during which some 50 people drowned.
34 Some affected households retained limited access to their lands, usually on pay-
ment of a fee to local Tatmadaw officers.
35 Examples include the government’s nationwide promotion (since 2004) of the
physic nut plant (Jatropha Curcans, or Kyet Su in Burmese). Physic nut oil can be
mixed with diesel, and used as a low-grade fuel; in some developing countries its
cultivation has helped to supplement rural incomes. However, its promotion in
Burma illustrates the regime’s misguided attempts to impose top-down
‘‘development’’ on the populace. Across the country, civilians have been forced
to purchase physic nuts, and grow them on state and private land. (For
examples from Mon State, see The Mon Forum May and August 2006; see
also COHRE 2007).
36 These complications are of course not unique to Burma. Illustrating David
Keen’s concept of ‘‘co-operative conflict’’, Mark Duffield (2001: 177–78) provides
a number of examples from Africa and Asia: ‘‘rebel groups and government
forces frequently avoid pitched battles . . . co-ordinating their movements in and
out of villages . . . trading between warring parties . . . and selling arms and
ammunition to the other side’’.
37 In August 2006, the daughter and son-in-law of the KPF second-in-command,
Major Lay Way, were arrested by the Burmese authorities, and charged with
amphetamine trafficking (Kao Wao News 9 September 2006).
38 In August 2007, the KNLA 18 Battalion (Sixth Brigade) commander, Lt-Col.
Kyi Lin, was assassinated, by persons unknown. As well as being involved in a
number of local logging and other business deals, Kyi Lin was also in contact
with the Tatmadaw Southeast Command, and was suspected of attempting to
negotiate a ceasefire in his area of control, similar to that arranged earlier
that year by Htein Maung (Field Notes 24 August 2007 and The Irrawaddy 28
August 2007).
242 Notes
39 In June 2007, a group of 100 SSNPLO remnants made their way through Kar-
enni State to the Thailand border, where they joined forces with the KNPP and
SSA. In August, the rump SSNPLO was reorganized under Tha Kalei (S.H.A.N.
7 and 11 August 2007).

1 The arguments and material in this chapter are developed from South (2004).
2 On relational approaches to civil society, focussing on types of action and inter-
action within military ruled Burma, see Lorch (2006).
3 Lorch (2006) notes that ‘‘the prerequisite for a healthy and independent civil
society – one that adheres to democratic norms such as flat hierarchies, plur-
alistic tolerance and dialogue – is the existence of a democratic constitutional
state. As this prerequisite has not been fulfilled in the authoritarian context of
Myanmar, civil society has taken on a different form and mirrors many of the
dark sides of the context of action it is operating in. For example, civil society
groups in Myanmar are sometimes exclusive bodies, with membership and
benefits confined to a specific ethnic or religious group. Furthermore, their
internal structure is often hierarchical, they don’t favour active participation by
their members with respect to decision making, and they sometimes lack trans-
parency’’.
4 For an analysis of Robert Putnam’s notions of ‘‘social capital’’, see Diamond
(1999: 225–26).
5 With particular relevance for Burma, it may be argued that (ibid.) the case ‘‘for civil
society is that it supports groups that are making the best of a bad situation’’.
6 Elsewhere (2007; parenthesis added) Lorch describes how ‘‘civil-society-based
self-help groups in the education sector [provide a] specific example of a larger
trend . . . the military regime has started to tolerate certain civil society activities
in areas of tremendous welfare needs that the government is unable or unwilling
to deal with itself’’.
7 For surveys of civil society in Burma, see Lee Hock Guan (2004) and Kyaw Yin
Hlaing (in Alagappa 2004). Helen James’ Governance and Civil Society in Myanmar
(2005) is gushingly, and quite inappropriately, enthusiastic regarding the SPDC’s
‘‘development efforts’’.
8 See Zunetta Liddell, No Room to Move: Legal Constraints on Civil Society in
Burma, in BCN and TNI (1999).
9 On informal ‘‘social movement organisations’’ in 1988, and since (including
overseas-based groups), see Kyaw Yin Hlaing, in Alagappa (2004).
10 In 2007, the USDA Secretary-General, Major General U Htay Oo, was also
Minister for Agriculture and Irrigation.
11 For a partial survey of Christian-oriented civil society groups in Mae La refugee
camp, see Sangkook Lee (2001: 53–56).
12 Perhaps the largest segment of the civil society sector in Burma, PTAs are
sometimes penetrated by the state or its proxies (e.g. the USDA).
13 Among those organisations excluded from the SCUK survey were the USDA,
MRCS, MMCWA, Myanmar National Committee for Women’s Affairs, and
writers, publishers, theatre, art, and sports groups, plus government agencies,
militias and the Auxiliary Fire Brigade, co-operatives (which are regarded as
thoroughly state-penetrated) and any group not considered ‘‘non-political’’.
14 For a groundbreaking analysis of ‘‘the other Karen’’, see Ardeth Maung
Thawnghmung (2006).
15 Dr Simon’s plans to develop a major health centre at Myawaddy received a boost
from the government, following his involvement in brokering the KNU ‘‘Seventh
Brigade split’’.
Notes 243
16 Gravers (2007: 232) describes how, ‘‘since the mid-1700s when the last Mon
kingdom of Pegu was annexed by the Burmese king, a line of min laung appeared
among the Karen. They used a mixture of Buddhist cosmology and Karen cus-
toms to announce prophecies of a new era, when the Karen would obtain
knowledge and prosperity’’.
17 Probably the most well-known account of Karen millenarianism is Theodore
Stern’s Ariya and the Golden Book (1968).
18 In addition to the Telecon and Leke, Kirsten Ewers-Andersen (2006) describes the lu
baung (‘‘yellow thread’’) the wi maung (‘‘white thread’’) Pwo Karen religious groups.
Dating from the early nineteenth century, these sects ‘‘staged rebellions against their
Burmese or English masters, claiming to be min laung, i.e. embryo kings’’.
19 Martin Smith (ibid.) recounts that the AFPFL government attempted to turn the
Telecon against the KNU in the 1950s.
20 According to Womack (2005: 155), ‘‘the invention of Leke writing is a pivotal
point in the history of Karen writing’’.
21 For brief accounts of the twins’ adventures, see Fink (11 September 1997) and
Rogers (2004: 113–14).
22 In October the previous year, five members of the VBSW had stormed the Bur-
mese Embassy in Bangkok, holding about 80 people captive for 25 hours, before
exchanging their hostages for safe transport to the Thailand–Burma border.
23 UNHCR uses ‘‘spontaneous’’ to mean a refugee repatriation that may be orga-
nised, but which does not involve active international monitoring. The term is
used here more generally, to describe voluntary re-settlement, self-organised by
individuals and communities, outside of any formal aid program.
24 As of late 2006, three main road-building (or up-grading) projects were under
way in Kachin State, linking Myitkyina with the NDA-K headquarters at Pang
Wa, and connecting the state capital with Putao in the far north; a third road
from Myitkyina to Bhamo was almost complete (Field Notes 5 May 2007). The
latter two projects were being implemented by the KIO and the Myanmar Jade-
land Company of Kachin entrepreneur (and avowed nationalist), Yup Zau
Hkawng (Global Witness 2003: 110–11.) According to James Lum Dau (ibid. 8;
parenthesis added), ‘‘the KIO has to offer timber for the cost of the . . . road
construction projects . . . KIO leaders as well as the Kachin people are very sad
to destroy their own precious natural resources . . . [but] they have no choice’’.
The Chinese and Burmese governments have also been building two major
highways, linking Tengchong with Myitkyina, and Zangfang with Bhamo.
25 In 2004, reports emerged of a huge dam planned at Tang Hprae, south of the
confluence (Myit Sone) of the N’Mai Hka and Mali Hka Rivers, which join to
form the great Irrawaddy River, in the Kachin heartlands north of Myitkyina.
Lo Hsing Han’s Asia World Company began initial construction work on this
dam in late 2006. An objection letter was submitted by the KCA on behalf of
local people in May 2007. According to the Kachin News Group (7 May 2007),
the government plans to construct seven hydroelectric power plants in the Myit
Sone area, which will generate a total of 13,369 megawatts of electricity. As many
as 50,000 people could be displaced by these projects.
26 Missionary groups ran a further 60-plus primary schools, and 13 were ‘‘shared’’
with the government.
27 In one of the largest re-forestation programs ever undertaken in Burma, the KIO
has planted some 700,000 trees since the mid-1990s, mainly around N’Ba Pa and
Sadaung (Field Notes 27 March 2006).
28 Members of the sangha have played key roles in the environmental movements in
neighbouring Thailand, and also in Cambodia.
29 For a detailed analysis of post-ceasefire developments in Mon areas, see South,
in Gravers (2007).
244 Notes
30 From north to south, the Mon resettlement sites were located at Halochanee (near
Three Pagodas Pass), Che Deik, Bee Ree (near NMSP ‘‘Central’’) and Tavoy District.
31 Mandy Sadan notes (in Gravers 2007: 63) that, since the KIO ceasefire, each of
the six main Kachin sub-groups has established a Literature and Culture Com-
mittee. The registration of these bodies ‘‘offers distinct advantages . . . only by
affiliation to officially recognised committees is it possible to organise cultural
activities or to make group presentations through publication’’. Several of the
committees have undertaken the codification and standardisation of ‘‘national’’
dress and other cultural products.
32 As Takatani Michio notes (in Gravers 2007: 195), the activities of Shan Litera-
ture and Culture Promotion Committees expanded in the 1990s, presumably as a
result of the ceasefires in Shan State. However, 2006 branches of the Shan Lit-
erature and Culture Committee experienced problems renewing their registration
(The Irrawaddy 8 June 2007).
33 Discussing Kachin society in her PhD dissertation, Mandy Sadan (2004)
describes how local communities are able to evade state censorship ‘‘in small but
politically significant ways . . . cultural and historical counter-narratives in min-
ority nationality languages can be developed through networks that function
beyond the tight grasp of the official censorship board’’.
34 As Ottaway and Carothers note (2000: 13), ‘‘professionalised NGOs . . . have, or
can be trained to have, the administrative capabilities donors need for their own
bureaucratic requirements. They can produce grant proposals (usually in
English) . . . and all the other documents donors ask of beneficiaries. In contrast,
many . . . especially informal associations, social movements, and other types of
social networks, are not set up to be administratively responsive to donor
needs’’.
1 After a long period of negotiation, in July 2007 ASEAN completed work on a
draft charter, including provision for a Human Rights Commission. Although
sceptics were doubtful whether such a body would be credible, the selection of
Surin Pitsuwan, Thailand’s liberal ex-foreign minister, as the next ASEAN
Secretary-General led some observers to predict that the bloc might adopt more
interventionist positions in future.
2 For example, Neil Englehart (2005) argues that sustained political change is
unlikely to come to Burma without addressing the issue of limited state capacity
‘‘that impede a transition to democracy and would plague any transitional
regime. Engagement with the current regime on issues of state capacity would
improve the chances for a transition’’. This argument may be extended to suggest
that enhancing the administrative capacity of ceasefire groups and other non-
state actors could help ‘‘create new possibilities by restoring some normalcy to
the relations between state and society’’.
3 The NMSP was the only ceasefire group to endorse the attempt to place Burma
on the UNSC agenda.
4 For Larry Diamond (1999: 20), ‘‘in contrast to those who see the emergence of
stable democracy as a relatively rapid and decisive occurrence crafted by elites, I
emphasize . . . the generally extended nature of democratic consolidation and its
close relationship to developing the institutional, behavioural, and cultural com-
ponents of democracy’’.
5 As Callahan notes (2007: xv; parenthesis added): ‘‘in areas of political coex-
istence [ceasefire zones], the international community has far greater opportunity
to support the work of responsible community organizations and NGOs in the
service, development, humanitarian, and peacebuilding sectors’’.
Notes 245
6 Sub-section based on South (February 2007).
7 In June 2005, the UN Sub-Commission on the Promotion and Protection of
Human Rights endorsed a set of Principles on Housing and Property Restitution
for Refugees and Other Displaced Persons (UN Commission on Human Rights E/
CN.4/Sub.2/2005/17). Reflecting international human rights and humanitarian
law, the Pinheiro Principles constituted the first consolidated global standard on
the housing, land and property (HLP) rights of the displaced. Their main spon-
sor, Professor Paulo Sérgio Pinheiro, was at the time also UN Special Rappor-
teur on the situation of human rights in Myanmar.
8 The UN Inter-Agency Standing Committee’s Benchmarks for Durable Solutions
for IDPs emphasise the significance of voluntariness in finding long-term solu-
tions to displacement crises (Brookings Institution 2007).
9 The ‘‘responsibility to protect’’ was most clearly articulated by the International
Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (2001).
10 The research and arguments in this section were first developed in ‘‘Con-
temporary Southeast Asia’’ (South April 2007).
11 As Mikael Gravers (2007: 5) has observed, in the ‘‘struggle to represent an
authentic vision of each ethnic group and its position in Burma . . . participants
are forced to reduce ethnicity to a very few general characteristics, often stereo-
typed and essentialized, in order to signify differences’’.
12 For a discussion of ethnic essentialism and the work of Walker Connor, see
Conversi (2004: ch. 14).
13 Brendan O’Leary’s essay on Federalism and the Management of Nations (in
Conversi 2004: 163) warns that ‘‘federation as a way of managing nations . . .
cannot satisfy those communities that are . . . dispersed, or small in numbers’’.
14 To counter the tendency of elections to prove ethnically divisive, Benjamin Reilly
(2001) advocates a ‘‘single transferable vote’’ electoral system. He argues that the
possibility of second preference candidates picking up votes from beyond their
main constituency encourages politicians to broaden their support bases, beyond
a single ethnic ‘‘vote bank’’.
15 According to NMSP General Secretary Nai Hongsa (IMNA 29 June 2007), ‘‘we
do not like the manner in which the government is currently drafting the con-
stitution. And we have to deliberate a lot on the ensuing elections. We have to
keep observing what changes they will make to the constitution and how it benefits
our people and ensures guarantees for us. We will decide then whether to involve
ourselves in the election’’.
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Mon State-wide Mon Literature and Buddhist Culture Association, Mon Language
Literacy Training Course 2005 Report (August 2005)
New Mon State Party, Report on Activities of the New Mon State Party (mss 1994)
NMSP, NMSP Education (2007)
Ratana Tosakul-Boonmathya, Rebuilding Lives, Families, and Communities: the
Kachins in upper Burma (28 August 2002)
UNDP [Study Draft], Establishment of a Myanmar Vulnerability Mapping and
Monitoring System (June 2005)
Chao-Tzang Yawnghwe, Burma and National Reconciliation: ethnic conflict and state-
society disfunction (mss, Vancouver 29 April 2001)
Academic Theses
Karin Dean, Tackling the Territorial Trap: Kachin divided by the SinoeBurmese
boundary (National University of Singapore PhD 2002)
Sangkook Lee, The Adaptation and Identities o f the Karen Refugees: a case study of
Mae La refugee camp (Seoul National University MA 2001)
Ronald Renard, Kariang: history of Karen-T’ai relations from the beginning to 1923
(University of Hawaii PhD 1980)
Mandy Sadan, History and Ethnicity in Burma: cultural contexts of the ethnic cate-
gory ‘Kachin’ in the colonial and post-colonial state, 1824–2004 (SOAS, London
University PhD 2005)
Aiontay Sanmann, The Effects of Military Rule on Kachin Population Movements in
Burma (University of Oklahoma MA 2000)
William Womack, Literate Networks and the Production of Sgaw and Pwo Karen
Writing in Burma, c.1830–1930 (SOAS, London University PhD 2005)
Newspapers, Periodicals and News Agencies

