People
Tharamu Angela
Ma Kyo
Thara El Plah
Thay Gay Say
Tharamu Angela (Angela Chit) arrived in San Diego in 1972 from Burma, making her the very first Karen person known to settle in the city. Although she didn’t grow up in a refugee camp or in an area with other Karen people, Tharamu Angela proudly maintained her native Karen language and is also fluent in Burmese.
When refugees from Burma began resettling in San Diego decades later, Tharamu Angela played a vital role in supporting the growing Karen community. She helped many families find jobs, provided interpretation services, offered transportation, and connected them with essential resources. Her support was more than just logistical, it was personal and heartfelt.
Angela also generously shared traditional vegetables she grew in her backyard, helping newly arrived families feel a sense of home and connection to their culture. She assisted in helping Karen families find places of worship where they could pray in their native language, further nurturing their sense of belonging.
One of her most lasting contributions is co-founding the Karen Organization of San Diego (KOSD), a cornerstone of support for Karen families in the region. To this day, Tharamu Angela continues to give back to the community in any way she can, embodying a legacy of service, compassion, and cultural pride.
Ma Nyo is a refugee from Burma who has been living in San Diego for the past 17 years. She grew up in Burma, where she first learned the traditional art of weaving. Her passion for weaving continued while she lived in a refugee camp, where she deepened her skills and connection to her culture. After resettling in San Diego, Ma Nyo brought this rich cultural heritage with her and has worked tirelessly to preserve it for future generations. With over 10 years of experience as a weaving teacher, she has shared her knowledge and inspired many young people. Ma Nyo understands the importance of cultural preservation and is deeply committed to passing on her traditions to the next generation.
Thara El Plah (Eh Plah) arrived in the U.S. on September 3, 2008. He serves as a full-time pastor. He has been one of the most important and influential figures in our community. One funny story from when he first arrived: he wanted to buy ice cream for his children but couldn’t find a store, only to later discover that the shop was right across the street from his house!
After arriving, Thara El Plah quickly secured a job at 99 Ranch, which was a rare opportunity because of his age. His connections and willingness to help others opened doors for many fellow Karen refugees, enabling them to find work at a time when jobs were so scarce that some families had no choice but to relocate to other states in search of better opportunities.
At that time, we didn’t yet have the Karen Organization of San Diego to rely on, so Thara El Plah stepped up in a significant way. He dedicated countless hours volunteering as a translator and interpreter for community members who struggled with the language barrier. Whether it was helping with job applications, doctor’s appointments, or school enrollments, his efforts provided critical support and guidance. His work not only eased the transition for many newcomers but also strengthened the fabric of the growing Karen community physically and spiritually, offering hope and stability when it was needed most.
In 2010, Thay Gay Say was given the opportunity to relocate and start a new life in the United States. During his first year living here, he often found himself thinking about home, especially the moments spent in the kitchen with his mother. She had a gift for cooking traditional Karen dishes, and the rich, comforting aromas that filled their home brought a sense of warmth, love, and belonging. Those memories stayed with him and became a source of comfort and inspiration.
Cooking has always been more than just a hobby for him; it’s a way of staying connected to his roots. Every dish he prepares is a tribute to his heritage and a way to share his culture with others. Over time, his passion for cooking only grew stronger, and he began to dream of turning it into something more.
With support from KOSD, he was able to take a big step forward by starting a small home kitchen business called Ts Home Kitchen. Today, he prepares and sells delicious Southeast Asian meals, specializing in Karen and Burmese cuisine. His goal is simple but powerful: to bring joy to others through food and to preserve and celebrate his culture, one meal at a time.
STAR 2
Sweet Moo
Star2 (Star Htoo) is a singer, songwriter, and rapper whose music seamlessly blends pop, R&B, and hip-hop, drawing deeply from his personal journey, from a refugee camp in Thailand to a new life in San Diego. His lyrics are rooted in real-life experiences, offering an honest and powerful narrative that resonates with listeners around the world.
Born in a refugee camp without parents, Star2 was raised by his grandmother, who made the courageous decision to bring him to the United States in search of a better future. Life in America was far from easy. His family faced serious financial hardship, and he lived with an uncle who struggled with addiction. Despite these challenges, Star2 refused to let adversity define him. Instead, he found strength and purpose in music.
Today, Star2 is quickly making a name for himself in the music industry. He has collaborated with well-known artists both locally and internationally, including $tupid Young, Luh Kel, Sprite, Soulja Boy, and prominent musicians from Thailand, Burma, and the Karen community. His rising success has not distanced him from his roots—in fact, Star2 recently returned to Karen State, his homeland, to reconnect with his culture and give back to the community that shaped him.
Sweet Moo is a 16-year-old Karen traditional dance instructor and a proud cultural ambassador for her community. Born in San Diego, California, to parents who arrived in the United States as refugees in 2007, Sweet is fluent in her native Karen language, able to read, write, and speak it with ease.
From a young age, her parents instilled in her the importance of cultural identity. They encouraged her to wear traditional Karen clothing and actively participate in community events. As a child, she sang at church and took part in cultural fashion shows, proudly showcasing her heritage.
