As children, we are taught the difference between good and evil. Adulthood brings ethical dilemmas that we often circumvent with clichés: "You have to look at the big picture," we say, or "You can't make an omelet without cracking eggs." Sometimes, though, the cracked shells are too obvious to be ignored. Perhaps our childhood training is more appropriate in these cases.

In Myanmar and the regions surrounding it, the current political catch phrase is "constructive engagement." The hope is that economic assistance will nudge the authorities in Yangon into improving their appalling human rights record. Unfortunately, the plight of the cracked shells -- which in this case include Myanmar's Karen minority -- clouds the picture of a brighter future.

In what has become the world's longest-running civil war, the Karen National Union has been battling successive Myanmarese governments over the issue of Karen autonomy since 1949. It has been a losing battle. Until recently, the mountainous region along Myanmar's border with Thailand contained the last Karen strongholds. Most of these have now fallen. The policy of the Myanmarese Army toward the now unprotected Karen villagers has been one of continuing depredation. Over 100,000 Karen have fled across the border into Thailand, seeking a haven from both the fighting and the oppression left in its wake. But they haven't found it, because in today's so-called borderless world violence does not recognize frontiers.

Until the 1980s, the KNU was useful to Thailand as a buffer against Burma (as Myanmar was then known), a country with whom it has had a history of mutual distrust. A decline in KNU strength and the lure of Burmese trade led to a change in Thailand's general policy toward the Karen, which is now ambivalent. A halfhearted wish to help the refugees and a willingness to allow them across the border are countered by a fear of offending Myanmar, with its powerful army and its ability to dangle trade concessions.

Employing a policy of divide and conquer, Myanmar's military helped engineer a split in the largely Christian-led KNU in December 1994, using religion as a wedge. A dissident faction, the Democratic Karen Buddhist Army, was then clothed, fed, and armed by the Myanmar government. The two groups are technically allies, but there is little doubt among observers from organizations such as Amnesty International that the DKBA is under Yangon's control. It has been used to attack and burn the refugee camps inside Thailand, on the somewhat bizarre assumption that these actions will force the refugees to return. Myanmarese soldiers have participated in the assaults.

A strike at midnight

Early on March 11, 1998, one of the worst attacks occurred at Huay Kalok refugee camp, home to 8,753 Karen, of whom 2,898 were children under 12. Before the attack occurred, I met some of the Huay Kalok refugees in Mae Sot, a Thai border town 8 km distant. One showed me samples of the artwork that he and others had done as a way of coming to terms with their disrupted lives. "We wanted to draw pictures that would emphasize the themes that are important in our lives. They are fear, despair and hope. We have to have hope," he said.

The morning before the attack a class was held at a small school inside Huay Kalok. The teacher announced a new project. The students would work together to make a comic book, drawing and writing about whatever they liked. "They were so enthusiastic and immediately started sketching pictures of superheroes," I was told. Real superheroes were needed that night. None were available.

Soon after midnight, the attack took place. Later news reports varied as to the numbers who crossed the border and assaulted the camp. Some said 70, others more than 150. While most were DKBA Amnesty International reported that "other information indicates that Burmese troops were involved." In fact, some of the attackers were seen wearing Myanmarese Army insignia and heard speaking Burmese. US State Department spokesman James Rubin condemned Myanmar's government for the raid.

The Thai Army and Border Patrol Police were supposed to protect the camp They did not, although they were stationed there. Many Karen believe the Thais had advance warning of the raid. During and after the attack, a fire, probably deliberately set, raged. Over 1,000 huts were completely destroyed. At least four people have now died as a result of the attack, and over 40 were injured many with bullet wounds. Almost 9,000 people were left homeless and afraid.

Ash and smoldering cinders

Just after 9 a.m. on March 11, I entered the camp with a doctor and some medical students who work for an aid organization and were to make an initial assessment of what was needed. The Thai Army was by now active and posted at the camp entrance. We passed them by, avoiding eye contact.

