Independence Army massacres. He expressed his desire to appease the minorities in numerous speeches, publicly insisting that “Burma should consist of specified autonomous states . . . with adequate safeguards for minorities.” He insisted that the hill tribes be part of the independence process. He held a conference where the Shan, Kachin, and Chin agreed that they’d give the Burmese government their cooperation and get autonomy.
The Karen didn’t even go to the conference. One of their most prominent leaders, Ba U Gyi, hadn’t wanted a fight; born to wealthy Karen landowners at the turn of the twentieth century, he was a university-educated lawyer who’d practiced in London, a gentleman, handsome, with a kind face, soft-looking beard, and handlebar mustache. He’d advocated nonviolently for Karen autonomy, joining Aung San’s pre-independence Cabinet, helping organize the Karen
delegation to England, filing resolutions with the British government. But his minority voice had been drowned out in Aung San’s Executive Council, London had brushed off his delegation, and his resolutions had been ignored. So instead of attending Aung San’s conference, the Karen held their own, where they formed the Karen National Union. They also boycotted the national elections. The British would save them, they were sure, or the Americans, or both. It was 1947. If Pakistan could be independent, they could, too. And they’d been too terrorized by the Burmans for too many centuries to submit to their authority.
In the end, agreements made or not made didn’t matter much, because the brand-new Union of Burma was soon to fall under spectacularly evil and incompetent military authority. In July 1947, Aung San, the father of the republic, and the peaceful union and minorities’ only hope, was assassinated—along with a Karen leader, a Shan chief, and an important Muslim figure, among others—by political rivals in a shower of bullets at a meeting of his interim government. On January 4, 1948, at 4:20 AM, the exact moment Burmese astrologers had deemed auspicious, Burma became independent. On the pole in Fytche Square, Rangoon, the British flag was exchanged for the Union of Burma’s as British officials and their misty-eyed wives stood by. The new and first president was Shan. But the surviving council member who became prime minister announced that he was 100 percent in opposition to the idea of autonomous ethnic states, Karen and otherwise.
What happened next was a shit show. Independent Burma had been created by military men. The country was flush with weapons. And the upcoming generation of a country with its own legacy of war had spent its formative years watching Japanese, Chinese, British, Indian, and American soldiers throw down on its soil in the fight of the century. In March, the Communist Party of Burma revolted. The People’s Volunteer Organization, a collection of militias, followed. Six battalions of Karen and Kachin fighters held the country
together under Lieutenant General Smith Dun, a Karen supposedly named after the protagonist in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington . He was commander in chief of the army—which was in mutiny. Still loyal soldiers at first, even to a government that wouldn’t grant them independence, the ethnic units rescued towns from Communist Party control. Some Karen in the military police, also in mutiny, captured another town. They gave it back, and a commission was established to settle the rift between Karen and Burmans. The prime minister wanted the minority to participate in the government through the parliament. The Karen said they’d never get their fair share. No one would compromise. By the summer, Karen and Burmans were killing each other. The newly formed Karen National Union started aggressively arming fighters, aided by some old British special forces soldiers, who smuggled weapons to them. For decades, the Karen had been putting down violent uprisings. Now, amid the deepest
The Karen didn’t even go to the conference. One of their most prominent leaders, Ba U Gyi, hadn’t wanted a fight; born to wealthy Karen landowners at the turn of the twentieth century, he was a university-educated lawyer who’d practiced in London, a gentleman, handsome, with a kind face, soft-looking beard, and handlebar mustache. He’d advocated nonviolently for Karen autonomy, joining Aung San’s pre-independence Cabinet, helping organize the Karen
delegation to England, filing resolutions with the British government. But his minority voice had been drowned out in Aung San’s Executive Council, London had brushed off his delegation, and his resolutions had been ignored. So instead of attending Aung San’s conference, the Karen held their own, where they formed the Karen National Union. They also boycotted the national elections. The British would save them, they were sure, or the Americans, or both. It was 1947. If Pakistan could be independent, they could, too. And they’d been too terrorized by the Burmans for too many centuries to submit to their authority.
In the end, agreements made or not made didn’t matter much, because the brand-new Union of Burma was soon to fall under spectacularly evil and incompetent military authority. In July 1947, Aung San, the father of the republic, and the peaceful union and minorities’ only hope, was assassinated—along with a Karen leader, a Shan chief, and an important Muslim figure, among others—by political rivals in a shower of bullets at a meeting of his interim government. On January 4, 1948, at 4:20 AM, the exact moment Burmese astrologers had deemed auspicious, Burma became independent. On the pole in Fytche Square, Rangoon, the British flag was exchanged for the Union of Burma’s as British officials and their misty-eyed wives stood by. The new and first president was Shan. But the surviving council member who became prime minister announced that he was 100 percent in opposition to the idea of autonomous ethnic states, Karen and otherwise.
What happened next was a shit show. Independent Burma had been created by military men. The country was flush with weapons. And the upcoming generation of a country with its own legacy of war had spent its formative years watching Japanese, Chinese, British, Indian, and American soldiers throw down on its soil in the fight of the century. In March, the Communist Party of Burma revolted. The People’s Volunteer Organization, a collection of militias, followed. Six battalions of Karen and Kachin fighters held the country
together under Lieutenant General Smith Dun, a Karen supposedly named after the protagonist in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington . He was commander in chief of the army—which was in mutiny. Still loyal soldiers at first, even to a government that wouldn’t grant them independence, the ethnic units rescued towns from Communist Party control. Some Karen in the military police, also in mutiny, captured another town. They gave it back, and a commission was established to settle the rift between Karen and Burmans. The prime minister wanted the minority to participate in the government through the parliament. The Karen said they’d never get their fair share. No one would compromise. By the summer, Karen and Burmans were killing each other. The newly formed Karen National Union started aggressively arming fighters, aided by some old British special forces soldiers, who smuggled weapons to them. For decades, the Karen had been putting down violent uprisings. Now, amid the deepest
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