Now a high school student, Sweet juggles academic responsibilities while dedicating her free time to teaching traditional Karen dance to younger children and peers. Her commitment to preserving her culture is unwavering. She says wearing traditional clothing and performing traditional dances gives her a deep sense of pride and belonging.
Sweet believes that passing on Karen traditions to the next generation is not just important, but essential. She is a shining example of youth leadership and cultural preservation, proving that identity and heritage can thrive when carried forward with heart, purpose, and pride.
Objects
Plate
Knife
Harp
Horn
This plate belongs to the Dah Say’s family and it holds far more than food. It holds a story of hardship, strength, and survival.
Back in her homeland, life was extremely difficult. She lived in deep poverty, with many children to care for, and barely enough money to meet their basic needs. She couldn’t even afford proper plates for her children to eat from. However, when she finally saved enough money, she bought this plate—a strong, durable one—because she needed something that would last. It was expensive for her at the time, but it was more than just a purchase. It was a small act of dignity, of care, of hope.
When she came to America, she brought this plate with her—not because she needed it, but because it carried her story. For 26 years, she has kept it, displayed it, and protected it. To her, this plate is a reminder of the struggle she endured, the sacrifices she made, and the strength it took to overcome those days.
Every time she looks at it, she remembers her past struggles, but also the pride. This plate is more than an object. It is a symbol of transformation. It represents a turning point in her life—a moment when, despite everything, she found a way forward.
In Karen culture, the knife is not just a tool. It is a lifeline. We use it to farm the land, build our homes, and hunt for food. It is the heart of our survival, a symbol of strength, resilience, and tradition. Without it, we cannot live.
The larger knife was owned by Eh Plah’s father, a man who lived and worked with his hands. The smaller one belongs to Eh Plah himself. When he left his homeland and came to America, he brought this knife with him, not just for its use, but for its meaning. It was his father’s gift, a piece of home, a piece of heritage.
For more than 20 years, he has used this very knife to prepare meals, and he still sharpens and cares for it with deep respect. To Eh Plah, this knife is more than metal and wood, it is memory, identity, and the bond between father and son. It is a symbol of the Karen spirit that refuses to be forgotten.
This traditional Karen harp once belonged to Tee Tay Ku, a respected cultural music teacher and guardian of Karen heritage. He brought this beautiful harp with him when he first arrived in the United States. He not only carried an instrument, but a deep connection to his homeland and culture.
Tee Tay Ku believed that music is one of the most powerful ways to pass down tradition to the next generation. He didn’t just teach music, he lived it. With great care and skill, he handcrafted this harp himself, shaping every detail with love and intention. Even when he could no longer play as often, he held onto the belief that this harp would still have a voice through his children, grandchildren, and future generations.
In a heartfelt act of generosity and vision, he gifted this harp to the Karen community in San Diego, where it now stands as a powerful symbol of identity and remembrance. “This harp,” he said, “is a reminder of our traditional instruments, the ones we rarely see or touch after coming to the United States.”
Today, this harp reminds us not only of the melodies of our past, but of the strength and spirit of those who keep our culture alive, like Tee Tay Ku. Through his hands and his heart, he ensured that the music of our people would never be forgotten.
The horn is also used in battle, not just as a call to arms, but as a tool of survival. It warned our people to hide, to unite, or to prepare for defense. It is a reminder of resilience and the strength of our community.
This particular buffalo horn belongs to April Moo. Its presence holds deep meaning, not only to her but to countless Karen families now living in third countries. Many proudly display buffalo horns on their walls, not as decoration, but as sacred reminders of home, history, and hope.
Some families were reunited by the sound of a buffalo horn. Others credit it for saving lives in times of war. And many still believe that the sound of the buffalo horn carries the spirit of the Karen people, a voice that continues to echo across borders, generations, and memories.
In our Karen culture, the buffalo horn is more than just an instrument. It is a powerful symbol of unity, communication, and heritage. For generations, the buffalo horn has played an essential role in the lives of our people, especially before the arrival of modern technology.
Long before cell phones or the internet, our ancestors used the buffalo horn to stay connected. By blowing into it with different techniques, we could send distinct sounds across great distances—signals that helped us locate one another, share urgent messages, or call for help. It served as an emergency alarm, a call to gather, and even a warning during times of danger. In times of celebration, like the Karen New Year, the buffalo horn echoed through our villages as a sound of joy and tradition.
Bag
Basket “Gue”
Weaving Loom
The Karen Flag
This worn-out bag belongs to the Ma Nyo family and though it may look ordinary, it carries 18 years of courage, sacrifice, and survival.
When Ma Nyo left her homeland to start a new life in America, this was the bag she carried. Inside it, she packed the few clothes she owned and the little she could bring; not just for herself, but for her family. At that time, she had almost nothing. This bag was big enough to hold everything she had, and it became a symbol of her journey, a journey filled with fear, hope, and determination.
Now, 18 years later, this bag is old and broken, but she still keeps it, and she still uses it. Why? Because it means everything to her. It reminds her of where she came from, how far she’s come, and the strength it took to leave behind everything familiar.
