The Forgotten Soldiers
— The Story —
Women working in rice field, Ban Mae Salong, 2024
This project is deeply personal. My great-grandfather, Jin Xuan Li, was one of the many Kuomintang soldiers who fought valiantly during the Chinese Civil War. In 1949, he, along with thousands of others, fled from China, leaving behind the familiar landscapes of home to fight for their homeland. While he was lucky enough to return to mainland China after the war, thousands of other soldiers were not so fortunate.
A forgotten chapter of this history, many Chinese soldiers were displaced along the borders of Chiang Mai, Thailand. Without an identity card (身份证), those soldiers were unable to return to China, and even if they could, they would find no welcome due to political tensions. With each passing day, their populations dwindle, and their presence in Chinese history grows increasingly vague.
Ban Mae Salong, 2024
Today, these veterans and their descendants live at the intersection of a lost past and new beginnings, navigating questions of identity, cultural resilience, and the ongoing struggle for recognition. When I visited their remote villages along the borders of Chiang Mai, I was overwhelmed by the weight of their stories. Before my eyes was living history – a history of sacrifice and resilience that was never mentioned in textbooks. Even though I'd never met my great-grandfather, seeing the veterans at that moment, I felt the closest I’ve ever been to knowing him.
The entire project was photographed using a Sony a7C. I used the FE 28-60mm f/4-5.6 lens for capturing wide establishing landscapes, and the 70-200mm f/2.8 GM II telephoto lens for more intimate portraits and detail work.
Zhang Deren (张德人), Age 92
Zhang smiling, Ban Mae Salong, 2024
Zhang was born in Quinyin Village, Yunnan, and joined the army at just 14 years old. His journey as a Kuomintang soldier began in China but soon took him across borders and into unfamiliar lands. Starting as a security guard, Zhang’s service took him to Burma (now Myanmar), but the danger there forced his unit to move quickly onward. They ultimately reached Thailand, the only country in Southeast Asia without a communist presence at the time. They were a group of refugees without weapons, numbering fewer than two thousand soldiers. "Taiwan didn't want us," he recalls, a simple but heavy truth that shaped the course of his life.
In Thailand, Zhang served as a radio operator, responsible for relaying messages, but once they reached Thai soil, his skills were no longer needed in the same way. Life took on a new rhythm, one where survival and adaptation replaced the duties he once knew. At 35, he married a woman from the Dai ethnic group, who lived in Burma while he remained in Thailand. Together, they built a family, raising three sons. One son eventually left for Taiwan, while the other two stayed with him in Thailand.
Today, Zhang lives in Ban Mae Salong, a village nestled in the mountains on the borders of Chiang Mai. Now a Thai citizen, a status he only obtained at age 60, he lives a simple but dignified life. His days are spent cooking for himself, taking long walks, and reflecting on a lifetime of journeys. His story speaks to resilience and adaptation—a life shaped by displacement but rooted in quiet persistence.
Zhang on his armchair, Ban Mae Salong, 2024
Zhang Zihong, Chiang Mai, 20204
Zhang salutes, Ban Mae Salong, 2024
Zhang Zihong (张紫红), Age 94
Zhang Zihong’s journey began in 1955 when he arrived at the Thai-Burma border at 25 years old. His unit started with 400 soldiers, but as they faced the treacherous journey across the mountains from Burma to Thailand, many scattered and went their own way. The trek was grueling, with only rough mountain paths to follow, and each step was taken with a mix of fear and resilience. With no paved roads, everyone in the unit used the same cloth to wipe the dust and mud from their feet.
In the army, Zhang served as the head of the political department, writing reports rather than fighting on the frontlines. His life as a soldier was more about navigating the challenges of displacement than combat. Once settled in Thailand, he found himself with a form of overseas Chinese residency, a status that granted him more freedom than a typical refugee ID, as he could apply for a passport. However, the passport was only valid for a year at a time, and he never managed to acquire full Thai citizenship. Thai citizenship would have required an older citizen—someone at least 15 years his senior—to vouch for him, a condition he could never fulfill.
When asked if he would ever return to China, Zhang is hesitant. While he still has family there, he feels out of place with the life he left behind. After years in the quiet, green surroundings of his Thai village, he has found a certain peace. “I wanted a calm life,” he says of his early days in the village. Now, each day is spent at home, watching the news on his tablet—a ritual he particularly enjoys, even as he relies on a cane to move around. In his later years, Zhang Zihong finds solace in the trees and grass around him, preferring the quiet landscape that he now calls home.
Zhang’s wife’s refugee ID (photographed with permission), 2024
Zhang Zihong portrait, Chiang Mai, 2024
Zhang watching the news, Chiang Mai, 2024
Chen showing his refugee ID, Ban Mae Salong, 2024
Chen Zhengyang (陈正阳), Age 63
Chen Zhengyang was born in Thailand, but he carries the legacy of his father, a Kuomintang soldier who fought in the Chinese Civil War. Chen never had an official identity in Thailand. Growing up without legal recognition, he faced significant challenges, and to gain citizenship, he ultimately enlisted to fight for Thailand. But this choice came at a great cost—at age 19, he lost both his legs after stepping on a grenade during combat.
Chen reflects on the loss of his legs with resilience. "I was numb at first," he says, "but I have no regrets. I love Thailand deeply." Now a Thai citizen, Chen knows he had to fight not only for himself but for future generations. “If I didn’t fight for Thailand, I couldn’t survive here,” he explains. Before his citizenship, he held only refugee status, which prevented him from receiving medical care. The refugee ID was a reminder of his lack of place; it could not provide stability for him or his family. At 40, after years of struggle and persistence, he finally gained his citizenship. "When I got my ID, it was pure joy—a happiness that can’t be described," he recalls.
Chen’s life took a turn when he returned from war and found himself grappling with the reality of disability. Losing his legs at such a young age plunged him into a period of deep depression. He recalls those years as a dark time filled with drinking and smoking opium. But the villagers of Mae Salong, where he lived, offered him support and encouragement, helping him to find his way through faith. Chen began believing in Jesus, turning away from his Buddhist upbringing in search of peace and comfort. “Jesus gave me peace, protected me,” he says, describing the spiritual solace he found.
Though he has endured much, Chen bears the physical reminders of war. His arm still carries fragments from the grenade that took his legs, and sometimes his hand feels cold as a result. He shows us the scars—evidence of the battlefield that changed his life forever.
Chen was born in Thailand but grew up in Laos, where his father served in the military. At 8, he returned to Mae Salong with his family. Coming back from the Thai war without his legs was a painful experience not only for him but also for his father, who couldn’t see a future for his son. Overwhelmed with sorrow, Chen’s father was later killed at the border at the age of 69. “It was a time of great pain,” Chen reflects.
After stepping on the landmine, he was taken to a military hospital in Bangkok, where he spent two years recovering before returning to Mae Salong. Back then, the village was very isolated, with no paved roads, making life especially challenging, particularly during the rainy season.
Now, Chen Zhengyang has found purpose in his life, embracing both the family and the faith that sustained him through his darkest moments
Chen showcasing his battle scars, Ban Mae Salong, 2024
Chen on his wheelchair, Ban Mae Salong, 2024
