40 http://www.earthislandjournal.org
Since 2011, Global Forest Watch data
indicates that Myanmar has lost more
than 2.2 million hectares of forest.
Around 15 percent of that loss has
occurred in Karen territory.
“There is a perfect storm driving
deforestation on Karen lands right
now,” says Dr. Kevin Woods, a senior
analyst for the Washington, DC think
tank Forest Trends who has worked in
Myanmar for 20 years. Woods was co-
author of a 2017 article in Conservation
Biology \PI\ QLMV\QÅML NW]Z \aXM[ WN
political and economic transitions
that have historically led to “profound
environmental consequences” in coun-
tries around the world: war to peace,
democratization, decentralization, and
market liberalization. All four are being
faced simultaneously in Myanmar pres-
ently, the article notes. This has resulted
QV[QOVQÅKIV\VM_XZM[[]ZM[QVZM[W]ZKM
rich borderlands like Karen territory,
where Woods has documented “waves
of counterinsurgency development”
backed by the central government, a
XPMVWUMVWVPMPI[L]JJML¹KMI[MÅZM
capitalism.”
Such development is on stark
display in the southern part of Karen
ancestral lands, in the region known as
Tanintharyi. There, more than 725,000
hectares of oil palm concessions have
been awarded, “often to companies
with close ties to the former military
regime,” notes a 2017 report published
by a group of local NGOs and the
Environmental Investigation Agency.
Although such widespread conver-
sion has not yet reached the Salween
Peace Park, it is fast approaching. On
the southern fringe of the park, over
the last ten years, nearly all of the Thee
Tha Blu community’s forest has been
lost to land grabs by groups tied to
the military, but for a small area that
KESAN helped demarcate as a com-
munity reserve.
In the face of this, the Salween
Peace Park stands as a kind of last hope
for the Karen revolution. “The park is
[QOVQÅKIV\JMKI][MQ\QV^MZ\[\PMXW_MZ
relationship between Karen and the
state, and it embodies the Karen vision
of self-determination and political
federalism that are championed as the
hallmarks of peacebuilding for and by
the Karen people,” notes Woods. Still,
to date, the Myanmar government has
yet to even acknowledge the existence
of the park, although it has reportedly
been mentioned in parliamentary
proceedings.
The KNU, for its part, currently
has no agreed strategy for negotiating
WٻKQITZMKWOVQ\QWVWN\PMXIZS:Q^MV
internally by its own factionalism,
which has dogged the organization
since its founding, some powerful KNU
leaders remain ostensibly committed
to the derailed peace process and do
not want to be seen as going rogue.
Others, like Mutraw’s district leader
Saw Ten Der, appear not to trust the
military or the civilian government
to negotiate in good faith. For them,
\PMZMQ[VWVMMLNWZWٻKQITZMKWOVQ\QWV
Karen communities declaring the park
as theirs is all the recognition that is
needed.
KESAN’s head Paul Sein Twa
strikes a more balanced tone. For him,
while the question of negotiation with
the government “will come at the
right time,” a key near-term strategy is
attracting more international support
for the park. “We know that groups
around the world are working towards
the same vision in their own Indigenous
territories,” he says, noting that he has
spent the past few years crisscrossing
the planet to learn about allied initia-
tives, while pitching the peace park to
donors. “The Salween Peace Park is
linked to a powerful global movement
that cannot be ignored.”A
T NIGHT, BACK ALONG THE
A]VbITQV:Q^MZQ\Q[ÅVITTaKWWT
)N\MZ I UMIT WN ZQ^MZ Å[P JIUJWW
shoots, and upland rice, Mabu and I
walk down to the riverbank. On the
far side a silhouetted stand of hundred-
year-old teak throws shadows in the
moonlight.
We are joined by a village elder,
Saw Tha Say, from Lay Bu Der, a small
community not far from KESAN’s
training camp. He opens our meeting
by chanting rites to Karen forest
spirits, passing around a bamboo cup
with shots of rice wine (called thee). A
companion from his village adds a
Christian prayer and the sign of the
cross. More thee goes around.
Saw Tha Say is exactly as old as
\PM3IZMVZM^WT]\QWV0MÅZ[\\WWS]X
a gun when he was still a child, and has
TQ^ML\PZW]OPITUW[\KWV[\IV\KWVÆQK\
and uncertainty all his life. He has been
[PW\I\0MPI[ÆMLPQ[^QTTIOMU]T\QXTM
times, living in hiding with other dis-
placed Karen, eating only wild foods
in the forest. He has returned home.
Through all this, he notes with a wry
chuckle, he has never worn shoes.
I ask him what he hopes his village
might look like in another 70 years.
“During my life we have had to live
always avoiding violence,” he says. “I
believe that in the future, thanks to
the peace park we are building, the
children of my village will be able to
TQ^MLQٺMZMV\TaPMa_QTTJMIJTM[\Ia
home, and to live in peace.”Benjamin D. Hodgdon is a forestry
specialist who has supported community
forest management initiatives worldwide,
including the Salween Peace Park, for more
than two decades. He lives in Oaxaca,
Mexico.