Forced to leave the cathedral in November 2023 due to armed clashes, the Bishop of Loikaw continues to assist the faithful of the diocese, now dispersed in 200 refugee camps in remote areas. He tells the drama of young people who join the militias and reflects on these communities in Kayah State, which despite their enormous difficulties today remind him of the first Christians. “The Church is the place where people share and love each other.”
Rome () – The words of Pope Francis, who yesterday called for the release of Aung San Suu Kyi and offered her refuge in the Vatican, have revived world attention on the war in Myanmar. A forgotten tragedy that has lasted for more than three years and also has the face of a Burmese Church that lives as a displaced person among the displaced. Mgr. Celso Ba Shwe, 60 years old, bishop of Loikaw, capital of the state of Kayah, tells . his sufferings but also his strong testimony of Christian life.
Last week he took part in the training course for newly appointed bishops organised each year by the Dicastery for Evangelisation in Rome, and is now preparing to return to the displaced people of his community in the Burmese jungle. Since November of last year, in fact, he himself has been forced to leave the complex of the Cathedral of Christ the King, occupied by the army. That is why today he lives with the internal refugees of Kayah State, many of whose houses – mostly tents and makeshift bamboo constructions – were also recently swept away by the rains of Typhoon Yagi, in a new and terrible experience.
“Nobody lives in Loikaw anymore,” he says. – Most of the buildings were burned and destroyed, especially in Christian areas. In many parts of the city it is impossible to enter because of anti-personnel mines and unexploded ordnance. Only members of the PDF return to try to locate their families, but it is dangerous for them too.” The PDF are the People’s Defense Forces, the armed wing of the Government of National Unity in exile. They are militias divided into brigades that are spread throughout the territory. They were born in April 2021 – after the military coup that led to the civil conflict – and are made up of young and very young people, including Christians, who before the war, in the entire Kayah State numbered more than 90,000, out of a population of 350,000 inhabitants.
“They are fighting for their future and their freedom,” the bishop explains. “They witnessed democratic progress during the years of Aung San Suu Kyi, between 2015 and 2020. Now young people know that there is a space where they can express their freedom, they are convinced that they are fighting for justice. And not only young people. None of us wants to return to the times of the military dictatorship.” However, the prelate continues, “young people also know that war is not the solution to achieving a democratic state. Dialogue is required. What the Church wants and asks is for the PDF to present itself as a united group. One day, perhaps. For now it is very difficult.”
The idea of a federal state in Myanmar is always on the horizon, but it is complicated by the fact that in the territories liberated by the army, ethnic militias (armed groups that, unlike the PDF, have been fighting against the central government since independence from the British Empire in 1948 for greater autonomy in their regions) have created administrations that do not respond to the will of the civilian population. “So far, at least 600 young people have died in the fighting in Kayah State,” says sadly Mgr Ba Shwe, originally from the village of Moblo, in the diocese of Loikaw. “However, families support the PDF. In the displaced persons camps, many people lack food, but everyone saves some for the fighters. They are proud of their children and pray for their success and safety.”
The Christian community in Loikaw is spread across 200 refugee camps in the forest, where, according to last year’s figures, a total of 150,000 people live. “The displaced people live far from the villages, in remote areas where there is no conflict,” says the bishop, but he immediately corrects himself: “We cannot really say that there is no conflict, because at any moment a bombardment or an artillery attack could come.”
“The people who live here depend on international donations and the kindness of local residents who welcome them. Some manage to borrow a piece of land to grow rice or vegetables. But it is always risky, anyone can be hit by army fire at any time.” Children are living the most dramatic situation. Sometimes even high school teenagers join the armed struggle. “Between the pandemic and the civil war, some children have not been to school for five years,” continues Mgr. Celso, who was apostolic administrator of the diocese for three years before being ordained bishop on June 29.
Over the past year, she has supported the creation of small informal schools among the displaced in an attempt to educate the generation that will have to rebuild the country. “As we fear that the military junta might bomb places where a lot of people gather, we spread out the classes in different locations, among tents and huts in the jungle. The children have learned to look up to see if bombs are coming. If they see a plane, they know to run somewhere else. They study in the midst of danger: how do teachers and students manage to concentrate?”
There is a shortage of rice and water (which is collected from miles away) and at least 10 refugee camps have been devastated by the floods caused by Typhoon Yagi in Southeast Asia in recent weeks. In Myanmar it killed more than 200 people. However, when he talks about the life of his community, the bishop always has a smile on his lips and sometimes laughs. “My strength is the people, they give me courage,” he explains. “After settling in the camps, they began to ask: ‘Where are our places of worship? We want to have a church, bishop, can you help us?’ Now in almost every camp there is a place to pray marked with a small cross. It is a Church in nature, it is very beautiful.”
In November 2023, after a two-week siege, Mgr. Ba Shwe was forced to leave Loikaw Cathedral, where about 70 people were staying, including religious and people who could not flee, mainly the elderly and disabled. The pastoral centre had been surrounded by hundreds of junta soldiers. “In December, we returned, but only to take the baptismal registers, with which priests today search for people from their parish among the displaced.” The rest has all been lost. Even the graves inside the cathedral were dug up, probably because the military feared that the PDF had hidden weapons there.
“I am a bishop without a cathedral, but I am happy. When I had to flee Loikaw, many people offered me to go to Taunggyi or other safe places where there was no fighting. But how could I abandon my people? I have to go where my flock is. The people do not have a church, but they have their places to pray. It is an experience that, with all its difficulties, reminds me of the life of the first Christians. Many ask me: ‘Bishop, when will we return to the cathedral?’ I answer that the Church is not a building. When people are together and care for each other, when they love each other, when they share: that is where the Church is.” A Church reborn in the tragedy of war: “The parish priests and nuns are now more dedicated to the population,” continues Bishop Ba Shwe. “In some refugee camps there were no catechists. But anyone who knew how to lead the prayer or read the Gospel and the Scriptures became a new evangelizer,” says the prelate.
Caritas Loikaw is also active, intervening in the most urgent cases, when people have run out of food or money. “We don’t have the structure of an NGO, but we are always close to the people, with a mobile clinic for medical visits and a support group for those who are more traumatized. The nuns, above all, are close to those who suffer. And in this way we reach those people who are in remote areas, where international agencies cannot reach.”
“Although there are many challenges and difficulties, God is helping us,” says Bishop Ba Shwe with conviction. “When people tell me: ‘Bishop, we have no rice for the children,’ there is always someone else who calls me on the phone to offer help. What we have is not enough, but we are going little by little.”
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