Starting a new life in a foreign country was not easy. She faced a new language, a new culture, a new society, and overwhelming uncertainty. However, she endured it all for one reason: to give her family a better future. This bag is the reminder of that brave decision, the moment she chose to begin again.
Many of our Karen elders are deeply skilled in the art of handcrafting. With nothing more than bamboo, wood, and their own hands, they created tools, furniture, and daily items that supported their families and communities. Among the most cherished of these handmade items is the basket, known in the Karen language as “Gue.”
Gue is more than just a basket. It is a symbol of Karen ingenuity, practicality, and culture. It was used every day for many purposes: storing clothes, carrying supplies, holding food, and transporting tools. These baskets came in different sizes, each one designed specifically for its use.
The smaller Gue had special importance. People often used them to carry betel nuts, money, small tools, or even knives. These baskets were not just useful, they were artfully made, with patterns and designs that reflected the creativity of the maker. Though crafted entirely from bamboo, a well-made Gue could last for many years, sometimes even passed down from one generation to the next.
Back in our homeland, Gue is still a common part of everyday life. It remains a trusted tool, made by hand and used with pride. But for many Karen families now living in third countries like the United States, Gue has taken on a different role.
Here, the Gue is often displayed in homes, not for daily use, but as a powerful reminder of our heritage. It speaks to our roots, our resilience, and the skills passed down by our elders. It reminds us of a time when everything was made with care, patience, and a deep connection to nature.
In a world of machines and fast production, Gue stands quietly, as a piece of home, a memory of tradition, and a tribute to the hands that made it.
This weaving loom belongs to Ma Nyo. It holds over 20 years of history, love, and sacrifice. It was built by her husband, by hand, with care—not just as a tool, but as a gift for their future.
In Karen culture, weaving is a way of life. Every woman weaves for her family, not only to clothe them in our traditional garments, but to survive. Growing up, store-bought clothes were too expensive. So, we wove our own—not just for ourselves, but to sell in order to feed our children and support our families.
For Ma Nyo, weaving was never just about making fabric. It was how she kept her family warm, how she earned money, and how she preserved her culture. Each thread carries a piece of her story: hard days, strength, and hope.
Even after moving to America, she never let go of this tradition. She brought her loom with her, and she continues to weave to this day. More than that, she now teaches the younger generation because weaving is not just a skill. It is a legacy. It is her way of saying, “We are still here. Our culture is still alive.”
This loom is more than wood and string. It is a bridge between past and future, a symbol of Karen identity, endurance, and pride that refuses to be forgotten.
The Karen flag is more than just colors. It’s a reminder of who we are and where we come from. For me, the Karen flag is one of the strongest reminders of my homeland. I grew up with it—not just as a symbol, but as a part of my life. It tells me where I come from, and I’m proud to hang it on my wall. It connects me to my roots, my people, and the strength of our culture.
This is one of the most significant cultural items we brought with us when coming to America. Almost every Karen family has their national flag proudly displayed in their home. We value it deeply because of the history, identity, and unity it represents.
No matter where we go, the Karen flag reminds us that we are one people, united by history, struggle, and hope.
Places
The Beginning of a Tradition: Karen New Year in San Diego
This is the first place where the Karen people began celebrating Karen New Year in San Diego, a powerful beginning born from hope and resilience. In 2009, just two years after resettling in a new land, without funding or even a community office, Karen leaders and youth came together to honor their heritage. From those humble beginnings, the San Diego Karen New Year has grown into a beautiful, vibrant tradition filled with dances, music, food, and the proud stories of our people.
A Place to Worship: The Beginning of San Diego Karen Church
This is the first location where the Karen community in San Diego came together to worship. They were given the opportunity to use the kitchen of Fairmont Baptist Church as a gathering space.
It began in 2007, during a time when finding a place to worship was incredibly difficult. Despite the hardships, three to four families gathered with faith and hope to hold church services.
Over time, their determination brought together more than 25 families, building a strong foundation of worship, unity, and community.
*Apartment Complex
This apartment complex marks the first place where a Karen family from Tham Hin Refugee Camp resettled in City Heights, San Diego, in 2006—a low-income neighborhood that became the foundation of a new beginning. At that time, only a few Karen families had arrived from Burma, facing tremendous challenges with language barriers and lack of transportation. They walked everywhere, even traveling over two miles on foot just to attend church.
Today, while this apartment complex remains largely unchanged, many Karen families have since relocated to other states, driven out by San Diego’s rising cost of living. Still, this place stands as a powerful reminder of the strength, sacrifice, and resilience that built the Karen community here.
Aya Mini Market
Aya Mini Market, established in 2019, has become a vital resource for the Burma community in San Diego. It offers traditional foods and cultural supplies from Burma that are difficult, if not impossible, to find elsewhere in the area. For many, this market is more than just a place to shop; it’s a comforting reminder of home. By making cherished ingredients and familiar products accessible, Aya Mini Market helps preserve cultural identity and brings the taste of Burma to those living far from it.