Associated Press [news agency]
The Bangkok Post [daily newspaper]
256 Bibliography
Burma Debate [journal, Open Society Institute, USA]
Chit Kyi Ye [Burmese language Unity Journal, published by a coalition of ceasefire
groups, Yangon]
Refugee Studies Centre (Oxford University), Forced Migration Review [policy journal]
Human Rights Foundation of Monland, The Mon Forum [human rights journal,
Bangkok]
Independent Mon News Agency [news agency, Bangkok]: www.monnews-imna.com
The Irrawaddy [news magazine and website, Chiang Mai]: www.irrawaddy.org
Kachin News Group [news agency, Chiang Mai]: www.kachinnet.com
Kao Wao News Group [news agency, Sangkhlaburi]: www.kaowao.org
The Los Angeles Times [daily newspaper]
Mizzima News [news agency, New Delhi]: www.mizzima.com
Mon Relief and Development Committee, Report [monthly, Bangkok]
The Myanmar Times and Business Review [weekly newspaper, Yangon]
The Nation [daily newspaper, Bangkok]
The New Light of Myanmar [government-controlled newspaper, Yangon]
Shan Herald Agency for News [news agency, Chiang Mai]: www.shanland.org
Index
agriculture 50, 75, 76, 195, 235; Burmese Association) 21; ‘‘Thirty
advantages of opium cultivation over Comrades’ 22, 27, 30; see also
other crops 145; agriculture projects independence; nationalism
in Kachin State 165–66; alternative Aung San Suu Kyi 43–45, 117, 128,
sustainable crops 147, 148, 151, 191; 135, 213; Depayin incident 106;
colonial era 9; Japanese International National League for Democracy
Co-operation Agency (JICA) 148; (NLD) xvi, 44–45, 53–54; the
Karen 54–55; physic nut plantation opposition 52–54; Saffron
241; rice shortages 146 Revolution 138, 139
All Burma Students Democratic Front
(ABSDF) 45–46, 54, 232 Bangladesh 42, 43, 77, 99; migrants
Anglo-Burmese wars: First Anglo- and refugees 81–82, 97, 238; non-
Burmese war (1824–26) 9, 14; Second ceasefire groups 232
Anglo-Burmese war (1852) 9, 14, 16; Baptist Church and missionaries 11,
Third Anglo-Burmese war (1885) 10, 14 182; Burman/non-Burman people 14;
animism 5, 13, 19, 141, 187, 213; Buddhist converts 15; civil society 182;
animism 187; statistics 37, 235 dialects’ reduction to writing 16; eco-
Arakan State xxiv, 25, 26, 80; Arakan Christian networks 192; Kachin
League for Democracy (ALD) 118; Baptist Convention (KBC) 192–93;
Arakan Liberation Party (ALP) 72; Kachin clans 18, 19; Kachin
Free Burma Rangers 99; non- nationalist movement 19; Karen
ceasefire groups 232; the Rohingya National Association (KNA/Daw
43, 81–82, 97, 238; Union State 35 K’lu) 17; Jinghpaw Shi Laika 18; the
Asian Development Bank 101 Leke 188; pan-Karen national
Association of Southeast Asian identity 17; S’ghaw-Baptist
Nations (ASEAN) 73, 200, 244 hegemony 19; see also Christianity;
assimilation 11, 32, 33; Burmanisation missionaries
29, 124, 234–35; Burmese Bo Mya, General 37, 68, 70;
nationhood 23; ‘‘cultural educational interlude 41; decline and
corporatism’’ 33 death 65–66; the ‘‘Gentleman’s
August-October 2007 see Saffron Agreement’’ 61–64, 65, 87, 107, 186;
Revolution Karen National Union (KNU)
Aung San 22, 26, 111; Anti-Fascist ceasefire negotiations 61, 64; the rise
People’s Freedom League (AFPFL) of General Bo Mya 39–41; see also
24, 26, 33, 234, 243; Atlee-Aung San Karen National Union (KNU)
Agreement 24; Aung San, Panglong ‘‘Border Development’’ 50–52, 80, 130,
and the 1947 Constitution 24–26; 179; Border Areas Development
Burma Independence Army (BIA) Association (BADA) 51–52; the
22, 23; Dohbama Asiayone (We business of border development 75–76;
258 Index
Progress of Border Areas and ‘‘liberated zones’ 32–33; Ministerial
National Races (Na Ta La) 51–52, Burma 20, 25
100, 101; Union Solidarity and Burma Proper/Frontier Areas 10, 11, 233
Development Association (USDA) Burman xv, 3; Alaungphaya, King 7;
51, 53, 136, 177–78; see also Bama/non-Burmans identities 10–11;
development projects Burmese/Burman nationalism 28;
borders in conflict 77, 237; armed Burmese script 16; ethno-linguistic
conflict and resource extraction 73–75, identity 8; kingdom 4, 7
237; see also ‘‘Border Development’’; Burmanisation 29, 124, 216, 234–35
Thailand border Burmese Border Consortium (BBC) 90;
Buddhism 5, 7, 34; alienation 91; Thailand Burma Border Consortium
animism 187; anti-colonialism 16–17; (TBBC) 90
Buddhist Tatmadaw 139; civil society Burmese national identity 28; Burmese/
182, 189; Democratic Kayin Buddhist Burman nationalism 28
Army (DKBA) 38, 57–59, 231;
Democratic Karen Buddhist Army Cambodia 3, 10, 75, 90, 243;
(DKBA) and Karen Buddhist humanitarian aid 92
Nationalism 189; environmental case studies: conflict and ceasefires in
conservation activities 192, 243; Kachin State 151–59; conflict and a
ethnic identity 5; Karen 13, 16–17, 36, contested ceasefire in Mon State
37, 186–88, 189; Karen Development 159–63; Kachin national identity
Committee (KDC) 185; Karen 18–20; the Karen insurgency revisited
Teacher Training College (KTTC) 41; 54–68; Karen national identity 13–16;
the Leke 188; Mon Buddhist culture Karen nationalist communities 201,
31; Mon Literature and Culture 213–15; Kokang and Wa ceasefires,
Committee 196; Monks Union and opium eradication 140–51;
(Thamagyi) 138; Non-Governmental militant Karen nationalism 36–42;
Organisations (NGOs) 180; Mon national identity 6–8; Mon
politicians 233; Saffron Revolution nationalism and insurgent political
137–40, 197, 200, 208; sangha 3, 11, culture 31–36; post-ceasefire
138, 139, 176, 182, 189, 197, 243; displacement in Kachin and Mon
sayadaw 54, 189; as the state religion States 163–67; post-ceasefire
152; statistics 37, 235; the Telecon rehabilitation in Kachin and Mon
187–88; Thamanya monastery 54, States 190–98
189; Theravada Buddhist casinos 140, 141, 146, 171, 194, 240
missionaries 17; see also Saffron Catholic Church and missionaries 182;
Revolution civil society 182; converts 15;
Burma 3, 28–29; ‘‘Burma’’ or democracy movements 177; Kachin
‘‘Myanmar’’? xv-xvi; Burmese place clans 18; see also Christianity;
names xxiv; economy 77; ethnicity missionaries
xv; geography and population xiv-xv; ceasefire 120, 135; Burma’s three-way
the Least Developed Country 43, 77; political scene 117–18; case study:
separation from India 21; territorial conflict and ceasefires in Kachin
division 136; Union of Burma 26; see State 151–59; case study: conflict and
also Burma, history; Constitutions; a contested ceasefire in Mon State
economy; education; health; 159–63; case studies continued: post-
Burma, history: pre-colonial era xvi, 3–8, ceasefire displacement in Kachin and
233; colonial era xvi, 8–21; Mon States 163–67; case study: the
independence and parliamentary era Kokang and Wa ceasefires, and
xvi, 22–33; military-socialist rule xvi, opium eradication 140–51; case
27–43 studies: post-ceasefire rehabilitation
Burma Campaign UK (BCUK) 112 in Kachin and Mon States 190–98;
Burma Proper 34; Aung San, Panglong ceasefires, civil society and socio-
and the 1947 Constitution 24–26; political change 198–99; ceasefire
Index 259
dynamics 119–21; ceasefire groups registration 221; Special Regions 121,
101, 105, 119–20, 122–23, 126–27, 131, 133; Tatmadaw 121; ‘‘three K’’
208, 220, 221; ceasefire groups ceasefire groups 157; UNICEF 102,
disarmaments 133; ceasefire strategies 210, 211; see also displacement;
118–25, 239; Chin National Front forced migration; Kokang and Wa
(CNF)-Tatmadaw 43; civil society ceasefires, and opium eradication;
178; conflict transformation 105, 238; responses to forced migration
economic motivation 120, 131; censorship 244
failures and negative outcomes 124–25, child rights 99, 103, 104, 105, 212; child
130–32; from SLORC to SPDC 49; labour 75; displacement 88, 95, 240;
the ‘‘Gentleman’s Agreement’’ 61–64, education 54, 99, 146, 180, 195;
65, 87, 107, 186; ‘‘legal fold’’ 61; health 77; military recruitment 68,
Kachin Independence Organisation 144, 147; Myanmar Maternal and
(KIO) ceasefire negotiations 154–56; Child Welfare Association
Karen National Union (KNU) (MMCWA) 177, 197, 242; UN
ceasefire negotiations 59–61, 64, 236; Children’s Fund (UNICEF) 102,
Karen Peace Mediator Group 210, 211
(KPMG) 59; livelihood vulnerability- Chin State xxiv, 11, 42–43, 233; Chin
induced migration 167–68; Metta National Front (CNF) 42–43, 232;
Development Foundation 181; Christianity 11; Chin Special
militarised forms of governance Division 25; non-ceasefire groups
168–72; National Convention 125, 232; opium production 145; refugees
128–40 (ceasefire groups at the 82; Union State 35
National Convention 128–29; the China 3, 200; 1988 democracy spring
consequences of regime 176–77; All Burma Students
consolidation 129, 133–34; from Democratic Front (ABSDF) 45;
Convention to Constitution? 135–37; anti-Chinese riots 35, 42; casinos
internal reform 134–35; ‘‘the Saffron 146, 171, 194, 240; ceasefire
Revolution’’ 137–40); National negotiations 119; Chinese
Union/Karen National Liberation nationalist forces 31; Chinese
Army Peace Council (KNU/KNLA nationalist Kuomintang (KMT) 142;
PC) 67, 236; Ne Win negotiations 34; gas deal 112, 239; Kachin peoples
non-ceasefire groups 72, 231–32; PaO 18, 152; logging companies 141, 150,
ceasefire 121, 124–25; patterns of 164–65; Mai Ja Yang 193–94;
authority 239; positive outcomes narcotics 143–44; opium trade 31,
120–21, 124, 125, 130–32, 178, 180–82, 42, 146; Shan State Special Region
189–96; Shalom Foundation 154, 1 141
181, 190; Shan State Army-South Christianity: Chin society 11; civil
(SSA-South)-Tatmadaw 237; the society 176, 199; conversion to 12;
Seventh Brigade split 66–68; SLORC education 12; Karen 14–15, 16, 17,
ceasefire package 61; SLORC 18, 37; Karen Development
negotiations 118–19, 239; U Nu’s Committee (KDC) 185; Non-
‘‘Arms for Democracy’’ programme Governmental Organisations
(1958) 31; violations 159; see also (NGOs) 180; pro-colonialism 16–17;
Kokang and Wa ceasefires, and statistics 37, 235; suppression of
opium eradication; military religion by SPDC 198; see also
government; National Convention; Baptist Church and missionaries;
National League for Democracy Catholic Church and missionaries;
(NLD); Tatmadaw missionaries
ceasefire zones xiii, 121, 133, 151, 159, citizenship xv, 184; ethnicity, territory,
160, 244; civil society 178, 180–82; homeland and citizenship 217–18; in
deforestation 149–50; displacement modern Burma 50; the Rohingya 43
82; Internally Displaced Persons civil society 105, 173–99, 208; 1988
(IDPs) 84, 88; Mon 166, 194, 196; democracy uprising 176; actors 173,
260 Index
174, 178–82 (ceasefire areas 181–82; xiv, 174; the Telecon 182, 187–88;
government-controlled areas 180; under tyranny 174; ‘‘Union Karen’’
zones of ongoing armed conflict 182, 183–86; Union Solidarity and
178–80); ‘‘Big D’’ and ‘‘little d’’ Development Association (USDA)
democracy promotion 175, 242; 177–78, 197, 242; see also
Burma Socialist Programme Party community-based organisations
(BSPP or Ma Sa La) 176, 182; case (CBOs); democracy; Non-
studies: post-ceasefire rehabilitation Governmental Organisations (NGOs)
in Kachin and Mon States 190–98; civil war 29, 31, 33, 108, 140; ceasefire
categories of, in Burma 175, 242; 198; conflict transformation 184, 220;
ceasefires, civil society and socio- displacement 89, 94; end-game 68,
political change 198–99; ceasefire 169; expansion of Tatmadaw power
positive outcomes 130; CBOs and 32; independence and civil war:
NGOs 175–76; communism 240; competing ideas of Burma 23–27; the
conflict transformation 184; long retreat – from Insein to Papun,
contested concept, contested domain to Mannerplaw to Mae Sot 55–57;
173–76; ‘‘dark side’’ 173, 174, 242; longest armed conflict in the world
definition 173; democracy 173–76, 59, 140, 184, 216, 231, 236; refugee
200–201; Democratic Karen camps 91, 94; Tatmadaw 118, 169;
Buddhist Army (DKBA) and Karen Thailand border 46, 160
Buddhist Nationalism 189; foreign colonial era xvi, 8–21, 117; agriculture
aid and civil society 204, 207; God’s 9; Anglo-Burmese wars 9, 10, 14;
Army 182, 188–89; Government- anti-Indian riots 21; Bama/non-
Organised Non-Government Burmans identities 10–11; Burma
Organisations (GONGOs) 176, 177; Proper/Frontier Areas 10, 11, 233;
Gramscian perspective 174; human case study: Kachin national identity
