Articles

A Journey in the Shadowed Country

By D. M. Allen

As we drove over the Panomdongrak Range, which separates Esarn, the Northeast Region, from Thailand’s Central Plain, the monsoon storms rose and swept in with sheets of rain so forceful and blinding that we had to pull over to the side of the highway. Here, gigantic cement factories reign, while quarries are stripping and reducing hills to rubble and slime.

Soon we resumed the journey, leaving far behind the polluted air and the traffic jams of Bangkok. After the hills of Klongpai we descended onto the Korat Plateau, the home of the Lao-speaking Isan people.

"Welcome to my country," said my host and driver, Pira Canning Sudham, author of Shadowed Country.

In August, when the monsoon rains have turned the arid sandy soil into emerald green rice fields as far as the eye can see, it is hard to believe that this is the land that, for centuries, has been breeding poverty, hardship and migration. It is difficult to realize that under the thin topsoil, most parts of Isan have salt deposits in vast proportions.

Where the earth is bare and the rainwater has run off, leaving the ground exposed to the sun, salt crusts appear on the surface. Near the ancient town of Pimai, where a monumental Khmer stone shrine built in the 11th century still stands, Sudham showed me a huge area of salt farms. Here, rice fields have been made into beds over which salt water from beneath the surface is spread to be evaporated by sunlight.

The salt farm, in contrast to the nearby green rice fields, seem an ugly and horrid sight of the dying earth, barren and inhospitable, yielding salt wanted for industrial processes in Bangkok.

"Whether it is intentional or not, a large amount of brine from salt farms is discharged into the rice fields and water ways. You can see fields nearest to them being damaged; the soil there becomes barren and salty. Rice and other plants die, and the neighbouring rice farmers have had to give up their worthless farmland and moved elsewhere," said Sudham.

Along the way, very often, across the mesmerizing fields and through clumps of bamboo groves and trees, ornate and glittering temple roofs and pagoda spires appear near and far. It seems that each scattered village has its own Buddhist temple, giving rise to romantic notions of the exotic villages of the East. Tourists to the area may think that way, unaware of the implication of how the deforestation, eucalyptus plantations, quarries and cement plants, salt farms, pulp and paper factories, sugar factories and tapioca flour factories are affecting the land, the air and the water when measures to curb pollution are ineffective.

I remarked on the glorious sight of eucalyptus plantations in Isan, but the writer sadly said: "I wish I could see the devil’s dangerous discus as something adorable like a lotus flower." Having said so, he became silent for many kilometres. Meanwhile, I recalled a passage he wrote in his second book, People of Esarn, on the subject of deforestation in Thailand. He had written: Fast growing eucalyptus trees have been keenly chosen to be planted all over Thailand under the name of reforestation to provide wood chips and pulp to Japan and China as well as local paper factories. Eucalyptus trees are rapidly replacing tropical trees in Thailand’s forests. They greedily deplete water in the soil and moisture in the air, causing less and less precipitation. A few years after their growth, grass and other plants cannot survive underneath them due to the strong acid deposited in the soil by their fallen leaves, a self-protecting and generating way so that only eucalyptus can grow. The drive to establish the pulp and paper industry has brought directly and indirectly innumerable losses and suffering to the people who have been forced to leave their land and homes, where concessionaires have now planted the harmful eucalyptus trees. Squatters are encouraged to enter the forests and encroach on national parks and forest reserves to slash and burn so that a few years later the once lush rain forests can be officially classified as degraded. Then, because of rampant corruption, the so-called degraded forests could be "granted" to concessionaires or wealthy and powerful individuals to plant eucalyptus trees or to develop resorts, housing estates and golf courses.

Then, why is eucalyptus chosen?

Pira Canning Sudham explained: "Compared to other trees, these fast growing Australian trees can be harvested after 4-5 years of planting. The investors may not bear in mind the damage to the soil and to the climate the eucalyptus can cause as long as they can log them as quickly as possible for their purposes."

In late afternoon we arrived in Napo, the author’s home village in the most northern part of Burirum Province. Pira’s Place is a modest wooden house, not so much different from other villagers’ abodes, with a separate bungalow, which the author uses as a studio cum library. Sudham’s six excited dogs welcomed us. A few minutes later several villagers and their children appeared from their houses to greet the native son who had returned with a farang, a foreigner.

At dusk, everyone left us after having received some homecoming gifts. Here, at No.105, Baan Nong Eso, M.13, Napo District of Burirum, the writer lives alone. I knew that in 1996 he left Bangkok, where he went into public relations business as well as being a "wordsmith" in private. "Only a few friends knew that I penned a book at the time," admitted the author. "I disguised myself as an employee and later as a small time businessman in business suit and tie, kept my hair neat and short so as to be business-like and presentable. I kept a BMW and a Mercedes to give impression of being successful. I did all sort of daring things too to mislead predators, adversaries, and thought police away from the nest, belying the fact that I was vivisecting Thai society for a novel. After Shadowed Country has been published, I could no longer go under the camouflage."

