Where’s the Beef?

On my way to the U.S., I changed planes in Tokyo. I overheard a family of Japanese-Americans that was returning home after spending a few weeks visiting the eldest generation. The two teenagers weren’t much interested in the home cooking their parents had brought on board with them. Perhaps they’d had their fill of Japanese cuisine.

Dad: Anybody want some shrimp?
Teen: No thanks, I like my food a little more pumped up with hormones.

Can Go Home Again

I wish somebody had taken a photo of this scene: Jip’s mom blessing Jip’s grandma by pouring water on grandma’s wrists. Behind mom, a long line of us touched each other lightly on the back, symbolizing our participation in the blessing. Forming the chain were Jip’s brothers and their wives, and me and Jip.

Jip couldn’t see her linked-up family, but she knew exactly what was going on when I reached over to touch her at the end of the ceremony honoring the fourth anniversary of her dad’s death. Lots of neighbors looked on in main room of the family home, as did five monks, who had just finished chanting and were about to begin eating the meal that the guests had spent much of the previous day preparing for them.

Last year Jip waited until it was too late to say that she wanted to go down to the village for this annual event. I felt badly telling her that she’d have to wait until another time. Then mom surprised me this year when I phoned to say that both of us would be coming. She said it sounded like a lot of bother to bring Jip, and that she wasn’t planning anything too special anyway.

We insisted, explaining that Jip hadn’t really hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, because we were in Seattle when the real funeral took place. I think everyone was glad we came. It meant that the merit making took place at home instead of at the temple, which translated into more work for mom. But surrounded by her whole family, the smile on her face was just as broad as the one on Jip’s.

Opening Act

At the large Thai Cultural Center auditorium, the twenty or so German musicians who make up the visiting Bach Orchestra of the Leipzig Gewandhaus took their places on stage. All but the harpsichordist were standing.

As the conductor signaled he was ready to begin, I readied myself for the opening notes. But instead of the Brandenburg Concertos, what came our way was a local tune, the song that honors the royal family here.

I should have expected it—like the playing of the national anthem before a sporting event in the U.S., this tradition is common in Thailand. Furthermore, this concert was put on in honor of the king’s sister, who had been a patron of classical music in the country before she died earlier this year.

Partly because it caught me off guard, and partly because the instruments weren’t the ones that usually play this song, it took me a second to recognize it. And then another second to figure out that I too should be standing. But it took no time at all to know that this rendition of it was the most beautiful I’d heard.

The cellos and double bass gave it a weight that made it extra respectful. You didn’t have to be Thai to feel your chest puff out or your eyes get a little moist. The Bach that followed was nice too, but I went home thinking that the highlight of the evening was the opening act.

Surprise Spotlight

I was surprised to pass a slick poster advertising a Disability Film Festival, to be held at a fancy Bangkok hotel. Who would turn up at an event like that?

Turns out that lots of people would, about half of them in wheelchairs. I arrived midway through the second day of this Friday-Saturday event, to find the 34^th floor packed with displays, volunteers, brochures, private luncheons, and, oh yes, even a movie or two.

Maybe somebody with deep pockets has a family member who can’t walk, or maybe somebody needed to make some merit. Doesn’t matter why it happened… it was great to see the spotlight shining on an issue that doesn’t normally get lots of attention here.

I went home with lots of swag and a few contacts. Perhaps some day Jip and I can attend events like that one together.

Three Years On

On this day in 2005, Jip and I arrived in Thailand to start this chapter of our lives. Returning here still seems like the best decision we could have made.

Jip’s moods and overall health have plateaued instead of continuing downhill as I feared they might. She has surprised me recently with how many activities are back on her list again. I often read aloud to her for about twenty minutes before bedtime—two years ago she would have said it took too much effort to listen. At the end of this month we’re going down to her village for the fifth anniversary of Jip’s dad’s passing. Last year she didn’t want to go, so I went alone and represented her.

Consistent, experienced care providers make all the difference. The current team of three women has been together nearly a year. They like Jip and they like each other. Jip can worry about other things besides whether or not her caregivers knows what they’re doing. I’m riding this wave of stability, knowing that it won’t last. In early August I’ll visit the U.S. for a couple weeks.

All this relatively good news is built on the foundation of Jip having had no major loss of physical function or cognitive ability, which also amazes me. We’d been warned for years that heat would be a problem if we ever moved back to the tropics, but the weather doesn’t seem to have led to her disease getting worse.