The devastation was shocking. It reminded me of old World War II photos of Firebombed cities. Everywhere there was white ash with patches of still-smoldering wood and cinder. A few half-burned upright wooden posts remained here and there, giving the place a haunted look. Scattered metal tins, which had probably contained food, and other bits of twisted metal littered the area. Children, many in bare feet, were poking around in the ashes with sticks, looking for food or vanished possessions. Groups of Karen women and children were huddled near the few remaining buildings, waiting and hoping for help.

I felt queasy with a camera, almost like a voyeur, in such a sea of misery. A Karen woman reassured me, "I hope you took many photos. Tell others what is happening to us but please don't use our names," she said. I was to find that even people working for non-governmental organizations didn't want their names or their organizations names printed, such is the pervasive fear. At one point, a group of refugees could be seen nearby, carrying a man in a hammock tied to a large bamboo pole. He had a bullet wound in the upper chest area. After a brief, on-the-spot examination it was decided that he needed treatment at the Thai hospital in Mae Sot.

On the way back to the camp entrance, I was shown all that was left of the small camp hospital -- a microscope, melted in the fire. This instrument had been used to protect the refugees from disease. It now seemed the attackers were also at war with health care and recognized contagion as an ally.

Our departure was interrupted by a sudden loud noise in the camp: A shell had exploded. Everyone thought another attack was beginning and began to run in panic, though silently. Children bolted through the ashes in zigzag patterns. "Hurry up, this way," a voice called and several of us ran along the dirt road leading out. It turned out that it had been only an unexploded shell from the recent attack that the heat had finally reached. Later, I was to see a remnant of the weaponry used the night before, a shell casing from an M-79 grenade launcher. The M-79 is a Ramboesque weapon that has devastating effects when used against unarmed refugees in wooden bamboo huts.

At the camp entrance, a local NGO official negotiated with a Thai soldier about the man with the bullet wound. We were informed step by step what was being said. I thought this curious until I was told, "I am telling you everything I tell this soldier because as a foreigner you are a useful witness. We need to get this man out of the camp. This soldier thinks you are with (a well-known international aid organization) so there won't be a problem here."

Later we found a translator who could speak to another Thai soldier and tell us what he knew of the attack. The translator told us, "This man says that when the DKBA came, the first place they attacked was the hospital. Then they moved in a circular pattern, hitting zones 1, 2, 3, and 4 of the camp. Then and this is really amazing, he admits the DKBA went right past the place where his forces were, or were supposed to be, and hit the other zones in the camp." Saddened and angered, I felt it was time to leave.

The attacks continue

Back in Mae Sot, relief organizations were already mobilizing to aid the victims. I went to one location where a huge amount of rice and curry had been prepared. It was divided into portions and sent on to Huay Kalok. At clinics in the border area, I saw some of the wounded being treated. One was a man who had lost both his daughters in the attack. He had previously lost a leg to a land mine and therefore was unable to outrun the fire. He was being treated for severe burns to the head and arms. I was told of another tragedy. A Karen woman had died horribly, her body charred by the fire. As if that weren't enough, her young daughter was being treated for a bullet wound in the hand.

In the days that followed, relief became more organized, especially as media attention intensified. There were still unpleasant, perhaps isolated, incidents. Some Thai soldiers confiscated donated water supplies at Huay Kalok, presumably for their own use. The immediate worries concerned food supplies, blankets, medical treatment and the possibility of another attack. On the plus side, Thai Prime Minister Chuan Leekpai announced that Thailand would act more forcefully to protect the remaining camps and in the future retaliate without giving warnings. The possibility was also broached by Thai Deputy Foreign Minister Suhkhumbhand Paribatra that the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees would be given an active role in running the camps, something previously taboo.

Unfortunately another camp, Mawker, 60 km to the south of Mae Sot, was subsequently attacked on March 23. I heard from one aid worker in the area that 50 houses were burned and 14 people injured, four seriously. A baby suffered severe shrapnel wounds and a broken leg.

This time the Thai military did engage the attackers, killing seven. Still, there were grave misgivings when, on March 27, 1998, Gen. Chettha Thanajaro, the Thai Army commander in chief, suggested that his forces might push all young Karen men back across the border, as one way to solve the turmoil in the region. This would not be a solution; it would only be doing what Myanmar wants the Thais to do. Concerned observers hope this will never happen.

