Episode #301: Homeward Bound
“How can I ever live and have a comfortable life knowing young men, young brothers and sisters, are going through this stuff?” asks Saw Sha Kerpaw Wah, a humanitarian working in Karen State. A refugee himself before resettling in Norway, Wah shares his experiences as a young immigrant, his motivation to serve the Karen community, and his ultimate dream for Kawthoolei—the Karen word for their homeland.
Growing up in a refugee camp, Wah felt a deep sense of displacement from an early age. “This is not a village. This is not where we belong, and there must be some changes one day,” he recalls thinking as a child. When his family moved to Norway at the age of nine, he found physical safety, but not peace. The feeling of not belonging followed him, and he remembers his initial weeks in Norway vividly: “I would close my eyes, hoping that when I opened them, I’d be back in the poor refugee camp, playing with my friends, being a kid again. But reality was different.”
As one of the first Karen families to arrive in Norway, Wah had to quickly adapt to a new life in a foreign country, navigating the challenges of language and culture. But he always keeps in mind the story his family tells of how they became refugees in 1995, just two months after his birth in Manerplaw, the former headquarters of the Karen National Union. After the fall of Manerplaw to Myanmar military forces, his family was forced to flee through the jungle, beginning a tragic odyssey that took them from their own homeland.
Although he has lived in Norway for 20 years and feels warmly welcomed there, Wah always believed that Kawthoolei was his true home. “I do consider [Norway] as a home,” he admits. “It’s like my second home. But Kawthoolei, where most people know as Karen State, that’s where I truly belong. No matter how much I love Norway, I will always want to return to my homeland.” This sense of belonging was coupled with a strong belief that it was in his DNA to go back and serve his people.
Wah’s dedication his mission grew slowly over time, nourished by the many stories his mother told him about the struggles and wars endured by the Karen people. “I don’t think we have any other purpose in this world than serving the people around us,” Wah explains. Speaking philosophically, Wah reflects on how, in the end, everything—including we, ourselves, all those we love, and in fact everyone in the world—will die; so what truly matters is how we live our lives, and what we do for others.
A real turning point for Wah came during his final year of college when he saw a short video by an indigenous community leader from Kawthoolei, Saw O Moo. Though Wah had never heard of him person before, the message sparked something inside him. It resonated so strongly, in fact, that Wah dropped out of college and fully committed himself to the cause of his people, making frequent trips back to Kawthoolei ever since. “Because of him, I made the decisions that shaped who I am today,” Wah says simply.
Wah describes how the Karen have been resisting the Myanmar military since 1949, when their first president, Saw Ba Oo Gyi, was assassinated. His death left a leadership void, causing divisions among Karen leaders that persist to this day. "We tear ourselves apart if we lack leadership, good leadership," he says. “We need a new leader who can reunite the whole people.” This fragmentation has weakened the Karen's efforts to unite and secure control of their borders, preventing the realization of an independent Kawthoolei. This is one of the reasons why Wah returned, joining those who continue to stand firm in the fight for freedom, while hoping he can help to finally bridge these long-standing divisions. He also shares his ultimate ambition for his work and for Kawthoolei: “My children don’t have to grow up in a time of war. You know, they can grow up peacefully, play among the bamboo and in the river, in the rain, however they want. That’s my ultimate dream. A free, godly [place] where all can flourish, not just Karen people.”
He emphasizes that the older generation of Karen leaders should be more open-minded and forward-thinking and create spaces for the younger generation to step in. Returning to Saw Ba Oo Gyi again, Wah notes that young Karen should look up to that great leader as a role model, a Karen elder who went to the UK to study and then returned to serve his community.
Regarding the possibility of establishing a Federal Democracy in Myanmar, Wah acknowledges this is quite a daunting task, due to the country’s vast diversity of ethnic groups. Instead, he believes that the Karen people, with their population of over 10 million and their own distinct cultural identity, check every box about having the right to form their own nation. For this reason, to Wah, it is more logical for the Karen to first focus on building their own country, before looking to collaborate with the other ethnic groups around them.
On a personal level, Wah talks about how leaving a safe, Western country to spend years in a conflict zone obviously isn’t easy. "I'm not saying that I'm not scared, but courage means, even when you're scared, you still want to go for it.” Describing his first trip home, which occurred before the coup, Wah notes that he raised an initial $2,000, but felt it wasn’t enough, given the immense need. Determined to do more, he connected with a friend, Honeymoon, and together they launched a Facebook fundraising effort that netted over $50,000 in just four days! This success inspired them to establish an organization called "I Am Knyaw” with the help of other like-minded friends and connections.
