In July, amidst the battlegrounds of Pasaung in Karenni State, I shadowed a coalition of pro-democracy ethnic resistance forces as they endeavored to reclaim the final portions of the city still under the thumb of the Burma Army.
At a casualty collection point mere meters from the front line, I witnessed medics urgently transporting the dead and wounded. The Free Burma Rangers set up an impromptu surgical area in a drainage ditch beneath a roadway. Above us, planes zipped through the sky, barely discernible through the jungles below. The relentless sounds of artillery and drone strikes thrummed in the background, as government forces targeted resistance fighters and dropped exploratory bombs in a bid to locate the collection point. The junta knows that decimating the medics will decrease the chances of survival for the wounded. Thus, bombings of hospitals and clinics, even those nestled in civilian areas, have regrettably become routine.
Only months prior, I accompanied resistance fighters as they evacuated a hospital while the junta targeted another hospital and even a school. The following day saw the dropping of thirteen bombs near another clinic, miraculously leaving no casualties. All these bombings took place in civilian districts.
In areas liberated in Karenni State—where more than 80 percent of the population has been displaced at least once since the 2021 coup that ousted the democratically elected government—the residents have grown accustomed to living with the echoes of explosions. Yet the jets, armed with 500-pound bombs, unleash a level of destruction without parallel on this battlefield. Each makeshift bamboo school, every village, every camp housing displaced individuals features a trench that the children instinctively know to dive into at the first hint of approaching aircraft.
On the front lines, however, seeking cover every time a jet passes overhead would be madness. Most soldiers learn to listen for the subtle change in pitch that signals an impending dive from a jet. Junta pilots have taken to diving without releasing their payloads, purely to disrupt operations and scatter soldiers to safety. Sometimes, however, they do unleash their bombs. The stark contrast between civilian areas and the front lines is emphasized further by the strafing runs, where jets swoop in low to unleash cannon fire.
In March, the resistance claimed half of Pasaung, achieving this at a tremendous cost to both soldier and civilian alike, but it was a time of hope and motivation. Liberation seemed a tangible goal. Pasaung is strategically vital, situated along the border between Karenni and Shan States, marking one of the last territories under junta control within Karenni.
By early 2025, it seemed as if the tide of war was shifting. Resistance forces were gaining strength, capturing small towns, and claiming extensive territories while junta forces tenuously held onto larger urban centers. Within Burma’s varied ethnic landscape, resistance armies worked in tandem with civilian administrations, many military leaders beginning to delegate authority to these civilian bodies, thus shifting focus toward routing the junta forces.
In Karenni State, officials were in the process of conducting a census, creating an ID system, and gearing up for elections next year—a remarkable display of grassroots governance emerging amid chaos.
Kun Bedu, the vice chair of the Karenni State Interim Executive Council (IEC)—the provisional government formed by the Karenni resistance—reminisced about the early days post-coup. “When we first went into battle, we had around twenty untrained volunteers and only three weapons, of which two were .22 caliber,” he recounted. However, the Karenni Nationalities Defense Force (KNDF) has since burgeoned into a formidable force, resulting in a functioning civilian government, reclaiming much of its territory, and preparing to hold elections.
Yet, two converging forces have impeded the resistance’s progress: Chinese intervention and the junta’s impending national elections.
China, historically the financial supporter of the junta, remains the primary supplier of military hardware. This includes essential items like drones, bombs, aircraft, and fuel, leaving the resistance devoid of air power or even a coherent defense against the onslaught. The Burma Army, thus, enjoys absolute aerial dominance.
In the early revolutionary phase, the resistance was pioneering in drone adaptations, developing their drones and repurposing civilian models in makeshift jungle bases. This innovation played a vital role in their territorial gains. Regrettably, that strategic advantage has slipped away over the last year, as China has begun supplying the junta with advanced drones and drone-jamming technology. Reports suggest they are even employing sophisticated fiber-optic-controlled drones, virtually impossible for the resistance to jam or hack.
During the Pasaung clash, the overwhelming majority of casualties I observed stemmed not from small arms fire but rather from drone and air strikes—an unfortunate reality for which China bears significant culpability.
Beyond the direct supply of arms, China has effectively severed the flow of weapons and ammunition to the resistance. The junta enjoys a considerable advantage by procuring weapons from China and Russia, allowing for bulk supplies to be flown or transported directly into the country.
On the other hand, the resistance is barred from openly purchasing arms due to the strictures of international law, a bitter irony considering the junta, which routinely commits atrocities against civilians, finds protection under these same laws. Meanwhile, individuals have faced imprisonment for attempting to smuggle aid or equipment such as drone jammers to the resistance. The moral paradox is staggering.
