Ribbons, Spirits, and Strings

Ribbons, Spirits, and Strings

Episode #538: The fifth episode in our five-part series features conversations recorded at the 16th International Burma Studies Conference at Northern Illinois University, where scholars, students, researchers, and practitioners gathered under the theme Dealing with Legacies in Burma. Held in the midst of political upheaval and humanitarian crisis, the conference offered a rare space for open exchange, collective reflection, and connection. Insight Myanmar was welcomed into this setting to record dialogues with a diverse range of attendees, produced in collaboration with NIU’s Center for Southeast Asian Studies. With these episodes, we hope to bring listeners into the atmosphere of the gathering and into conversation with the people who continue to shape the field today. Khaing Wai Wai Zaw taught English in Myanmar for eight years, and went to Northern Illinois University for a higher degree in her field. But she also became a research assistant there cataloging artifacts, in particular 228 rare, scared sasi jo ribbons. While having no qualifications in this area, she relied on her Buddhist literacy and background to interpret inscriptions, andensure they have a safe home at the NIU library, at least until her country regains its stability. She also reflects on the political crisis in Myanmar and wrestles with the role monks should play, balancing her own reluctance to criticize with her belief in social responsibility. “I’m a totally different person when I get on stage.” With this feeling, Karen dancer and community leader Hsa Win reflects on how dance preserves his identity. He grew up in a refugee camp in Thailand after his family fled Burma, and later moved to the U.S. Wanting to educate others about his Karen heritage, he began performing traditional dances at community events. Hedescribes competitions, bamboo dances, and the spiritual dances of the thirty-seven nat spirits. Onstage, he feels confident and transformed, adopting the personalities of the spirits he portrays, and American audiences are enthusiastic. He now lives in Ohio, where he teaches dance to Karen youth to help them “embrace their identity” and keep their culture alive. Researcher and artist Ni Ni Win describes how Burmese marionettes have become a powerful link to her identity now that she lives in America. She explains that puppetry developed to portray particularly sacred Jataka Tales that humans were not permitted to depict. Under royal patronage, puppet shows became very popular; the marionettes conveyed religious teachings, history, and even political concerns, since civilians sometimes asked puppeteers to voice criticisms through the puppets. This art form declined when the monarchy was dismantled by the British, and then as other forms of entertainment became increasingly popular. Amy also draws inspiration from pagoda engravings, known as gnot patterns, which are used on traditional Burmese textiles as well. Living abroad has increased her appreciation for these traditions, which help her stay connected to her homeland.

A Right to Clock In

Episode #537: “Refugees are incredibly remarkable. They're working day-in and day-out to provide for their communities, but they're working under a set of assumptions and a set of regulations that prohibited them from working.” Maximillian Mørch, Head of Program Development and Quality Assurance at The Border Consortium, describes how a system built as an emergency response in 1984 has hardened into a four-decade reality along the Thai–Myanmar border. TBC has long provided food, shelter materials, cooking fuel, nutritional support, and technical assistance across nine border camps. Today, more than 100,000 refugees live inside those camps, with tens of thousands more in rural border areas outside the camp system and at least 50,000 in Thailand’s cities. The displacement is not temporary, and it has only further deepened again since the 2021 coup. For decades, camp refugees were largely confined. Leaving without authorization risked being treated as an undocumented migrant, and work outside the camps was prohibited. That restriction made food aid the central pillar of survival. Mørch emphasizes that dependence was structural, not moral: refugees sustained their communities through constant labor, but under rules that prevented real economic participation. Over time, the camps evolved from transplanted villages into organized settlements with homes, schools, clinics, markets, religious life, and refugee-led governance. The Karen Refugee Committee and Karenni Refugee Committee oversee services, coordinate with Thai authorities and NGOs, and manage disputes. Yet the system’s viability rested on uninterrupted funding—and in 2025 it began to fail. Food and fuel alone exceptionally costly, and funding gaps at one point left camps without food support for weeks, as global humanitarian crises competed for shrinking resources. With return to Myanmar unsafe and resettlement opportunities collapsing—especially after the suspension and termination of a major U.S. process—Thailand’s August 2025 resolution granting eligible refugees the right to work marked a historic rupture. The policy reframes survival around income, with research suggesting a week’s wages can exceed a month of past food assistance. Labor shortages in Thailand, particularly after reported departures of Cambodian workers, helped push the reform. Eligibility remains limited, rollout is complex, families generally stay in camps, and around 10% of residents will still need direct aid. “Everyone wants to be self-dependent,” he says. “No one wants to be held hostage to the changing fluctuations” of humanitarian funding. Mørch’s portrait is of a system forced to reinvent itself—opening a breach in confinement, but not yet a full pathway out.

