Scene: a tiny room full to the brim with about 30 7ish-year-olds, in relative chaos. Teacher (‘T’, i.e. me): “English! Write your name in English!” S: “My father’s name, or my name?” T: “Your name, not your father’s name: your first name.” S: “What’s a first name?” T: “Your short name.” S: “But my short name is my number two name, my first name is my father’s name.” T: “Whatever name you want me to call you… Lor! Why do you have a knife?” Lor: “To sharpen my pencil.” T (pondering): “Ok.” S: “Teacher, I have no paper.” T: “Ok, write on the back of last week’s worksheet.” S: “Teacher, I’m hot. Can I go get water?” T: “If you’re hot, take off your sweater.” S: But it is my only shirt.” T: “Ok, then sit in front of the fan.” T: “Where is Jon? Why is his seat empty?” S: “Oh, he left.” T runs outside, calls for Jon, doesn’t find him, returns to the classroom before other students can disappear. (Jon appears inexplicably 30 min. later, soaking wet and grinning.) All that just today, just to get the students to write their name on their paper…
Last month I started my new job teaching at the Bangkok Refugee Center (BRC). The BRC is part of the United Nations High Commission on Refugees (UNHCR) of Angelina Jolie fame. While most of the UNHCR’s work focuses on residential refugee camps in rural areas like those you see in the news, they have a few sites like the BRC that a) aren’t residential, i.e. the refugees don’t live at the Center but in housing throughout the community, and b) serve urban refugees, i.e. not ones relegated to a barren wasteland somewhere.
In addition to the school at which I teach, the Center has a medical clinic; a resource center for staples like food, clothing, etc.; social workers and psychological help; and vocational training (computer and business-environment skills, cooking and restaurant management, hair salon skills). The Center is located on a side-street in a fairly busy residential neighbourhood on the edge of the city’s densest area, and is comprised of a scattered hodge-podge of cement and corrugated tin buildings with tiny alleys and cement courtyards. Shockingly, all the main rooms are usually air conditioned, though many have serious mold problems. In general, resources are very very scarce, with occasional notable exceptions that occur through specific donations (i.e. pens and paper are short, but there’s a new Yamaha keyboard).
The refugees are of all ages and walks of life, from something like 40 different countries. Predominately represented are Sri Lanka, Cambodia, Laos, China, Pakistan, Iraq, Somolia, and the D.R. Congo. Yup, that’s right: the ones from countries that the US and Australia don’t like get dumped here in Thailand, who’ll take anyone short-term. Thailand’s not a place where the Thai government or the UN will let refugees stay forever, though: they’re supposed to be placed permanently in a country that actually has the resources to take care of them, mainly the US, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and the western European countries. The refugees’ ‘temporary’ stay in Thailand usually lasts 10 years, thanks to shocking red tape.
The refugees aren’t allowed to hold jobs, and most don’t speak Thai, so their options are limited. So they keep themselves busy, usually at the BRC. Any day will find the Center teaming with life: not only do you find the refugees and asylum seekers who are there to utilize the resources, but usually also their entire families. They come to meet up with friends, let their kids run around in a safe place, speak in their native languages, eat the cheap and delicious food cooked by the restaurant students, pick up some extra language skills and knowledge from the other visitors, and generally feel welcomed and at home. I love that it’s such a wonderful place that people just want to be there for no reason. And they don’t want to leave: it’s hard to enforce the evening closing time, as they want to stay reading in the library, chatting in the courtyard, playing on the playground.
I teach English and Music to a total of about 125 students. Most of my students are adults, with the memorable exception of two classes of 6-14 year-olds. In addition to my English and Music classes, the kids get a second English class, as well as Math, Thai, French, and Art (sometimes). The adults just take English, Computers, and some vocational classes.
There is such a range of ages in the kids’ classes because they are graded not by age but by ability. As many of the refugees have never been formally schooled before, they have to start at the very beginning. So, until I had them join my adult classes, there were 19-year-olds sitting in class with the 6-year-olds, all learning something like a first grade curricula. The differences between the 6-year-olds and the 14-year-olds are obviously drastic, though not as bad as you’d think. They’re amazingly energetic (considering most of them are malnourished), and extremely boisterous (not letting their lack of shared common languages stop them). A disproportionate number of them are very bright. They are also all, to a one, very mischievous.
The adults are another handful all together. Though less chaotic, their desperate eagerness to learn English and make good use of their time with me makes them VERY demanding. They are also understandably very keen to show their intelligence, to be understood as people worthy of respect rather than “Refugees”, making class discussions rather catty at times: imagine an entire class of teachers’ pets. An additional challenge is that though some of them have considerable schooling (i.e. Masters degrees), others have no schooling, and all have been out of school for a long time: they don’t really remember how to be students, and certainly have no precedence for how to be an adult student with a teacher in most cases younger than they are. It is hard to politely correct them, point out their mistakes, remind them that learning starts when you acknowledge what you don’t yet know, and encourage non-competitive and non-judgemental class discussion practices with these dynamics.
The kids and the adults alike are, of course, very stressed: most have undergone horrific events before reaching the relative safety of Thailand, almost all have PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), all are seriously financially strapped and malnourished, most live in very inadequate housing, all travel long distances on the most awful forms of transportation to get to the Center every day. This, of course, adds to the level of insanity in the classroom.
There is no curricula, so I make up each class entirely out of thin air. It takes a shockingly long time to plan a lesson to accommodate the significant range of ages and abilities, hold the attention of the wigged-out students, be do-able with absolutely no resources, as well as be understandable with minimum lecturing. Of course, I also try to make the content culturally and biographically appropriate, which is hard when juggling 40-odd cultures at once. And then I invariably have to change the lesson in some way at least five times an hour due to split-second feedback and observation of its reception.
Despite the above challenges, the classes have been going very well. I’m just finishing up my fourth week of teaching, and I’m seeing remarkable improvement in the students, especially the adults’ writing and the kids’ singing. The adults are starting to relax a bit, and I have high hopes for the rest of the semester.
I’ve been especially enjoying writing the music curricula, as well as teaching reading music and basic music theory to the music teacher, Kwang, and to the computer teacher, James, who has considerable musical talent and is happy to learn how to teach another subject. Some of my favourite hours at the BRC have been spent belting out Carpenters or Peter Paul and Mary hits with Kwang at the keyboard and me on guitar, teaching chord progressions and pop song formats, or both of us on hand drums for note-reading rhythm lessons. Capacity-building has never been so much fun. :)
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
unfortunately aquainted with local fauna
Sorry for being so slow with posting. I have a great but exhausting new job (more on that soon) and Petra's been traveling nearly constantly for work.
On top of that, I've made a rather unfortunate recent acquaintance with the delightful local fauna 'giardia lamblia', which had me wracked for almost two weeks with such horrid fevers and ...other violent disturbances of the body that the hospital was, in succession, convinced I had 1) swine flu, 2) dengue fever, 3) malaria, and then when tests showed I had none of these, 4) a mysterious virus from which they wished me the best in recovering from on my own and sent me home. Of course, it was not a virus, but was eventually accurately diagnosed by Dr. Petra as good old giardia, which I could have just as easily got in my backyard in Connecticut, and was swiftly cured with a blitz of giardia-intended antibiotics. I'm now trying to build up my strength again and recover from the antibiotics. Ironic, really, that the doctors got it so wrong, since the usual modus operandi at hospitals here is to just give everyone massive does of antibiotics regardless, assuming it will help with something even if not your main complaint. The one time they don't do that is the one time it would have really helped. Petra has been an absolutely angelic nurse, waking me up every three hours (nighttime included) to make sure I drink enough water and have something in my belly, and has read me more than 1000 pages of 17th century British philosophical and political intrigues.
