Nullam arcu leo, facilisis ut!1

Isaan Insider A Quarterly Newsletter! Issue No. 2 April 2013

Majesty and Misery: Elephants in Thailand...5

Not a Lie, Just Not the Truth...9

Ajaan for a Day...12

Chasing the Mist...17

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Contents

The Land We Love . . . . . . 3

On Water . . . . . . . . . . . . 7

Mining . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9

The Thailand Experience . .11

The North . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

Spirituality . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

Glossary . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20

Letter from the Editors

! Trying to explain CIEE Thailand: Development and Globalization to those that ask is kind of like describing the Invisible Man—you know he’s there, you’ve met him and had engaging conversations, but damn it if you can’t say what he looks like. All of us on this program have had this experience, leading us to say vague things like, “well…it’s kind of like group therapy…and social issues…” or “I feel like I’ve changed in indescribable ways that I’ll now try hopelessly to describe to you,” which is one of the reasons why this newsletter has been created. You see, if you read all the articles, or at least most of them, you will come to understand our group’s experience holistically through our personal narratives. We also produce the newsletter because it is an important resource for Study Abroad Coordinators, the central body of CIEE, and because we are told to. But those reasons aside, our primary goal for the newsletter is to craft a creative, informative, and entertaining body of work that will wipe that blank stare of incomprehension off your face. The newsletter is edited and formatted (almost) entirely by student volunteers, who sacrifice personal time in which they could be doing any number of things, such as eating the late night kanom, going to noisy bars, or sleeping. Without them, you would be staring at a blank piece of paper and wondering what in the world was going on half a world away.

Ahn na kop (please read) and enjoy,

Nelson FalkenburgEditor-in-Chief

Layout Editor: Chloe GinsburgAssistant Layout Editor: Jeremy StarnCopy Editors: Eleanor Bennett, Mariko Dodson, Kelly Hardin, Corinne Molz, "" Walter Wuthmann, and Astrid QuinonesCommunications Director: Aziza Seykota

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Ban Dong Dip: The Fruits of LaborBy: Keith Warner, Ohio University

The roosters have been sounding off for what seems a lifetime when I hear Meh trying to wake me. I look at the clock. It is six in the morning and the sunrise is pouring through the wooden slats of the walls. I know I need to get up because the monks will be coming soon and it would be disrespectful not to make merit. As my feet hit the sand I get the full effect of the Thailand sunrise. Just as quickly, my Yai shoves a basket full of food into my arms. It is time to make merit and start my day.

To this point I have started most of my mornings in Thailand pondering my purpose for studying abroad. This morning I am excited to be here and the process of assimilation is moving into a new phase. After the monks leave the village it is time for breakfast, which is spread out on the porch for all to eat. After breakfast, Meh takes us to the field to show us what her family does for a living. They are organic farmers growing sugarcane, pineapple, rubber tress, corn, rice, and a host of unfamiliar plants I could not translate. I look at the dust under my feet and wonder how it is even possible to grow weeds in this soil, but from what I have learned

farming in Thailand it is all about land management. This means, for example, that when you start a rubber tree farm you plant crops between the trees and what you plant depends on how old the trees are, the state of the soil, and the season.

After emerging from the fields, Meh continues our tour of the village with trips to several neighbors’ homes. We are greeted everywhere with smiles and fruit from the fields we just toured. It seems almost surreal in that when we feel there is nothing else the villagers could possibly feed us, they produce another fruit that we had never seen or even knew existed. They love seeing our faces—we are like little children having life-changing experiences. When there are no more new fruits, the group moves on. We are then introduced to a man working under his house all alone. To our surprise and delight he gives us more food, but this is different. This is fresh coconut ice cream that had just been made by hand. Already stuffed out of my mind I graciously accept my cup of ice cream, which takes me to a happy place with each bite.

All of this happens before I would have even started my day stateside. My days here in Thailand are starting to become more of the learning experience I expected from the CIEE program. My mind and stomach are full and it is not even lunchtime. I sit to digest the morning and I feel sadness start to creep into my heart, for I have to leave this village soon. I look around, grateful that I have had this opportunity to spend the morning with the people of Ban Dong Dip.kw199210@gmail.com

The Land We LoveThe villages of Huay Rahong and Toong Lui Lai are victims of Thai forestry initiatives that have created national parks and displaced villagers. Baw Kaew is a protest village established on Thai Forest Industry Organization property, which was taken from villagers 30 years ago.

