Not a burden, but a bond — let this border be a bridge of shared hope and humanity
Originally published on Khaosod English
Mae Sot has long been more than just a border town. It is a space where Thai and Burmese lives have intersected for generations—through trade, culture, kinship, and, in recent years, shared hardship.
Since the attempted military coup in Myanmar on Feb. 1, 2021, Mae Sot has seen a significant influx of Burmese people fleeing violence, persecution, and political collapse.
Among them are students, teachers, artists, and professionals who left behind homes, careers, and possessions to seek temporary safety. Many live with a quiet gratitude toward Thailand for allowing them sanctuary.
But in recent months, that sense of safety has started to fray. Crackdowns on undocumented migrants have intensified, while online rhetoric increasingly paints Burmese people as threats—accused of stealing jobs, overwhelming public services, or competing with local businesses.
Yet behind each Burmese face is not a threat, but a story—of survival, dignity, and deep respect for their host. This is not a crisis of invasion. It is a test of compassion, coexistence, and our shared humanity.
Workers of the border: Carrying the town’s weight
After COVID-19 emptied Mae Sot’s streets, it was Burmese migrants who brought the town back to life. They returned to farms, reopened factories, and revitalized homes, markets, and shops. Without them, many local businesses would have closed.
Nilar, a 27-year-old mother from Bago, now works at a garment factory. She earns just 200 Thai Baht per day—below the legal minimum—but says, “It’s still better than bombs.” Her husband was shot during a protest in Myanmar. With her toddler strapped to her back, she irons shirts under sweltering heat, dreaming of a day her son can safely attend school.
Like Nilar, many migrants take on what are called the “3D jobs”—dirty, dangerous, and difficult—roles often left vacant by Thai citizens. They clean, cook, harvest, build, and produce. They pay rent, buy food, and support local trade. And they do so while living on the edge of legality, with few protections and even fewer rights.
Healthcare and hard choices
Social media claims that Burmese people overburden Thai hospitals and receive free care. But the truth is far more nuanced.
Many migrants pay their own way. Some are covered by M-Fund, a non-profit health insurance scheme supported by international donors. Others pay out of pocket. For those without either option, hospitals often request a deposit—sometimes 10,000 to 20,000 Thai Baht—before treatment. For families who fled with nothing, such costs are simply out of reach.
Moe Thidar, a 19-year-old student from Mandalay, lost her father to a treatable heart condition. “We had no documents. The hospital asked for 15,000 baht. We only had 3,000,” she said. “They told us they couldn’t admit him.”
In some cases, compassionate doctors have waived fees. But this is not guaranteed. These are not people exploiting the system—they are people surviving within it, grateful for every kindness shown and devastated when help is out of reach.
The unexpected talent flow
Unlike previous generations of migrant workers, many recent arrivals to Mae Sot come from Myanmar’s middle class. They include doctors, professors, engineers, entrepreneurs, and artists who escaped targeted persecution.
More than 40 university lecturers and dozens of medical professionals and many other professionals are now live quietly in the town. But their skills often go unused, as Thailand’s policies prevent them from working in their professions.
Dr. Tun Min, once a professor at a top university in Yangon, now lives in a one-room apartment with his wife and two children. He teaches math informally to migrant kids on weekends. “I never imagined I’d end up sweeping floors in a warehouse,” he says, “but at least I can still teach.”
Some Burmese artists have begun offering free lessons at local Thai schools, introducing Thai students to new styles of music and painting. Others help community clinics or support border learning centers. In this way, many Burmese refugees give back to Mae Sot in quiet, meaningful ways.
A misguided crackdown and its consequences
Mae Sot’s recent crackdowns have left many Burmese migrants and refugees living in fear. Following a series of high-profile visits and increased public scrutiny, immigration raids intensified.
Even those with proper documentation—such as pink labor cards or passports—were stopped, questioned, and in some cases fined or detained over minor technical issues like address mismatches.
Ko Aung, a 21-year-old who fled Myanmar to avoid forced military conscription, was among those affected. Though he held a valid pink card, he was stopped on his way to the market. “I thought I was safe here,” he said softly. “Now I’m afraid to go outside.”
These are not criminals, but survivors. They are workers, students, mothers, fathers—people who have fled unimaginable violence and hardship. They are here not to cause harm, but to survive. And while they remain deeply grateful to Thailand for providing refuge, many now live in silence and fear, unsure of when safety might become vulnerable again.
What they hope for is not sympathy, but understanding—that their presence is not a threat, but a reflection of the crisis they are escaping. They are not here forever. They are simply waiting for peace, and doing their best to live with dignity until they can return home.
Such crackdowns don’t just harm the undocumented—they sow fear across an entire community. The raids felt less like routine enforcement and more like a warning. Migrants go into hiding. Children stop attending school. Sick people avoid hospitals. The atmosphere of fear helps no one, and it makes everyone less safe.
Children learning, not loitering
Thousands of Burmese children in Mae Sot attend Migrant Learning Centers (MLCs)—informal schools run by the community, not funded by Thai taxpayers. These are supported by international NGOs and donors.
They offer basic education, Thai language, and health awareness. They keep children off the streets and prepare them for reintegration when they return to Myanmar. To support these schools is not to “carry a burden.” It is to invest in hope.
A call for compassionate leadership
Thailand now stands at a crossroads. It can double down on fear and punishment—or it can lead with humanity and vision.
The Burmese people living in Mae Sot are not asking to stay forever. It took a long time to return home. But while they are here, they want to contribute, follow the rules, and live with dignity.
There are small, practical steps that could make a big difference:
Expand accessible, affordable documentation pathways.
Engage directly with migrant communities in border policy planning.
Allow skilled refugees to contribute in education, health, and arts.
Protect learning centers for migrant children without politicization.
Support accurate public information that reflects lived realities, not fear.
This isn’t just a matter of migrant welfare—it is about Thailand’s future, too. Safer, documented, and integrated communities are easier to govern, healthier, and more productive. The relationship between Thailand and Myanmar is long and deep. Right now, it needs care, not suspicion.
Not a burden, but a bond
Mae Sot does not need more walls. It needs bridges.
The Burmese people in this town are not a burden. They are a bond—a living connection to a future of peace, cooperation, and shared prosperity. Most of us are just trying to survive until we can return home. In the meantime, we are ready to be part of Thailand’s solution.
Please see us not as problems, but as neighbors. Not as criminals, but as people.
The author is a Burmese refugee and community organizer living in Mae Sot, Thailand. For security reasons, their name and identifying details have been withheld. Drawing from lived experience and close work with migrant communities, they share this perspective to build understanding between Thai and Burmese people during a time of rising fear and misunderstanding.