Perhaps not particularly exciting to recount, here, but from the point of view of my poor body it's been a quite dramatic few weeks.
On top of that, I've made a rather unfortunate recent acquaintance with the delightful local fauna 'giardia lamblia', which had me wracked for almost two weeks with such horrid fevers and ...other violent disturbances of the body that the hospital was, in succession, convinced I had 1) swine flu, 2) dengue fever, 3) malaria, and then when tests showed I had none of these, 4) a mysterious virus from which they wished me the best in recovering from on my own and sent me home. Of course, it was not a virus, but was eventually accurately diagnosed by Dr. Petra as good old giardia, which I could have just as easily got in my backyard in Connecticut, and was swiftly cured with a blitz of giardia-intended antibiotics. I'm now trying to build up my strength again and recover from the antibiotics. Ironic, really, that the doctors got it so wrong, since the usual modus operandi at hospitals here is to just give everyone massive does of antibiotics regardless, assuming it will help with something even if not your main complaint. The one time they don't do that is the one time it would have really helped. Petra has been an absolutely angelic nurse, waking me up every three hours (nighttime included) to make sure I drink enough water and have something in my belly, and has read me more than 1000 pages of 17th century British philosophical and political intrigues.
Perhaps not particularly exciting to recount, here, but from the point of view of my poor body it's been a quite dramatic few weeks.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
planting trees
As you might recall from my previous post, there’s a whole big section of Bangkok not far from where we live that’s all green and jungley still. I enjoy bike riding there, and trading the noise and tumult of big bad city-living for the sensory cacophony of birdsongs, green and textured plants, winding pathways, eddying waters, and fresh breezes.
I’m not the only one to notice the green plants and fresh breezes part: the area acts as a lung and liver for the poisons of the city, filtering out at least some of the pollution in the air and water. In order to further this cleansing, a young Thai woman (who’s also a student at Phillip Exeter Academy in NH) has founded The Giving Greens, an organization that buys green lands in order to protect them from development, runs nurseries to provide native plants to further propagate the greenness, and educates and encourages local residents to plant more trees.
This weekend, invited by an Australian in the know, we went to one of their tree-planting days. It was super-fun: we planted something like 1,000 trees, extending the green border just a little further into the city. The planting was muddy and very satisfying work, made easy by the pre-dug holes. The excellently-organized event also included charming dancing by the schoolkids resident in the green area, a feast of superb local food, free awesome t-shirts, and a great group bike-ride to the local floating market. Couldn’t really ask for more: I almost felt like I was getting away with something, not working hard enough and having too much fun.
I’m not the only one to notice the green plants and fresh breezes part: the area acts as a lung and liver for the poisons of the city, filtering out at least some of the pollution in the air and water. In order to further this cleansing, a young Thai woman (who’s also a student at Phillip Exeter Academy in NH) has founded The Giving Greens, an organization that buys green lands in order to protect them from development, runs nurseries to provide native plants to further propagate the greenness, and educates and encourages local residents to plant more trees.
This weekend, invited by an Australian in the know, we went to one of their tree-planting days. It was super-fun: we planted something like 1,000 trees, extending the green border just a little further into the city. The planting was muddy and very satisfying work, made easy by the pre-dug holes. The excellently-organized event also included charming dancing by the schoolkids resident in the green area, a feast of superb local food, free awesome t-shirts, and a great group bike-ride to the local floating market. Couldn’t really ask for more: I almost felt like I was getting away with something, not working hard enough and having too much fun.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
outings and aboutings in bangok
Petra and I have had a few unexpected free days recently, and made an attempt to see more of this city we’re living in. The first stop in our hometown tourism was the Golden Mount, a tall man-made hill on the edge of the old city topped by an ancient gleaming golden temple and stupa. Our guidebook promised panoramic views and peaceful quiet: the mount didn’t disappoint. While it’s theoretically the monsoon season, we’ve had a spate of some of the bluest skies I’ve ever seen, and the previous rains washed away much of the pollution, so the view from the hill showed off a gleaming, sunny cityscape hardly resembling my experience of Bangkok. Surrounded by a tight ring of trees and lifted as high as the skyscrapers, the comparatively fresh wind and lack of traffic noise was a welcome relief.
One of the most famous sights in Bangkok is Wat Arun, the Temple of the Dawn. Built in the Ayuthaya period (1600s), it’s one of the oldest buildings in the city, and has a noticeably different shape and decorative motif than any intact structure I’ve seen in Thailand. While in most photographs is appears monolithic and pinkish, it’s actually many separate structures, each distinct, and comprised of many bright colors: orange, green, grey, brown, you name it. The entire temple complex is ornately decorated: the older structures are obsessively carved, while the newer buildings are mosaiced to within an inch of their arguable lives. I hadn’t looked forward to visiting the temple, instead considering it an obligatory visit as a Bangkok resident, but found myself thoroughly enjoying the temple itself, the quiet neighbourhood surrounding, and the view across the river to the palace area.
We reached both mount and wat by boat: the mount via the klong (canal) that runs near our apartment, and the wat via the central Chao Phraya river. The waters are high and filthy, thanks to the accumulated runoff of the entire Mekong Peninsula. Even with the displeasures of stench and overactive minds imagining dunkings and virulent infection, it’s still a superior form of travel within the city: it’s fast, there’s no traffic, there are more trees and fewer obnoxious foreigners, and it allows a glimpse into otherwise inaccessible neighbourhoods. And on these trips, there were bonus cool clouds and rainbows. Plus traveling on painted long boats somehow adds romance and adventure to otherwise mundane commuting. :) And who would turn down romance and adventure?
After visiting the wat, Petra and I retired to a very posh but hidden restaurant called The Deck that is right on the bank of the Chao Phraya, directly across from Wat Arun. We sipped tasty cocktails while watching the sun set over the temple, then watched the barges push their way against the current to reach northern Thailand. Ma, I sang the obligatory ‘Barges’ song for you. Couldn’t ask for a nicer evening.
One of the most famous sights in Bangkok is Wat Arun, the Temple of the Dawn. Built in the Ayuthaya period (1600s), it’s one of the oldest buildings in the city, and has a noticeably different shape and decorative motif than any intact structure I’ve seen in Thailand. While in most photographs is appears monolithic and pinkish, it’s actually many separate structures, each distinct, and comprised of many bright colors: orange, green, grey, brown, you name it. The entire temple complex is ornately decorated: the older structures are obsessively carved, while the newer buildings are mosaiced to within an inch of their arguable lives. I hadn’t looked forward to visiting the temple, instead considering it an obligatory visit as a Bangkok resident, but found myself thoroughly enjoying the temple itself, the quiet neighbourhood surrounding, and the view across the river to the palace area.
We reached both mount and wat by boat: the mount via the klong (canal) that runs near our apartment, and the wat via the central Chao Phraya river. The waters are high and filthy, thanks to the accumulated runoff of the entire Mekong Peninsula. Even with the displeasures of stench and overactive minds imagining dunkings and virulent infection, it’s still a superior form of travel within the city: it’s fast, there’s no traffic, there are more trees and fewer obnoxious foreigners, and it allows a glimpse into otherwise inaccessible neighbourhoods. And on these trips, there were bonus cool clouds and rainbows. Plus traveling on painted long boats somehow adds romance and adventure to otherwise mundane commuting. :) And who would turn down romance and adventure?
