Climbing the Fence

While I was in the U.S., the political situation in Bangkok deteriorated. Ten days ago, violence broke out and parliament members were trapped inside their own building. The new prime minister had to climb a fence to escape protesters. The best version of events I read was also the most sobering I’ve read in some time. “Many dangers lie ahead,” it said.

Sure enough, a few days ago, gunfire broke out at the Cambodian border between Thai and Cambodian soldiers. On the surface it’s an international incident, but surely the issue of who controls the land around an ancient temple would never have come this far without politicians needing something to distract their constituents from the discouraging domestic scene.

And yesterday the Army chief hinted that the current prime minister must go. Who would step in wasn’t clear. It’s a shame to see people building (or climbing) fences. What the country needs more are bridges.

Crown Thy Good with Brotherhood

Plenty of people have left their birthplace and found plenty of happiness somewhere else. You can also just get so used to the ways things are elsewhere that home begins to feel foreign.

Jip’s and my version of that classic story is still evolving. Mostly we just wake up each day and accept that we live where we live. We try to be grateful, to not take much for granted.

Yet here in the States for a couple weeks, with no agenda other than hanging out with family and friends, I must say I’m surrounded by delights. Let me count a few:

a reunion or two with old mentors…

a multigenerational family birthday party…

a several-hour stroll along the edge of a favorite lake…

a Cambodian/Vietnamese meal on a street named for Martin Luther King…

a peek inside the wooden boat my brother is restoring for a round-the-world sail…

an autumn evening among evergreens, watching 10-year-old girls practice soccer, capped with goat cheese pizza at the regular neighborhood joint…

a wedding down by San Francisco Bay, full of good cookies, great dancing, and lifetime pals…

I could go on. My point is that these things can’t happen in Thailand. I’ve not saying they should. The reason they’re delights is because they don’t. Special moments wouldn’t be special if they weren’t also rare. America looked pretty beautiful this time around.

Flipped Script

Just a few weeks ago, during my other trip to the U.S. this year, I’d felt that the country seemed a little threadbare, maybe even coming apart at the seams. But this time I’ve been in Philadelphia, which struck me as vibrant and unified.

It helped that I had a guide, my sister, who knew the backstory about the public art, private grants, and civic pride we kept encountering as we walked around. In fact she set me straight at one point when my cynicism about politics got a little excessive.

We passed an empty lot near her place. She mentioned that somebody wanted to put up a convenience store there, but needed a zoning variance. Thinking of Bangkok, I made a remark along the lines of “that variance will depend on who knows/sleeps with/pays whom.”

Her answer was along the lines of “Excuse me, mister, but I happen to be a volunteer member of the community zoning board, and in this town it’s us—the neighbors—who call the shots.”

Later she introduced me to the city-wide mosaic museum known as the Philadelphia Magic Gardens. This series of folk art installations, funded and fought for by everyone from bigtime lawyers to passersby, really does radiate the spirit of brotherly love.

Bright and Early

The first thing out of your mouth on the first day of the month should be the word for a certain long-eared, bushy-tailed mammal, at least according to a tradition I grew up with. Jip picked up this habit from my family, and delights in beating me to the punch nearly every month.

Yesterday I planned to wake up extra early to catch a flight to the States. I asked Jip’s caregiver to make sure I didn’t sleep through the alarm. (Jip’s legs need massaging at around 3am every day, in order for her to be able to sleep the second half of the night.)

When I walked in the room to say goodbye, I hadn’t spoken to Jip yet that day. She looked especially alert, as though she had something on her mind. She heard footsteps, and raised her eyebrows at her caregiver, as if to ask, “Is that John?” When I mumbled, still groggy, that yes it was me, Jip rubbed her hands together and shouted, “RABBIT!” Three o’clock in the friggin’ morning.

Fast Lane

Jip hasn’t been outside Thailand since we returned here more than three years ago. At that time I thought she’d never use her passport again. But she announced recently that we should make sure all her travel documents were up to date.

We don’t have any solid plans to take a trip. She was simply thinking about an open invitation we have to visit Australia, where several old friends of ours are living. It’s another measure of how stable her condition has become that she would consider taking on the challenges of an international journey.

I was happy about the idea of renewing her passport, but nervous about the process itself. I expected several long queues, based on my experiences at the Thai government office that handles foreigners’ visas.

No sweat. Three employees collaborated on the paperwork and the photography, not even flinching when they realized Jip couldn’t see, stand, or sign. The whole thing took less time than it took a taxi to drive there. Maybe sometime in 2009 we’ll go down under.

Out of the Kitchen

The solution to the problem of what to do about the puppet prime minister was very Thai. The Christian Science Monitor’s headline may have said it best:

As a TV chef, Thai P.M. cooked his own goose: Prime Minister Samak was forced to quit Tuesday, after a court ruled he'd broken the law by hosting two TV cooking shows while in office.

The story went on to say that “Mr. Samak's fiery rhetoric on TV and in office has often landed him in hot water. But it may be his fiery curries that finally burned him.”

Moonlighting seems to me a pretty minor charge against a high government official, but it has the advantage of allowing a face saving exit, always an important consideration here. Samak apparently is accused of more serious offenses, but they will probably now be forgotten in exchange for his going quietly.

The quest for Thai-style democracy appears not to be any closer to its goal, however. Politicians chose a brother-in-law of Thaksin Shinawatra as the new prime minister. In response, protesters announced they’d be stepping up their efforts to prevent “Thaksinocracy.” Most of them represent the country’s elite and so would have the country move away from a one-man one-vote voting system, which favors the relatively less educated folks upcountry.

Those people waiting for the king to step in probably will be disappointed. He seems to want to stay out of this particular kitchen.