rights information 105–6, 212–13; 18–20; case study: Karen national
humanitarian coordination 107–8; identity 13–16; colonial classifications
Karen Development Committee 8–12, 20, 217; diversity and
(KDC) 185; Karen Development mobilization 16–18; dyarchy and
Network (KDN) 185; Karen Human dissent 20–21; economy 9–10; Indian
Rights Group (KHRG) 179–80; the immigration 9; missionaries 11–12;
Leke 182, 188; level of work in Saya San rebellion 21; Shan States
Burma 180; liberal democracy 174–75; 10, 142, 233; schools 12
Metta Development Foundation 181; Committee for Coordination of Services
in Myanmar 242; Myanmar to Displaced Persons in Thailand
Maternal and Child Welfare (CCSDPT) 90–91
Association (MMCWA) 177, 197, communism 240; anti-communism 40;
242; Myanmar Red Cross Society Communist Party of Burma (CPB)
(MRCS) 177, 242; National Security 27, 30, 40, 46, 49, 118, 141, 142, 150,
Act (1964) 176; Ne Win regime 176, 239; CPB-NDF military pact 41;
177; Parent-Teacher Associations KIO 152; liberated zone 235;
(PTAs) 180, 242; political change Marxist-Leninist ideology 240;
and transition 203–4; prerequisite for Northern Burma 41–42; People’s
a healthy civil society 242; Saffron Army 42, 49, 118, 140, 239, 240
Revolution 138–40; Shalom community-based organisations
Foundation 154, 181, 190; social (CBOs) 84, 104, 151, 178, 199; access
capital 174; State attempts to to zones of conflict 105; advocacy
penetrate or suppress civil society 112; CBOs and NGOs 175–76;
197–98; State Law and Order conflict transformation 105, 180;
Restoration Council (SLORC) 177; definition 175; donors 207;
state-society relations under military environmental conservation activities
rule 176–78; suppression 197–98; 192; ‘‘green CBOs’ 192; in
sustainable democratic transition xiii, government-controlled areas 180;
Index 261
Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) Democracy (NLD) xvi, 44–45;
107; Kachin State 191–92; level of ‘‘road-map to democracy’’ 125, 137;
work in Burma 180; peace-making Saffron Revolution 139; social capital
105; relief aid 105; relocation 89, 174–75; sustainable democratic
104–5; restriction of activities 132; transition xiii, xiv, 174; United
statistics 180; Thailand border 178; Nationalities League for Democracy
UN Development Programme 102; (UNLD) 117; see also
see also civil society; Non- democratisation; civil society;
Governmental Organisations (NGOs) federalism; political change
conscription: child soldiers 68, 144, Democratic Alliance of Burma (DAB)
147; forced labour conscription 62, 46, 70; ‘‘liberated zones’ 46; KIO
64, 167; Hongsawatoi Restoration 152; NDF-DAB-NCUB alliance
Party (HRP) 162; military 152; New Mon State Party (NMSP)
conscription 62, 141; para-military 159
conscription 198; United Wa State Democratic Front of Burma (DFB) 70;
Army (UWSA) 144; see also forced Anti-Military Dictatorship National
labour; land confiscation Solidarity Committee (ANSC) 70;
Constitutions 125; 1947 Union National Council of the Union of
constitution 24–26, 71, 125, 128, 216; Burma (NCUB) 70–71; NDF-DAB-
1974 Constitution 35, 125, 216; 2006 NCUB alliance 152; see also
Federal Constitution for the Real opposition, opposition in exile
Union of Burma 71, 237; draft Democratic Karen Buddhist Army
constitution (NCUB) 219–20; from (DKBA) 57–59, 60, 67, 68, 94, 171,
Convention to Constitution? 135–37; 213, 214, 215, 231; 999 Special
KIO 19-point document 135; Battalion 59, 67; control over
National Convention’s Constitution resources 74–75; inside the DKBA
125, 129, 136, 172, 219, 221, 245 58–59; Internally Displaced Persons
(IDPs) 58; and Karen Buddhist
Daw Aung San Suu Kyi see Aung San Nationalism 189; Karen National
Suu Kyi Union (KNU) 38, 57–59, 60, 189,
democracy 244; 1988 democracy 214, 231; organisation 59; origins
uprising 54, 101, 176; 1988 57–58; population 58; support from
Democracy Uprising and the SPDC 59; Tatmadaw 57, 58–59;
SLORC xvi, 43–45; 1990 election 45, Thailand 58–59; troop strength 59;
54, 117, 118, 125, 128, 221; 2008 U Thuzana 57–58; see also Karen
election 221, 222, 245; All Burma State; Karen National Union (KNU)
Students Democratic Front democratisation 173, 220–21; ceasefires,
(ABSDF) 45–46; anti-democracy civil society and socio-political
groups 197; ‘‘Big D’’ and ‘‘little d’’ change 198–99; ‘‘from below’’ 198,
democracy promotion 175, 242; 200, 208; a process xiv, 244; see also
Burma’s three-way political scene civil society; democracy
117–18; ceasefires, civil society and development projects 51, 58, 64, 67,
socio-political change 198–99; 100, 105, 107, 153, 154, 163, 165,
Committee Representing the People’s 190–98; ‘‘development’’-induced and
Parliament (CRPP) 118; urban displacement 167, 243;
consociational democracy 213–15, hospitals 144, 148, 153, 154, 191,
220; Daw Aung San Suu Kyi 43–44; 194; hydroelectric power 64, 67, 144,
Democracy in Plural Societies 214; 154, 165, 190–91, 243; Kachin State
Democratic Alliance of Burma 190–94; Mai Ja Yang 193–94; Mon
(DAB) 46; elections and tactics State 194–98; roads, bridges
221–22; ‘‘ethnic/national democracy’’ construction 51, 58, 74, 75–76, 79,
129; federalism 219–22; liberal 130, 147, 149, 167, 171, 190, 194,
democracy 174–75; limits of bottom- 237, 243; rural development projects
up change 199; National League for 51; schools 144, 148, 153, 154, 191,
262 Index
194, 195–96, 243; see also ‘‘Border civil society 182, 242; crisis 54; denial
Development’’ of the right of education 167;
displacement 79, 209–10; 2005–7 educational interlude 41; IDP
offensive in Northern Karen State schools 99; impacts of opium
64–65, 236; civil war 79, 89; eradication 146; Kachin State 190,
Committee for Coordination of 191, 243–44; Karen education system
Services to Displaced Persons in 41, 95, 99; Karen Development
Thailand (CCSDPT) 90–91; Network (KDN) 185; Karen Teacher
Committee for Internally Displaced Training College (KTTC) 41, 99;
Karen People (CIDKP) 98; Karen Teacher Working Group
community coping strategies 88–89; (KTWG) 41, 99; KIO Teacher
definition 78; Democratic Karen Training School 191; Literature and
Buddhist Army (DKBA) 58; Culture Committee 196, 244; Mon
‘‘development’’-induced and urban school system 31–32, 195–96; Mon
displacement 167; displacement State 195–97; National Health and
figures 81–84; ‘‘Four Cuts’ 34, 86–87, Education Committee (NHEC) 99;
96, 149, 152; Free Burma Rangers National Democratic Army-Kachin
98; Internally Displaced Persons (NDA-K) 153; Non-Governmental
(IDPs) 58, 78–80, 84, 87, 92, 97, 98, Organisations (NGOs) 99, 179; Pan-
101–2; Kachin population transfer Kachin College 193; schools 144,
166; long-term patterns of 148, 153, 154, 191, 194, 195–96, 243;
displacement 84–87; Non- schools in the colonial era 12; state
Governmental Organisations (NGOs) authorities (SPDC and MNDAA)
83–84, 179; opium ban and 148; UN Children’s Fund (UNICEF)
population movement 147, 149–50; 102, 211
post-ceasefire displacement in elections: 1990 election 45, 54, 117, 118,
Kachin and Mon States 163–67; 125, 128; 2008 referendum 221, 222,
rehabilitation 190–98, 209; Tatmadaw 245; registration of voters 221; see
32, 58, 63, 64, 100, 236; Thailand 89, also democracy
236; types of 79–80 (Type 1: armed environmental issues 73–74, 237, 241;
conflict-induced 79, 80, 83, 84, 85, armed conflict and resource
86–87, 98, 99, 163, 237–38; Type 2: extraction 73–75, 142, 237; ceasefire
state-society conflict-induced (post- negative outcomes 131; Chinese
armed conflict) 79, 80, 88, 164, 237–38; logging companies 141, 149–50;
Type 3: livelihoods vulnerability- deforestation 73–74, 141, 149–50,
induced (distress migration) 79, 80, 165, 192, 241, 243; documentation of
147, 149–50, 167–68, 237–38, 241); environmental threats 192;
see also humanitarian assistance; environmental movements 178, 243;
Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs); gold and jade mining 164, 165, 241;
forced migration; refugee; refugee Hukawng Valley Tiger reserve 165;
camps; responses to forced migration lead mining 169; logging 73–74, 79,
drugs see narcotics; opium trade 131, 141, 144, 149–50, 153, 161, 164,
165, 169, 171, 190–91, 237, 241, 243;
economy 77, 112, 240; Burma Kachin State 191–92, 243; mining 75,
Campaign UK (BCUK) 112; 79, 131, 165, 171; N’Mai Hku forest
ceasefire positive outcomes 120, 124; 165; natural resource extraction 163,
impacts of opium eradication 146; 164–65, 169, 171; re-forestation 243;
opium and poverty in Burma 147; welfare and the environment 191–92,
power and money relationship 156; 243; see also political economy
see also political economy ethnic identity 6, 15, 72, 216–18;
education 78, 80, 99, 208; Buddhism 5; Burma’s three-way
Burmanisation 124; ceasefire positive political scene 117–18; case study:
outcomes 124, 130; changes in the Kachin national identity 12, 18–20;
colonial era 10; Christianity 12, 182; case study: Karen national identity
Index 263
12, 13–18; case study: Mon national 220; territorial/rights-based
identity 6–8; the colonial experience: federalism 219–21; see also
the consolidation of ethnic identity democracy; political change
8–21; construction and forced labour 62, 64, 85, 87, 105, 130,
deconstruction of ethnic identity 4; 160, 215; International Labour
diaspora communities 111; ethnic Organisation 103; Tatmadaw 62, 81,
identity: the ‘‘nature-nurture’’ debate 100, 106, 159, 163, 167
6; ‘‘ethnic nationality’’ xv, 216; forced migration 78–113, 130, 163, 209;
‘‘ethnic question’’ 117; The Ethnic access, enquiry and data 80–84, 103;
Origin of Nations 6; ethnicicism 29; armed conflict-induced displacement
ethnie 6, 12, 16; ethno-linguistic (Type 1 forced migration) 79, 80, 83,
identity 216, 217; ethno-national 84, 85, 86–87, 98, 99, 163, 237–38;
territories 217–18; a fluid construct cyclic migration 81; displacement
20; literacy as a nation-building tool figures 81–84; ‘‘Four Cuts’ 34, 86–87,
17, 20, 31; makers of identity 4–5, 6; 149, 152; IDP population figures 82–84;
the nationality-minority debate 218– long-term patterns of displacement
19; and political purposes 23; pre- 84–87; migrant workers 81, 238;
colonial period 4–6; pre-colonial migration beyond borders 81; post-
pluralism 4–5; taingyintha 29; see ceasefire displacement in Kachin and
also ethnicity; nationalism Mon States 163–67; refugees on the
Ethnic Nationalities Council (ENC) Eastern border 82; refugees on the
71–72, 219; National Reconciliation Western borders 81–82; rehabilitation
Programme (NRP) 71, 237; 190–98, 209; repatriation 78, 82, 97,
Tatmadaw 71; see also opposition, 166, 190, 210, 238; responses to
opposition in exile forced migration 88–108, 209–13;
ethnicity 4, 23, 216–17, 235; definition shaping international agendas on
xix; ethnicity, territory, homeland Burma 108–13; types of forced
and citizenship 217–18; not an migration 79–80; village destruction
arbitrary notion 4; religion and 83, 87, 152–53; see also displacement;
ethnicity 17, 20; see also ethnic humanitarian assistance; refugee;
identity; ethno-nationalism refugee camps; relocation sites;
ethno-nationalism 117; Burma’s three- responses to forced migration
way political scene 117–18; ‘Four Cuts’ 34, 86–87, 149, 152; see
Burmanisation 29, 124, 234–35; also Tatmadaw
Committee Representing the Free Burma Coalition 112
People’s Parliament (CRPP) 118; Free Burma Rangers (FBR) 87, 98–99,
definition xix; the ethnic nationalist 109
reaction 29–31; ethnicicism 29; Frontier Areas 10, 11, 233; central state
ethnocratic state 235; groups and control 23; Frontier Areas Commission
organisations 117; main concerns of Enquiry (FACE) 24, 25
136; National Convention’s
Constitution (draft charter) 136–37; gas: fields 112, 160, 240; pipelines 160,
United Nationalities Alliance 170, 237, 241
(UNA) 117, 128, 135; United General Council of Burmese Associations
Nationalities League for Democracy (GCBA) 20; Young Men’s Buddhist
(UNLD) 117 Association (YMBA) 20
‘‘golden triangle’’ 69
The Fashioning of Leviathan 12 greed, grievance 64, 72, 108–9, 215–16,
federalism xix, 219–22, 237, 245; 2006 237
Federal Constitution for the Real guerrilla tactics 56, 86, 236; Military
Union of Burma 71, 237; Federal Alliance 72; see also militia
Movement 34; federal union of