After visiting the wat, Petra and I retired to a very posh but hidden restaurant called The Deck that is right on the bank of the Chao Phraya, directly across from Wat Arun. We sipped tasty cocktails while watching the sun set over the temple, then watched the barges push their way against the current to reach northern Thailand. Ma, I sang the obligatory ‘Barges’ song for you. Couldn’t ask for a nicer evening.
Monday, July 6, 2009
religion in thailand
Unlike everywhere else I have lived, Thailand’s dominant culture and populace are not Christian. 95% of people in Thailand are Buddhist. The remaining 5% are mainly Muslim and Chinese Traditional Religion (Confucian/Taoist/Animist), with only a small fraction identifying as Christians.
In the 500s AD, Buddhism was brought evangelically to the area that eventually became Thailand. The region’s Buddhist leanings were further strengthened when it was conquered by the Buddhist Thai culture in the 1200s. We don’t know much of the region’s history between then and 1767*, but from its results we can see a great commingling of religious and cultural ideas from the various great land trading routes across Southeast Asia.
The type of Buddhism practiced in Thailand is Theravada, the same kind as is practiced in modern Cambodia, Laos, Burma, and Sri Lanka (where Theravada originated). However, there are noticeable touches of Mahayanism in their worship, such as the belief that the king is a bodhisattva, and the growing popularity of the Chinese Kuan Yin (a persona of Avelokitesvara, another bodhisattva). For those of you who aren’t up on your Buddhist theology, very roughly think of the Theravadens as Protestants, and the Mahayanists as Catholics, and the bodhisattvas as saints. Think of how surprising it would be to find a statue of a saint in a Congregationalist church.
In addition to this sect-mingling, there are also a surprising number of Hindu deities appearing in Thai Buddhism. It’s not uncommon to see Ganesha sitting at the foot of the Buddha, or to find a many-armed statue of Brahma as the presiding figure at a major Buddhist shrine. Thais see no discrepancy in the two religions, taking a rather Indian approach of “more gods = more bases covered”. When asked about their beliefs, though, Buddhist cosmology spews forth, very little Hindu thought included.
Rather than the visually evident Hinduism, what slants the mental framework of Thai Buddhists away from the philosophy of the texts is animism and ‘superstition’. Thai animism is the pre-Buddhist traditional religion of the region, and is closely related to Chinese animism. It largely consists of considering and respecting both the spirits of local physical and natural places, and respecting ancestor spirits. Local place-spirits are thought to reside in anything from trees to rocks to streams, and respect to them can be seen in the garlands, paint, and offerings given to these locations. When a site has been cleared of its natural features (i.e. a building site), a tiny, beautiful and ornate house is built in which the displaced spirits will hopefully reside, so that they do not become angered by the destruction of their homes and cause trouble for the new residents. Identical spirit houses are also built and tended for the spirits of the humans who were attached to the place, traditionally the ancestors of the current occupants. Offerings of flowers, food, beverages, and trinkets are given to both types of spirit houses daily by the residents and other people connected with the shrines, with the hope that the spirits will stay appeased and will possibly assist the offerers. If the spirits are left unfed or otherwise become unhappy, the fear is that they will haunt and cause great trouble. Thais fear these ghosts more than almost anything else.
The other practices that Thais add to traditional Buddhism are what we would usually class as ‘superstitions’, though the term is considered offensive because of its assumption of inefficacy. The main practices are what Heine and Prebish call “the cult of relics, images, icons, and amulets”.** The protective amulets are most evident, worn on thick necklaces or placed on dashboards and handlebars. Upon closer inspection, protective and power-channeling talismans present themselves painted on the ceilings of taxis or even tattooed on the skin of believers. In addition to the physical lucky artifacts, horoscopes and day-associations take on great meaning and are consulted for any significant event, and the popular lotteries become a numerological wonderland of consideration and speculation.
These derivations from traditional Buddhism are completely ubiquitous among young and old, rich and poor Thais, but are not officially sanctioned by the Buddhist authorities of the country. Those authorities are, notably, the Sangha (community of monks) and the King. The King was, for a time, a monk himself, and is looked to in all matters concerning the country, from theology to taxes to technology. A thoroughly modern and well-educated man, he is able to advise on all these matters, and his word holds great sway, as does that of rest of the community of monks. Given this, it is surprising that these ‘superstitions’ continue so pervasively: the inertia of millennia of cultural practices is hard to resist.
Old practices still also dominate mainstream Buddhist rituals and worship. To walk into a temple here is not to enter a stark place of silent contemplation, but is to join a mingling crowd of stray animals, peddlers, orange-robed monks, gaudy mosaiced and gold-leafed statuary, tourists, motivational plaques, advertisements, strange odours, and discordant noises. It’s a real ‘bells and smells’ type of worship, with flower garlands, incense, candles, and food offerings stealing the show. Like Latin in pre-Vatican-2 Catholicism, Pali is the language of religion (scriptures, liturgy, etc.), so most practitioners don’t know what the words mean, making the endless mumble of the chanting equally surrealistic for all involved.
Humorously, this worship style is not limited to within temples and shrines. Buddhism is very much alive and well in Thailand, fully integrated into modern life. Statues, shrines, and other places of worship are incorporated into every street corner, mall, and skyscraper, allowing businessmen and shoppers to stop, bow, light some incense, and pay their respects throughout the day. You’re more likely to see worship being done by makeup-ed women in Prada than by monks.
This giving of respect and offerings is almost the entirety of most lay Thai’s Buddhism. As Tuchrello notes, most Thais “place little emphasis on the achievement of nirvana.” Instead of striving in meditation for the ultimate goal in this lifetime, Thais are generally content to leave that work to the next lifetime, and just look to have an easier life next time around, in which they’ll hopefully do a better job at the whole nirvana thing. They therefore generally limit themselves to accruing merit (good karma), mainly by supporting and revering the Sangha and giving material offerings to auspicious shrines or spirits. To me, this seems remarkably close to the unsavoury and lazy practice of buying indulgences, but it is considered to be quite honourable here.
While Buddhism sits strong in this country, it is not without its problems. The main challenge to the strength and continuation of Thai Buddhism has been brought by the establishment of government schools from the 1960s through today. While previously the temples were the sole sources of community education, with monks teaching the times tables along with the concept of interdependent origination, now the role of the monk is much more limited. Without the knowledge immediately applicable in this life to draw them, and with the obligations of western-style schools or work to take their time, very few students seek out the teaching of the monks these days. Not surprisingly, there are many fewer monks now than there used to be. Western-style media reporting of the inevitable monk scandals is also eroding the trust and respect of the Thai people for the remaining Sangha, and inter-sect competitions are preventing the Buddhist groups in the country from presenting a positive and clear message about the benefits of Thai Buddhism to its people.
The last challenge faced by Thai Buddhism as it moves into the modern era is that it currently grants women very little status, though the rest of Thai society is generally quite respectful and supportive of women. Lay women “primarily participate in religious life either as lay participants in collective [i.e. not personally benefiting] merit-making rituals, or by doing domestic work around temples.” (Tuchrello) Additionally, women are encouraged to financially support the male Sangha. In order to get personal merit, women try to bear a male child so that their son might be willing to gain merit for them. This not only adds to more children than are needed, but degrades the status of women in society and diminishes Thai Buddhism, which could only be enriched by the intellectual and practical contributions of the many devoted and active Thai women. While men are being entreated to join the Sangha, women are demanding to be allowed to become nuns.
