"It was a miracle, actually."
Dr Saw Wado shrugs and explains how he survived three bombs dropped on his home.
Wado's father was a freedom fighter for the Karen National Liberation Army. Since 1949, a year after British rule ended in Myanmar, the ethnic minority group has battled the might of the national military in the world's longest-running insurgency.
More than 100,000 are still displaced and have fled into camps on both sides of the Thai-Myanmar border. And they are the lucky ones. One report said "state-sponsored" gang rape was a repeated tactic by soldiers to "demoralise and destroy the fabric of ethnic [minority] communities". Another found "systematic torture" being used by the army. Ethnic minorities in Myanmar like the Karen have seen whole villages lined up and shot. Experts have described the conflict as a genocide.
Fuelled by both ethnic and religious divides, the war is a toxic mix of a ruthless oppressor and determined minorities.
Like so many others before them, Wado and his siblings were punished for their father's resistance.
"Our house was rather small," he says simply. "So when they dropped three bombs on it, it collapsed." Incredibly the family survived, but he was forced to flee across the border into Thailand. That was in 1988, when he was just 13 years old.
Mae La camp is very different from when Wado arrived nearly 30 years ago as one of the early refugees. It has swelled from a population of just over 1,000 to nearly 40,000, dominating the local region of Tha Song Yang. Just a few miles from the Thai-Myanmar border in north-eastern Thailand, the camp is overseen by officials from the Thai Ministry of Interior (MOI). But in reality they act as nothing more than border police, tightly controlling who and what comes in and out of the camp.
Food, education and healthcare is provided in the camps with funding from donor governments and NGOs.
Thanks to Christian Aid, its partner organisation The Border Consortium (TBC) and other organisations, the education and healthcare provided inside the camps generally better than it is in surrounding rural Thailand. Refugee children can access primary education with most going on to secondary school and some even to college. The free healthcare gives the feel of apparent comfort. And far from a shanty town, the bamboo houses are well built and offer good shelter. On the surface, the camps are a haven.
But it is effectively a prison. The refugees are not allowed to leave the camp without permission from the Thai authorities and that is only given in exceptional circumstances. They cannot work, cannot earn money and cannot apply for citizenship.
They have sacrificed their freedom for safety, at risk of arrest if they leave and trapped if they remain. With nothing to hope for, it is no wonder that suicide and drug addiction have developed into major problems.
"The future has become too burdensome," Wado tells me as we sit in the oppressive heat of the late rainy season. "They are not motivated by what will happen in the future. It is too remote. So they kill themselves."
Wado is one of the few success stories. He went to high school in the camp and then to a Bible college in the camp. He later became the first resident of Mae La to achieve a PhD. Fittingly his thesis was on the "theology of hope".
But after receiving his doctorate from Asia Baptist Graduate Theological Seminary in the Philippians Wado chose to return to Mae La. He felt called to "mobilise Karen churches to stand up" and resist the regime.
"We have been praying for positive changes to take place in Burma. I think the time for that change is here. It is on its way," he says.
Wado is excited by the election of Aung San Suu Kyi's party, the National League for Democracy (NLD). The 2015 election was the country's first credible vote in decades. But the constitution means the military still controls 25 per cent of parliament and three vital ministries so the NLD's hands are tied.
However: "I studied the theology of hope, so I have hope," says Wado. "I am not just hoping in the abstract fashion. We also work."
"One day," he adds firmly.
Wado trains pupils in a non-violent theology of liberation, hoping they will spread its message throughout the Karen people.
"I take the model of Jesus in relation to poor people, in relation to women and children and those who are marginalised and people who are politically oppressed. We seek liberation from that perspective," he says.
Of his own father's more direct methods of combat he points to 60 years of conflict, countless deaths and lives destroyed. "Nothing has changed," he says simply. "So I am proposing the way of Jesus Christ in dealing with conflict."
As Wado talks, his otherwise laid-back demeanor becomes animated. He leans over and his voice becomes more urgent.
"Jesus was concerned for the poor and the needy – he put people who are marginalised, who are outside of society, into the mainstream and calls them blessed. When I say the word mainstream I mean he gives them a place! It's called the Kingdom of God. These people belong to the Kingdom of God. These people are supposed to be in the centre of society.
"Well, how did he do it? He tackled the dominant system by using a non-violent approach. He didn't fight back but he said love your enemy, turn the other cheek, go a second mile, give your under-garment if they ask for it.
"Those things are not just a passive way of dealing with conflict. It's a proactive way of doing it. But you don't dehumanise the oppressor. You also don't dehumanise yourself. You stand up. You show your humanity. Jesus used the spirit of service and humility to change society. That is the principle he advocated.
"Well I think at one point many people flocked to Jesus. The whole village went out to him. Sometimes the whole town. They were attracted by his non-violent approach and his way of changing society.
"If we follow the principle of Jesus and give the same expense and time to that as we give to war I think things will change. It will change for the positive.
"It should end on the table and not on the battle ground."