Burma 129; Federal Union of Burma health 77–78, 80, 99, 100; Burma
219; other forms of decentralisation Medical Association (BMA) 99;
264 Index
ceasefire positive outcomes 124; 62, 78, 81, 86, 88, 104, 109, 159, 163,
education 99; Free Burma Rangers 238; see also child rights; displacement;
99; Global Fund for HIV/AIDS, forced labour; forced migration
Malaria and Tuberculosis 106, 113, human security xix
239; HIV/AIDS issues 77, 102, 105, humanitarian assistance 194, 205, 209,
106, 165, 193, 208, 212, 239; 211, 238–39; access, enquiry and data
hospitals 144, 148, 153, 154, 191, 80–84, 103–4; advocacy 86, 91, 97,
194; impacts of opium eradication 98, 99, 105–6, 107, 109, 212–13;
146; Kachin State 191; Karen Burma’s other borders 97, 99–100;
Development Committee (KDC) Burmese Border Consortium (BBC)
185, 242; Mon State 194–95; 90, 91; Committee for Coordination
National Democratic Army-Kachin of Services to Displaced Persons in
(NDA-K) 153; National Health and Thailand (CCSDPT) 90–91;
Education Committee (NHEC) 99; Consortium of Christian Agencies
refugee camps 96, 194; state (CCA) 90; cross-border aid 97–98;
authorities (SPDC and MNDAA) dilemmas of international engagement
147–48; statistics 77–78, 237; Tha, Dr 201, 204–8 (foreign aid and civil
Simon 185, 242; Three Diseases society 204, 207; towards ‘‘selective
Fund 239; UN Children’s Fund engagement’’ 207–8; humanitarian
(UNICEF) 102, 211 dialogues 208); education 99; Free
hills 10, 11, 13, 218; Chin hills 234; hill Burma Rangers 98–99; Global Fund
people 13; hill tribes 11, 13, 19, 29, for HIV/AIDS, Malaria and
142; Kachin hills 8, 18, 234; Karen, Tuberculosis 106, 113, 239;
Karenni hills 22, 24, 218; see also Guidelines for UN Agencies,
lowland people International Organisations and
HIV/AIDS issues 77, 102, 105, 165, NGO/INGOs on Co-operation
193, 208, 212, 239; Global Fund for Programme in Myanmar 106, 197;
HIV/AIDS, Malaria and Tuberculosis health services 99; humanitarian
106, 113, 239; Three Diseases Fund coordination 107–8; humanitarian
239; see also health dialogues 208; humanitarian
human capital 105, 186, 204 protection 210–13; the impacts of
human rights: abuses in border regions assistance 92; international
64–65, 68, 104, 179, 235–36, 237; organisations inside Burma 101–4
abuses in Mon State 166–67; basic (International Committee of the Red
human rights 97; ceasefire zones 130; Cross 103–4; International Labour
documentation activity 86, 91, 97, Organisation 103; International
98, 99, 107, 109, 212–13; Geneva NGOs 104; International Red Cross
Conventions 92, 103; housing, land 101; UN Children’s Fund (UNICEF)
and property (HLP) rights violations 102, 210, 211; UN Development
in Kachin State 164–66; housing, Programme 102; UN High
land and property (HLP) rights Commission for Refugees (UNHCR)
violations in Mon State 166–67; 82, 89, 91, 94, 97, 102, 179, 210, 212,
Human Rights Foundation of 243; UN Office for the Co-ordination
Monland (HURFOM) 166; of Humanitarian Affairs (UNOCHA)
humanitarian protection 210–13; 108; UN Office on Drugs and Crime
massacres 22, 30, 43, 44, 56; (UNODC) 144, 145, 147, 148, 151;
National Convention’s abuses 129, UN World Food Programme (WFP)
133; National Union/Karen National 97, 148, 151, 211, 238–39);
Liberation Army Peace Council international responses: refugees in
(KNU/KNLA PC) 68; the nationality- Thailand 89–91; Japanese International
minority debate 218–19; rights Co-operation Agency (JICA) 148;
violations 78–81, 83, 85, 103, 112, Karen Development Network
130, 160, 209, 215, 241; Saffron (KDN) 185; Karen Human Rights
Revolution 138–39, 208; Tatmadaw Group (KHRG) 179–80; legitimacy
Index 265
and conflict 93–96; local initiatives case study: militant Karen nationalism
95–96; local organisations inside 36–42; case study: Mon nationalism
Burma 104–8; Medecins Sans and insurgent political culture 31–36;
Frontieres (MSF) 90, 97, 101, 106, conflict dynamics and political
194, 197; military government 100; economy 35–36; definition xix; the
neutrality, impartiality and solidarity insurgent Mandala 38–39, 170; Mon
92–93, 97, 238; Non-Governmental insurgency xiii, 26–27, 159–61, 234;
Organisations (NGOs) 179; protection Nationalities United Liberation
activities 105–6; refugee resettlement Front (NULF) 35; Ne Win’s counter-
96–97; restrictions on humanitarian insurgency strategy 34; as a pretext
space 106–7; shaping international for the expansion of Tatmadaw
agendas on Burma 108–13 (Burma power 32; second wave of post-1962
viewed from Afar 109–11; isolation, ethnic insurgencies 35; Tatmadaw’s
disinvestment and the denial of aid counter-insurgency strategy 50;
111–13; perceptions of legitimacy Western Burma 42–43; see also
108–9); Thamanya monastery 189; independence; militia; nationalism
Thailand Burma Border Consortium Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) 58,
(TBBC) 90, 91, 194; Three Diseases 64, 78–80, 85, 86, 87, 98, 107, 209–10,
Fund 239; see also International 245; community-based organisations
Non-Governmental Organization (CBOs) 107; community coping
(INGO); Non-Governmental strategies 88; definition 78, 103;
Organisations (NGO); responses to ‘‘development’’-induced and urban
forced migration; United Nations displacement 167, 243; durable
humanitarian crisis 82, 117, 173, 200, solutions 209–10; Guiding Principles
207; Mon State 135; Tatmadaw 169 on Internal Displacement 150;
humanitarian coordination 107; IDP
identity see ethnic identity relief regime 109; International
independence 22–27, 117; Anti-Fascist Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC)
People’s Freedom League (AFPFL) 103, 210; international organisations
24; Atlee-Aung San Agreement 24; inside Burma 101–2; Kachin people
Aung San, Panglong and the 1947 152–53, 166, 190; Non-Governmental
Constitution 24–26; Burma Organisations (NGOs) 107; Mon
Independence Army (BIA) 22; Burma’s IDPs 194; opium eradication 149–50;
‘‘second struggle for independence’’ Principles on Housing and Property
44; Dorman-Smith, Governor Restitution for Refugees and Other
Reginald 24; Frontier Areas Displaced Persons 245; relocation
Commission of Enquiry (FACE) 24, sites 84, 105; return 150; statistics
25; independence and civil war: 82–84, 150, 152–53, 167; Thailand
competing ideas of Burma 23–27; 92, 97; Type 1 IDPs 83, 84, 88, 98,
independence and insurgency 26–27; 99, 102, 107, 194; UN Children’s
the Japanese interregnum 23; Fund (UNICEF) 102, 210, 211; UN
parliamentary system 27; Rance, Sir High Commission for Refugees
Hubert 24; Union of Burma 26; see (UNHCR) 212; villages 194; Wa
also Aung San; nationalism IDPs 149; Wa relocations 150, 240;
India 3, 200; anti-Indian riots 21; see also displacement; forced migration;
British rule in Burma 9, 12; Chin refugee; refugee camps; responses to
National Front (CNF) 43; Dyarchy forced migration
20; gas deal 112; Indian empire 9; International Non-Governmental
Indian immigration in Burma 9, 12; Organization (INGOs) 101, 104, 178,
Kachin people 18, 152; non-ceasefire 182, 238; ‘‘food for work’’ 149;
groups 234; refugees 82 Guidelines for UN Agencies,
Indonesia 3, 10 International Organisations and
insurgency 26, 72; case study: the NGO/INGOs on Co-operation
Karen insurgency revisited 54–68; Programme in Myanmar 106, 197;
266 Index
international responses: refugees in 119, 153–54, 157; Kachin hills 8, 18,
Thailand 89, 90; Kachin State 191, 234; Kachin Independence Army
192; Medecins Sans Frontieres (KIA) 153, 156, 157, 158–59, 241;
(MSF) Holland 101; refugee camps Kachin Independence Organisation
82, 96; Thailand border 179; (KIO) 33–34, 109, 125, 130, 132, 134,
Thailand-Burma Border Consortium 135, 152, 154–56, 157–59, 163, 164–65,
(TBBC) 82 190–94, 219, 221, 241; Kachin
International Red Cross 101; National Organisation (KNO) 156,
International Committee of the Red 232; Kachin-ness 216, 245; Kachin
Cross (ICRC) 103–4, 210 Rifles 19; Kachin Special Region 2 154;
languages 18; large-scale development
Japan 22–23; consequences of exposure projects 166; logging 153, 190–91,
to Japanese models 23; Japanese 243; Mai Ja Yang: a KIO new town
International Co-operation Agency 193–94; military occupation and
(JICA) 148; the Japanese interregnum confiscation of farmland 164;
23; Japanese occupation 8, 12, 23, National Convention 155; National
35, 85 Democratic Army-Kachin (NDA-K)
Jinghpaw 18, 20, 155; hegemony 19; 153, 155, 234; nationalism 19; natural
population 152; tradition 234; see resource extraction 164–65; New
also Kachin State Democratic Army-Kachin (NDA-K)
153, 155, 157, 158, 189; Nung
Ka Kwe Ye (KKY) militias 34, 169, community 20; opium eradication
236; origins 120 191; opium production 145; Pan-
Kachin State xxiv, 19, 31, 80, 190–94; Kachin College 193; Pan-Kachin
agriculture projects 165–66; armed Development Society (PKDS) 193;
conflict and displacement 152–53; population 151–52, 155; population
Aung San, Panglong and the 1947 transfer 166; Rawang sub-group 18,
Constitution 24–26; Baptist church 20, 152, 158, 234; Rebellion Resistance
19; case study: conflict and ceasefires Force (RRF) 158; reforestation 243;
in Kachin State 151–59; case studies schools 153, 154, 191, 243; Shalom
continued: post-ceasefire displacement Foundation 154, 181, 190; State
in Kachin and Mon States 163–67; Peace and Development Council
case study: Kachin national identity (SPDC) 155; sub-groups 18, 152,
18–20; case studies: post-ceasefire 234, 244; Tatmadaw 153, 158, 159,
rehabilitation in Kachin and Mon 164; ‘‘three K’’ ceasefire groups 157;
States 190–98; ceasefires in Kachin village destruction 152–53; see also
State 153; ceasefires violations 159; Jinghpaw
censorship 244; Christianity 15, 18; Karen State xv, xxiv, 55; 2005–7
culture 19; development of the ethnic offensive in Northern Karen State
category 18–19; education 191, 243; 64–65, 236; animists 5, 13; Anglo-
electrification 190–91, 243; Burmese wars 14; Aung San, Panglong
environmental issues 191–92, 193; and the 1947 Constitution 24–26;
Force 101 23; forced labour 159; Baptist church 17, 18; British Burma
‘‘Four Cuts’ 152; health 191; hospitals Army 12; Buddhism 13, 16–17, 36,
153, 154, 191; housing, land and 186–89; Burma Karen National
property (HLP) rights violations in Association (BKNA) 234; case study:
Kachin State 164–66; Hukawng the Karen insurgency revisited 54–68;
Valley Tiger reserve 165; human case study: Karen national identity
rights violations 159; inter-Kachin 13–18; case study: Karen nationalist
politics since the ceasefires 156–59; communities 201, 213–15; case study:
Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) militant Karen nationalism 36–42;
152–53; Jinghpaw 18, 19, 20, 234; Christianity 14–15, 16–17, 18, 36, 37;
Kachin Baptist Convention (KBC) citizenship 184, 217–18; civil society
193; Kachin Defense Army (KDA) 183–89; colonial era 13–16, 186;
Index 267
Committee for Internally Displaced 179; Karen Youth Organisation (KYO)
Karen People (CIDKP) 98; cross- 26, 67, 179, 183, 234; Kayan
border aid 97–98; Democratic Kayin National Guard (KNG) 70; Kaw
Buddhist Army (DKBA) 38; dialects Thoo Lei 16, 38, 55, 64, 234; A Land
13, 16, 233; dialects and its literary Without Evil 111; language newspaper
forms 16; diaspora 111; Dorman- 16; the Leke 188; literacy 18, 188,
Smith, Governor Reginald 24; 243; literacy as a nation-building tool
districts and townships 55; education 17; logging 73–74, 237; Mahn Ba
41, 95, 99, 238; elections (1990) 118; Zan 40; mandala 13; Martyrs’ Day
ethnic diversity 186; the ethnic 30; massacres 22, 30; millenarianism
nationalist reaction 29–31; Ethnicity, 186–87, 243; min laung 186, 243; Min
Nationalism and the Nation-State: Laung rebellion 16; modern education
The Karen in Burma and Thailand 37; 12; Mongko Region Defence Army
forced migration 83, 84–86; Free (MRDA) 170–71; National
Burma Rangers 99; God’s Army Democratic Front (NDF) 40, 49;
188–89; guerrilla Force 136 22; nationalism 94, 95, 111, 238;
history 15, 16, 17; A Humble Northern Burma 41–42; the ‘‘other
Memorial of the Karens of Burma 24; Karen’’ 182–89; pan-Karen national
insurgency 26–27, 234, 235; the identity 17, 18, 111, 186, 214; pan-
insurgent Mandala 38–39; Internally Karen political movement 26; PaO