(sorry, too many photos, I know. edited slideshow and captions soon.)
* 1767, the year in which the principal Thai city was completely sacked and burned by the Burmese, destroying all previous records and much religious iconography and architecture.
* *Buddhism in the modern world, by Steven Heine and Charles S. Prebish, pg 10
--William P. Tuchrello on the Library of Congress
In the 500s AD, Buddhism was brought evangelically to the area that eventually became Thailand. The region’s Buddhist leanings were further strengthened when it was conquered by the Buddhist Thai culture in the 1200s. We don’t know much of the region’s history between then and 1767*, but from its results we can see a great commingling of religious and cultural ideas from the various great land trading routes across Southeast Asia.
The type of Buddhism practiced in Thailand is Theravada, the same kind as is practiced in modern Cambodia, Laos, Burma, and Sri Lanka (where Theravada originated). However, there are noticeable touches of Mahayanism in their worship, such as the belief that the king is a bodhisattva, and the growing popularity of the Chinese Kuan Yin (a persona of Avelokitesvara, another bodhisattva). For those of you who aren’t up on your Buddhist theology, very roughly think of the Theravadens as Protestants, and the Mahayanists as Catholics, and the bodhisattvas as saints. Think of how surprising it would be to find a statue of a saint in a Congregationalist church.
In addition to this sect-mingling, there are also a surprising number of Hindu deities appearing in Thai Buddhism. It’s not uncommon to see Ganesha sitting at the foot of the Buddha, or to find a many-armed statue of Brahma as the presiding figure at a major Buddhist shrine. Thais see no discrepancy in the two religions, taking a rather Indian approach of “more gods = more bases covered”. When asked about their beliefs, though, Buddhist cosmology spews forth, very little Hindu thought included.
Rather than the visually evident Hinduism, what slants the mental framework of Thai Buddhists away from the philosophy of the texts is animism and ‘superstition’. Thai animism is the pre-Buddhist traditional religion of the region, and is closely related to Chinese animism. It largely consists of considering and respecting both the spirits of local physical and natural places, and respecting ancestor spirits. Local place-spirits are thought to reside in anything from trees to rocks to streams, and respect to them can be seen in the garlands, paint, and offerings given to these locations. When a site has been cleared of its natural features (i.e. a building site), a tiny, beautiful and ornate house is built in which the displaced spirits will hopefully reside, so that they do not become angered by the destruction of their homes and cause trouble for the new residents. Identical spirit houses are also built and tended for the spirits of the humans who were attached to the place, traditionally the ancestors of the current occupants. Offerings of flowers, food, beverages, and trinkets are given to both types of spirit houses daily by the residents and other people connected with the shrines, with the hope that the spirits will stay appeased and will possibly assist the offerers. If the spirits are left unfed or otherwise become unhappy, the fear is that they will haunt and cause great trouble. Thais fear these ghosts more than almost anything else.
The other practices that Thais add to traditional Buddhism are what we would usually class as ‘superstitions’, though the term is considered offensive because of its assumption of inefficacy. The main practices are what Heine and Prebish call “the cult of relics, images, icons, and amulets”.** The protective amulets are most evident, worn on thick necklaces or placed on dashboards and handlebars. Upon closer inspection, protective and power-channeling talismans present themselves painted on the ceilings of taxis or even tattooed on the skin of believers. In addition to the physical lucky artifacts, horoscopes and day-associations take on great meaning and are consulted for any significant event, and the popular lotteries become a numerological wonderland of consideration and speculation.
These derivations from traditional Buddhism are completely ubiquitous among young and old, rich and poor Thais, but are not officially sanctioned by the Buddhist authorities of the country. Those authorities are, notably, the Sangha (community of monks) and the King. The King was, for a time, a monk himself, and is looked to in all matters concerning the country, from theology to taxes to technology. A thoroughly modern and well-educated man, he is able to advise on all these matters, and his word holds great sway, as does that of rest of the community of monks. Given this, it is surprising that these ‘superstitions’ continue so pervasively: the inertia of millennia of cultural practices is hard to resist.
Old practices still also dominate mainstream Buddhist rituals and worship. To walk into a temple here is not to enter a stark place of silent contemplation, but is to join a mingling crowd of stray animals, peddlers, orange-robed monks, gaudy mosaiced and gold-leafed statuary, tourists, motivational plaques, advertisements, strange odours, and discordant noises. It’s a real ‘bells and smells’ type of worship, with flower garlands, incense, candles, and food offerings stealing the show. Like Latin in pre-Vatican-2 Catholicism, Pali is the language of religion (scriptures, liturgy, etc.), so most practitioners don’t know what the words mean, making the endless mumble of the chanting equally surrealistic for all involved.
Humorously, this worship style is not limited to within temples and shrines. Buddhism is very much alive and well in Thailand, fully integrated into modern life. Statues, shrines, and other places of worship are incorporated into every street corner, mall, and skyscraper, allowing businessmen and shoppers to stop, bow, light some incense, and pay their respects throughout the day. You’re more likely to see worship being done by makeup-ed women in Prada than by monks.
This giving of respect and offerings is almost the entirety of most lay Thai’s Buddhism. As Tuchrello notes, most Thais “place little emphasis on the achievement of nirvana.” Instead of striving in meditation for the ultimate goal in this lifetime, Thais are generally content to leave that work to the next lifetime, and just look to have an easier life next time around, in which they’ll hopefully do a better job at the whole nirvana thing. They therefore generally limit themselves to accruing merit (good karma), mainly by supporting and revering the Sangha and giving material offerings to auspicious shrines or spirits. To me, this seems remarkably close to the unsavoury and lazy practice of buying indulgences, but it is considered to be quite honourable here.
While Buddhism sits strong in this country, it is not without its problems. The main challenge to the strength and continuation of Thai Buddhism has been brought by the establishment of government schools from the 1960s through today. While previously the temples were the sole sources of community education, with monks teaching the times tables along with the concept of interdependent origination, now the role of the monk is much more limited. Without the knowledge immediately applicable in this life to draw them, and with the obligations of western-style schools or work to take their time, very few students seek out the teaching of the monks these days. Not surprisingly, there are many fewer monks now than there used to be. Western-style media reporting of the inevitable monk scandals is also eroding the trust and respect of the Thai people for the remaining Sangha, and inter-sect competitions are preventing the Buddhist groups in the country from presenting a positive and clear message about the benefits of Thai Buddhism to its people.
The last challenge faced by Thai Buddhism as it moves into the modern era is that it currently grants women very little status, though the rest of Thai society is generally quite respectful and supportive of women. Lay women “primarily participate in religious life either as lay participants in collective [i.e. not personally benefiting] merit-making rituals, or by doing domestic work around temples.” (Tuchrello) Additionally, women are encouraged to financially support the male Sangha. In order to get personal merit, women try to bear a male child so that their son might be willing to gain merit for them. This not only adds to more children than are needed, but degrades the status of women in society and diminishes Thai Buddhism, which could only be enriched by the intellectual and practical contributions of the many devoted and active Thai women. While men are being entreated to join the Sangha, women are demanding to be allowed to become nuns.
