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Kriangkai Chichuang: The Karen leader teaching Thailand what it means to be indigenous
A Paw-Karen from Thailand’s western forest complex, Kriangkai Chichuang has become the face of the country’s indigenous communities. He spends his days explaining to policymakers why six million indigenous people need legal recognition.
Kriangkai Chichuang stands in his traditional Karen top in rainbow colours in Bang Kama village. Wissarut Weerasopon/HaRDstories
Among the drag queens, face-painted activists and feathered performers of Bangkok’s Pride Parade, Kriangkai Chichuang might have seemed an unlikely participant. But the Karen leader, sporting a traditional top in rainbow colours, was exactly where he wanted to be – showing that indigenous communities, too, are part of Thailand’s diversity.
As chairman of Thailand’s main indigenous network, the Council of Indigenous Peoples (CIPT), the 48-year-old has become the public face of the country’s ethnic minorities.
Thailand is home to more than six million indigenous people from sixty ethnic groups who remain systematically disadvantaged. They face restricted access to basic rights, struggle to maintain eroding cultures, and are frequently criminalised under conservation laws – some even faced violence and death.
To safeguard their rights and preserve their traditional ways of life, Thailand is drafting its first law to protect indigenous communities, with hopes of completion by July. The Ethnic Bill has become one of Kriangkai’s primary responsibilities since his election as CIPT chairman in 2023.
The indigenous council chairman spends his days travelling between remote villages and Bangkok’s riverside parliament. In forest communities, he explains what the law means to fellow villagers. In Bangkok, he interprets indigenous worldviews to politicians, urging them to support the bill.
Many remain sceptical. And at times, Kriangkai finds it difficult to translate concepts from one world to another.
“We were asked by some politicians what spirits are. They think it explicitly means life after death. That’s not it,” said Kriangkai. He humbly disclaims any expertise, describing himself as just a local person. “We try to explain how spirits refer to our respectful relationship with nature – why, as Karen people, we must care for the forest.”
Whilst parliament has voted in favour of passing the Ethnic Bill, gaps in understanding remain wide. The drafting process over recent years has involved intense wrangling over word choices – selecting language that would safeguard indigenous rights without granting too much self-determination.
For years, indigenous people in Thailand have been calling for self-determination – the right to freely determine their fate and pursue their own economic and cultural development. Though the concept of indigenous rights has been adopted by the UN, Thailand and most Southeast Asian countries remain sensitive to it, preferring the less politicised term “ethnic groups”.
The biggest debate centred on the very first term in the text used to refer to Kriangkai and his community. The phrase “indigenous people” – widely used in several countries to signify historical links to territories and surrounding natural resources – was debated for hours.
Thai politicians worry that any terminology implying strong self-determination could provide a spark for separatist movements – a fear Kriangkai works hard to dispel.
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“I don’t want you to see the term as a sensitive issue,” Kriangkai told Members of Parliament during their meeting in late 2024, attempting to allay their concerns. He explained how indigenous communities could maintain their distinct identities whilst also being Thai citizens.
Speaking perfect Thai without an accent, Kriangkai was questioned about whether he was truly indigenous – an odd question for him and many indigenous people in Thailand who feel that being indigenous isn’t a simple tick-box identity. “I have known since I was very young that I am Karen and I am Thai.”
Spirits from the forest
Growing up in Pong Krating village – the name means “salt lick for bulls” – in Ratchaburi province Kriangkai knew the forest as his playground. The small Paw-Karen community of 40 households sits in Thailand’s western forest complex near the Myanmar border.
As children, Kriangkai and his friends roamed the country’s largest remaining forest patch, searching for honey and vegetables to accompany spicy chilli paste at dinner. The group grew to include younger cousins from the village, eventually becoming an organised after-school activity.
“I graduated from college as a sports teacher. Each of my friends was good at different things – farming, playing guitar, or telling folktales about our Karen traditional beliefs – so we took turns organising activities each evening,” said Kriangkai. The Pong-Krating youth group won Thailand’s well-recognised environmental award, the Green Globe.
He didn’t consider being indigenous particularly unique and didn’t even enjoy wearing traditional dress until he joined the Karen Network – an initiative led by Karen historians where he began to appreciate his indigenous identity.
There, in his early twenties, he met other young Karen people from communities stretching from the western forests to the north. They formed friendships and shared their common challenges.
Acting as something of a big brother within the youth network, Kriangkai later invited Porajee ‘Billy’ Rakchoncharoen, a promising new Karen leader, to join the group. It was devastating for him when Billy was reported dead after eleven years missing – a disappearance rooted in conflicts between communities and national park rangers.
