“We want neighbours, not isolation”: The woman leading the Mlabri out of the shadows
- Photography by Chanakarn Laosarakam
Banana leaves are used by the Mlabri as their makeshift umbrellas on rainy days. Photo: Chanakarn Laosarakam/HaRDstories
With additional reporting by Phnom Thano
- Published
- 15 min read
For the ‘people of the forest,’ a chance to plant new roots and preserve a fading culture. Thailand’s Mlabri, once nomadic hunter-gatherers, now seek a permanent home and a sustainable way of life.
Arunva Chaophanaphai remembers the moment she knew she wanted to fight for her people. She was just 17, but already aware of the injustices faced by the Mlabri, a small ethnic group from the mountains of northern Thailand. “Why can’t Mlabri children go to school? Why can’t we have the same opportunities as everyone else?” she asked herself.
To the larger Thai society, the Mlabri are little known, and understood even less. A series of development projects, ostensibly aimed at integrating the Mlabi communities into the modern realities, have largely failed to either improve their living standards or address their basic needs, according to a researcher who studied the group extensively.
The crushing cycles of debt, the lack of access to land rights, and lasting prejudice toward members of the group are just some of the factors that have been attributed to the hardship afflicting the Mlabri.
These challenges drove Arunva Chaophanaphai, or “Tik,” a 37-year-old Mlabri woman, to take on the role of an advocate for a future where her fellow Mlabri people can determine their own lives, as well as maintaining their fundamental rights, identity, and dignity.
“I want to see the Mlabri have their own homes,” Arunva said of her simple dream for the Mlabri in an interview with HaRDstories. Most dwellings in her village of Ban Huai Yuak in Nan province are simple bamboo huts with dirt floors.
Arunva’s belief in the Mlabri’s potential stems from her own journey. Once dependent on state aid, she found liberation by pioneering handicrafts that celebrated Mlabri identity. Her work helped bring the Mlabri to wider recognition, while she continued to be a voice for the Mlabri community to champion for better quality of life.
“The Mlabri are trying to determine and define their own way of life. They’re trying to find a path that best suits their own needs,” Nittaya Earkanna, the director of Inter Mountain Peoples’ Education and Culture in Thailand Association, or IMPECT, said of the advocacy taken up by Arunva and other younger Mlabri.
“Tik [Arunva] is trying to find a solution for her community. That is why she’s making a stand to find a land where her community can live.”
From ‘yellow ghosts’ to human zoo
Histories of the Mlabri have long been entwined with nature, as reflected in the name they call themselves: with mla meaning people and bri meaning forest.
Records suggest that up until the last century, these “people of the forest” roamed nature’s bounty as hunters and gatherers. They were also nomadic, using banana leafs as makeshift shelters and ever shifting to a new ground where they could find fresh sources of sustenance.
Their elusive movement was nevertheless noted by local hunters and foragers, who would often find dried and yellowed banana leafs left behind by the Mlabri after they broke camps, earning the Mlabri a nickname among the huntsmen: tong leung, or yellow banana leafs. Urban residents, meanwhile, prefer the more exotic term pi tong leung, or ghosts of yellow banana leafs, perhaps due to the tales of the mysterious hunter-gatherer group moving largely unseen in the jungles.
For many members of the Mlabri, however, both nicknames reek of misconception against their way of life – similar to other well known exonyms like Eskimos or Gypsies.
According to Sakkarin na Nan, a researcher familiar with the histories of the Mlabri, the ethnic group had been wandering the region that straddles Laos and Thailand long before nation-states and current borders were invented. Many Mlabri also fell victims to the practice of ti kha – slave hunting – in which settlements on both sides of the border rounded up members of the weaker groups and used or traded them as forced labour. The brutal treatment contributed to the Mlabri’s long held aversion to outsiders since pre modern time, he added.
Thai official history first made note of the Mlabri in 1886 following their “discovery” by a noble-born academic. Due to a dearth of historical records, there is no information on the relationship between the group and the central authorities in Bangkok, or how the two entities might have interacted with one another. That had to wait until the outbreak of the Cold War, in the 1950s, when communist guerillas took up arms against the U.S.-backed military regime.
Related Stories
•
- by Nicha Wachpanich
•
- by Nicha Wachpanich
•
- by Veerapong Soontornchattrawat
In response to the armed resistance that turned swathes of rural Thailand into communist-held territories, or “red zones,” the government in Bangkok evacuated many of the ethnic groups from their jungle homesteads to a series of villages built under the central development projects – effectively preventing them from being “liberated” by the communists or joining their ranks.