"If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back, and get it right side up again! And now they is asking to do it. The men better let them." -Sojourner Truth
(sorry, too many photos, I know. edited slideshow and captions soon.)
* 1767, the year in which the principal Thai city was completely sacked and burned by the Burmese, destroying all previous records and much religious iconography and architecture.
* *Buddhism in the modern world, by Steven Heine and Charles S. Prebish, pg 10
--William P. Tuchrello on the Library of Congress
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Sanklaburi
The town of Sanklaburi is one of the most beautiful places I’ve visited since coming to Thailand. It sits just north of a reservoir created about 30 years ago at the convergence of three rivers. During the rainy season the old temple – the only building left from the town that was flooded to create the reservoir – is almost entirely submerged. If the water is at just the right height and the temple only half covered, you can slip through the door in a long-tail boat and float out over the stairs. When I was there at the end of the dry season, we crossed the threshold on foot with the deserted shells of freshwater mussels crunching underfoot.
The first evening we ate dinner on bamboo platforms built out over a quickly-rushing mountain stream. The whole restaurant – platforms, kitchen, and all – has to be dismantled and moved every year before the wet season because the stream swells to fill its little ravine.
The stars are beautiful in these mountains. Electricity is not a given and the air is lovely and clear. The silence in the morning is profound, after the geckos have stopped singing and before the birds have begun. But with the first hint of sunlight, the fishermen head out on the lake in traditional boats suped-up with third class motors that sound like your grandfathers lawnmower after the cover has rusted away, and you gain a new appreciation for the noise-amplifying acoustic potential of large flat bodies of water ringed in mountains.
Spanning this large body of water is the pride of Sanklaburi, the Sappan Mon (Mon Bridge). It’s the longest wooden bridge in Thailand, stretching an impressive 400 meters from the mainland to the island village housing the local Mon community. The distinct cultural identity of the Mon people is evident throughout the area: in the art and architecture of the temples, the crafts for sale in the markets, and the food. I brought home an old Thai whisky bottle filled with honey. It comes from people in some of the most remote villages in the mountains; cloudy amber liquid, always fluid in the constant heat, frothy on top, almost too sweet but still sharp.
Many of the people in this area of Thailand are of the Mon or Karen ethnic groups, each of which have a well-organised militant faction engaged in more-or-less active warfare with the Thai army, the Myanmar government, and each other. Competition for control of major smuggling routes is fierce and bloody. Factor in small gangs of ordinary bandits, and you begin to see how complicated life can be in these mountains.
The mountains themselves are tall and jagged, with raw and rugged shapes that seem out-of-tune with their covering of foliage so green it’s almost deciduous, interspersed with pine. From Thailand we watched the sun set over Burma; high above the barred border gate, magnificent clouds drifted freely across the sky.
Note: My colleagues took some of these photos – you know who you are, I thank you!
The first evening we ate dinner on bamboo platforms built out over a quickly-rushing mountain stream. The whole restaurant – platforms, kitchen, and all – has to be dismantled and moved every year before the wet season because the stream swells to fill its little ravine.
The stars are beautiful in these mountains. Electricity is not a given and the air is lovely and clear. The silence in the morning is profound, after the geckos have stopped singing and before the birds have begun. But with the first hint of sunlight, the fishermen head out on the lake in traditional boats suped-up with third class motors that sound like your grandfathers lawnmower after the cover has rusted away, and you gain a new appreciation for the noise-amplifying acoustic potential of large flat bodies of water ringed in mountains.
Spanning this large body of water is the pride of Sanklaburi, the Sappan Mon (Mon Bridge). It’s the longest wooden bridge in Thailand, stretching an impressive 400 meters from the mainland to the island village housing the local Mon community. The distinct cultural identity of the Mon people is evident throughout the area: in the art and architecture of the temples, the crafts for sale in the markets, and the food. I brought home an old Thai whisky bottle filled with honey. It comes from people in some of the most remote villages in the mountains; cloudy amber liquid, always fluid in the constant heat, frothy on top, almost too sweet but still sharp.
Many of the people in this area of Thailand are of the Mon or Karen ethnic groups, each of which have a well-organised militant faction engaged in more-or-less active warfare with the Thai army, the Myanmar government, and each other. Competition for control of major smuggling routes is fierce and bloody. Factor in small gangs of ordinary bandits, and you begin to see how complicated life can be in these mountains.
The mountains themselves are tall and jagged, with raw and rugged shapes that seem out-of-tune with their covering of foliage so green it’s almost deciduous, interspersed with pine. From Thailand we watched the sun set over Burma; high above the barred border gate, magnificent clouds drifted freely across the sky.
Note: My colleagues took some of these photos – you know who you are, I thank you!
Monday, June 15, 2009
do some good! (another library)
A request from my resourceful and impeccably trustworthy friend Nan, who has been working to develop this school for some time:
(Nan's in the back row with a green shirt, cheering)
We are going to renovate the school library at Ban Ko Chang School, Ranong, Thailand on 4-7 July 2009.
Within the island and surrounding areas many families live in inadequate accommodation. The community, mostly Moken Thai and ethnic Burmese fishermen, was badly affected by the tsunami. The Ban Ko Chang School is still inadequate, with only 2 classrooms and 4 teachers. All students, ages 3-12, have to share the classrooms and teachers together, and have few resources. So our group would like to help develop it as much as we can through our resources and our minds.
Our group is a small voluntary group, working together with the vision to help the children grow strong. We think that books are very important for them: without books, how can they be strong? I hope that our work and our books can help them be good people in the future.
If you are too far from me to come help in July, you can make a financial donation for support the renovation of the school library. Even $5 USD goes a very long way here. The money will go to buy paint, brushes, ground sheets, etc., as well as books. We have already raised $570 USD, and need $1000 USD more to be able to make this library come true.
For those who live in Thailand, we would love to see many people come and join in our work or donate some things that you don’t need like used books, clothes, shoes, and whatever else you want to donate for them.
Your donation can make a big difference in the lives of children in need. These kids can really change the world if they have the equipment they need to do it! We would be glad to see our project become the important beginning of the children’s future. We would love to see children’s smiles when they see their new library. It would be great if we can share their happiness together.
If you have any questions you can ask me.
Hope, Love, make the world beautiful …
Thanks
-Nan
nanorkan@hotmail.com
You can also contact Nan directly to donate money or goods from within Thailand.
View Larger Map
(Nan's in the back row with a green shirt, cheering)We are going to renovate the school library at Ban Ko Chang School, Ranong, Thailand on 4-7 July 2009.
Within the island and surrounding areas many families live in inadequate accommodation. The community, mostly Moken Thai and ethnic Burmese fishermen, was badly affected by the tsunami. The Ban Ko Chang School is still inadequate, with only 2 classrooms and 4 teachers. All students, ages 3-12, have to share the classrooms and teachers together, and have few resources. So our group would like to help develop it as much as we can through our resources and our minds.
Our group is a small voluntary group, working together with the vision to help the children grow strong. We think that books are very important for them: without books, how can they be strong? I hope that our work and our books can help them be good people in the future.
If you are too far from me to come help in July, you can make a financial donation for support the renovation of the school library. Even $5 USD goes a very long way here. The money will go to buy paint, brushes, ground sheets, etc., as well as books. We have already raised $570 USD, and need $1000 USD more to be able to make this library come true.
