Quentin Sommerville,Karenni State, Myanmar
BBCIn Myanmar’s northeast Karenni State, the weary forest town of Demoso has come alive with innovative passion. A conversion is taking place in the burned-red ground along the town’s main road. Just made bamboo- and- wooden- built shops and cafes have sprung up, and the chat in all of them is of one point: resistance.
ethnic groups in this region have waged ethnic cleansing against the military apparatus that controls the region’s South East Asian country for decades. A military coup three years ago prevented a transition to democracy, and the village has since become a hotspot for fresh combatants and activists.
They took to the streets and participated in acts of civil disobedience after losing their first style of political freedom. They were subjected to detention and murder.
Some people have departed from Yangon and other major cities to this remote forest island to meet the growing insurgency that is sweeping the countryside.
In one novel pub- Yangon Vibes- a long- hairy rapper Novem Thu, 33, is on his next cocktail. Their specialist here is an electronic blue margarita, but Novem Thu favours everything darker. The rebels ‘ triumphs are discussed in the air around him.
” There is only Plan A, destroying the defense. No Plan B is that, Novem tells me. He does n’t serve in the army, but he spends the majority of his time with the front line. ” My job is to motivate them”, he says. His song is blood- bubbling, and he brandishes a crossbow in his videos- a doll weapon from his brother, he tells me.
After dusk, Yangon Vibes pulls down blackout curtains over the restaurant’s bright lights, to prevent the government’s drones and war flights. This region has been bombed often. National FM, a revolution radio station, transmits from outside the town using a wireless transmitter to prevent airstrikes hitting its targets.
The wireless network little functions and the majority of Karenni is without electricity; both have been cut off by the military coup. But the pub offers free online, and so do cafe all along the main street, courtesy of the dish service Starlink.
This technology enjoys maintaining a connection and is engaging in a swift and efficient war of resistance under the guise of the woods. Their rise in rebellion poses the biggest danger to military rule in Myanmar in recent memory.
This is an under- reported issue. The defense encroaches on press freedom and has imprisoned numerous editors. Through government-approved trips, there is no way to notice the opposition aspect of this story.
We traveled to Myanmar and spent a month residing alongside opposition groups in Karenni State battle.
We travel to a shelter on a dirt road outside of Demoso, a shelter for those who are fleeing the towns. A group of eight younger people, between the ages of 15 and 23, who have just arrived are waiting in the small wood camp. Some have travelled from considerably- away Yangon, along land roads at night.
An “underground monorail” has been established from Myanmar’s major places, for those rebelling against the government’s new recruitment rules. It spirits them along secret routes, via safe houses and handlers, to Karenni and another opposition- held areas.
Some came by car, others by motorbike or boat, spending the night outdoors to try to avoid military checkpoints. When the soldiers first told the young people to leave the car, and they then checked their papers and looked through their phones. The young people had anticipated this and had removed all evidence from their phones. They were given permission to enter.
They almost look out of place in this wilderness. They are strutting their phones in fashionable clothing as they go about checking them, once more thanks to Starlink, while cicadas pound the forest around them. One says he disguised himself as a villager, hiding his city clothes to avoid detection at a checkpoint.
The journey was hard, says Thura,” I had to spend that night sleeping with fear. I had never been or known there. They picked me up in the morning and transported me safely here after that.
To keep the identities of those who spoke to us safe, names have been changed. Many of them are still concerned for their families when they return to the cities.
They all have a burning sense of betrayal in them. They grew up during Myanmar’s transition to democracy, which began in 2015 after more than half a century of military rule. However, the guarantee of freedom was snatched away by the military coup in 2021, which snatched up the Aung San Suu Kyi-led civilian government.
The majority of the group have completed the month-long basic military training offered by the operational Karenni Nationalities Defence Force (KNDF), an armed opposition group.
The military junta’s troops have been forced out of 90 % of the state, according to claims made by the KNDF, which was founded following the coup and under the leadership of a dispersed group of Karenni resistance and ethnic groups.
I ask one fighter, Thiha, why he has chosen to take up arms. He replies that he only has two options: to enlist in revolutionary forces or to fight for the military.
” ]If ] I fight for]the army], I will be tormenting my own people and will be killing them”, he says.
However, some people have chosen to dedicate themselves to the revolution in other ways rather than fight.
To reach a secret hospital that treats both civilians and fighters, we travel along a hillside track under the cover of the dense jungle canopy on a scorching hot day. There appears to be no medical facility I have ever seen. On the outside there is a random collection of huts and shelters, but inside are scanners, X- ray machines and 60 hospital beds.
Subterfuge is essential, the previous hospital was bombed by the military.
I am met by 28- year- old Dr Yori, who fled here a year ago. What appears to be a small, grey building with newly planted vegetation disguised as the roof of an underground operating theater turns out to be one. He claims that it is hidden away to prevent the military junta from bombing it.
In the recovery room, men and women are lying on beds on a dirt floor, many of whom have lost limbs. According to the UN, Myanmar is one of the most heavily mined nations in the world and that injuries have increased dramatically since the coup.
