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”—stood at the gas range, which spat oil at his baggy long-sleeved shirt. British officers promised the Karen independence for helping us fight the Burmese and Japan. The Karen resistance started, and the Karen National Union formed, about as soon as the ink was dry on Burma’s postwar independence agreement. The Karen had been well trained and well armed by Westerners.

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As the smell wafted up, I climbed out from under my mosquito net and walked softly out of my room. ” “So, I cannot go anywhere.” He dumped chunks of raw, pink meat into the oil, which sputtered furiously. I, after all, was the one who’d just figured out that no one here was Korean. “Why would you be arrested because you’re a refugee? This is only the latest misfortune in the Karen’s long history of troubles.

Htan Dah—whose name was pronounced, to my unceasing delight, the same as the self-satisfied English interjection “ta-da! They were massively oppressed and enslaved before Burma became a British colony in 1886, but their relations with the Burmese were nothing so nasty as after they played colonialists’ pet and then joined the Allies in World War II.

If you’re so enslaved, you might accompany the soldiers as they march into your friends’ neighborhoods and set them on fire, watch them shoot at fleeing inhabitants as they run, capturing any stragglers.

If you’re one of those stragglers, and you’re a woman, or a girl five or older, prepare to be raped, most likely gang-raped, and there’s easily a one-in-four chance you’ll then be killed, possibly by being shot, possibly through your vagina, possibly after having your breasts hacked off.

If you’re a man, maybe you’ll be hung by your wrists and burned alive.

Maybe a soldier will drown you by filling a plastic bag with water and tying it over your head, or stretch you between two trees and use you as a hammock, or cut off your nose, pull out your eyes, and then stab you in both ears before killing you, or string you up by your shoulders and club you now and again for two weeks, or heat up slivers of bamboo and push them into your urethra, or tie a tight rope between your dick and your neck for a while before setting your genitals on fire, or whatever else hateful, armed men and underage boys might dream up when they have orders to torment, and nothing else to do.

Your life is roughly equivalent to a modern-day Burmese person’s.

Now imagine that you belong to a distinct group, Dallasites, or something, that never wanted to be part of the Republic in the first place, that wanted to either remain part of the United States, which had treated you just fine, or, failing that, become your own free state within the Republic of Texas, since you already had your own infrastructure and culture.

What’s more, you and 50 million countrymen are trapped inside your 268,000-square-mile Orwellian nightmare with some 350,000 soldiers.

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