Displaced Persons (IDPs) 84–85; 13, 16, 26, 119, 145, 172, 189, 195,
international responses: refugees in 220, 222; PaO ceasefire negotiations
Thailand 89–91; Karen Affairs 124–25; PaO National Organisation
Council 26; Karen Central (PNO) 121, 124–25, 145, 171; pre-
Organisation (KCO) 234; Karen colonial era 186; population 55, 236;
Development Committee (KDC) Pwo dialects 13, 16, 37; Pwo Karen
185; Karen Development Network communities 5, 13, 14, 20, 40, 55,
(KDN) 185; Karen Education 187, 213, 236, 243; religion and
Department (KED) 99; Karen ethnie ethnicity 17, 243; refugee crisis 91;
15, 16, 38; Karen Goodwill Mission refugee camps 89, 90–91, 94, 95, 96;
24; The Karen History 15; Karen revolution 30; the rise of General Bo
Human Rights Group (KHRG) 179– Mya 39–41; Sgaw/S’ghaw dialects 13,
80; Karen, Karenni hills 22, 24; The 16, 17, 37, 41; Sgaw/S’ghaw Karen
Karen Making of a Nation 16; Karen 18, 19, 20, 36, 38, 42, 57, 94, 159,
National Association (KNA/Daw K’lu) 186, 187, 213, 236; S’ghaw-Baptist
17, 24, 234; Karen National hegemony 19, 36, 37, 41; sources of
Congress for Democracy (KNCD) cultural knowledge 233–34;
184; Karen National Defence Tatmadaw 27, 30, 241; the Telecon
Organisation (KNDO) 30, 170; 187–88, 189; Toh Meh Pah 37–38;
Karen National Liberation Army ‘‘Union Karen’’ 183–86, 222; Union
(KNLA) 37, 55, 170, 171, 187, 188, Karen League (UKL) 184; Union
231, 241; Karen National Union Karen Organisation (UKO) 184;
(KNU) 215; Karen nationalism unity, diversity and consociational
182–89; Karen-ness 189, 213, 216, democracy 213–15; village
245; Karen Peace Force (KPF) 171, destruction 87; see also displacement;
241; Karen Peace Mediator Group Democratic Karen Buddhist Army
(KPMG) 59, 185; Karen Refugee (DKBA); Karen National Liberation
Committee (KRC) 94, 238; Karen Army (KNLA); Karen National
Rifles 30; Karen State 24, 26; Karen Union (KNU);
State Peace Committee (KPC) 61; Karen National Liberation Army
Karen Teacher Training College (KNLA) 37, 55, 231, 236; 2005–7
(KTTC) 41, 99; Karen Teacher offensive in Northern Karen State
Working Group (KTWG) 41, 99; 64–65, 236; brigade areas 55;
Karen Women’s Organisation (KWO) ceasefire negotiations 61–64; clashes
268 Index
with the Tatmadaw 57; desperate Telecon 187, 243; village protection
gambits on the border 65–66; exile 86; see also Bo Mya, General; Karen;
57; forced labour conscription 62; the Karen National Liberation Army
‘‘Gentleman’s Agreement’’ 61–64, 65, (KNLA)
87; guerrilla tactics 56, 236; logging Karenni State xxiv, 8, 13, 26, 69–70,
74, 237; the long retreat – from 233; aid agencies 95; Christianity
Insein to Papun, to Mannerplaw to 37; cross-border aid 97–98; Free
Mae Sot 55–57; military conscription Burma Rangers 99; human rights
62, 68; National Union/Karen abuses 130; Karenni National
National Liberation Army Peace Peoples Liberation Front (KNPLF)
Council (KNU/KNLA PC) 67, 236; 70, 231; Karenni National
the Seventh Brigade split 66–68, 215 Progressive Party (KNPP) 70, 95,
Karen National Union (KNU) 25, 26, 231, 242; Karenni National Unity
30, 31, 35, 38, 76, 95, 170, 171, 182, League (KNUL) 70; Karenni State
213, 214, 215–16, 231; 2005–7 25–26; nationalist movement 33;
offensive in Northern Karen State refugee camps 91, 96
64–65, 236; armed conflict and Khmer 3, 5, 6
resource extraction 73–75, 237; case Khin Nyunt, General 204; ceasefire
study: the Karen insurgency revisited negotiations 118, 119, 129, 144, 160,
54–68; case study: militant Karen 167; fall 52, 63, 103, 106, 129, 172;
nationalism 36–42; ceasefire National Convention 49, 125; see
negotiations 59–61; control over also military government
resources 74–75; Democratic Kokang and Wa ceasefires, and opium
Alliance of Burma (DAB) 46; the eradication 140–51; blue-print for the
Democratic Karen Buddhist Army ceasefires: Special Region-1 140–41;
(DKBA) 38, 57–59, 189, 214, 231; impacts of eradication: Special
desperate gambits on the border 65– Region-1 146; international agencies
66; Ethnicity, Nationalism and the 148; international responses 150–51;
Nation-State: The Karen in Burma local and international responses:
and Thailand 37–38; federalism 219; Special Region-1 147; opium bans
the ‘‘Gentleman’s Agreement’’ 61–64, 145–46; opium eradication in Special
65, 87, 107, 186; God’s Army 188–89; Region-2 149; opium trade 144–45;
international responses: refugees in population movement 147; population
Thailand 89–91; Karen free state movement (Type 3 forced migration)
organisation 55; Karen National 149–50; the ‘‘relief-developmental
Liberation Army (KNLA) 55, 171; continuum’’ 151; state authorities
Karen Peace Mediator Group (SPDC and MNDAA) 147–48;
(KPMG) 59; Karen Refugee towards a Wa State? Special Region-
Committee (KRC) 94, 238; liberated 2 141–43; the UWSA Southern
zones 55, 94; logging 74, 169, 237; Command 143–44; see also Shan
the long retreat – from Insein to States
Papun, to Mannerplaw to Mae Sot
55–57; militia 27; mining 75, 169; land confiscation 64; military occupation
nation-building programme 95; and confiscation of farmland 164,
National Union/Karen National 167, 215; Mon State 160; Tatmadaw
Liberation Army Peace Council 79, 86, 88, 130, 141, 160, 163, 164,
(KNU/KNLA PC) 67, 236; 165, 167; see also forced labour;
opposition in exile 111–12, 231; forced migration; human rights
origins 17, 234; political administration language: ban on minority languages
55; protection money 237; refugee 23; Chinese language dominance 142;
94, 95; the rise of General Bo Mya dialects and its literary forms 16;
39–41; Saw Ba U Gyi 30; the Seventh ethno-linguistic identity 216; Kachin
Brigade split 66–68; S’ghaw-Baptist State 191; see also ethnic identity;
hegemony 37; taxation 73, 237; the language newspaper; literacy
Index 269
language newspaper: Jinghpaw Shi Association (USDA) 51, 53, 136,
Laika 18; Morning Star 16 177–78, 197; the use of the term
Laos 10, 69, 75, 77, 150; drugs flows ‘‘Burma’’ xv-xvi; sanctions 45, 112,
145; humanitarian aid 92 139, 204, 207; sustainable democratic
‘‘liberated zones’ xiii, 38, 40, 44; Burma transition xiii, xiv, 174; ‘‘Three National
Proper 32–33; Democratic Alliance Causes’’ 177; see also democracy;
of Burma (DAB) 46; fall in the 1990s Khin Nyunt, General; National
179; humanitarian assistance 179; Convention; nationalism; State Law
Karen National Union (KNU) 55, and Order Restoration Council
94; Karenni 70; life in 32, 235; local (SLORC); State Peace and
autonomy 220; New Mon State Party Development Council (SPDC);
(NMSP) 160; Non-Governmental Tatmadaw
Organisations (NGOs) 179 military-socialist rule xiii, xvi, 27–43,
literacy 195–96; dialects and its literary 117; Burma Socialist Programme
forms 16; Literature and Culture Party (BSPP or Ma Sa La) 34, 43,
Committee 195–96, 244; Mon school 176, 182; Burmese Way to Socialism
system 31–32, 195–96; as a nation- 39, 43; Constitution of 1974 35; coup
building tool 17, 20; Wa literacy 142; d’etat (1958) 31, 33, 118, 176; coup
see also language; language newspaper d’etat (1962) 29, 31, 34, 39, 77, 117,
livelihoods 50, 97, 112, 164; alternative 118, 128, 176; from parliamentary
livelihoods in ex-poppy growing chaos to State-Socialist autarchy
areas 147, 148, 151, 191; definition (1958–88) 33–34; human rights
xix; erosion under SLORC-SPDC abusers xiv; the Ma Sa La 34–35;
137; food insecurity 80, 148; impacts Military Caretaker Government 33,
of opium eradication 146; livelihoods 34; political language and concepts
crises 150; livelihoods vulnerability- 33, 235; see also democracy; Ne Win,
induced displacement (distress General; Tatmadaw
migration) 79, 80, 147, 149–50, militia 118, 119; ceasefire negotiations
167–68, 238, 241; Mon State 10, 194– 119; conscription 198; as an
95; opium and poverty in Burma 147 incorporated Japanese model 23;
lowland people 10, 13, 37, 51; Burman- ethnic militias 27, 118; guerrilla
populated Divisions 35; Burma tactics 56, 86, 236; militarised forms
Proper 10, 24; Ministerial Burma 25; of governance 168–72, 241; MNDAA
see also hills militia 141; National Convention’s
Constitution 172; the re-orientation
Making of Modern Burma 11 of border networks 169–72; see also
Malaysia 77, 81, 97, 165; refugees 82, Ka Kwe Ye (KKY) militias
238 missionaries 11–12; dialects’ reduction
mandala 5, 13 to writing 16; Karen 14–15, 16;
massacres: Tatmadaw 30, 43, 44, 60 Karen literacy 17–18; language
Medecins Sans Frontieres (MSF) 90, newspaper 16; pan-Karen national
97, 101; MSF-France 106, 194, 197 identity 17, 18; see also Baptist
military government 125, 128, 215; Church and missionaries; Catholic
Burma’s three-way political scene Church and missionaries; Christianity
117–18; ceasefire groups disarmament Mon State xxiv, 3, 194–98, 233; All
133; ceasefire strategies 118–25; civil Ramanya Mon Association (ARMA)
society 175, 180, 242; divide-and-rule 21; anti-ceasefire factions 162–63;
strategy 119, 144, 172; National case study: conflict and a contested
Security Act (1964) 176; patterns of ceasefire in Mon State 159–63; case
authority 239; regime change 201–3; studies continued: post-ceasefire
State attempts to penetrate or suppress displacement in Kachin and
civil society 197–98; state-society Mon States 163–67; case study: Mon
relations under military rule 176–78; national identity 6–8; case study:
Union Solidarity and Development Mon nationalism and insurgent
270 Index
political culture 31–36; case studies: Union State 35; United Mon
post-ceasefire rehabilitation in Kachin Association (UMA) 26
and Mon States 190–98; ceasefire monarchy 3
negotiations 159, 160; changes in the monks see Buddhism
colonial era 10; civilization xv, 4, 7, Myanmar 28, 45; ‘‘Burma’’ or
13, 21; cross-border aid 97–98; culture, ‘‘Myanmar’’? xv-xvi; nationhood
community development and education 28–29
195–96; ‘‘development’’-induced and
urban displacement 167; education Na Ta La (Progress of Border Areas
31–32, 195–96; the ethnic nationalist and National Races) 51–52, 101;
reaction 29–31; ethno-linguistic humanitarian aid 100, 142; see also
identity 8, 32; forced labour 160, 167; military government; State Law and
health 194–95; Hongsawatoi Order Restoration Council (SLORC);
Restoration Party (HRP) 162–63, State Peace and Development
231; housing, land and property Council (SPDC)
(HLP) rights violations in Mon State narcotics 140, 144, 149, 169, 171, 191,
166–67; human rights abuses 130, 240, 241; ceasefire motivation 120,
160, 163, 166–67; Human Rights 131; drugs addiction 165; Drug
Foundation of Monland (HURFOM) Eradication Museum 141; Ka Kwe
166, 181; humanitarian crisis 135; Ye (KKY) militias 120;
insurgency xiii, 26–27, 159–61, 234, methamphetamine 146, 149;
235; Karen National Union (KNU) relocation of factories 144; United
31; livelihoods 194–95; logging Wa State Army (UWSA) 143–44; see
concessions 161; military occupation also opium trade
and confiscation of farmland 167; Nat 3
Mon Affairs Union (MAU) 161; nation, definition xix
Mon Army Mergui District (MAMD) National Coalition Government of the
163; Mon Buddhist culture 31; Mon Union of Burma (NCGUB) 46, 54,
National Defence Army (MNDA) 60, 70–71, 235; NCUB-NCGUB
162; Mon National Democratic alliance 71, 110, 125; see also
Front (MNDF) 117, 118; Mon opposition, opposition in exile
National Liberation Army (MNLA) National Convention 49, 53, 70, 118,
134, 160, 162; Mon People’s Front 125, 128–40; ceasefire groups
(MPF) 31; Mon Relief and disarmaments 133; ceasefire groups
Development Committee (MRDC) at the National Convention 128–29;
194; Mon Restoration Party (MRP) the consequences of regime
162, 163; Mon Unity League (MUL) consolidation 129, 133–34;
161; Nai Pan Nyunt, Colonel 162– Constitution 125, 129, 136, 172, 219,
63; nationalists xiv, 7; National 221, 245; from Convention to
Convention 161; New Mon State Constitution? 135–37; human rights
Party (NMSP) 31–32, 35, 82, 125, violations 129, 133; internal reform
134–35, 159–61, 163, 167, 194–95, 134–35; Kachin Independence
199, 219, 241, 244, 245; population Organisation (KIO) 155–56; Karenni
159, 166; refugees 82, 194, 238; participation 70; militias 172;
refugee camps 91, 160; resettlement National League for Democracy
sites 194, 244; returnees 194; Royal (NLD) 128; New Mon State Party