The war has killed tens of thousands, many of them children. The military has labeled resistance fighters as terrorists and targeted both because it does n’t distinguish between civilians and resistance fighters in opposition areas. In a nearby village, a family of six was killed in an airstrike, including a two-year-old and a six-year-old child, the day before I visited the hospital.
The cicadas ‘ sound pierces through the jungle’s jungle drill from one ward to another as a baby crys. Additionally, they deliver babies here. Medical supplies were scarce in Karenni state prior to the war and until the young revolutionaries arrived. None of the medical professionals here are local, but they have traveled from all over the nation.
Yori’s fiance Tracy is one of them. She is finishing surgery on a man who was hurt in an artillery strike while she is in the operating room.
The couple did n’t get a chance to finish medical school. They were final- year students in Yangon, and vocal critics of the coup. Tracy was a student leader. Both Yori and her were subject to arrest warrants from the military.
They initially considered getting an arm, but they soon realized Karenni state would benefit from their medical abilities. Their hospital has 35 employees, almost all of whom are under 30 years old, and has been operational for three months.
I ask how they deal with the hardships of living in the jungle and how they mentally cope with the terrible injuries they treat as we sip instant coffee in the makeshift hospital canteen.
” The mentality of the patients, you just saw this this morning, they’re very strong men. ]That ] impacts on us. Even amputated soldiers are fighting, still fighting, why should we quit”? says Yori.
Tracy agrees. ” We can cry the whole day, that’s OK. However, we must rise up once more. If we are not here, who will treat those patients”?
As we finish our coffee, it dawns on me that they are very far away from home, in a conflict that the majority of the world is not very knowledgeable about. Do they think Myanmar’s war has been forgotten, I ask.
” A little bit, yes”, replies Yori. Because we are fighting each other for a reason, some people from other parts of the world might mistake this as a civil war. But there is a reason we are fighting, and the reason is basic human rights”.
The couple planned to get married last year, but a planned opposition offensive had resulted in a large number of casualties at their hospital, so they delayed. For the same reason, a second wedding this month was also postponed. ” Maybe this December”, Yori says with a smile. ” I hope so”, laughs Tracy.
Karenni’s official state capital, Loikaw, is all but abandoned to the war. Since November, the KNDF and junta forces have been locked in street battles.
The city’s boulevards and parks are silent on a hot April day, but for the sound of crows and sporadic rifle fire. Whole neighbourhoods have been destroyed by the military’s airstrikes, armed drones, and mortar and artillery fire.
The main military base in the city is full of soldiers and is still receiving helicopter resupply. But on the ground at least, the opposition forces have them surrounded.
Sam and Cobra are both in their early 20s; they have known one another for 13 years and both attended Loikaw school together. They became national karate champions, and moved to Yangon, but now they find themselves back in this contested capital, in front line positions facing the military. Their path to becoming armed revolutionaries is not uncommon among the KNDF’s young fighters.
Before the military coup, Cobra had switched from karate to mixed martial arts and was earning a good living as a trainer in Yangon.
” After the coup, we were protesting peacefully”, he says. The army then begins to shoot and murder people. Sam says he was never political, until karate competitions took him overseas. When I realized that my country did n’t need to be the way it was, I was in Japan.
Cobra is wearing body armour, which surprises me, as it is difficult to find in Myanmar. None of the other armed resistance fighters I encountered possessed any.
It’s not real, he explains, opening the plate carrier to show me a homemade steel plate inside. ” It wo n’t stop a bullet, but most of the injuries here are from shrapnel”. Every member of their squad has been injured, some multiple times.
As established armed resistance and ethnic groups band together to challenge its rule, according to some estimates, the military has lost control of between half and two-thirds of the nation.
However, it is difficult to comprehend the extent of the resistance in Karenni because so much of it is hidden behind obscure forest tracks and hidden behind dense jungle camps and bases.
It is not a place to wander freely, as landmines are a constant threat. However, a violin player’s voice begins to play Mozart incessantly along a faraway path. The violinist is 26- year- old Maw Hpray Myar, who fled her home. Difficulty of schoolchildren are gathered around her on their own instruments.
The Golden Flower Music School serves as a place of safety for the children where the noise of war is drowned out. Music is her weapon. The kids, 35 of them, range in ages from 14 to 20.
Maw Hpray Myar explains that this is her revolutionary service, keeping the children safe and away from the suffering that the war has caused. However, the conflict cannot be ignored, and I ask her how she feels about some of her students leaving for the front lines.
” They sacrifice their bodies, their limbs, their lives”, she says. They must travel to the front lines with their girlfriends and boyfriends behind. That demonstrates how committed they are and how strong their convictions are. I will always respect and honour the comrades”. When I say that some people might never return, she weeps.
At the end of the morning’s lesson, she leads the children in song, in English, it is called Nowhere To Go. ” We need peace”, they sing. ” We need justice like a river. The grief of this war must end, must end”.
These are wilderness years. No one I met in Karenni state believes the conflict will end right away. So, they do what they can, living their undercover existence, tending the sick, caring for children and joining the armed struggle.
They have left lives and families behind, but it is a worthwhile sacrifice, they say, to build the Myanmar they were promised.