Having said that Sudham discarded city clothes for a locally made silk shirt and sarong and then cooked a simple meal of rice and stir-fried vegetables and pumpkin soup. "If we were in Bangkok, you’d have some wine with dinner, I am sure, but we have to make do with rain water now," Sudham stated a mere fact, which could be construed as an apology. I considered that, with a certain degree of pinpricked conscience, one does not want to flaunt one’s wealth or steep in one’s bibulous inclination in living amidst the penurious Isan dwellers. Hence, tea was made from lemon grass that has grown in the back garden.

At night I lay awake, listening to the sounds of the village, the croaking noises large house lizards made against the hum of the cicadas, going over in my mind the author’s revelation on the subject of distilling his anger in an introduction of Shadowed Country. On this subject, Sudham said: "I want to be able to turn my anger and bitterness into wisdom, into an inspiration. It is bad taste to write with raw anger or sheer bitterness experienced recently or in childhood."

If I had not read all of his works, including Tales of Thailand, a collection of short stories, it would be difficult to imagine what could have caused so much anger, sorrow and pain in this peaceful, slumbering village.

Early in the morning, Sudham took me to the village market. Using parts of the village street, enterprising folk set up make-shift stalls to sell vegetables, fruits, meat, live fish as well as salted and dried ones, and goods from towns. An enticing aroma rose with the smoke from a charcoal stove, where a winsome young woman was busily grilling chicken pieces for sale. The business seemed brisk; sounds of laugher entwined with teasing remarks and bargaining utterances. All in Lao, of course.

The temple precinct is a few steps away and we sauntered into the holy ground. That day was a Buddhist holy day, and the monks were chanting prayers. Elderly men and women, clad in white, sat on the floor of the pavilion, immersed in the ritual. At the end of the rite, Sudham’s sister, Piang, came out of the sala to greet her brother. In Shadowed Country Piang played an important role in Prem’s life. I was deeply moved to find myself suddenly confronted with one of saga’s main characters. She is now over sixty years old. Her broad smile revealed a good set of teeth blackened by decades of chewing betel nuts and ploo leaves and lime.

Later I learned that in the novel, apart from Piang, Kum – the father, Booliang or Liang – the mother, Kiang – the brother, and Toon – the girlfriend were all real, with real names in real life as well as in the book. What can I say to them? You are internationally famous? Sadly, I learned too that they cannot read about themselves since all of Pira Canning Sudham’s works are written and published in English, without a Thai translation.

"Most inhabitants of Napo are rice farmers, whose fields have become exhausted and infertile after centuries of yielding rice," said Sudham. "To be productive they require a considerable amount of fertilizer and water. It is not easy at all to eke out a living from Isan’s sandy soil. In the hot dry months of February to May, hardly anything can grow. You can see existing plants and the trees wilt in the searing heat, and places, where water collects in the monsoon months of June to September, cracks in millions of fissures. In summer, when it is too hot and arid to till the earth, most men leave their homes to find temporary employment in Bangkok and other cities; some may pass the time in idleness or try their luck in betting at a cock fighting pit or in a gambling den. The women spin and weave silk for their own use and for sale. Having hardly anything to look forward to but only the drudgery of toiling on their farmland, growing rice, harvesting, child raising, and trying to keep body and soul together on a subsistence diet, it is small wonder that some of them fall victim to gambling and borrowing money."

To borrow money, in most cases, land title deeds are used as collateral, and in some cases the debt-ridden families end up losing their lands. In recent years, eight families have asked Sudham to pay off their debts and retrieve the title deeds from the moneylenders. In so doing, they have land to till and to live on. But now they have been hard hit by the financial crisis. The crash occurred in July 1997; since then prices of commodities have shot up. Worse still, more and more workers have returned to their home villages with little or no money after having been sacked or laid-off by employers. "Being laid-off, some unfortunate workers didn’t receive any severance pay," said Sudham. "But instead they have been given the hope that they would be called back to their jobs when the situation improves. Living in hope, the cash earners have become unemployed, depending now on the what they can find in the community and on the land. But they are still hopefully waiting to be called back to work despite the fact that years have passed since. Meanwhile, thieves prowl around villages at night, stealing chickens and things they can live on. Even in daytime men from some far-off places come to catch our dogs for food. Despite the hardship, I built a school to teach 100 boys and girls from the age of 12 to 18, using English learning to foster the thinking mind. When you look at it, it is quite simple really. First, I set up a role model for Anucha Rajapakdi, one of a supportive characters in Shadowed Country. Here, Anucha helps his students learn how to ask questions, how to be inquisitive, employing words like where, why, what, how, which, when, etc., then guide them to find answers to the questions. The question and answer sessions and discussion at this school may one day produce a number of young Isan men and women who have minds of their own, who become thinking individuals. I consider this to be one of the best gifts one can give to a human being"

