Portraits from the Border

Every Burmese refugee has his or her own story of escape—from political persecution, from economic hardship, from the violence of civil war.

Driven more by fear and hardship than by hope, they come here to escape the ravages of war and repression in Burma, not knowing what awaits them when they cross the border into Thailand.

Whether they are subsistence farmers or highly educated professionals, rebels or ordinary citizens, their lives are suspended—often for years or decades—between a traumatic past and an uncertain future.

What they all have in common is loss: every person who has fled to the border has lost something essential and is in danger of losing what little they have left. Many flee because their homes, their families or their livelihoods have been taken away from them. Some are missing limbs, while others are afflicted by hidden wounds. Often, the only thing they still possess is the will to live. Many want to fight back, but most must struggle simply to survive.

It is impossible to tell the stories of all who have come to the Thai-Burmese border. But each story that gets told sheds light on an area of darkness and offers an insight into life in the shadows of Burma's endless war against itself.

Than Sein, the Old Soldier

Every hair on Than Sein’s head is white. It’s not just because of his age—he’s 83—but also because for most of his life, he has been a warrior of one kind or another. Since entering the Burmese army in 1950, when Burma was still a democracy, he has fought one battle after another—against insurgents, against the military regime that seized power in 1962, and against the steady decline in revolutionary zeal that has sustained him since he left Burma nearly 40 years ago.

Than Sein (Photo: KYAW ZWA MOE/THE IRRAWADDY)

These days, he brings his combative nature to the task of chairing the Parliamentary Democracy Party, formed in 1969 by ousted premier U Nu, Burma’s first and only democratically elected prime minister.

In 1971, Than Sein went to the jungles of the Thai-Burmese border to join the struggle against the dictatorship of Gen Ne Win. Although U Nu returned to Rangoon in 1980 under an amnesty offered by Ne Win, Than Sein refused to budge. “I didn’t go back because I didn’t want to surrender,” he said.

After the nationwide uprising against military rule in 1988, he saw a revival of the fighting spirit that he knew so well. The protests were crushed by a military crackdown, and thousands of students fled to the border to take up arms against the newly installed regime. Than Sein formed a unit of 50 soldiers ready to die for the cause. But this movement soon began to unravel, as divisions among opposition groups surfaced.

“The revolution is like a mothball in the closet. It’s slowly vanishing,” he said, lamenting the lack of unity that has long weakened Burma’s ability to resist successive military regimes.

But for his part, there is no giving up. Wearing his distinctive red Mon longyi (most people call him U Mon Gyi, because of his Mon ethnicity), he defiantly dismisses the upcoming election as a sham. So what does he propose? “Dialogue would be a solution,” he said sharply, showing that even in his present guise as a politician, there is still something of the soldier in him.

Kyaw Soe Win’s Long and Winding Road

Kyaw Soe Win and his son (Photo: KYAW ZWA MOE/THE IRRAWADDY)

At the age of 42, Kyaw Soe Win still has his life ahead of him. But after a lifetime of reversals, he often wonders how long he will have to wait before he can finally build a future for himself and his family.

In the early 1990s, he spent five years in Rangoon’s infamous Insein Prison. He said it was like being back in his mother’s womb again. Why? Because he shared a tiny cell with his twin brother.