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A Shifting Perspective on People By: Chloe Ginsburg, Drake University

When I chose to come on a study abroad program entitled “Development and Globalization,” I knew I would be presented with a viewpoint that often contradicts my academic background in Environmental Policy. Environmentalists often look to unchecked development as the ultimate source of evils committed against the earth’s resources. For example, in a non-globalized world, more emphasis would be placed on sustainable living practices at a local level and economic disparities among communities would be less relevant.

Strategically pairing conservation and development has been hailed as a means to reach dual outcomes—raising communities out of poverty while also eliminating their need to unnecessarily exploit valuable natural resources. I have been intrigued by this approach for the past several years of my schooling. However, if it ever came to choosing one extreme over the other, I always assumed that I would choose the environment. I assumed that I would place people in the wrong and work to change their ways for the better.

But without meeting people affected by environmental protection efforts, how could I have possibly made this assumption? Villagers living in Huay Rahong are literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. Their village is wedged between Nam Nao National Park and Phu Pah Daeng Wildlife Sanctuary. Although some villagers have been able to reach an agreement with the wildlife sanctuary allowing them to continue to farm their traditional land, the national park completely blocks their access to forest resources. There are rumors that the government wants to join the sanctuary and the national park in order to certify the area as a World Heritage Site, a plan that would eliminate the narrow strip of unrestricted land where the village is located.

For over 100 years, Huay Rahong has maintained and managed a community forest that benefits villagers while also preserving biodiversity. It is split into three zones: one for forestry where fallen trees may be used for firewood or building, one for grazing livestock, and one strictly for forest preservation. Villagers can take herbs and vegetables growing in the first two zones for consumption or to sell. Despite such measures, the government does not acknowledge their ability to sufficiently manage the land they live on.

I was naïve to think that visiting these affected villages would confirm my simplified assumptions about their way of life. Hearing their personal accounts and aspirations for the future only forces me to realize the true difficulty of implementing intrusive conservation strategies that inherently harm communities while benefitting the ecosystem surrounding them. I am no longer universally convinced that conservation objectives can be effective and economically viable at once. But I do have a renewed faith that some cases may be ideally suited for collaborative conservation projects if researchers make the effort to truly understand the people who have known the land for generations.

My assumption that people are inherently at fault was distinctly flawed. Placing blame on people is simple because we believe that if we campaign hard enough, argue loud enough, or compensate well enough we can change people’s ways. Placing blame on international corporations, local power structures, and deeply engrained cultural norms is far more difficult.chloe.ginsburg@drake.edu

For the World is ChangingBy: Astrid Quinones, Fairfield University

!People fighting

For their right to lifeTo land, food, water,

Health and environmentThis is global

!For the world is changing

!Chilly blizzards

Destructive hurricanesHeavy rainfallsMelting icecaps

Rising temperatures

For the world is changing!

Cancers spreadingChildren, elders, ill and fragile

Technology advances butDiseases remain incurablePublic health disregarded

For the world is changing!

Rivers dammedMountaintops blastedCrops over-fertilized

Land and water contaminatedHuman rights violated

!For the world is changing

!Capitalism driving developmentIndustry controlling legislation

Consumerism dictating livelihoodGlobalization destroying local wisdom

Culture lost in transition!

For the world is changing!

Lands poisonedWater undrinkable

Health compromisedWealth prioritized

Humanity abandoned

For the world is changing

Can the earth be saved?Who should we fight?

When is it time?Is it worth the struggle?

Is there hope?!

Can the world be changed?

astrid.quinones@student.fairfield.edu

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Majesty and Misery: Elephants in Thailand By: Kayla Murphy, Tulane University

You stand stock-still. Paralyzed, in awe, wondering if your eyes are deceiving you. Is it just the glint of the setting sun casting a cruel shadow joke? No. The majestic creature striding towards you is real, and its endlessly long, leathery legs are carrying it closer to you by the second. But you are not deep in the jungle, or even traversing the dry depths of the Sahara. Is the circus in town?

It finally comes to a stop, not five feet from where you stand, towering over you with an awe-inspiring presence. Before you even have the chance to think, “Oh crap, that’s an elephant”, it is reaching its long sinewy trunk towards you. As you reach out to touch it, you realize that, yes, you are standing in the middle of the street in a Thai village touching an elephant. It is utterly incredible.