Well, maybe a little worse. She’s definitely still got spasticity problems … now in one arm as well as the legs. But luckily with round-the-clock care she’s always able to convince somebody to help her “de-stiff” her limbs, so the discomfort doesn’t last too long.

My brain and body are also doing pretty well. I get enough exercise, I finish the book club book before the book club meeting, and I get out of town on a regular basis. None of those things was true for me in Seattle just before we moved.

Mob, Part 2

Since the coup that left Thaksin without a day job, the country has been given a new constitution that weakens elected officials, by making it easier to impeach the prime minister, and increasing the power of the courts.

The judges have been busy. This week they threw three members of Thaksin’s legal defense team in jail on bribery charges. (The lawyers claimed to have gotten their cake boxes mixed up when they handed one containing $60,000 in baht to some minor court officials. The press is calling the incident “Pastrygate.”)

A longstanding border dispute with Cambodia has also flared recently, keeping Thai politicians from tackling, say, inflation, currently over 5%. Instead they’re debating which country should control the concessions around a 900-year-old border temple that may soon become a World Heritage site.

Next the courts will rule on whether or not the ruling party must disband in light of election irregularities. Bottom line: the government is struggling to survive.

Waiting in the Wings

Thai language borrows the English word “mob,” meaning crowd of people. I hear it used to describe the group that has been protesting outside the prime minister’s office nearly every day since the new government started up six months ago. But here the term doesn’t imply lawlessness or lowest-common-denominator thinking.

This mob seems mostly to be made up of the elite. The real target of its complaints doesn’t even work in the prime minister’s office anymore. He was removed by a coup nearly two years ago.

Thaksin Shinawatra, the billionaire businessman who led Thailand until September 2006, was never really sidelined. The current prime minister admits to being Thaksin’s proxy. Former members of his party still hold senior posts. And while several court cases accuse him of corruption during his term, he’s unlikely to ever go to jail.

He claims he’s done with politics. The people in the mob don’t believe him, but they can hardly wave signs saying “No more!” while he’s already saying “Enough!” So the object of the protests, and the alternatives being offered, seem a little fuzzy.

The true common folk, in fact, wish Thaksin would come back. His populist policies are the reason the leading party succeeds so well upcountry. His confidence and take-no-prisoners style may explain why he made the military nervous enough to overthrow him. And the fear that some day he’ll pick up where he left off fuels the “mob.”

Bash for Burma

It’s not uncommon here to do reverse birthday parties during one’s zodiac year. I was born in the Year of the Rat, which has come around again.

In honor of my four trips around the cycle, and of my friend Nick taking a job in Rangoon at the end of this month, last night he and I threw a bash downstairs by the pool. We raised over $2,100 for Burma cyclone relief. The proceeds are going to three Burmese-run groups that we’re sure will use the money wisely on behalf of people who are still in great need.

Two of these groups have bank accounts outside the country. They received half of the funds. On their websites you can read more about them, and add to our efforts if you wish. They are:

http://www.metta-myanmar.org/

http://www.nargisaction.org/

Our research also pointed us to a consortium of effective Burmese NGOs. Nick will distribute the remainder of the money to that clearinghouse when he arrives in Rangoon.

A few days from now, Aung San Suu Kyi turns 63 years old. The government has extended her house arrest yet again. This is her 13^th year of detention. Let’s hope that soon her country has something to celebrate.

Wait Till This Year

You’re probably thinking I’ve gotten over being a Cub fan, living twelve time zones and 30 years removed from Chicago. Or maybe you’re thinking, who wouldn’t cheer for a team that hasn’t won for 100 years?

Me, I’m thinking of that great quote from Paul Farmer, the advocate for health care among the world’s poorest:

I have fought the long defeat and brought other people on to fight the long defeat, and I’m not going to stop because we keep losing. Now I actually think sometimes we may win. I don’t dislike victory.... We want to be on the winning team, but at the risk of turning our backs on the losers, no, it’s not worth it. So you fight the long defeat.

In 2008 I actually think we may win. You have to have noticed the streaks. This year’s Cubbies have been stringing together five and six in a row, especially at home. And how about the three Cub players—two playing their first year of major league ball—who top the National League All-Star voting at their position? Maybe best of all, let’s not forget Fukudome, the best Japanese import since the Toyota Prius.

Sure, we’ve been disappointed often. Some percentage of the patient sufferers around the globe who call themselves Cub fans may even expect to be disappointed. But that doesn’t stop any of us from saying, “This is the year.”

Jip Flip-Flops

Jip became eligible for American citizenship during the first term of the current U.S. president. She decided not to apply, saying, “Any country that would elect this guy is no country for me.” But lately we’ve been talking about the post-Bush era. Now she is reconsidering.