Apart from running the school, Pira Canning Sudham has set up the Monsoon Country Project to supports poor villagers and their dependents to ensure that there is enough food as well as encouraging the young to complete their secondary school years, and then further their education in colleges and universities. Then he established the Sudham Prize in March 1992 to give scholarships to 100 students living in Burirum Province. Each of the sponsored students has been given a personal bank account, into which the Estate makes regular deposits at the nearby town, some ten kilometres from Napo. "The prize winners keep their bank accounts so when in need, they can go to the bank and withdraw any amount, without having to ask me for permission. I am pleased to say that only a few sponsored students have made large withdrawals for parents, who are in need or in poor health. Most of them are trustworthy, learning to be responsible and being able to manage their finances at an early age."

Sadly, he went on to say: "Nearly all of these children, when they become young men and women, will leave their homes for Kroongtep (Bangkok) or other large cities in search of employment opportunities. I hope none of them ends up in a brothel or become the victim of cruel and ruthless factory owners, who force them to work like slaves. I cannot stop them leaving; there is nothing here for them except to live off their limited pieces of land. Besides, the name Kroongtep is so magical that it attracts them, drawing them to it, like moths to the flame."

On this subject, I asked the writer about child prostitution and the selling of children into the sex trade and into slavery, which we have read and heard of so much in the international media. Sudham sighed: "If you want to see human drama and tragedy, you have only to go to Hualumpong, Bangkok Central Railway Station, where every day, for decades, the scene repeats itself until it has now become a pattern of everyday life. Each day, when trains from Isan arrive at Hualumpong, men from nearby Employment Agencies approach the newly arrived migrants. Most of these men came from Isan, exploiting the belief in Isan kinship and the Lao language to purport a genuine wish to help with jobs and accommodation. Isan boys and girls, fleeing from poverty in search of better living, are likely to fall into the trap. Then they are led from the station to the adjacent shop buildings where the so-called employment agencies are. Thinking that they are going to be taken to their legitimate employers, the victims are taken into forced prostitution, in Bangkok’s numerous sordid brothels, where some are chained and beaten. The unattractive ones are destined for sweatshops, where they are forced to work 12-15 hours a day without pay and never allowed outside. Tragically, many parents bring their own children to Bangkok to sell them to the agencies. Deals are usually for one year at 3,000 baht (50 pounds sterling) per child. In many areas in Isan, brokers are living in villages. They buy the children there and then bring them to Bangkok and distribute them to brothels and factories."

Like Kumjai, the schoolteacher in Shadowed Country, Sudham found a way to equip youngsters in and around Napo with a guiding light though his school, which had to be enlarged to accommodate increasing numbers of eager students. And like Toon Tinthaisong in Shadowed Country, Sudham recalled that he did not have enough money to buy even a pencil when he was in his the third year of his primary school. "Here, no child shall be without a pen, notebooks and textbooks and endure hunger while learning," he told me. It was his policy to provide free of charge all the lessons, writing materials, textbooks and a good meal a day at his school. Apart from having a clean, spacious and well-equipped kitchen, the building also provides amenities such as modern plumbing. "Beside my own house, the school is one of the few places in Napo that has flushing toilets, wash basins, and towels. The aim is to train the young with the idea of hygiene. Washing with soap and using towels to dry one’s hands after using the facilities may sound mundane to some, but it is quite important in this situation."

As I observed the way he conducted his classes at Salawittayatan, I had to ask him whether his way would pose a challenge to the age-old Thai classroom. "I consider my method is an alternative way of teaching and learning, without inheriting the outdated mode to which the authorities still adhere. I saw a long time ago that it is a monstrous apparatus to cripple the minds of the young so that most of us are what we have become today — the unthinking, mindless, obedient, subservient, silent mass. And you see, where critical thinking is not developed, avarice and low cunning grow hugely in its place."

Is it greed then that brought down the economy and certain institutions in 1997? "Yes, to some extent it’s avarice on a grand scale, and largely it’s rampant corruption, not only in financial institutions, banking, government, and high places, but also in all walks of life. What happened in July 1997 is merely a rash. The rot had set in decades ago. As a writer, I find this period in history very interesting, rich with material for me to use in my writing, particularly in Shadowed Country.