For those who live in Thailand, we would love to see many people come and join in our work or donate some things that you don’t need like used books, clothes, shoes, and whatever else you want to donate for them.
Your donation can make a big difference in the lives of children in need. These kids can really change the world if they have the equipment they need to do it! We would be glad to see our project become the important beginning of the children’s future. We would love to see children’s smiles when they see their new library. It would be great if we can share their happiness together.
If you have any questions you can ask me.
Hope, Love, make the world beautiful …
Thanks
-Nan
nanorkan@hotmail.com
You can also contact Nan directly to donate money or goods from within Thailand.
View Larger Map
Monday, June 8, 2009
chicken + boat + snake + soldier + chalice/tray spells “Bangkok”
Not long ago I set off for a two week work-trip to northern Thailand, to the towns of Mae Sot and Mae Sai. Most of the towns up there have names that start with Mae. Mae means “Mother,” and the towns are all named Mother Someone because the hill tribes that live in them are traditionally matrilineal and matrilocal. The city of Mae Sot was Mama Sot’s town. Mama Sai ran Mae Sai, and so on. The Thai word for river is mae nam, mother [of] water.
Thai is a beautifully poetic and filial language – everyone is older brother/sister, and since given names are all a minimum of three syllables everyone gets ‘short names’ (nicknames). My boss’s nickname is Older Sister Small-and-Beautiful-Object (Pi Ling), the woman who runs Child Protection is Honey (NamPeung – Water Sweet – and just Honey, not Older Sister Honey because she’s younger than me), the guy who runs the project in Mama Sot’s town is Older Brother Handsome-Young-Man, which from what I hear is accurate – my colleagues are incorrigibly teasing, especially when it comes affairs of the heart.
There is currently a low-grade dispute going on around work about how my name is best Thai-ified. Key contenders are:
Paat-Trrra – an actual Thai name meaning beautiful young woman (they tell me), but to the Thai ear the vowel sound in the first syllable is just different enough from the one in my English name to prohibit an automatic switch,
Pet-taa – “diamond eyes,” which is a good meaning and pretty close phonetically with the Thai-accent version of my name, but which they don’t like for me because diamonds in Thai are hard and masculine as opposed to sparkly and feminine,
Pet – pronounced differently from above, meaning “spicy,”
Bpt-aaa – meaningless but phonetically cute – they use this especially when teasing.
I started studying Thai with the intention to stop once I’d mastered the basics. Many of my colleagues are shy about speaking English to me (and not all of them speak English). I figured I should learn at least enough Thai to make amusing pronunciation mistakes so that my colleagues would relax around me. For example, accidentally asking someone to pass me the soap to season my dinner, or talking about root vegetables while trying to express appreciation for the magnificence of Angkor Wat. It turns out, however, that Thai is actually a really fun language to learn. It has all the good stuff about Mandarin (simple grammar, no verb tenses) without the demoralising character-based writing system of 5000 characters. The Thai alphabet may have 43 consonants and 15 vowels, but at least it is phonetic.
It’s also extremely pretty, with all these little loops circles and spirals. To give you an idea, here’s my work address in Thai script:
๕๘๒/๑๘-๒๒ ซอยเอกมัย สุขุมวิท ๖๓ เขตวัฒนา กรุงเทพฯ ๑๐๑๑๐
Of course, handwriting rarely actually looks like this unless it’s nice calligraphy. Whatever it may sound like when spoken, any written language will come out in a scrawl if the author is in a hurry.
Many of the letters in the Thai alphabet represent virtually identical sounds. To alleviate the resultant confusion, the Thai’s have given each letter a special name, like Turtle, Small Cymbals, or Novice Monk. Or Hermit, Monkey, and Traditional Headdress. This is so when attempting to spell a Thai word, one person can say to another, “No, the sound is K/kh, but it’s the letter for K/kh that is called Buffalo, not the one which is called Egg.” The five tones of Thai give the language a gentler sound, and there are all these playful diphthongs. All of this is positively delightful . . . if you happen, like me, to be a really, really big language geek.
Thai is a beautifully poetic and filial language – everyone is older brother/sister, and since given names are all a minimum of three syllables everyone gets ‘short names’ (nicknames). My boss’s nickname is Older Sister Small-and-Beautiful-Object (Pi Ling), the woman who runs Child Protection is Honey (NamPeung – Water Sweet – and just Honey, not Older Sister Honey because she’s younger than me), the guy who runs the project in Mama Sot’s town is Older Brother Handsome-Young-Man, which from what I hear is accurate – my colleagues are incorrigibly teasing, especially when it comes affairs of the heart.
There is currently a low-grade dispute going on around work about how my name is best Thai-ified. Key contenders are:
Paat-Trrra – an actual Thai name meaning beautiful young woman (they tell me), but to the Thai ear the vowel sound in the first syllable is just different enough from the one in my English name to prohibit an automatic switch,
Pet-taa – “diamond eyes,” which is a good meaning and pretty close phonetically with the Thai-accent version of my name, but which they don’t like for me because diamonds in Thai are hard and masculine as opposed to sparkly and feminine,
Pet – pronounced differently from above, meaning “spicy,”
Bpt-aaa – meaningless but phonetically cute – they use this especially when teasing.
I started studying Thai with the intention to stop once I’d mastered the basics. Many of my colleagues are shy about speaking English to me (and not all of them speak English). I figured I should learn at least enough Thai to make amusing pronunciation mistakes so that my colleagues would relax around me. For example, accidentally asking someone to pass me the soap to season my dinner, or talking about root vegetables while trying to express appreciation for the magnificence of Angkor Wat. It turns out, however, that Thai is actually a really fun language to learn. It has all the good stuff about Mandarin (simple grammar, no verb tenses) without the demoralising character-based writing system of 5000 characters. The Thai alphabet may have 43 consonants and 15 vowels, but at least it is phonetic.
It’s also extremely pretty, with all these little loops circles and spirals. To give you an idea, here’s my work address in Thai script:
๕๘๒/๑๘-๒๒ ซอยเอกมัย สุขุมวิท ๖๓ เขตวัฒนา กรุงเทพฯ ๑๐๑๑๐
Of course, handwriting rarely actually looks like this unless it’s nice calligraphy. Whatever it may sound like when spoken, any written language will come out in a scrawl if the author is in a hurry.
Many of the letters in the Thai alphabet represent virtually identical sounds. To alleviate the resultant confusion, the Thai’s have given each letter a special name, like Turtle, Small Cymbals, or Novice Monk. Or Hermit, Monkey, and Traditional Headdress. This is so when attempting to spell a Thai word, one person can say to another, “No, the sound is K/kh, but it’s the letter for K/kh that is called Buffalo, not the one which is called Egg.” The five tones of Thai give the language a gentler sound, and there are all these playful diphthongs. All of this is positively delightful . . . if you happen, like me, to be a really, really big language geek.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
laos karaoke dream
As is frequently the fate of visitors in Thailand, I had to leave the country this week to replace my expiring visa. The most economical option for me was to travel to Vientiane, Laos, a ten-hour bus ride away. While the Cambodian border is closer (as is the Burmese border, but I’m not that crazy), the usually-pricy Thai visas are currently being handed out for free in Laos to encourage tourism to Thailand, which is hurting economically since the political strife has scared away its customers. Rather than navigate the fragmented transportation and the incomprehensible and ‘expensive’ bureaucracy on my own, I signed up with one of the companies specifically formed to guide and ease the visa border run. It was well worth it, as they not only drove me and my fellow visa-needers directly the whole way, but also negotiated the seemingly-endless queues and forms such that we could usually waltz right through as a group with a mere hour’s wait in comfort rather than the day or so in line in the sun required by most. Judging by a repeated facial resemblance, I suspect this was achieved through strategic nepotism, for which I am personally grateful.