You look up into the eyes of this amazing animal, and in an instant your mystification fades to confusion. Those eyes hold the most human expression you have ever witnessed on the face of an animal and they are telling a story of pain and anguish; pleading, hoping. They look directly into your soul and beseech you to understand. Suddenly, your eyes are open, really open. You see the mahout’s menacing bull hook and the elephants scarred ears, which evidence its frequent use. You begin to wonder, to question, but you cannot comprehend. The pain in those eyes is too grave for you to fathom. What the hell is going on here?

Elephants are regal animals venerated by many for their majesty and entrancing presence. Sadly, this reverence is not shared by all for elephants in Thailand are often overworked, abused and misunderstood. If you have visited Thailand, the thought of riding an elephant has more than likely crossed your mind… and why shouldn’t it? They are one of Thailand’s main advertising points for the promotion of tourism. Elephant camps where you can ride and pose with the animals are bountiful in the country. So, why so sad Mr. elephant? We came here to see you do tricks, to ride you, and bask in your presence. We didn’t know the truth; your side of the story was lost to us.

We didn’t know that you might have been smuggled here from Burma as a baby, torn away from your family and then beaten mercilessly into submission so we could get that perfect shot of you posing in our pictures. We weren’t aware of the fact that in

the process of being taken ripped away from your family, more than five of your family members tried to save you and were all gunned down in cold blood. We didn’t know that you endured a phajaan spirit breaking ritual. We couldn’t even fathom the fact that you were tied up without food or water and beaten endlessly for days watching your friends perish around you as much from the heartbreak of losing their families as from the agonizing abuse. We had no clue that more than 90 percent of your species has been diminished in the past 100 years, or that we have played a major part in accelerating this process. We are sorry that our entertainment is valued more than your life, and the life of your family members. We didn’t know. But is that really a good enough excuse? kmurphy2@tulane.edu

A Carnivore’s Struggle By: Hannah Damgaard, Susquehanna University

I’m not ignorant to what goes on behind the scenes of the meat industry and I haven’t been for a long time now. I remember being a freshman in high school and having it all revealed to me in an environmental science class. My teacher showed us a video made by PETA of a slaughterhouse. I remember crying to the point where my sobs were making noise and having to leave the room because I felt like I was going to vomit. After that, I left the room with a new understanding that the meat industry was absolutely one of the worst things for the environment and that animals are basically tortured in order for us to eat a meal. I decided I needed to stop eating meat. That night at dinner before even getting a chance to tell my mom about my day, I remember having some sort of delicious smelling meat cooking in the oven. It was all down hill from there.

Why is it that you can feel so passionate about a subject once you are faced with the reality of it and then the next moment when you are faced with the nice, attractive side of things, everything you believe in goes out the window? That is what I have been struggling with these past years in my studies. It is so hard to learn about all the things that society is doing wrong and constantly struggle to understand how to even begin to make it right.

Now, here I am half way through my stay in

“If you have visited Thailand, the thought of riding an elephant has more than likely crossed your mind… and why shouldn’t it? They are one of Thailand’s main advertising points for

the promotion of tourism.”

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Thailand, being confronted with these same emotions. I find myself confiding in the people on my program because I’ve never had a group of people in my life that had such similar concerns as mine, all going through the same frustrating emotions as me. As I spend time with these people and get to know them more, it intrigues me how they deal with the reality of the issues we study, and I find comfort in their words. One thing I’ve noticed greatly is that almost 50 percent of the people on this program are vegetarians and I’ve never been around such a large crowd of them before. I notice myself envying them for their selflessness and pondering my own inability to make that kind of commitment. I gravitate towards the veggies of the group and I see myself asking more and more questions about this concept, as if I’m almost trying to get them to convince me to become one.

As we were driving back one day from a homestay in a van full of vegetarians, we turned to the right and saw a truck double stacked full of pigs, one on top of each other in cages. I could see their sad, long faces and the tears started rolling. It was that moment that got me, and I vowed to the veggies and myself that I was no longer eating meat.