“I remember Billy’s wife – Munor (Pinnapa Pruksaphan), who was still very naive, a true housewife at that time. After Billy disappeared, she was forced to become a human rights defender, demanding justice for her husband,” said Kriangkai. “His death had a chilling effect on our community, but also reminded us to stick together.”
The forest means home to him, but it has become a source of discomfort. Many indigenous people have been criminalised for living on ancestral lands later designated as protected forest – a situation potentially affecting more than 300,000 families. In the case of his western forest complex, matters became more complicated after it was listed as a UNESCO World Natural Heritage site.
“As I came to appreciate our indigenous traditions, I began to understand more about social justice and our rights. My sense of being indigenous became clearer.”
Kriangkai says he has never faced serious discrimination, particularly living in Ratchaburi province – just two hours’ drive from Bangkok – where communities have become familiar with mainstream Thai culture. But it was his indignation at seeing friends mistreated that drove him to fight for indigenous rights.
Being indigenous, to him, means carrying on their customs as much as recognising their minority status in the country. That drove Kriangkai to don traditional dress he had barely worn and speak out on behalf of indigenous communities.
Trusted by his communities, Kriangkai became the representative of his Karen communities in the western forest complex, then was later elected by indigenous representatives from four regions as chairman of the Council of Indigenous Peoples.
Founded in 2014, CIPT operates democratically with five council members from each ethnic group. With 237 members from 46 ethnicities, the council members convene annually to identify common issues and develop viable solutions. They can also seek advice from a board of elders, drawing on their custom of respecting community elders.
“Kriangkai is very well-connected to the communities. He rarely says no when anyone asks for help,” says Sakda Saenmi, a Lisu indigenous elder and CIPT secretary. “He represents the voices of the indigenous people in the bill drafting process – trying to keep our indigenous spirits enacted in the bill.”
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Spirits on the street
Kriangkai’s chairmanship marks a significant step for the indigenous movement. Having him based near Bangkok means stepping out from their stronghold in the northern region – where a large indigenous population lives – and moving closer to the centre of power, whilst strengthening the network with sea nomads and other indigenous communities.
For Kriangkai, it means countless car journeys between Pong Krating and Bangkok. He juggles his passion for teaching children, to appreciate nature, caring for his teenage son, and negotiating with adults in suits.
“Ula Ula, Yetai Tong-uay Jakretkrano Merpaperpano.” Under the forest shade, Kriangkai led a group of Karen children during their summer camp in prayer to nature spirits. As most of them use Thai as their main language, he translated: “Dear nature spirits, when the forest is damp and cold, come back home.”
“He knows how to make serious issues engaging,” said Sunee Chairot, a National Human Rights Commissioner and veteran child advocate. She has known Kriangkai for many years through various social movement events. “He works hard for the indigenous network and beyond his own communities.”
Kriangkai has demonstrated that building alliances is crucial for indigenous communities. When his council prepared to submit the bill to parliament, they gained more than 10,000 supporters, not exclusively indigenous. Whenever indigenous communities stage protests to defend their rights, factory workers, sex workers, and urban activists join them in solidarity.
Now, a few months before his role as indigenous council chairman ends this August, Kriangkai is putting his energy into ensuring indigenous spirits thrive in the Ethnic Bill. Several key provisions have been watered down by policymakers to keep the law under state control.
Even though previous votes have signalled that parliament would not approve their self-identification as indigenous people, Kriangkai remains determined to ask for the best legal protection for his communities.
In the final Senate meeting in April, he made another push during his opening speech before policymakers began redrafting the law. “Our communities have been suffering from unfair laws, stereotypes, and discrimination. If we don’t maintain strong protections in the law, I’m worried the bill cannot protect our communities well enough.”
Kriangkai believes he lacks facility with words – a necessary asset for navigating politics. “I’m comfortable being with my people,” he said. Sometimes he would rather stay silent and let his traditional dress speak for itself. “I want Thailand to see that one size doesn’t fit all. The law should be tailored to us as individuals.”
Nicha Wachpanich is a Bangkok-based journalist covering stories from a rights-based and human-interest perspective. She previously worked with a local environmental news agency under Thai Society of Environmental Journalists.
Wissarut Weerasopon is a Thai documentary and news photographer. Since graduating with a photography degree from Pohchang Academy of Art in 2017 he has worked with major Thai publications such as National Geographic Thailand, and Sarakadee Magazine.
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