Similar projects were introduced in Nan province, where a large number of Mlabri nomads roamed the forests, marking the beginning of the transition from their nomadic way of life to a rural settlement under the auspices of the central authorities.
The Mlabri also found themselves in the spotlight of fame thanks to the debut of a 1985 comedy film “Tawan Yim Chaeng” (Smiling Sun). The plot, presented in a light-hearted slapstick manner, involves a group of anthropology students from Bangkok who set out to capture a Mlabri man for research purposes. A mixup led to the abduction of a wrong person, and hilarity ensued until the main protagonists finally made it to the OG Mlabri, defeating a gang of Swastika-waving bandits along the way.
Almost overnight, the Mlabri entered the mainstream public imagination. The film portrayed the Mlabri as a shy, innocent tribe, yet also mysterious and friendly. The newfound curiosity started a surge in tourism to visit the Mlabri communities; Bangkokians would arrive by the busloads, gawk at the humble bamboo abodes, and watch “traditional” performances by the Mlabri.
It didn’t take long before reports emerged that much of the heritage stage show was invented by tour operators, which grossly misrepresent their culture. Some academics also warned that the Mlabri were being treated as a human zoo, and that the revenues generated by the tourism boom failed to improve their quality of life in the long run.
At the present time, there are about 100 Mlabri left in Laos, while another approximately 400 are scattered across five settlements in the Thai provinces of Nan and Phrae. A vast majority of them, studies say, live below the poverty line.
Knitting the long links of heritage
According to a report by Sirindhorn Anthropology Centre, which documents the histories and of ethnic groups in Thailand, state-sponsored development and modernisation efforts for the Mlabri took place throughout the decades between 1977 and 2007, with government agencies allotting lands for the Mlabri to settle and providing them with skills in animal husbandry, agriculture, craftsmanship, among others.
But in the opinion of Sakkarin, the academic who studies the Mlabri people, many of those projects did not appear to be as successful as they should be. Instead of securing a better, sustainable quality of life, most ethnic minority groups ended up as menial labourers bound to other ethnic groups from better social standing or wealthier backgrounds, without the freedom of social mobility, and the same fate befell that of the Mlabri people in general.
Based on Sakkarin’s study, the Mlabri people’s interaction with the outside society consists mostly of their contacts with fellow local ethnic groups, such as the Mien, Tai Yuan, and the Hmong, as well as their dependency on assistance programs offered by religious and government organisations. The situation is largely attributed to the Mlabri people’s lack of access to land rights.
“Their relationships [with outsiders] can be divided into two types,” Sakkarin said. “Sometimes it’s a compromise and dependence, but there is also exploitation.”
Sakkarin gave a pertinent example. Since the Mlabri people do not legally own the lands they live on, he said, they are routinely forced to either work as labourers for members of other, better off ethnic groups (such as the Hmong), or cultivate the lands in accordance with government directives, whether they might be growing coffee, terrace rice farming, or tending other crops as directed by officials at the time. The arrangement meant the Mlabri themselves were rarely left with any real decision of their own making.
Arunva was a teenager when she became conscious of the imbalance of power imposed upon her people.
Like many other Mlabri children, Arunva was born and raised in a conservation area designated by the central government. These settlements are under the supervision of state-run hill tribe development projects or evangelical organisations. In Arunva’s case, it was the latter: a hamlet named Huai Hom led by a Christian missionary group.
Upon turning 17, having convinced herself that there was much more to be gained in the wider world beyond the fences of a remote village, Arunva departed for the town center in a bid to search for employment and further her education. A missionary couple offered her a stay in their own home, and Arunva returned their generosity by helping out at a daycare centre run by the pair.
Soon enough, Arunva found a stable job and her own place to live, and she decided that education and employment would pave the way for the Mlabri people to realise their independence. To that end, Arunva went back to the hamlet of Huai Hom and persuaded eight more Mlabri teenagers to move in with her in the city. She enrolled them in a non-formal education program, which did not require physical attendance in schools, and arranged their lessons in textile sewing at a local labour skill learning center.
The experiment was a success. All of the eight graduated through the matthayom 6 level. One of them, who is also Arunva’s own sister, went on to win an education scholarship program initiated by Princess Sirindhorn that set her on a path to a bachelor’s degree – a stunning rarity for the Mlabri people.
At the same time, Arunva launched an effort to revive a traditional woven handicraft unique to the Mlabri. Known as ta pad, the practice involved seeking out suitable vines in the forests and turning them into various everyday items, from baskets, hammocks to bags. Arunva applied the technique to weaving tote bags, which quickly gained traction among purveyors of locally sourced souvenirs thanks to their distinct pattern, as well as the stout quality.
