Myanmar Refugees Gain Work Rights in Thailand, But Program Stumbles

Ray Boe climbs scaffolding around a half-built apartment tower in central Bangkok, pouring concrete twelve stories above the street. He is thirty-one years old, one of thousands of Myanmar refugees who until recently had no legal right to work in Thailand at all. For decades, the Thai government had confined more than one hundred thousand refugees to nine camps along the border, a holding pattern that stretched from the 1980s onward as civil conflict in Myanmar sent wave after wave of people fleeing across the frontier. The camps provided food rations and basic healthcare, but little else—no wages, no path forward, no way to build anything beyond survival.

Then, in October 2025, the ground shifted. The United States and other foreign donors cut aid to the camps, forcing a sudden reduction in food support and medical services. At almost the same time, fighting between Thailand and Cambodia over disputed territory sent hundreds of thousands of Cambodian migrant workers back home, leaving Thai employers scrambling to fill labor shortages. Faced with both a humanitarian crisis in the camps and a labor vacuum in the broader economy, the Thai government reversed a policy that had stood for decades. It began issuing work permits to refugees, allowing them to leave the camps and seek employment across forty-three of Thailand's seventy-six provinces, in any sector not legally reserved for Thai citizens alone.

Ray Boe was among the first to take the opportunity. In the month before our conversation, he earned four hundred baht—roughly twelve dollars—per day on construction sites. The money was meager by any standard, but it meant something he had never had: the ability to contribute to his own survival and his parents'. "After the cuts by USAID and other organizations, there is no more regular support for our daily needs, like rice and other rations," he explained. "And there is not enough healthcare in the camps anymore." The family had been borrowing from neighbors and rationing meals. Now, he said, he could help pay for food and medicine. "Compared to how we were living in the camp before, it will be a big difference, having my own income and supporting my family on my own, not having to wait for other people to support us day to day."

The Thai government reported that approximately six thousand eight hundred camp refugees entered the labor force in the program's first year. Officials at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs expressed optimism, noting that vocational training inside the camps had been expanded to prepare workers for outside employment. "We are hopeful that this policy would enhance opportunities and empower the refugees to realize their potential, as well as contribute to Thai socioeconomic development," said Praporn Waenluang, a spokesman for the ministry's information department. International labor and refugee rights organizations initially welcomed the shift as well. Siwawong Sooktawee, Thailand project coordinator for the International Detention Coalition, said he had met many camp refugees who had found work and were visibly relieved. "They are so happy to work and earn money, a lot of money compared to what they can get in the camp," he said. "This is good because they feel they can help themselves, they can support themselves, not depend on aid anymore."

But beneath that cautious optimism lay a rougher reality. The program's first year exposed serious implementation failures that have left many workers vulnerable to exploitation. Refugees report that employers frequently fail to provide written contracts, leaving workers with no documentation of agreed wages or conditions. Many discover that the job they were promised bears little resemblance to the work they actually perform—different tasks, lower pay, harsher conditions. K'nyaw Paw, general secretary of the Karen Women's Organization, which serves the camps' ethnic Karen population, described a pattern of instability: "Many refugees go, come back, go, come back so many times. Some refugees, their families have to raise funds or borrow money in the refugee camps so that their father or their family member will be able to return."

Workers are often charged for the privilege of employment itself. Employers deduct fees from wages for medical exams, government permits, and transportation to job sites—costs that should be borne by the employer under Thai law. The result is that refugees frequently begin work already in debt, sometimes without being told in advance. Akwah, a father of two, left his camp in November 2025 with nineteen other refugees for what was advertised as sugarcane harvesting work at two hundred fifty baht per day. When he arrived at the farm, he was reassigned to cutting eucalyptus trees—far more dangerous work—for only two hundred baht daily. Workers slept outdoors with no electricity and drew water from a nearby pond. "We spoke to the boss, but the boss did not care," Akwah recalled. "He said, 'Just do the work because you are already here.' But we said we could not do it." He and others left after three months. Mu Dah Hsit, who fell ill at her job, quit when her employer refused to cover the health insurance the program supposedly guarantees. Yet even after a bad experience, she said she would try again. "I have no mother, and a father who is sick, and siblings I have to take care of," she said. "So, I have to go; otherwise, we cannot live."

Rights groups have called for concrete reforms: contracts translated into Burmese, Karen, and Karenni; an accessible system for filing and resolving complaints; screening of job brokers to eliminate unscrupulous middlemen; and expansion of the program to more provinces. The Thai Labor and Interior ministries, which oversee the program, did not respond to requests for comment on the alleged problems. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs also declined to address the specific complaints. Yet advocates say they are working with the government on improvements and remain hopeful the program will strengthen over time. For now, the refugees themselves have made their choice clear: despite the risks and the exploitation, they keep applying. The alternative—waiting in the camps for aid that is no longer coming—is worse.