Thai Army 160; school system 31–32; (NMSP) 161; the opposition 53; ‘‘the
sangha 13, 176; splits since the Saffron Revolution’’ 137–40; the
ceasefire 162–63; State attempts to Shan State Army-North (SSA-N)
penetrate or suppress civil society 129, 240; UN Commission on
197–98; State Peace and Development Human Rights 129; see also State
Council (SPDC) 160–61, 162; Law and Order Restoration Council
Tatmadaw 32, 167, 241; under British (SLORC); State Peace and
rule 10, 11; under military regime 29; Development Council (SPDC)
Index 271
National Democratic Front (NDF) 40, 33–34; international isolation and
49, 70; CPB-NDF military pact 41; domestic decay 35; the Ma Sa La
Kachin Independence Organisation 34–35; ‘‘Military Caretaker
(KIO) 152; New Mon State Party Government’’ 33; presidency 35;
(NMSP) 159; NDF-DAB-NCUB Tatmadaw Commander-in-Chief 30
alliance 152 neutrality, impartiality and solidarity
National League for Democracy 92–93, 97, 238
(NLD) xvi, 44–45, 52–54; Burma’s Nobel Peace Prize: Aung San Suu Kyi
three-way political scene 117–18; 44–45, 54
ceasefire negotiation 59, 118, 119; Non-Governmental Organisations
Depayin incident 106; National (NGOs) 52, 104, 151, 178, 238, 239,
Convention 128; National League for 244; access to zones of conflict 105;
Democracy [Liberated Area] (NLD- budget 180; Burma-NGOs 91; CBOs
LA) 70; New Mon State Party and NGOs 175–76; conflict
(NMSP) 161; the opposition 52–54; transformation 105, 180; control,
see also Aung San Suu Kyi restriction, suppression of activities
National Reconciliation Programme 132, 197–98; definition 175;
(NRP) 71, 237 displacement 83–84, 179; donors 207,
nationalism 21, 28, 234; All Ramanya 244; education 99, 179; ‘‘food for
Mon Association (ARMA) 21; Aung work’’ 149; in government-controlled
San, Panglong and the 1947 areas 180; Government-Organised
Constitution 24–26; Burma Non-Government Organisations
Independence Army (BIA) 22, 23; (GONGOs) 176, 191–92; Guidelines
Burma’s three-way political scene for UN Agencies, International
117–18; Burmanisation 29, 124, Organisations and NGO/INGOs on
234–35; Burmese/Burman Co-operation Programme in Myanmar
nationalism 28; case study: Karen 106, 197; human rights information
nationalist communities 201, 213–15; 105–6; Internally Displaced Persons
case study: militant Karen nationalism (IDPs) 107; international responses:
36–42; case study: Mon nationalism refugees in Thailand 89, 90, 91;
and insurgent political culture 31–36; Kachin State 190, 191–92; legitimacy
Chin National Front (CNF) 42–43; and conflict 94–96; level of work in
conflict dynamics and political Burma 180; liberated zones 179; Mai
economy 35–36; diaspora communities Ja Yang 193; neutrality, impartiality
111; Dohbama Asiayone (We Burmese and solidarity 92–93; peace-making
Association) 21; ‘‘ethnic/national 105, 238; relief aid 105; relocation 89,
democracy’’ 129; the ethnic 104–5; statistics 180; training 100,
nationalist reaction 29–31; General 244; UN Development Programme
Council of Burmese Associations 102; see also civil society
(GCBA) 20; independence and
insurgency 26–27; National opium trade 144–45, 150, 237, 240;
Democratic Army-Kachin (NDA-K) advantages over other cultivations
234; Nationalities United Liberation 145; a cash crop 144, 145; ceasefire
Front (NULF) 35; the ‘‘other Karen’’ motivation 120, 131; Chin State 145;
182–89; Saya San rebellion 21; China 31, 42; Drug Eradication
Young Men’s Buddhist Association Museum 141; heroin 144, 146, 240;
(YMBA) 20; Western Burma 42–43; impacts of eradication146, 149;
see also Aung San; ethno-nationalism; international agencies 148;
independence international responses 150–51;
Ne Win, General 29, 30, 40, 41, 43, 52, introduced in Burma by the British
199, 204; civil society 176, 177; 144; Kachin State 145; Kokang and
counter-insurgency strategy 34; coup Wa ceasefires, and opium eradication
d’etat 34; from parliamentary chaos 140–51; negative effects 144; opium
to State-Socialist autarchy (1958–88) ban 145–46, 149, 240; opium
272 Index
eradication 80, 101, 120, 145, 146, Philippines 177; Aquino, Corazon 43
191; opium eradication in Special political change 200–201, 205–6, 244;
Region-2 149; ‘‘opium warlord’’ 69, approaches to conflict resolution
140, 143; population movement 147; 202–3; back to the future: a return to
population movement (Type 3 pluralist politics? 215–19 (ethnicity,
forced migration) 147, 149–50; and territory, homeland and citizenship
poverty in Burma 147; reasons for 217–18); case study: Karen nationalist
opium eradication 146; the ‘‘relief- communities 201, 213–15; ceasefires,
developmental continuum’’ 151; civil society and socio-political
Shan State 145; statistics 144–46, change 198–99; conflict transformation
240; UN Office on Drugs and Crime 105, 180, 184, 238; dilemmas of
(UNODC) 144, 145, 148, 151; international engagement 201, 204–8
United Wa State Army (UWSA) (foreign aid and civil society 204,
143–44, 149; Wa Alternative 207; humanitarian dialogues 208;
Development Program (WADP) towards ‘‘selective engagement’’ 207–8);
150–51 federalism, and its discontents 219–22
opposition, opposition-in-exile 61, 109– (approaches to autonomy 219–21;
13, 231, 238; anti-ceasefire actors 64, elections and tactics 221–22);
125; Anti-Military Dictatorship responding to forced migration 201,
National Solidarity Committee 209–13 (humanitarian protection
(ANSC) 70; Democratic Front of 210–13; search for durable solutions
Burma (DFB) 70; the emergence of 209–10); types of transition 201–2,
the ENC 71–72; Ethnic Nationalities 203–4, 205–6, 244; see also civil
Council (ENC) 71–72; ethno- society; democracy; federalism
nationalism 117; humanitarian political economy 36; armed conflict
assistance 109–11, 112–13; Karen and resource extraction 73–75, 237;
111; Karenni 70; literature 121; black market 36, 39, 40, 73, 169; the
National Coalition Government of business of border development 75–
the Union of Burma (NCGUB) 54, 76; casinos 140, 141, 146, 171, 194,
70–71, 237; the NCGUB and NCUB 240; ceasefire positive outcomes 120,
70–71; National Council of the 124; colonial era 9–10; concessions
Union of Burma (NCUB) 70–71; 140, 144; definition xix-xx; ‘‘economic
National Reconciliation Programme migrants’ 80; greed, grievance 64, 72,
(NRP) 71, 237; political language 108–9, 215–16, 237; insurgency:
and concepts 33, 235; politics 70–72 conflict dynamics and political
economy 35–36; logging 73–74, 79,
Pagan 3, 75, 233; kingdom of 4; Pagan 237; mining 75, 79; narcotics 120,
Declaration 75 140, 143, 144, 149, 169, 191, 240;
Panglong Conference (1947) 24–26, 35, opium and poverty in Burma 147;
135, 220 opium trade 140, 240; the political
parliamentary era 27–33; Burma: economy of conflict 72–76, 237;
Insurgency and the Politics of power and money relationship 156;
Ethnicity 27; militarisation and timber concessions 40, 56, 70, 73–74,
nation/state-building (1948–58) 27–31; 135, 144, 165, 192; see also
Tatmadaw 27–28 displacement; economy
peace 169, 198; benefits of 125; political scene in Burma 117–18; 1990
population’s desire for 62–63, 184, 215 election 45, 54, 117, 118, 125, 128,
peace-building 63, 198, 208, 244; 221; 2008 election 221, 222, 245;
definition xix pluralism 218; political parties 117–
peace-making 105, 185, 198; conflict 18; see also democracy; federalism;
transformation 105, 238; definition xix nationalism
Pegu 3, 4, 5, 7 Political Systems of Highland Burma 7–8
People’s Vigorous Association (PVA) pre-colonial era xvi, 3–8, 217, 233; case
197; harassment by 137 study: Mon national identity 6–8;
Index 273
cities of gold: Thaton, Pagan, Pegu, Church and missionaries;
Ava and Mandalay 3–4; the Christianity
construction and deconstruction of relocation: ‘‘Four Cuts’ 86–87, 100;
ethnic identity 4; ethnic identity: the Mon resettlement sites 194, 244;
‘‘nature-nurture’’ debate 6; pre-colonial refugee resettlement 96–97;
pluralism 4–5; Shan States 142 ‘‘rehabilitated’’ sites 89; rehabilitation
189–98, 209; relocation sites 58, 83,
regime change xiii, 173, 200, 201–3, 84, 85, 100, 104–5, 107, 209, 210,
205–6, 244; ceasefires, civil society 236; responses to forced migration
and socio-political change 198–99; 88–89; return 102, 150, 166, 190,
top down/bottom up 203, 207–8 209–10, 243; Wa Alternative
refugee 78, 79, 91, 209–10; 1951 Development Program (WADP) 150–
Convention Relating to the Status of 51; Wa relocations 150, 240; see also
Refugees 89; 1967 Protocol 89; ceasefire zones; displacement; forced
education 41, 70, 95–96, 238; forced migration; responses to forced
repatriation 78; the impacts of migration
assistance 92; Karen National Union repatriation 97, 166, 190, 194, 210;
(KNU) 238; Mon refugees 194; forced repatriation 78; 82, 238; see
Principles on Housing and Property also displacement; forced migration
Restitution for Refugees and Other responses to forced migration 88–108,
Displaced Persons 245; refugee relief 209–13; Burma’s other borders 97,
regime 109; refugee resettlement 96–97; 99–100; Burmese Border
refugees on the Eastern border 82; Consortium (BBC) 90, 91;
refugees on the Western borders 81– Committee for Coordination of
82; return 102, 150, 166, 190, 209–10, Services to Displaced Persons in
243; Rohingya 81–82, 97; statistics Thailand (CCSDPT) 90–91;
91, 96; UN High Commission for community coping strategies 88–89;
Refugees (UNHCR) 82, 89, 91, 94, Consortium of Christian Agencies
97, 102, 179, 210, 212, 243; see also (CCA) 90; cross-border aid 97–98;
displacement; forced migration; education 99; Free Burma Rangers
refugee camps; responses to forced (FBR) 98–99, 109; health services 99;
migration humanitarian coordination 107–8;
refugee camps 37, 91, 94; education the impacts of assistance 92;
system 41, 70, 95–96, 238; health 96; international organisations inside
International Non-Governmental Burma 101–4 (International
Organization (INGOs) 96; Karen Committee of the Red Cross 103–4;
refugee camps 89, 90, 94, 97, 160; International Labour Organisation
Kareni refugee camps 160; Mae La 103; International NGOss 104; UN
refugee camp 67, 68, 97, 242; Mon Children’s Fund (UNICEF) 102, 210,
refugee camps 160; refugee 211; UN Development Programme
resettlement 96–97; Thailand 58, 67, 102; UN High Commission for
82, 94; see also displacement; forced Refugees 102; UN World Food
migration; refugee; responses to Programme (WFP) 97, 148, 151, 211,
forced migration 238); international responses: refugees
religion: ceasefire negotiations 119; in Thailand 89–91; legitimacy and
civil society 180, 181, 182; conflict 93–96; local organisations
community-based organisations inside Burma 104–8; Medecins Sans
(CBOs) 180, 181; Non-Governmental Frontieres (MSF) 90; military
Organisations (NGOs) 180, 181; government 100; neutrality,
refugee population 94; religion and impartiality and solidarity 92–93, 97,
ethnicity 17, 20, 94; statistics 37, 235; 238; protection activities 105–6; refugee
suppression by SPDC 198; see also resettlement 96–97; restrictions on
animism; Baptist Church and humanitarian space 106–7; Thailand
missionaries; Buddhism; Catholic Burma Border Consortium (TBBC)
274 Index
90, 91; see also displacement; forced 231; Royal Thai Army 143; sawbwas
migration 33, 69; schools 144, 148; Shan
roads, bridges construction 51, 59, 74, Interim Council (SIC) 69; Shan
75–76, 79, 130, 147, 149–50, 167, Nationalities League for Democracy
171, 190, 194, 237, 243; see also (SNLD) 117–18; Shan State Army
development projects (SSA) 33, 129; the Shan State Army-
North (SSA-N) 129, 133, 134, 240;
Saffron Revolution xiv, 137–40, 200, Shan State Army-South (SSA-S) 69,
208; authority’s abuses and killing 129, 143, 171, 231, 237; Shan States
138–39; Monks Union (Thamagyi) of Kuomintang (KMT) 31; Shan
138; suppression of civil society State Nationalities Peoples Liberation
actors 196–97; see also Buddhism Organisation (SSNPLO) 172, 242;
sangha 11; civil society 176, 182, 189; Shan State Peace Council (SSPC) 69;
environmental conservation activities Special Region 1 (SR 1) 140, 145,
243; literacy programme 196; Mon 146, 240; State Law and Order
sangha 13, 196–97; Saffron Revolution Restoration Council (SLORC) 140,