A turning point came in 2008, when Arunva was granted an audience with Princess Sirindhorn, who was on a visit to Nan province at the time, and presented the royalty with a tote bag made in the Mlabri fashion. She also spoke to Princess Sirindhorn about her lifelong wish to find a home for the Mlabri – a community in which her fellow Mlabri can live in accordance with their own devices.
Stay Informed!
Subscribe to our newsletter to receive our latest stories direct to your inbox.
Her plea was answered by Phufa Development Center, a sprawling reservation area founded by Princess Sirindhorn where members of various ethnic groups could grow crops and received training in sustainable agriculture. The center invited Arunva along with the other eight young Mlabris that she took under her wings to settle and pioneer the possibility of a community for the Mlabri there.
Arunva’s dreams of a home for the Mlabri took one step closer to reality.
New homes, new challenges
The new life at Phufa Development Center came with fresh obstacles. In addition to having to familiarise themselves with the new home, gaining acceptance from neighbours and nearby communities already in the area proved to be a tough challenge. For those groups, after all, the Mlabri were strangers, a new unknown in their backyard.
Arunva could not help but detect the rising discontent and resistance to her plans, which came to a head when she moved the rest of the Mlabri settlement from Huai Hom to Phufa Development Center in 2009, only to have the gates shut to their faces.
“At first, I thought they would let all the Mlabri move in here with us,” Arunva recalled. “So we rented trucks to bring my parents and the other 40 or so people down to live with us, but they refused to let them in.”
The awkward standoff forced Arunva to negotiate with the agency responsible for Phufa Development Center, while also reaching out to the local communities to seek their understanding and dispel their concerns about the Mlabri moving into the area.
As this attempt of rapprochement played out, Arunva was burdened with pressure and questions from her own people, to whom she had promised to find a better place to live. The negotiations concluded after three months, with the Mlabri being allowed to move into the Phufa Development Center.
But the presence of a large Mlabri community continued to cause worries and tension for many parties, especially the agency responsible for the area. Evicting the Mlabri was out of the question, though the officials eventually laid out what they believed to be a compromise: the Mlabri were to stay in their own allotted space and refrain from coming into contact with other ethnic groups in the area. Their necessities would be provided by the center.
However, the deal meant that Mlabri children were unable to travel and go to school, while working-age Mlabri were also unable to find employment or earn money.
“At that time, the children had to miss school for a whole year, so we had to send them to a nearby school that we could find. Many Mlabri children were good students and were active in activities … [Mlabri] students were second to none,” Arunva said.
Her determination remained unshaken. Arunva continued to liaise with the different parties of grievances, culminating in the founding of a community education facility dedicated to members of the ethnic groups living in Phufa Development Center’s vicinity. The program not only provides education to children, but also allows their parents to earn some money by growing and tending crops in the area, as well as learning the art of ta pad accessories spearheaded by Arunva.
The Mlabri handicraft have since grown in popularity, bringing sizable incomes to the community. The products have also been recognised by the government as one of Thailand’s “geographical indications” for Nan province, a source of great pride to the Mlabri communities.
Tip of the iceberg
However, Mlabri researcher Sakkarin said that the living conditions for most Mlabri in Thailand are still considered to be vulnerable to exploitation and an endemic poverty trap. The researcher pointed out that a lack of land ownership remains the biggest hurdle to any sustainable improvement.
Since they do not have their own land, members of the Mlabri would often have to become seasonal labourers in corn fields, trading their labour with food and other necessities to feed their families, or permission to use small patches of lands for their own crops. The system effectively tied down the Mlabri workers to the mercy of their employers.
A lack of generational know-how in agriculture or livestock also meant that many Mlabri failed to make the most use of the land they’re allotted, and drove them to resort to buying goods or food products from local stores on credit, which in turn perpetuated a vicious cycle of debt.
Alarmingly, Sakkarin said many Mlabri do not even know how much debt and income they have. Based on available research, he estimated that the average family income of the Mlabri in Huai Yuak is around 5,000 – 10,000 baht per year, yet they have to shoulder debts of around 10,000 baht. When corn season rolls out, it’s common to see farm owners driving around Mlabri villages, summoning them to work in the fields to pay off the debts they have incurred throughout the year.
“The current debts are just the tip of the iceberg,” Sakkarin told HaRDstories. “The real problem is that the Mlabri people do not own the land they farm. When they don’t have land, they are forced to go back to the old ways. In order to solve this problem sustainably, we need to allocate land to them.”
