That evening we gathered in the lieutenant's hut sipping locally brewed rice whiskey and listening to the sounds of the crickets. The jungle around us was lit by a full moon and the air sparkled with fireflies. Every now and then someone would draw on a cheroot and his face would be lit by the glow. The lieutenant sat in a corner with his radio, and every so often a sentry would call in the all clear. The whiskey relaxed the men and they told me the story of great battle that they had won a few months before; just 12 Karens, with the lieutenant in the lead had taken on 200 government troops in a hit and run attack. When the enemy commander and his second in command were taken out by a rocket, the enemy withdrew. The Karens captured a hoard of precious weapons and ammunition, and killed 30 of the enemy. Only two of the Karens were wounded and none were killed. Things could just as easily gone the other way though, as the Karens are vastly outnumbered by the Burmese, ammunition is scarce and each soldier is issued only 50 rounds for his weapon.
Over the past six years, the KNLA has suffered a series of crushing defeats, starting with the fall of their headquarters at Manerplaw in 1995. With outside help, and foreign investment from countries like China and France, and using the profits from the opium trade and a burgeoning tourist industry, the Burmese army has steadily gained strength, while the Karens have become increasingly isolated. Other ethnic groups have made cease-fire deals with the SPDC and some are busily flooding Thai and world markets with amphetamines and heroin, but the Karens have always refused to deal drugs. The KNLA of today is a mere shadow of its former self, and you can see it on the weary faces of the young soldiers who man the front lines. Young officers like Ting Win have shouldered the responsibility of rebuilding, and carry on in the face of near hopeless odds.
On the last night of my visit, I reflected on everything that I had seen and experienced over the last several weeks. The thing that was most shocking about the situation was that it was by no means temporary. This war had been going on for 53 years with no end in sight, it had become as perpetual and reliable as the seasons.
It was a gorgeous morning the day I left the guerrilla camp, the rising sun glinted off the tangle of the jungle turning dewdrops into jewels and the time had come to say goodbye. Birds sang, and the fragrance of wild orchids filled the air with exotic perfume. I was touched to see that the lieutenant had made a special trip down from his hut to say goodbye and the old man was there too. They both shook my hand warmly and invited me back to visit another day. It was incongruously beautiful, and as we walked up the hill into Thailand I looked back down into the little valley. Though we were only a short distance away I could see nothing of the camp or any of the sinister trappings of war. The bunkers and trenches and booby traps had been swallowed by the jungle. As we made our way up the gentle slope we met a soldier leading a train of ponies laden with supplies heading back into Kawthoolei, there would be another operation. I couldn't help but wonder about the young man's fate, he looked so young, and he could only look upon his future the way all the Karens in Kawthoolei do; with uncertainty.
Note- Names have been changed to protect the identities of contacts.
Copyright © Brett McEwen, 2001