Practically speaking, we are unlikely to live in the States again. Given our givens, and the way that this century is starting out as belonging to Asia rather than America, Jip and I will probably be happiest staying in Thailand. Just the same, it’s fun discussing presidential elections with Jip.

Four years ago, she got on the phone and lobbied all of the American citizens she could think of to vote against Bush. We had heard something on the radio about the large numbers of Asian immigrants who hadn’t registered. Within a week, Jip had called people in about 20 states to make sure they knew what to do.

Since that time, phoning people has become more difficult and less interesting for her. But she’s got strong opinions. Don’t be surprised if you get a call for her sometime in the coming months, urging you to vote the right way.

Staircase Spirits

I left work after dark one night. A security guard saw that I’d come down the stairs instead of taking the elevator. As he approached me, at first I thought I had broken a rule or something. But instead he asked, “weren’t you scared?”

Lots of Thai people believe in spirits of one kind of another. You don’t have to look far to figure this out—movies and magazines on these topics are popular, amulets are everywhere. Spirit doctors are consulted for getting rid of ghosts or curses, or for helping with love troubles.

So I knew the guard wasn’t wondering if I was frightened by the low lighting in the staircase. When I told him I wasn’t worried about spirits, he answered something along the lines of “Oh, you’re the live-and-let-live type, huh?”

Not all spirits are evil. Big trees are often thought to house good spirits. Everyone who puts up a building in Thailand also builds a small house where the spirits of the land can live. The idea is that if the spirits don’t have a house of their own, they may not remain calm.

I decided to answer the security guard by pointing to the spirit house near the office. Somehow it didn’t seem right to tell him that I simply didn’t believe. I wondered later if that thought would even have occurred to him.

Burma’s Katrina

Remarkably, tragically, the news from Burma just gets more discouraging. A long-time friend of ours passed through Bangkok on a quick visit she was making to the Burmese border from Seattle in the wake of Cyclone Nargis.

She was of course furious at the Burmese government’s refusal to help its own people recover, and so had flown over on her own because she knows some back channel ways of getting help into the country.

Her sense is that the best disaster response work is being done by groups that have been operating in the country for some time, and thus have large Burmese staffs, who can distribute supplies without attracting unwanted attention from the military. Our friend was impressed with Thirst-Aid. Money contributed at my birthday fundraiser will go to them. I encourage you to send them a check as well.

She had learned that in some villages, outside medical personnel and aid dispensers had to work secretly, in order to avoid authorities who want the people to see only Burmese soldiers providing relief.

Yet the message that comes through loudest is that the government doesn’t care about anything but its own survival. Nobody is collecting the corpses. Homeless villagers who made their way to emergency shelters in nearby towns are being told that they must return “home” in order to vote in a referendum that would validate the military’s right to rule.

News coverage by the BBC remains quite good.

Joining the Middle Class

The women who take care of Jip generally are long on experience and common sense, but short on savings. They’re always from the countryside, usually supporting family back home.

If they end up working for us a while, the wages we pay allow them to put aside a little bit, enough to front the costs of a small business. The longer people stay, the greater the odds that one day they’ll show up toting Avon-style cosmetics catalogs. Two weeks ago we celebrated one woman’s first anniversary. She’s the third to have continued that long, and all three eventually discovered the makeup sideline.

They also make some cosmetic changes of their own. This week the newest caregiver (eight months and counting) giggled as she described to the others how she’d paid $100 to get permanent lip color, for the Angelina Jolie look.

Jip doesn’t care for such conversations, or for entrepreneurship involving fashion. But I think it’s fun to watch what people do when they find themselves in charge of some disposable income. Who am I to judge what they do with it?

Energy Heart

About fifty of Jip’s nursing school classmates gathered at a restaurant Sunday for a 25^th reunion. They cheered and rose to their feet when we rolled in. Jip’s grin got very wide.

She handled the attention well. When we first moved back to Thailand, connecting with people from her past was a low priority for Jip, maybe because she wasn’t sure how they’d react to seeing her in a wheelchair.

At this event, she never complained, even though it got noisy and she didn’t always know who was talking to her. It probably helped that everyone there was a nurse.

I got a little misty watching the parade of people line up to speak with her. But that was nothing compared to how I felt when we got ready to leave. The whole group sang to her, a great song that translates literally as “energy heart.” Thais use the phrase to talk about spirit, encouragement, or moral support. I just kept reaching for my hanky.