Nittaya, director of the Inter Mountain Peoples’ Education and Culture in Thailand Association, which has a history of developing and providing assistance to the Mlabri people for many years, also believes that the reason why many development projects have failed is that the Mlabri people have no security over their land.
Sakkarin added that the Mlabri community at Phufa Development Center has the distinction of maintaining a high degree of self-reliance. They display a high degree of entrepreneurship; a number have made it to higher education; and their resolve to gain ownership over the land they work on remains unwavering.
While Arunva maintained that relocating her Mlabri hometown to live in Phufa Development Center is a good thing, she’s concerned that the current arrangement may not help the Mlabri sustain their self-reliance in the long run. She believes that the ultimate solution is for the Mlabri to go out and create their own community – and she believes the time is now right to do so.
“We want to have neighbors and houses of our own. We don’t want to be isolated to live apart from other people like this,” Arunva said.
As a result, Arunva set out to hold talks with officials and pass along the message that the Mlabri people of Phufa Development Center are ready to move out and establish a new community where they can have full legal rights over the lands they live – and work on – and determine their own livelihood.
The authorities responded to her calls in 2012, when the Royal Forest Department set aside an area in Sanian subdistrict for the Mlabri. A number of Mlabri men immediately volunteered to set out from the Phufa Development Center to study the conditions of the newly promised land and determine whether a settlement would be possible. Their wives took on the responsibility of taking care of the families back at the development center.
However, after a full year had passed, all of the pioneers had returned. Their verdict: the designated land is not suitable, as there were already other groups living close by. Some communities even appear to have overlapping claims over the lands that were ostensibly promised to the Mlabri – a potential trouble down the road. The offer was eventually rejected.
Sakkarin noted that the Mlabri people have always had problems finding land because the areas around their settlements have often been already seized by local farmers or allocated by the authorities for other groups to use as agricultural land.
“No matter where the Mlabri move to, they end up facing pressures from both farmers in the area and the government,” Sakkarin said. “It’s already amazing that they have managed to survive this far, actually.”
Dreams of life without debts
Further rounds of negotiation between Arunva and the authorities recently bore another fruit. The villagers of Nan Kok Mai in Nan province have agreed to donate a chunk of land to the Mlabri people out of respect for many generations of the Mlabri forefathers who settled the area in the past. Hopes were once again kindled among the Mlabri.
After officials and the various parties gave the go-ahead, Mlabri settlers had trickled out of the Phufa Development Center to build homes and test the land for a permanent settlement. Three homes have been built so far, and 17 more are planned in the coming years. Funding has been raised from multiple sources, including state agencies, public institutions, and even private businesses.
The Mlabri collective longing for homes and self-determination have edged one step closer to reality.
Sakkarin the researcher also noted that Arunva represents the emergence of young people, especially women, from ethnic minority groups who took leadership roles and demand a better life for their people, as well as challenging the patronising stereotype toward their people – just as Arunva had managed to transform what the larger Thai society had known as landless “banana leaf ghosts” or “backward” hill tribe dependent on charity into a resilient, empowered community.
He said one reason for Arunva’s success lies in her efforts in adapting the Mlabri community to the modern world, combining the cultural knowledge of her own people with awareness about the outside world, until she won support from both within the community and the outsiders.
Nittaya, the IMPECT director, also shared her assessment of Arunva’s missions: “Her works persuaded the Mlabri community that freedom in self-determination also means solidarity with one another. That freedom has to be shared together … everyone has to participate and [achieve the goals] together.”
Apart from relocating the Mlabri to their new homeland in Na Kok Mai village, Arunva’s next immediate goal is freeing them from the mountains of debts that had held them back for so long. A debt relief project launched by Arunva has fundraised over 20,000 baht to pay off the debt of a 33-year-old Mlabri man and his five children. The small but important success has further cemented Arunva’s determination to fundraise more money to pay off the debts of other Mlabri families who are interested in relocating.
“If they want to come and live here, we think this village can accommodate all the Mlabri out there,” Arunwa said of the new project in Na Kok Mai. She envisions a community that allows the Mlabri to combine the newly acquired knowledge in sustainable agriculture and their ancestral skill in living off the bountiful forests, as reflected in their name.
At long last, the people of the forests were coming home.
Edited and Translated from Thai by Teeranai Charuvastra
Nathaphob Sungkate is a feature writer from Thailand focusing on human rights issues. His work is informed by a year spent in India. Nathaphob is committed to in-depth reporting to shed light on underrepresented stories.
Chanakarn Laosarakam is a photojournalist and stringer for AFP (agence france-presse) regularly capturing pivotal moments in politics and human rights.
More Features
- by Veerapong Soontornchattrawat