One stage of the process did require us to stay overnight in the astoundingly boring Vientiane, so while all of the Europeans and Americans went out to get drunk, I found myself on my own and in the surprising position of living out a secret life-long dream. Let me tell you: The hostel in which we stayed had a relaxed karaoke bar on the ground floor. The delightful Filipinos in our group had hijacked control of the machine, and were bravely belting out the most saccharine English-language hits of the past 20 years accompanied by strange pirated music videos seemingly compiled from New Zealand travel ads and scenes from The Bridges of Madison County. When I walked in, “I Don’t Want To Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith was on (with footage of fish), and the current singer was cheerfully struggling with the lyrics. Seeing that I was American and therefore probably could deal with the words on the screen, she thrust the mike at me, and I obliged with my best Steve Tyler.
They loved me. The delighted crowd insisted that I sing all the English-language songs that they chose, about 40 all told, though I only made it through about 15 before my voice started to hurt (I blame the successful but damaging escalating modulations of “My Heart Will Go On” at around song ten, along with being generally out of practice). Despite not having the stamina they wished and being culturally-appropriately-self-depreciating at the time, I was secretly really proud of my performance, peaking with a soulful and inspired “Have I Told You Lately That I Love You” which was especially well-received by the crowd. While I’m a fine singer, I know a lot of what they loved was just the ingrained American confidence and humour for which I can take no credit, as well as my almost sickening familiarity of the songs’ original melodic inflections, for which I similarly claim no responsibility. (For those of you who don’t know my musical tastes, they run more toward the complexly rhythmic and musically complex, like Radiohead and Arabic house, and usually run desperately away from anything smacking of pop or the insipid, so all my knowledge of these songs comes from the forced pop-culture soundtrack of grocery stores and malls. Ok, and maybe mix tape or two from circa 1994. Just maybe.) But for whatever reason, for one night, in the most unlikely of venues and with the last songs I’d ever have chosen, I got to be a star.
One stage of the process did require us to stay overnight in the astoundingly boring Vientiane, so while all of the Europeans and Americans went out to get drunk, I found myself on my own and in the surprising position of living out a secret life-long dream. Let me tell you: The hostel in which we stayed had a relaxed karaoke bar on the ground floor. The delightful Filipinos in our group had hijacked control of the machine, and were bravely belting out the most saccharine English-language hits of the past 20 years accompanied by strange pirated music videos seemingly compiled from New Zealand travel ads and scenes from The Bridges of Madison County. When I walked in, “I Don’t Want To Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith was on (with footage of fish), and the current singer was cheerfully struggling with the lyrics. Seeing that I was American and therefore probably could deal with the words on the screen, she thrust the mike at me, and I obliged with my best Steve Tyler.
They loved me. The delighted crowd insisted that I sing all the English-language songs that they chose, about 40 all told, though I only made it through about 15 before my voice started to hurt (I blame the successful but damaging escalating modulations of “My Heart Will Go On” at around song ten, along with being generally out of practice). Despite not having the stamina they wished and being culturally-appropriately-self-depreciating at the time, I was secretly really proud of my performance, peaking with a soulful and inspired “Have I Told You Lately That I Love You” which was especially well-received by the crowd. While I’m a fine singer, I know a lot of what they loved was just the ingrained American confidence and humour for which I can take no credit, as well as my almost sickening familiarity of the songs’ original melodic inflections, for which I similarly claim no responsibility. (For those of you who don’t know my musical tastes, they run more toward the complexly rhythmic and musically complex, like Radiohead and Arabic house, and usually run desperately away from anything smacking of pop or the insipid, so all my knowledge of these songs comes from the forced pop-culture soundtrack of grocery stores and malls. Ok, and maybe mix tape or two from circa 1994. Just maybe.) But for whatever reason, for one night, in the most unlikely of venues and with the last songs I’d ever have chosen, I got to be a star.
elephants
Elephants are rather hard to avoid here in Thailand. Bangkok alone, the least hospitable and likely of elephant stomping-grounds, hosts dozens of the giants who with their owners beg on the streets at night, literal tail lights swinging as they flick away the flies. And as for depictions of elephants, you can’t go half a block before seeing one: the municipal seal, showing Indra seated on the back of an elephant. The Buddha astride a three-headed elephant. Sequined elephant images on tourist purses. Stone elephants standing guard like the NYC lions outside the gates of the rich. Elephants cavorting or charging, painted onto the walls of the most revered temples of the 1400s. Elephant topiary.
The Thai people have good reason to so commemorate the noble elephant: they were the war steeds and tanks that secured the land, kept off invading forces, and kept the established social ranks in line (setting aside any anti-imperial socialist or anarchic qualms as to the desirability of this). They were also the workhorses, ploughs, and backhoes of the vast terraforming that sculpted the river basin into rice fields and the forests into beautiful homes (again, setting aside environmentalist concerns).
In addition to their reverence for their labour capacities, Thai people also worship elephants. As with much of Thai Buddhist worship, significant aspects of Indian Hinduism and pre-Khmer animism have been imported and reinterpreted (more on that soon in an upcoming post), so it is commonplace to have the elephant-headed god Ganesha standing protectorate over the Buddha and roped in marigold garlands, or to have platoons of ‘toy’ wooden elephants given up onto the altar of a local place-spirit, with incense and homage offered to the tiny beasts. Even the aforementioned proliferate ‘secular’ depictions of elephants are revered, with everything from the bridge decorations to the topiary offered flowers and foodstuffs daily, and bowed to when passing. If it looks like an elephant, it gets presents and respect.
It’s a literal shame that this respect does not extend to the remaining elephants themselves. The wild elephants have very little habitat left, leading to starvation and violent conflicts with farmers. Since logging was banned to preserve what little forest remains, most domesticated elephants have been out of work. The elephants who do work, especially those participating in the ongoing now-illegal logging trade, are often subjected to horrible conditions. I met one elephant who had been prodded in her eyes so often she went blind; another who was forced to keep working even after stepping on a land mine; another who was addicted to amphetamines. Those begging in Bangkok have to breathe exhaust, drink dirty water, walk over broken concrete, try not to get hit by cars, as well as find what limited forage is available. Only ten years ago Thailand still had 4000 elephants. Nowadays only 2500 remain in this country, with fewer than 30,000 worldwide.
In order to support the small amount of healthy work available for elephants, as well as to get to safely see them in closer proximity, we ventured out on an elephant-riding trek one of our days in Chiang Mai. The elephants take a stroll through a valley with tiny us on their backs, and get rewarded by us with handfuls of snacks and the tasty forage along the path as they go. It was so cool to ride an elephant: the one we rode is named Noi, which means “Little”; she is the same age as me (and about the same place in her lifespan, as they live to be about 85 and mature as slowly as humans); she lives with her father, whom she adores but with whom she is very competitive; she’s especially stubborn, but will grudgingly do almost anything for a banana. She would lumber along, her gait so long that we’d almost forget another step was coming until we’d shift suddenly to the other side. Then she’d get a gleam in her eye and race up to walk in front of her dad, then slow down so much he’d have to pass her. I liked her style. The setup at this and similar ventures isn’t ideal, since they still keep the elephants chained up when they’re not being ridden, and they still have to live for the pleasure of people, but it’s a fair site better than oppressive logging or the elephant circuses where they are forced through literally torturous training to paint pictures or play soccer.