138, 139, 197, 200, 208; see also 141, 240; State Peace and Development
Buddhism Council (SPDC) 69–70; Tatmadaw
Saw Ba U Gyi 30, 35, 67; ‘‘Four 33, 129, 141, 142, 143; Type 3
Principles’’ 30 migration: livelihoods vulnerability-
Second World War 22–23 induced (distress migration) 147,
Seventh Day Adventist Church 37 149–50; UN Office on Drugs and
shamanism: Kalok 3; Nat 3 Crime (UNODC) 144, 145, 147, 148;
Shan States xxiv, 10, 33–34, 69–70, 233; UN World Food Programme (WFP)
animism 141; case study: the Kokang 148, 151; United Wa State Army
and Wa ceasefires, and opium (UWSA) 121, 141, 142, 143–44;
eradication 140–51; China 140, 141; United Wa State Army (UWSA)
Chinese cultural dominance 142; Southern Command 143–44, 147,
Chinese nationalist Kuomintang 149, 150, 240; United Wa State Party
(KMT) 142; colonial period 142; (UWSP) 141, 142; Wa Alternative
communism 42, 235; Communist Development Program (WADP) 150–
Party of Burma (CPB) 140, 141, 142; 51; Wa literacy 142; Wa relocations
Communist Party of Burma (CPB) 150, 240; Wa Special Region 2 (SR 2)
People’s Army 140, 240; constitutional 141–43, 145, 147, 149; Wa ‘‘state’’ 143
concession 25–26; cross-border aid Siam 14; borders with Burma 5; Mon
97–98; ethnic diversity 142; Federal population 7
Movement 34; Free Burma Rangers state 137; differentiated from nation
99; hospitals 144, 148; impacts of xix; ‘‘state-building’’ 219; state-society
opium eradication 146, 149; Japanese relations under military rule 176–78;
International Co-operation Agency state sovereignty 92–93
(JICA) 148; Kokang nationalism 140; State Law and Order Restoration
Literature and Culture Committee 196, Council (SLORC) 43–45, 60, 73, 101,
244; logging 141; methamphetamine 170; armed conflict and resource
146, 149; militarisation 142; Myanmar extraction 73–75, 237; ceasefire
National Democratic Alliance Army negotiations 118–19, 239; civil society
(MNDAA) 140, 147–48, 171; 177; concessions 140, 144; embargo
nationalist movement 33; opium 45, 204; from SLORC to SPDC 49–
bans 145–46, 149, 240; opium 52; Government-Organised Non-
eradication 149; opium/heroin trade Government Organisations
140, 144–45, 240; pockets army 69, (GONGOs) 177; human rights
236; population 140, 141–42, 240; abuses 60; Kachin Independence
pre-colonial period 142; refugees in Organisation (KIO) ceasefire
Thailand 82, 238; Restoration negotiations 154–56; Karen National
Council for Shan State (RCSS) 69, Union (KNU) ceasefire negotiations
Index 275
59–61, 236; Myanmar National Restoration Council (SLORC);
Democratic Alliance Army Tatmadaw
(MNDAA) 140, 141, 240; Na Ta La student movement 54; 88 Generation
(Progress of Border Areas and 54, 137; All Burma Students
National Races) 51–52, 100, 101, 142; Democratic Front (ABSDF) 45–46,
National Convention 49, 53, 70; 54, 232
opposition 53–55; sanctions against
112; state policy 49–50, 235; see also taxation 131; armed groups 79, 91, 121,
State Peace and Development 145; black market trade 36, 3, 40;
Council (SPDC) ceasefire groups 132, 134; colonial
State Peace and Development Council era 9, 14; Kachin Independence
(SPDC) 44, 71, 106, 107, 108, 113; Organisation (KIO) 164; Karen
‘‘Border Development’’ 50–52; National Union (KNU) 73, 237;
ceasefire groups disarmament 133; logging 164; MNDAA militia 141;
ceasefire negotiations 61, 63, 239; New Mon State Party (NMSP) 161;
civil society in government-controlled Hongsawatoi Restoration Party
areas 180; concessions, grants and (HRP) 162, 163; opium market 42;
loans 75–76, 135; Declaration of pre-colonial era 3; Tatmadaw 64, 65,
Defence Policy 49, 235; Depayin 79, 121, 132, 155, 241
incident 106; ‘‘development’’ taingyintha 29
programmes 179; divide-and-rule Tatmadaw 27–28, 31, 100; 2005–7
strategy 172; the fall of Khin Nyunt offensive in Northern Karen State
and the move to Nay Pyi Daw 52; 64–65, 66, 236; armed conflict and
forced labour 103; from Convention resource extraction 73–75, 237;
to Constitution? 135–37; from Buddhist Tatmadaw 139; Burma
SLORC to SPDC 49–52; the Socialist Programme Party (BSPP or
‘‘Gentleman’s Agreement’’ 61–64, 65, Ma Sa La) 34, 43, 176, 182; ceasefire
87, 107, 186; hospitals 148; groups disarmaments 133; ceasefire
International Labour Organisation negotiations 43, 61–64, 119, 129, 134,
103; Kachin Independence 237; ceasefire violations 159; ceasefire
Organisation (KIO) 155; military zones 121; Chin National Front
strategy 50; militias 171, 172; (CNF) 43; civil war 118, 169;
militarisation 179; Na Ta La (Progress counter-insurgency strategies 34, 50,
of Border Areas and National Races) 86–87, 96, 100; coup d’etat (1958) 31,
51–52, 100, 101, 142; National 33, 118, 176; Declaration of Defence
Convention 125; National Policy 49, 235; Democratic Karen
Convention’s Constitution 125, 129, Buddhist Army (DKBA) 57, 58–59;
137; National Union/Karen National desperate gambits on the border
Liberation Army Peace Council 65–66; displacement 32, 58, 63, 64,
(KNU/KNLA PC) 67, 236; NDA- 82, 86, 100, 236; divide-and-rule
KIO-SPDC intrigue 157–58; New strategy 119, 144; the ethnic nationalist
Mon State Party (NMSP) 160–61; reaction 29–31; Ethnic Nationalities
opposition 53–55, 101; patterns of Council (ENC) 71; expansion of
authority 239; regime change 201–3, power 32, 169–72; from parliamentary
244; ‘‘road-map to democracy’’ 125, chaos to State-Socialist autarchy
137; sanctions against 139, 204; (1958–88) 33–34; from SLORC to
Saffron Revolution 137–40; schools SPDC 49–52; forced labour 62, 81,
148; Shan States 69–70; state policy 88, 100, 106, 159, 167; ‘‘Four Cuts’
49–50, 235; support to Democratic 34, 86–87, 96, 100, 149, 152; the
Karen Buddhist Army (DKBA) 59; ‘‘Gentleman’s Agreement’’ 61–64, 65,
suppression of religion 198; UN 87, 107, 186; human rights violation
Security Council 207; see also 62, 78, 81, 86, 88, 104, 109, 159, 163,
military government; National 238; humanitarian aid 100; inter-
Convention; State Law and Order connected civil wars 118; Ka Kwe Ye
276 Index
(KKY) militias 120; Kachin Thailand border xvi, 31, 46, 74; 2005–7
Independence Organisation (KIO) offensive in Northern Karen State
135; Karen National Liberation 64–65, 236; aid agencies 93; All
Army (KNLA) 57; land confiscation Burma Students Democratic Front
79, 86, 88, 130, 141, 160, 163, 164, (ABSDF) 45; armed conflict and
165, 167; ‘‘liberated zones’ 38; Ma Sa resource extraction 73–75, 237; the
La 34–35; massacres 30, 43, 44, 56, business of border development 75–76;
60; Military Alliance against 72; civil war 46, 160; community-based
militarisation 79, 142; militias 169– organisations (CBOs) 178; crisis 56;
72; Mon identity 32; mopping up cross-border aid 97–98; Democratic
campaign 69; National Convention’s Karen Buddhist Army (DKBA) 58–59;
Constitution (draft charter) 136–37; desperate gambits on the border
National Union/Karen National 65–66; God’s Army 188–89; ‘‘golden
Liberation Army Peace Council triangle’’ 69; human rights violation
(KNU/KNLA PC) 67, 236; natural 104; humanitarian coordination 107–8;
resource extraction 169; patterns of the impacts of assistance to refugees
authority 239; power and money 92; International Non-Governmental
relationship 156; relocation 100; the Organization (INGOs) 179;
re-orientation of border networks international responses: refugees in
169–72; Saffron Revolution 137–40; Thailand 89–91; Karen Development
Shan State Army-South (SSA-South) Network (KDN) 185; Karen National
237; Shan State Special Region 1 (SR Liberation Army (KNLA) 57; Kaw
1) 141; the Seventh Brigade split 66–68; Thoo Lei 38; Mon population 6–7;
taxation 64, 79, 121, 132, 155; the National Union/Karen National
Telecon 187; ‘‘Thirty Comrades’ 30; Liberation Army Peace Council
Union Solidarity and Development (KNU/KNLA PC) 67, 236; non-
Association (USDA) 177, 197; ceasefire groups 231–32; refugee
United Wa State Army (UWSA) 143; camps 58, 67, 82, 94, 160, 179; the
village destruction 83, 87, 152–53; see Telecon 187; Thailand-based aid 109;
also displacement; human rights; Thailand Burma Border Consortium
military-socialist rule; Ne Win, (TBBC) 64, 90, 91, 194; United Wa
General; State Law and Order State Army (UWSA) 141, 144;
Restoration Council (SLORC); State Vigorous Burmese Student Warriors
Peace and Development Council (VBSW) 188, 243; see also borders in
(SPDC) conflict; Thailand
Tats see militia Thesaphiban system 14
Thailand 3, 54, 73, 177; 2005–7 offensive
in Northern Karen State 64–65, 236; U Nu 26, 34, 35; Anti-Fascist People’s
ceasefire negotiations 119; Democratic Freedom League (AFPFL) 33, 34,
Karen Buddhist Army (DKBA) 58– 243; ‘‘Arms for Democracy’’
59; ‘‘Economic Cooperation Strategy’’ programme (1958) 31; Buddhism as
75–76; flee to 60, 89, 236; gas deal the state religion 152; ceasefire
112; international responses: refugees negotiations 159; Nationalities
in Thailand 89–91; Karen National United Liberation Front (NULF) 35;
Liberation Army (KNLA) 57; Karen Parliamentary Democracy Party
population 15, 218; legitimacy and (PDP) 35
conflict 93–96; Mon population 6–7; Union Solidarity and Development
Non-Governmental Organisations Association (USDA) 51, 53, 136,
(NGOs) 95; refugees 82, 95, 179; 177–78, 197, 242; harassment by 137,
refugee camps 58, 67, 82, 94; refugee 178; ‘‘mother of Burmese GONGOs’
resettlement 96–97; Royal Thai Army 177; objectives 177
90, 143, 160; Royal Thai Government United Kingdom 23, 112; British
73, 89, 90, 95; Thai people 15; see Burma Army 12, 22; British rule in
also Thailand border Burma 6, 8–12, 23, 29; Burma
Index 277
Campaign UK (BCUK) 112; Burma assistance; responses to forced
Proper/Frontier Areas 10, 11, 233; migration
‘‘Dyarchy’’ 20–21; economic sanctions United Nationalities League for
112; The Fashioning of Leviathan 12; Democracy-Liberated Area (UNLD-
government xvi; guerrilla Force 136 LA) 71
22; Karen Goodwill Mission 24; United States 112; economic sanctions
Making of Modern Burma 11; Mon 45, 112, 139; Force 101; Free Burma
culture and history 10, 11; opium Coalition 112; Free Burma Rangers
trade 144; reconstruction of identity 98; government xvi; narcotics control
15; the Rohingya 43; see also Anglo- 149; refugee resettlement 96; the rise
Burmese wars of General Bo Mya 39–41; UN
United Nations 45, 53–54, 77, 106–7, Development Programme 102; US
108, 204, 207, 208; Burma, the Least Office for Strategic Services (OSS) 23
Developed Country 43, 77; drug
control operations 150–51; General Vigorous Burmese Student Warriors
Assembly 117, 133; Guidelines for (VBSW) 188, 243
UN Agencies, International village destruction 83, 87, 152–53; see
Organisations and NGO/INGOs on also Tatmadaw
Co-operation Programme in
Myanmar 106, 197; Myanmar Wa see Kokang and Wa ceasefires, and
Vulnerability Mapping and opium eradication; Shan States
Monitoring System 151, 159, 236; warlord 5, 32, 61, 108, 109, 140; army
National Convention 129; Petries, 170, 236; ‘‘opium warlord’’ 69, 140,
Charles 208; Principles on Housing 143; warlord enterprise 58;
and Property Restitution for Refugees warlordism 68, 73, 150
and Other Displaced Persons 245; Western Burma 42–43
Saffron Revolution 139, 208; UN ‘‘white campaign’’ 54
agencies 52, 101, 104, 106, 151, 179, women: female military conscription
191, 204, 207, 212; UN Centre for 144, 198; Kachin Women’s Association
Human Settlements (UN Habitat) (KWA) 191; Karen Women’s Action
167; UN Children’s Fund (UNICEF) Group (KWAG) 185; Karen
102, 210, 211; UN Commission on Women’s Organisation (KWO) 66,
Human Rights 129; UN 179; Mon Women’s Organisation
Development Programme 102; UN (MWO) 195; Myanmar Maternal
High Commission for Refugees and Child Welfare Association
(UNHCR) 82, 89, 91, 94, 97, 102, (MMCWA) 177, 197, 242; Myanmar
179, 210, 212, 243; UN Office for the Women’s Affairs Association
Co-ordination of Humanitarian (MWAA) 197, 198, 239; rights abuses
Affairs (UNOCHA) 108; UN Office 105, 167, 240; vulnerable population
on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) 144, 94, 102, 103, 208
145, 147, 148, 151; UN refugee World Bank 101
agency 89–90, 94, 102; UN Security
Council 207, 244; UN World Food Young Men’s Buddhist Association
Programme (WFP) 97, 148, 151, 211, (YMBA) 20; General Council of
238; see also humanitarian Burmese Associations (GCBA) 20