A diminishing world

At all the camps there is great uncertainty and fear. There are still constant threats of attack. Mae La, which with 30,000 residents is the largest camp, has been shelled. I noticed a sign at a Thai military post near Mae La with the following words in English: "Welcome tourists, we are proud to serve you." I wondered if that was where their focus should be.

As might be expected, some of the refugees have tried to avoid the camps, opting instead to discreetly build huts in other settlements in the border area. Some Karen have also sought jobs in the region. Thailand opposes this, given its current economic difficulties. The result has been a clampdown on individual refugee movements. Passes are required for travel outside the camps, and foreigners are generally not allowed in without reason. I was in one border village when word was passed down that the Thai military was planning an early morning raid, looking for undocumented refugees. The raid took place, and several huts were destroyed, although their occupants had fled. Later, I saw a Thai military vehicle leave the area. It contained soldiers with axes and empty containers of phosphoric acid, a corrosive that had been used in these actions before.

The world of the Karen refugees appears to be diminishing daily. Many people would say that this can't be helped because it's only part of the "bigger picture." I disagree. Standing in the middle of the remains of Huay Kalok, even a wide-angle lens was not sufficient to capture the full extent of the destruction. That was the real "big picture," and it was a horrifying one.

Naw Paw's Story: A Daily Fight Against Disease and Dictators

"We have a microscope, bit it's not electric and not very good. During the rainy season when there is no sun we can't do blood tests for malaria. If they have the right symptoms for malaria, we have to guess that's what it is". Naw Paw, a young and cheerful Karen woman, was describing just some of the difficulties she faces, working at a clinic inside Burma's Karen State. Trained as a medic, she is part of a quiet struggle to improve basic health care in a region marked by war, poverty, disease, and lack of education.

Her clinic is in a remote area of the state, surrounded by steep hills and forbidding jungle. Malaria, particularly the lethal falciparum strain, is a major worry, but it is not the only one. Severe respiratory and intestinal infections are very common. Infant mortality is high. Naw Paw, and those like, are very busy and have to make do with limited medical supplies. These have to be carried in on foot from Thailand, a walk that can take many days. Naw Paw does have some free time and enjoys listening to music, but more often than not, she will use that time to read medical texts in order to improve her ability to help.

This is not, though, a typical story of gradual rural health care improvement in the developing world. There is strong opposition. It is armed and dangerous. When Naw Paw says SLORC (State Law and Order Restoration Council), a recently changed acronym for Burma's ruling junta, she means the rapacious army that carries out that junta's policies.

"Sometimes when we are at the clinic we get a warning that the SLORC is coming and then we have to run into the jungle. Once they even burned the clinic and we had to rebuild it. Other times they just come to steal pigs, chickens, rice, and other things. All the patients have to run, too. If they can't do that, their families have to come and carry them into the jungle".

Naw Paw, and other medics like her, are also targets and any medicines or medical equipment must be taken and hidden as well. "Sometimes, I have to run two or even three times in a day if the SLORC comes into the jungle. The little children cry and say, 'We're so tired, can't we stop now?' I have to say, No, we must keep going. Once, I had to hide the microscope and medical bag so I could run faster and remember the place I put them. The SLORC didn't find it. If we have to sleep in the jungle, it's too dangerous to make a fire, so I have to remember to bring some cooked rice".

There have been times when she was on her way to a village near her clinic and would meet someone bringing a warning. "They say to me the SLORC is in the village now. Please don't come yet. It's too dangerous for you". She has to wait quietly in the jungle until they've gone, or come back at another time.

For many Karen in the same position as Naw Paw the pressure has become too much. Some have sought asylum in other countries and friends of hers have gone to America, Australia, and Canada. Naw Paw is quite determined to perservere and, despite the difficulties in her life, is able to to talk about this with a sense of humor. Once, when looking at a calendar picture of winter in Canada and imagining the new life some of her friends were having, she said, "Now I suppose I could get used to the cold, but in Canada you say they don't use lots of chillies in their food. My goodness, that would be a real problem" (RH).