We so enjoyed the peaceful time with the personable and mischievous moving mountains, and were so taken by their brethren’s plight, that we ventured out again the next day to the Elephant Nature Park. The park is a heart-warmingly perfect preserve a few hours’ drive north of the city where rescued elephants can recover, roam free, and lead their own autonomous elephant lives with plentiful food, baths, elephant friendships, and lots of human love on hand any time they want. The whole place is set up for the elephants, with the desires of humans coming a far second. Throughout the day we got to feed, observe, pet, talk and walk with, and wash the elephants, but if they got bored they were allowed to just wander off: they were in charge. Washing was especially fun, as it involved getting into the river with the elephants and scrubbing them down with a brush and bucket while they rolled around and splashed and sprayed water.
It was heartbreaking to see the disabilities of the various elephants, some of whom could barely walk due to the injuries inflicted by their previous owners. But it brought happy tears to my eyes to see how they lived in community: an elephant missing a foot and the blind elephant were best friends, helping one another side by side all day; one of the old-lady elephants is the nanny to the babies, allowing the moms to go stretch their legs and gossip; a young teenaged elephant flirted with the girl-elephant he has a crush on, though the old ladies sternly informed him that she is too young for him, and suggested he talk with the nice young lady-elephant his age. Their body language and social interactions were so human sometimes it was hilarious, and I was glad to learn that in fact this is not anthropomorphization, but that they are indeed just as intelligent and communicative and complexly social as they seemed. Which makes the harm done to them all the more difficult to bear.
The woman who runs the park, Lek, is quite savvy: though she is one of the only people in the country lobbying and working on behalf of the elephants, she does so very effectively, starting at the root of people’s conceptions of elephants through education and by modeling a different system, and then working up the chain of health services, owner-training, etc., all the way to political representation. It was inspiring not only to see the elephants having such a good protector and advocate in this tiny woman, but also to see an organization so well-run, so focused in its goals, and so efficient in its projects, and all the more surprising to find this in a third-world country and in an organization with no Western leadership.
Elephants may now be my favourite animal. (Why can’t I like guppies or something?)
The Thai people have good reason to so commemorate the noble elephant: they were the war steeds and tanks that secured the land, kept off invading forces, and kept the established social ranks in line (setting aside any anti-imperial socialist or anarchic qualms as to the desirability of this). They were also the workhorses, ploughs, and backhoes of the vast terraforming that sculpted the river basin into rice fields and the forests into beautiful homes (again, setting aside environmentalist concerns).
In addition to their reverence for their labour capacities, Thai people also worship elephants. As with much of Thai Buddhist worship, significant aspects of Indian Hinduism and pre-Khmer animism have been imported and reinterpreted (more on that soon in an upcoming post), so it is commonplace to have the elephant-headed god Ganesha standing protectorate over the Buddha and roped in marigold garlands, or to have platoons of ‘toy’ wooden elephants given up onto the altar of a local place-spirit, with incense and homage offered to the tiny beasts. Even the aforementioned proliferate ‘secular’ depictions of elephants are revered, with everything from the bridge decorations to the topiary offered flowers and foodstuffs daily, and bowed to when passing. If it looks like an elephant, it gets presents and respect.
It’s a literal shame that this respect does not extend to the remaining elephants themselves. The wild elephants have very little habitat left, leading to starvation and violent conflicts with farmers. Since logging was banned to preserve what little forest remains, most domesticated elephants have been out of work. The elephants who do work, especially those participating in the ongoing now-illegal logging trade, are often subjected to horrible conditions. I met one elephant who had been prodded in her eyes so often she went blind; another who was forced to keep working even after stepping on a land mine; another who was addicted to amphetamines. Those begging in Bangkok have to breathe exhaust, drink dirty water, walk over broken concrete, try not to get hit by cars, as well as find what limited forage is available. Only ten years ago Thailand still had 4000 elephants. Nowadays only 2500 remain in this country, with fewer than 30,000 worldwide.
In order to support the small amount of healthy work available for elephants, as well as to get to safely see them in closer proximity, we ventured out on an elephant-riding trek one of our days in Chiang Mai. The elephants take a stroll through a valley with tiny us on their backs, and get rewarded by us with handfuls of snacks and the tasty forage along the path as they go. It was so cool to ride an elephant: the one we rode is named Noi, which means “Little”; she is the same age as me (and about the same place in her lifespan, as they live to be about 85 and mature as slowly as humans); she lives with her father, whom she adores but with whom she is very competitive; she’s especially stubborn, but will grudgingly do almost anything for a banana. She would lumber along, her gait so long that we’d almost forget another step was coming until we’d shift suddenly to the other side. Then she’d get a gleam in her eye and race up to walk in front of her dad, then slow down so much he’d have to pass her. I liked her style. The setup at this and similar ventures isn’t ideal, since they still keep the elephants chained up when they’re not being ridden, and they still have to live for the pleasure of people, but it’s a fair site better than oppressive logging or the elephant circuses where they are forced through literally torturous training to paint pictures or play soccer.
We so enjoyed the peaceful time with the personable and mischievous moving mountains, and were so taken by their brethren’s plight, that we ventured out again the next day to the Elephant Nature Park. The park is a heart-warmingly perfect preserve a few hours’ drive north of the city where rescued elephants can recover, roam free, and lead their own autonomous elephant lives with plentiful food, baths, elephant friendships, and lots of human love on hand any time they want. The whole place is set up for the elephants, with the desires of humans coming a far second. Throughout the day we got to feed, observe, pet, talk and walk with, and wash the elephants, but if they got bored they were allowed to just wander off: they were in charge. Washing was especially fun, as it involved getting into the river with the elephants and scrubbing them down with a brush and bucket while they rolled around and splashed and sprayed water.
It was heartbreaking to see the disabilities of the various elephants, some of whom could barely walk due to the injuries inflicted by their previous owners. But it brought happy tears to my eyes to see how they lived in community: an elephant missing a foot and the blind elephant were best friends, helping one another side by side all day; one of the old-lady elephants is the nanny to the babies, allowing the moms to go stretch their legs and gossip; a young teenaged elephant flirted with the girl-elephant he has a crush on, though the old ladies sternly informed him that she is too young for him, and suggested he talk with the nice young lady-elephant his age. Their body language and social interactions were so human sometimes it was hilarious, and I was glad to learn that in fact this is not anthropomorphization, but that they are indeed just as intelligent and communicative and complexly social as they seemed. Which makes the harm done to them all the more difficult to bear.
The woman who runs the park, Lek, is quite savvy: though she is one of the only people in the country lobbying and working on behalf of the elephants, she does so very effectively, starting at the root of people’s conceptions of elephants through education and by modeling a different system, and then working up the chain of health services, owner-training, etc., all the way to political representation. It was inspiring not only to see the elephants having such a good protector and advocate in this tiny woman, but also to see an organization so well-run, so focused in its goals, and so efficient in its projects, and all the more surprising to find this in a third-world country and in an organization with no Western leadership.
Elephants may now be my favourite animal. (Why can’t I like guppies or something?)
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