Of all his literary works, Shadowed Country is most fiery, making a head-on collision with what he calls the Dark Lord and exposing the unspeakably dark side of Thai society, covering the years 1981- 2004. The author has certainly exploited this tumultuous phase in Thai history to the full.

One of the days I stayed in Napo, the author took me on house calls. Wisely he visited the village headman first, with a gift of packages of imported cigarettes. At the Khamnan’s, I noticed standing taller than the house was a steel post on top of which four loudspeakers were installed. In villages all over Isan, such high steel posts with loudspeakers have been set up so that the people have to listen to Radio Thailand. "Starting at six o’clock in the morning, the blaring of the radio broadcast can ruin the day for you, but all of us silently endure and accept the noisy propaganda," said Sudham. "If this kind of forced listening takes place in a civilized society, the noise pollution alone will cause outcries from the people. You will not put up with it."

Protest is unwise. Ten schoolteachers in Isan were murdered by hired gunmen. Not far from Napo, on December 28, 1981 Tim Booning, a teacher of Baan Satuk, was shot in front of his house. Known for being a champion of the people in his district in fighting against injustice and corruption, his reward was a brutal death. Then, Tim’s friend and colleague, Somjai Uttravichian, established Tim Booning Foundation and attempted to carry on Tim’s good work. Four years later, Somjai was murdered by gunmen in his own house. Sudham took me to meet Tim’s wife and children at home in Satuk, where the Pira Canning Sudham Estate also extended assistance to the widow and her four children. "It’s a shame that in this country there is no room for good and just persons like Tim and Somjai. Still I want to make sure that their names and good deeds are not forgotten. Tales of Thailand is dedicated to Somjai Uttravichian, while together with the ten murdered teachers, my father, Kum, and Tim Booning were the models for me to create Kumjai Chaiwankul in Shadowed Country. People of Esarn is dedicated to Nid Chaiwana, teacher of Baan Huaykaew School, who was also killed by hired gunmen as he was to lead a protest against the leasing of a vast forest reserve to the rich and powerful wife of a politician," said Sudham.

In Napo, the author gave priority to the very old and the poorest of all families. He loaded his car with bottles of high quality cooking oil, top-grade fish sauce, packages of medicine to combat fever, headache and pains, and clothes. He presented these with some cash to each family. Under certain huts sick people lay with some cloths over their emaciated bodies, watched by relatives and friends.

"I wish I had a magic wand," Sudham said. "Many sick people are too poor to afford transportation to a hospital and pay for hospital bills. They just lie here waiting to recover or to die. Often I have taken the sick to Burirum Hospital, 90 kilometres away and in most cases I manage to pay for the hospital expenses. Should illness happen to strike the poor during my absence from Napo, as happened while I went to Bangkok to meet up with you, the outcome is, as you can see now: ailing, bed-ridden people have to wait."

Though I will never again see the kingdom with the eye of a naive tourist, I want to hold onto what I remember on the day I arrived in Napo. There was something idyllically beautiful about the rice fields, the sight of a boy, so alone and small in the vastness of the plain, setting his fish traps. With long bamboo poles, several men some fifty yards apart tried to hook frogs among rush stalks, while few women swung their small round nets in the water to catch shrimps and small fish for their meals. Peace seemed to pervade the land.

The day I was to leave Isan for Bangkok, I asked myself: What have I learned in Pira Canning Sudham’s world? At first, I was shocked that the characters in Shadowed Country are now old and wizened and tired. The author himself seems to retain his youthful looks and vigour, resilience and optimism against the evils that beset the country. Having lived a well-sheltered life in a social welfare society, I could not help but wonder at the author’s life to be lived daily in face of such predicaments – ignorance, superstition, forced listening, rote learning, disease, corruption, scarcity, drought, illness without medical treatment, grinding poverty, prostitution and slavery. I learned also that in his heart he cares very much for the poor and very much against the injustices in the society, the suffering of the majority of the people, and the murder of the brave and idealistic men. All of these, I see now as being evils, which look mundane and like the natural order of things on most days, except when tragedy strikes and political turmoil and massacres flare up such as the massacres of the 14th October 1973, the 6th October 1976 and the 18th May 1992, in which thousands of people were killed.

To combat evil and survive, Pira Canning Sudham must have patience, prudence and shrewdness; he resorts to using disguises and employs all the surviving tactics he knows. One should not put him under any political brand name. He is not trying to revolutionize the capitalist system, only to help make it more humane. His ethics are those, which emanate from the teachings of the Lord Buddha. He uses the art of his writing to sway the hearts of those who hold the power. Here, there is no dividing line between literature and politics, between poetic imagination and ethical integrity, between commitment and courage.

D. M. Allen
Queensland, Australia

Copyright © 2007 Pira Sudham.