Karen refugee Naw Su Poe (a pseudonym) recently decided to return to Myanmar – but not to a government-controlled location. Instead, she chose to go to an area controlled by the KNU. She explained her experience leaving the camp after inviting me to have lunch with her and her family while I was collecting data for my thesis.

Naw Su Poe’s bamboo house was very plain and her two daughters sat beside her husband as she talked. She told me that she was originally from the Karen National Liberation Army (KNLA) Brigade 6 area. Her family first crossed into Thailand because there was a military battle in their village. After spending fifteen years in the refugee camps, there was a marked reduction in food aid delivered through the camp. Naw Su Poe said, “We couldn’t even make a fire for cooking because we couldn’t find bamboo or wood. In our daily lives we were confronted by poverty. We had to hide and sneak out of the camp just to collect basic wood and bamboo. This is why I made the decision to return to Myanmar.”

The much older Uncle Tee Wah (a pseudonym) provided further perspective on why repatriating to a KNU area is preferable for some refugees. I met him in Wa Hmee Aye Village (also a pseudonym) in a KNU-controlled village, close to the Thailand border. It was a cloudy day, and I kept watch on the grey, threatening skies as I rode my Dad’s old motorbike there. Along the road, farmers were planting corn seeds and I enjoyed the air rushing past my face, seeing the brown earth landscape uncovering itself like chocolate.

When I arrived at Wa Hmee Aye village, I spoke to several people before Uncle Tee Wah. They had chosen to live here, in a KNU area, because they had experienced too much subjugation by the Tatmadaw, even until today. They remained skeptical of authorities and their perspective was: if you fight for your rights and are forced from your own home, would you believe the people who attacked you if they one day said you could return? Myanmar’s politics and circumstances may have appeared to have changed, but would you trust the “new” authorities?

Uncle Tee Wah said bluntly: “Myanmar’s administration is attempting to showcase its willingness to receive refugees but we can’t put our faith in them.” He used the analogy of, “hanging the goat’s head, but selling the pork meat”. This refers to someone putting a goat head above their market stall, implying they are selling expensive goat meat, although they are actually selling cheap, half-price pork meat at a goat price to customers.

Uncle Tee Wah also decided to move to Wa Hmee Aye Village out of a desire not to “waste” the remaining time in his life. He said that because he was getting older and did not have much time left, he refused to believe the people who had wounded him and caused his life so much misery. Engaging with the Myanmar authorities was a complete waste of time. “It’s also preferable to come to this area rather than in a refugee camp, which is not ideal. The situation is pretty terrible there since, in addition to the decreased aid, you can’t find work. I am getting older and when I get sick, I will be pushed to the bottom of the priority list for work,” Uncle Tee Wah said.

The experiences of Uncle Tee Wah show how trauma and unforgettable memories can reinforce refugee ambivalence. If you look at the current situation in Myanmar after the 1 February military coup, there is still considerable fighting between ethnic armed groups such as the Karen National Liberation Army and the Tatmadaw.

This begs the question: “Can these refugees really go home now?”

The top-down durable solutions that the UNHCR and Thai authorities have promoted since the humanitarian crisis began on the Thailand-Myanmar border require revision. They will continue to directly affect refugee lives in the future. Before all the authorities make their decisions, they must include refugee voices and ideas in order to create real durable solutions for them.