Listeners may recall a related, past episode with Eh Nay Thaw, who described his reason for using the term Knyaw Poe over Karen. He noted how Kynaw can be translated as “minimalistic,” and Poe means son or daughter, so he translates the full term as “children of simplicity.” To Eh Nay Thaw, “the term Karen is quite misleading, in my opinion, because it loses that meaning of Knyaw Poe.” Wah echoes this sentiment when he says, “‘I Am Knyaw' is [translated as] “I'm Karen”. That's it. I want to take pride in my identity.”
"I Am Knyaw" supports various humanitarian efforts, not just through fundraising but also by creating podcasts, making food like chili paste, building schools, and sponsoring students. “I see ourselves as a bridge between the gap inside here in Kawthoolei or the borders and overseas,” he says. Wah emphasizes that supporting the cause doesn’t necessarily mean taking up arms; those outside of Kawthoolei can contribute through their skills.
Since the 2021 coup, Wah’s activities have brought him closer to the frontlines. He describes the terrifying airstrikes by the Myanmar military and the hardships young revolutionaries face. Seeing these youths risk their lives strengthened Wah's resolve to do whatever it takes to support them. “I accepted death a long time ago. It's a part of life. Why worry about it, you know?” he says, explaining that his only fear at the frontline was for the people with him. “If anything happens, how many can I save? How many can I help? That scares me a little bit.”
Despite the military’s oppression, Wah encourages his people to reject a victim mindset, stressing that self-reliance is key: “You got to keep going! There's no place for weak people in this world. Give no space to negativity or weak-minded thoughts.” But he stresses that weakness does not mean vulnerability, such as crying, and that it’s important to give oneself space for emotions. To him, the key distinction between vulnerability and weakness lies in effort. Weakness, in his opinion, is "not even trying," or making excuses instead of attempting; crying, on the other hand, is a natural reaction when caring for someone deeply. Wah says it takes courage to express emotions, especially in tough situations.
Wah also shares his experiences visiting refugee camps. “You will see in their eyes. It’s hopeless!” he exclaims. Yet despite the bleakness, he does whatever he can to spread positive energy, often making jokes to bring smiles to children’s faces. “I say a lot of stupid stuff to make people smile. Trying to make one child smile in a time like that, I find it priceless.” His social media skits have made him well-known, and people are always happy to see him in person. Wah also highlights the Karen people's resilience, noting how they use humor to cope with trauma and hardship. “I'm not going to look sad,” he says, sharing how he prepares himself for these visits. “I’m not going to show that. [I say], ‘Okay, we're here for you guys. It's gonna be all right.’” The reality is that the refugees, including the children, are burdened with uncertainty. They wonder when they will be able to return home or if they will ever lead normal lives again, and he sees the fear and anxiety about the future etched into their faces. Wah stresses that for many, it's not just about physical survival, it’s about living without any assurance of stability or safety. The questions that linger in their minds—such as "When will this end?" or "Will I ever go home?”—remain unanswered, adding to the emotional toll .
While passionate about humanitarian work, Wah doesn't want the Karen to rely on aid forever. He envisions long-term solutions, such as educating people to avoid dangerous areas to reduce the number of refugees and casualties from armed conflict. Education, he says, is vital, especially for children whose schools have been destroyed by military bombings. Wah is committed to supporting education by finding teachers and building schools. “We want to become the hope in the time of suffering crisis. the light that can make people smile even when they're in hard situations,” he says. A tireless worker, he admits that he always wants more for his people. “No, I can never be satisfied,” he says. “but I can always be happy. I can always do more because I know I can do more.”
Wah also talks about cultural manifestations of the Karen concept of “Knyaw.” For example, he describes “takabaw,” a simple Karen dish made of pounded rice, vegetables, and spices, which symbolizes the simplicity of Karen culture, and the traditional Karen shirt, which lacks pockets and has no defined front or back side (so it can be worn either way) reflects. He says these illustrate “the characteristics of true, indigenous people.”
Ending the conversation, Wah expresses optimism about the future of Myanmar and Kawthoolei, noting the Myanmar military's recent losses. He hopes for better days and invites people to visit his homeland in the future. He hopes for a time when online searches for Kawthoolei or Myanmar will reveal more positive stories, instead of the war and humanitarian crisis. He says, “I want to invite everybody to see the Karen people not just as victims, but to experience the real beauty in the culture, the uniqueness, the simplicity.”