KAYAH — A black beret, an unkept beard, a tattoo with the peace symbol on his arm and, right behind him, in a small hut in the heart of the Burmese jungle, a flag with imprinted on it the Pazi symbol — the traditional drum of the Karenni people, which has become the symbol of the KNDF, Karenni Nationalities Defense Force.
Maui is 31, he holds a degree in geology and spent years studying abroad and working as an agronomist in the eastern city of Loikaw. But this all belongs to his past. Today, Maui leads one of the most active guerrilla groups among the Burmese revolutionary forces, currently fighting against the military junta that seized power in the country in 2021.
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“When the coup happened, the Burmese youth took to the streets. We protested in every city across the country with raised hands claiming freedom, rights and democracy: all the things we had before February 1, 2021. The junta addressed our peaceful demands by opening fire on us, massacring women, men and children. It was only after military repression started that we decided to go to the mountains and start the guerrilla.”
To meet Maui and delve deep into Kayah state — the epicenter of the Burmese revolution — it is necessary to cross at night, aboard small boats, the border between Thailand and Myanmar. Then, by foot, with pickups or on the back of an elephant, the trip goes on for several days, across swollen streams and steep slopes and ravines, in the green hell of the tropical jungle of South-East Asia.
The road to democracy
Myanmar is ravaged by a civil war that has so far caused more than 55,000 casualties. The military junta — which seized power through a military coup three years ago and, with the support of India, Russia and China has created one of the most brutal and repressive dictatorship in the world — is opposed by the Burmese revolutionary forces, composed of 20 year olds that left their cities to oppose the regime and ethnic groups that have been fighting for their rights and autonomy for decades.
Despite not having sufficient means, weapons and funds, the rebels now control more than half of the country, especially thanks to the unconditional support offered by the population — which, in the midst of the precarity triggered by the conflict, has retained one certainty: no longer tolerating the presence of the army in the executive.
For us, now, there is no future, but only the present, and the present is war.
Since 1962, the South-East Asian country has lived under the yoke of military regimes. In 2015, after years of protests, arrests and disappearances, the National League for Democracy won the country’s first free elections, giving to the former British colony a short-lived period of democracy. And while this was all but perfect, it gave new generations the opportunity to open up to the rest of the world and understand the meaning of the words freedom and rights.
“We are fighting for a country where there is respect for indigenous minorities, where the form of government is democratic federalism, where the keywords are justice, peace and work,” General Maui says. “We are not fighting for a flag, we don’t want the American, European or Chinese model, we want to live in peace and harmony with our land. But if we’re doing this it will be for those that will come after us. For us, now, there is no future, but only the present, and the present is war.”
At the dawn of life
A call arrives from the front lines: the junta is attacking on the Loikaw front. The guerrillas get ready — they are all boys, their faces are exhausted, soiled by earth and tender fluff, deprived of innocence in their eyes and dreams in their souls, all infected by a conflict that makes their young age nothing more than a fading memory.
“We have no alternative to this war, but war is horrific. My 19-year old brother was killed by the military, and not a moment goes by without thinking about him. But I also think about the soldier I shot and killed. Since then I stopped laughing.” Pasqwar Let is 21, he travels with 15 other companions on a pick-up, and as the front line approaches he opens to one last confession: “Every time I go to battle I pray to God, so that he can give my mother the strength to forgive me for the pain my death would cause her.”
One body is carefully being laid in a black sack.
Shots from automatic rifles whistle through the houses and fields of Loikaw. Then an explosion: bamboo and raffia houses shake, while KNDF fighters crouch in the grass and bushes. Then they get up and resume firing. A few minutes pass and a Grad rocket launcher unloads a sequence of shots. Some of the fighters seek shelter, a young one is hit in the eye by a splinter, while another lays on the ground with a bomb fragment in his neck. Stretcher bearers and nurses try to rescue the wounded, some are transported to the only hospital in the region. One body — belonging to a guerrilla fighter named Kyaw Thu — is carefully being laid in a black sack.
The following day, at Kyaw Thu’s funeral, three shots are fired to commemorate the young rebel. His mother is in tears: a 20 year old just died fighting for his life, at the dawn of life.
