“In January, at the approach of winter, I braved the extreme cold to travel by motorbike to Taunggyi,” writes a local journalist in their travelogue for the independent Burmese news outlet Myanmar Now. Seven hours south from Mandalay (Myanmar’s second largest city) en route to the capital of the Shan State.
A first impression? “I felt invigorated,” our correspondent notes, despite the arduous prospect of crossing the Shan Hills later that day.
The border checks have quietened down in Kyaukse and Ywanan, a world away from last summer when revolutionary forces clashed with the military junta in Lashio in the northern part of the Shan State. The Battle of Lashio resulted in waves of southward migration: “the checks were very harsh”. The situation is more relaxed now: “the checkpoints were still there, but they allowed people to pass without any obstacles.”
From Kyaukse and Ywanan onwards, en route to the mesmerising Shan Hills, the journalist points to the many valleys that have been ravaged by floods. Translator senses that not all challenges in this area are of political nature: climate change is real, so too in the Shan State. But there are also the first harbingers of spring (“it’s not as lush and green as the last time, but rather dusty and dry!”)
By 3pm, our correspondent reaches Heho, near Taunggyi. It’s taking longer than expected. They won’t reach their destination before dark. While breaking for a meal, there’s a noticeable presence of armed guerilla women in uniform. They belong to the state-sponsored Pa-O National Army (PNA), locals say.
Next stop: Shwenyaung and Ayetharyar, where residents of Lashio, Sisei and Kayah State sought refuge after the floods. Here, the journalist points to the many barracks housing the refugees: the No.1. Accommodation Camp; the Vehicle Storage barracks; and the Mobile Public Relations barracks. Ten minutes later, another checkpoint. Armed soldiers in their sixties, sweltering under the hot sun.
The writer reaches Taunggyi via the Southern Ringroad. There are bunkers along the side of the highway. Ten military trucks with goats on board follow the same route.
“Taunggyi is much more developed than expected”, our correspondent marvels: “as magnificent as the commercial capitals Yangon and Mandalay, with large buildings, markets, hospitals, high-end shopping malls.” The miliary presence is unmistakable: the Eastern Command’s headquarters, home to the second Field Medical Battalion, the 646th Military Equipment Battalion and the 656th Construction Battalion, the local police station, and the 212th Communications Battalion. The Shan State’s Parliament is nowhere to be found. Its location is further away (“on the outskirts”).
Finding a place to stay in Taunggyi proves difficult. Four fully booked hotels later, our correspondent has found a place to stay. The accreditation procedure at reception: filling in a registration card then having your photo taken in the lobby. Government officials will be informed who is staying that night.
At 7pm, it’s time for dinner at the local food markets, where fried rice, grilled meats, noodles are washed down with tea. The atmosphere is bustling, yet a local friend of our correspondent notes how it used to be: more “lively and more beautiful.” After dinner, a motorbike tour round town. The only buildings that can be pointed out are those lit up with electricity – that is, government buildings and hotels. By 10pm there’s barely any traffic on the streets at all. Preparation for the curfew that runs between midnight and four, the hotel staff explain.
The next morning is sunny but cold. Motorbike engines and car horns jolt the journalist awake, but not only that. Everyone is out and about, it seems, from cyclists to children in school uniforms, as well as other locals carrying rice bags on their way to work.
Our correspondent meets Ma Ei Mon Khin, the President of Mandalay’s Yadanabon University Student Union, the only identifiable interviewee of this piece. Looking beyond the activity on the streets, she paints a less rosy picture of the reality of life: “People are living in fear. There are fewer young people. Jobs are becoming harder to come by”. Economic challenges have become more pronounced. Until now, she notes, people have got on with their lives: “they’ve not paid much attention to the military regime”.
The military council has begun to recruit more residents into local military units. “Even children are recruited”, our correspondent is told. (Myanmar Now points to a recent concerning Facebook post that listed all women aged 18-25 in local villages as prospective recruits.) Locals point to military camps in the town of Hopong where soldiers from the region are trained.
There are clashes underway between revolutionary forces and the military junta in the Sesay Township, sixty miles from Taunggyi; as well as in Pekon and Pinlaung, over a hundred miles away. The refugees arriving in peaceful Taunggyi place an additional burden on already stretched food supplies. Prices of everything are up.
Before leaving Taungyyi, our correspondent asks Ma Ei Mon Khin if the current situation will last. “It’s a matter of time”, she says: “there is a desire for revolution in hearts of the locals who have long suffered under the hardships of the military junta”. As soon as the local population and the revolutionists join forces, it will be game over.
A few days later, as our correspondent leaves Taunggyi the city is shrouded in fog. The houses higher up the hills are invisible. But cherry blossoms along the road out of town catch the writer’s eye. “Aren’t cherry blossoms the flower of the Shan people?”, our correspondent asks. A note of hope amongst the uncertainties of the future.
Full original in Burmese appeared anonymously on Myanmar Now (မြန်မာနောင်း) on 12 February 2025.
It’s available here.
Founded in 2015, Myanmar Now (မြန်မာနောင်း) is an independent local news outlet publishing primarily in Burmese, with a separate English-language section.