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Ethnic Politics in Burma

Ashley South is an independent analyst, specialising in politics and huma-

1 Land Tenure, Conservation and 8 The Politics of Tyranny in Singapore

15 Chinese Big Business in Indonesia 17 Ethnic Politics in Burma

ISBN 0-203-89519-3 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN10: 0-415-41008-8 (hbk)

This is a rather old-fashioned book, written by a white middle-class male,

Geography and Population

 ‘Ethnicity’ is defined by one of its principle theorists, Walker Connor

AFPFL Anti-Fascist Peoples Freedom League

States and Divisions Capitals Pre-SLORC States and Divisions Capitals

The Pre-colonial Era

Cities of Gold: Thaton, Pagan, Pegu, Ava and Mandalay

The Construction and Deconstruction of Ethnic Identity

a belief in the contingency of nationalism and the modernity of the

Case Study: Mon National Identity2

The Colonial Experience: the Consolidation of Ethnic Identity

This ascriptive conceptual mode for intellectually mapping the structure of

beginning in the early nineteenth century the local worlds of Karennic-

Following the British conquest of Burma, neighbouring Siam made efforts

Karen villagers . . . regarded the British as ‘liberators’ from Burman

protestant missionaries focussed on the similarity of the name of

Diversity and Mobilization

English-language histories of Burma have . . . argued that [missionary-

Case Study: Kachin National Identity

As a result of colonial administrative practice, and in particular the

Dyarchy and Dissent

The formation of these diverse meanings was articulated by the new

The Second World War

The Japanese Interregnum

Independence and Civil War: Competing Ideas of Burma

Aung San, Panglong and the 1947 Constitution

Independence and Insurgency

Militarisation and Nation/State-building (1948–58)4

in the 1940s nationalism meant liberation from a foreign coloniser; [in

The Ethnic Dimension

attempted to make itself politically relevant and of use in the nation-

As Nick Cheesman (2002: 18–20; parenthesis added) notes:

‘‘To bind the taingyintha [‘national races’ or ‘national brethren’] into a

In a rare public justification of such policies, shortly after seizing power in

The Ethnic Nationalist Reaction

Case Study: Mon Nationalism and Insurgent Political Culture

The government education system aims to implement government’s

From Parliamentary Chaos to State-Socialist Autarchy (1958–88)

Conflict Dynamics and Political Economy

Case Study: Militant Karen Nationalism

The Insurgent Mandala

The Rise of General Bo Mya

The 1988 Democracy Uprising and the SLORC

New Allies on the Border

Unfortunately, however – as Silverstein later recognised (ibid.), but many

From SLORC to SPDC

Military Strategy and ‘‘Border Development’’

Describing the complex relationships that exist between government agen-

Case Study: The Karen Insurgency Revisited

The KNU’s decision-making structure is that of a one-party state,

The Long Retreat – from Insein to Papun, to Mannerplaw to Mae Sot

The Democratic Karen Buddhist Army

Inside the DKBA

KNU Ceasefire Negotiations

For the younger, middle-level section of the KNU leadership it became

intermittent contacts between the KNU and the SPDC continued

A Karen State Peace Committee (KPC), composed of Buddhist and Chris-

‘Ethnicity’ is defined by one of its principle theorists, Walker Connor

Type 1: Armed Conflict-Induced Displacement – either as a direct

Type 3: Livelihoods Vulnerability-Induced Displacement – the primary