The Fire Next Door

Episode #536: “I never feel that war is this close to me,” Bencharat Chua, a Thai human rights professor and activist, reflects as she explains how decades of engagement with Myanmar have reshaped her understanding of conflict, democracy, and regional responsibility. Her central argument is that without democracy and a lived culture of human rights in Myanmar, Thailand will continue to experience instability, displacement, and violence spilling across the border. Human rights language, she insists, only matters if it becomes political practice and public will. Her involvement with Myanmar began in 1999, when she worked with the NGO Friends Without Borders and spent two years visiting refugee camps along the Thai–Myanmar border. There, she learned directly from displaced Burmese communities about repression and conflict, while also witnessing widespread hostility toward them within Thai society. She later joined the Institute of Human Rights and Peace Studies at Mahidol University, where she worked with Burmese students and long-time activists, including members of the 1988 generation living in exile. During Myanmar’s political transition in the late 2010s, she became deeply involved with universities inside the country. Around 2018–2019, she helped train law lecturers after international human rights law became mandatory in Myanmar’s law faculties. Although many lecturers initially struggled, she later saw lasting gains in confidence and political awareness that endured even after the 2021 coup dismantled the formal education system. Bencharat also traces political change through shifting attitudes toward the Rohingya. She recalls earlier denial among democracy supporters, followed by a significant shift, noting that “now everyone acknowledges what happened.” For her, this signaled that Burmese human rights advocates were beginning to extend rights principles beyond nationalist exclusion. She situates these changes within a broader regional context. While Thai state policy toward Myanmar remains cautious, tied to business interests and the “ASEAN way,” she identifies the Thai youth movement as a countercurrent, arguing that prolonged military rule has politicized a generation despite severe repression. After the 2021 Myanmar coup, her work shifted towards supporting parallel education for students resisting the junta, where she continues to confront the gap between human rights ideals and lived violence. These experiences have made war feel immediate and reinforced her belief that change depends on people willing to insist on dignity and rights, even at great cost. “We are ready to fight for democracy, we are ready to fight for human rights!”

Relaxing Into Awakening

Episode #535: “Meditation kind of lost its traditional sense of going really deep to finding Nibbana,” says David Johnson, a longtime practitioner and senior teacher at the Dhamma Sukha Meditation Center, describing what he sees as a drift away from the Buddha’s original intention. Johnson has always had an interest in spirituality. He joined his first retreat in his teens, and at nineteen, he left college to follow his teacher, the monastic Sujata, to the Still Point Meditation Center in California. He cooked, cleaned, and lived among young seekers there for years in what he remembers as a “golden era,” when teachers like Joseph Goldstein, Jack Kornfield, and Munindra passed through. After Still Point closed, Johnson entered the emerging world of Silicon Valley. Fast forward a number of years, and he learned that a Bhante Vimalaramsi was trying to find him. He found out that this monastic had been a lay acquaintance long ago at Still Point, and who had since become a monk after extensive training in Asia. Visiting him in Missouri, Johnson encountered a method centered on relaxation, kindness, and direct reliance on the suttas. He eventually left his tech career to join Dhamma Sukha, convinced that this approach preserved what the Buddha actually taught about the mind’s capacity for liberation. Meditation at Dhamma Sukha is based in the Brahmaviharas, and taught as a gentle, natural process grounded in relaxation rather than force. The emphasis is on tranquilizing bodily and mental tension, allowing awareness to open easily, and letting the mind move through increasingly calm states without strain, effort, or suppression. Johnson says that neuroscience is validating the higher states that meditators in that tradition can reach. He ends by affirming his confidence in the Buddha’s path and the transformation it brings. “There is a way out of suffering!” he affirms, expressing the same hope for others that began his own journey.

From A Distance

Episode #534: Tracy Bawi Hlei Iang, a Chin activist and co-founder of Myanmar Action Group Denmark, reflects on a life shaped by early family separation, forced migration, and political rupture, and argues that sustained, small-scale collective action—especially across ethnic and religious lines—is both possible and essential for Myanmar’s future. Tracy grew up in rural Chin State, and when she was about seven, her father fled Myanmar because of his political activities, landing in Denmark, and her mother left soon afterward, unable to remain safely in the country. After being raised by grandparents, she left Chin State at the age of fourteen to reunite with her father. Language was a major obstacle. She taught herself by reading children’s books late into the night with a dictionary, eventually becoming fluent in the Danish language. Cultural integration took longer. Entering school as a teenager in a small town left her feeling invisible, until two years at a Christian boarding school allowed her to form friendships, learn Danish norms, and feel a sense of belonging grounded in social trust. Before the 2021 coup, Tracy was not politically active, but the military takeover shocked her into action. She helped organize a public demonstration in downtown Copenhagen that brought together multiple ethnic communities from Myanmar, an experience that galvanized her commitment. This led to the founding of Myanmar Action Group Denmark, a volunteer-run, registered association focused on advocacy and humanitarian support. From the outset, Tracy has insisted that the organization work for all of Myanmar rather than a single ethnic or religious group. Despite persistent divisions, she has observed growing openness, especially among younger people. Activism has transformed her personally, giving her skills, purpose, and solidarity with those still inside the country. It is important, she believes, for diverse diaspora communities to unite in solidarity. In the end, Tracy considers her efforts as quite small in the scheme of things, yet is satisfied with the impact she is able to make. So she closes with a simple message: “Please don't underestimate [the power of small actions].” She stresses that supporting Myanmar does not require grand gestures; it requires persistence, courage, and willingness to act where one is.