Queen's Birthday Present

Last month, to honor the queen on her 76th birthday, ethnic Chinese Thais invited 11,111 monks to receive alms along a main street through the center of Bangkok’s Chinatown.

Evidently if one is good, 11,111 is better. Remarkable photographs of the event have been making the rounds. Anything like this happen lately in the major metropolitan area where you live?

Golden Rule

In a conversation with my Thai language teacher, somehow the subject of the Golden Rule came up. She argued that it was a foreign concept, not relevant in Thailand.

I asked a few friends at work what they thought about the idea that people should treat others as they would like to be treated. One guy, thinking of the recent protests, said bluntly, “Thailand doesn’t have golden rule. We’re too used to iron rule.”

Thailand Takes to the Streets

Speaking of uniting and dividing, the political tug of war in Bangkok has ramped up. While the protesters’ goals remain vague, their numbers and volume grow day by day. They have occupied (and done their laundry outside) the prime minister’s office for the last week or so. Yet nearly every Thai who talks to me about the protests feels embarrassed by them.

Passions, in other words, are hardly running high. Emotions flare occasionally, but most of the protest moves happen slowly. My safety isn’t an issue. Unless one tries hard to join the front lines, the biggest danger on the streets (and sidewalks) here remains the unpredictable driving of motorcyclists.

I used to think that no matter which faction emerged strongest, life for the average person here wouldn’t change appreciably. But the recent headlines have been terrible for tourism. We heard stories and saw evidence of the effect on that major part of the Thai economy last week when my office held a retreat at a nearly empty beach resort a few hours from the capital.

My guess is that politicians, some of whom own hotels and feel the economic pressure, will soon find a uniquely Thai fix to this round of problems.

Trip Report, Part 2

The cool innovations I heard about in the U.S. were mostly new ways that Americans, consummate joiners that we are, have figured out to hook up with the like-minded. For better or worse, networking really is boldly going where no network has gone before.

So many people mentioned facebook in casual conversation that I began to suspect I was about the least hip person on the planet because I hadn’t signed up. That suspicion was confirmed when I got an invitation to join from my nearly 80-year-old uncle.

Websites like caringbridge.org and patientslikeme.com sent their founders to the health communication conference I attended in Atlanta. The connections people make with these tools help them heal.

So if my impression is correct that the country needs to pull out of a slump, then, as the saying goes, we have the technology. Whether its uses will ultimately unite or divide is another question.

Trip Report

America seemed a nice place to visit, but after three years away, I didn’t need to live there. It wasn’t that I felt out of place or even turned off. I found lots to like—the comparatively cool weather was great for sleeping and running, my teams won both of the professional baseball games I got to see. I was even pleasantly surprised a few times—not one of my nine flights was late or cancelled.

But the country seemed a little down on its luck. Fraying at the edges. Not as bold and bright as I remembered. Sort of gray.

Occasionally somebody I met with would mention some cool innovation, and I'd be filled with that sense of the youthful cutting edge that I took for granted when we lived there.

Maybe I’d still feel that if we still lived there. It’s possible that I’ve changed, not the country. It’s possible.

Thaksin Bails

In the latest chapter of the long political saga here, former prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra apparently decided last week that corruption charges against him were getting a bit too warm, so he and his family headed for England. His wife had recently been sentenced to three years in jail for tax evasion.

Orderly street protests continue, but are now held outside the British Embassy (“Return Thaksin Home!”) rather than near the current prime minister’s office. Some people say the real issue is what kind of democracy the country wants. Lots of versions have been tried in Thailand, from business-friendly to king-friendly to army-friendly, but none have really stuck.

Welcome Back

Jip seemed fine with my being gone. I spoke to her on the phone every day, and found her either upbeat or a little bit bored (a first—she generally expands her activities to fill the time she has). She asked me to arrange visits from friends, which delighted me.

Last year her reaction to a long trip I made was very different. Her sense then was that she had no time for anything but making sure the caregivers followed the schedule. She also may have wondered whether or not I would really return. We hadn’t been apart that long for many years.

This time she was nonchalant when I walked in from the airport, as if I’d hardly been away at all. The caregivers, on the other hand, excitedly (and alas, correctly) pointed out that I had enjoyed a few extra helpings of home cooking while in the U.S. “Khun John grew breasts!” cried one. “His are bigger than Khun Jip’s!”

Dixie on My Mind

I’ve been in the States for two weeks. Day after tomorrow, I’ll return to Bangkok. I spent time with friends and family in Seattle and the Midwest before arriving in Atlanta to attend a CDC conference.

This city is new to me, so my antennae are up and my first impressions are doing battle with my stereotypes. Nothing so far has made me feel I’m in the South especially, but then again what I don’t know about the South could fill lots of blog entries.

Outside the South, do young black men ask legal advice of white tourists from Thailand as they exit the train together? I have no idea. But there we were, taking the elevated in from the airport. Dude wondered about the limits on free speech.

“Can they lock you up for talking smack on the train?”

He was earnest and polite. Maybe he picked me to ask because, dragging luggage, I might have been neutral, or at least unlikely to cross paths with either party again.

He told me he’d been innocently flirting (“I mean, what do you expect, her just sitting there with her stuff all hanging out?”), when out of nowhere another woman passenger, apparently a friend of the first, turned two’s-company into three’s-a-crowd.

“They’re both talking about how if they snitch to some Jane Wayne, my ass gonna be locked up. Can they do that?”

I wish I could say I helped him out. He wasn’t just making conversation—he really wanted to know. I mumbled something about the Golden Rule. He looked up, saw his bus coming, and apologized for not being able to talk longer.