Running On Empty

“My grandparents, they ran their whole life, starting in World War Two. And then my parents, they ran themselves. And then my siblings ran too, but I was too young to remember anything.”

Tu Lor Eh Paw, featured in a recent podcast episode, recounts her journey from a small Karen village to building a new life in the United States. Born into a community with no running water or electricity, Tu Lor's early life was marked by hardship and resilience. After her mother passed away, her father moved the family to a refugee camp, seeking relative safety from the pervasive violence inflicted by the Burmese military and the pressures of Karen resistance groups. Her childhood was further shaped by the values of Karen Christian missionary work, which instilled a sense of community and faith.

Eventually resettling in Minneapolis, Tu Lor embraced the challenges of a new culture. Despite language barriers and adapting to a harsh winter climate, she integrated into the Karen community while excelling in her education. Yet, she carries a deep sense of responsibility for her family and homeland, using her platform to share the Karen people’s plight. From working with diverse refugee groups in Minneapolis to advocating for Myanmar’s democracy movement, Tu Lor embodies resilience and a relentless hope for freedom for her people.

Tu Lor Eh Paw’s words above carry the weight of generations, weaving a narrative of survival, loss, and relentless hope. Her quote encapsulates the tragic cycle of displacement that has defined her family’s existence—fleeing from one storm only to be caught in another. Her grandparents ran through the chaos of World War II, her parents through decades of persecution and ethnic violence at the hands of the Burma Army, her siblings through the same unending struggles. And yet, Tu Lor speaks not in bitterness, but in quiet defiance.

This quote is more than a personal story; it’s a microcosm of the Karen people’s history and the plight of countless others in Myanmar. It captures the exhaustion of being perpetually uprooted, the trauma of displacement etched into family memories. But beneath the sorrow, there’s a thread of resilience—a refusal to surrender, no matter how many times the ground beneath them shifts. Her words resonate because they remind us of the human cost of war and tyranny, but also of the unyielding spirit that refuses to let history define the future. In Tu Lor’s voice, we hear not just the weight of the past but the courage to dream of something more for the next generation.