I’ve been a vegetarian for about a month now and I’ve been surprised as to how easy it’s been. I haven’t had any real cravings and the only time I do want meat is when I’m hungry and I see someone else eating it. At that point I just turn away and find my own meal. I’ve even convinced another awesome chick to try it out with me. My main goal is to never give up even if I slip, and to always reeducate myself about the truth. I love all the support and encouragement that I have been receiving from my friends and now I find myself on the other side of the equation, having people tell me how strong and selfless I’m being. But honestly, while some might think that these motivations are noble, I hardly think so anymore. I think that they are an ample mix of selfish and collective concerns, ones that recognize my desire to live a long, healthy, guiltless life and at the same time wishing and allowing the same for others. damgaard@susqu.edu

“Animals are my friends . . . and I don't eat my friends.”!

—George Bernard Shaw

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BabblingBy Nelson Falkenburg, Whitman College

Under a single bare bulb, we sit and talk with my Pah: the tables have been cleared, all the Sato rice wine has been drunk, and the cheeping chicks provide ambience. The amber glow of the bulb accentuates the deep creases in my Paw’s face, which I am staring at intently. He is telling me his life story, or at least I assume so. With a very rudimentary understanding of the Thai language and no translator, I’m able to catch about every fifteenth word. I understand generally that he’s talking about the river, the loss of traditional culture, his daughters, and Thai politics. These are the words I know, but I infer relentlessly as he speaks. I fill in the unknown with his gesticulations, the candor of his voice, the shape of his eyebrows, what he repeats, and when he laughs. I know that if I try very hard, if I focus on his face and watch his hands closely, there is a truth I can realize, deeper than words.

His hands are veined and cracked, fluttering around his head like leaves as he explains swimming in the river—I can picture him in his youth. His hands conjure vivid images of a dark young man whose muscles ripple as he dives from a shallow canoe, who gathers snails on sandbars, who dips woven nets into clear pools, catching silver fish in the Mun River.

In my mind I see myself enter the river with him. I am pulled under the surface by the deep, dark, glistening wells of his eyes. His

eyes, dtah in Thai, are filled with naam, water, as he explains the damming and desecration of the river. The salty naam in his eyes is the same water that flows through the river, meh naam in the Thai language, which directly translates to “mother water.” “Mother water” is not a misnomer or a poor translation—the people of Gudt Manoh, my Pah’s village, are provided for by the river, were raised on her banks, and exist because of her bounty. Mother water gives water in the wet season, nourishing crops and water buffalo, while flooding her shores occasionally, allowing for wetlands to thrive along her banks. The people rely on her for the reeds they weave their mats from, for the gathering of vegetables along her banks, and for the fish in

her waters. The damming of the Mun River is death by strangulation—the murder of a mother—and the inevitable orphaning of a community.

Then again, I don’t know if he actually said any of this. These words did not come from his mouth, but were communicated through a form transcending words. That form is difficult to define: the term “body language” is too simple, and “spirit conversation” too abstract and mystical. The reality probably lies in a mixture of the two, alongside an immense helping of empathy, and with a sprinkling of verbal language.falkenna@whitman.edu

!"#$#%&'%!()#$By Keith Warner, Ohio University

It is where I started" A new life surrounded by water

It is where I gained strength" A baby eating every meal mixed with water

It is where I made mistakes" A boy filling his lungs with water

It is where I grew up" A teenager being pulled across the water

It is where I live" A young man rising each morning to the sounds of the water

It is where I want to be" A man splashing and playing with his family in the water

It is where I have always been" A happy life surrounded by water

kw199210@gmail.com

On WaterThe Rasi Salai and Hua Na Dams, part of the Thai government’s Kong Chi Mun Irrigation Project, have had a significant impact on the Na Pedt and Gudt Manoh communities, which are located on the Mun River’s banks. The dams have caused widespread flooding of villager property, resulting in the destruction of farmers’ rice fields and critical wetland areas.

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FrenemiesBy Walter Wuthmann, Bowdoin College

Thai people say that the country has three seasons: hot, hotter, and hottest. Right now we’re plunging into “hottest.” Although it doesn’t rain much during this season, farmers often burn the leftover sugar cane leaves and stalks from their fields, creating strange little storms of black soot falling from the sky. ! ! ! ! !Last month I sat on the porch of an NGO’s office when one of these strange weather events occurred. We were talking to an NGO named P’Pramode (NGO in Thailand stands for Non-Governmental Organizer). He was speaking to us about the corrupt Forest Industry Organization (FIO), a state-run agency that grows Eucalyptus trees for government revenue, and one of his major opponents in the battle for political justice. As he raised his voice and waved his hands, black flakes danced around his face and fell at his crossed feet. He came to a pause and scooped some of the ash off the ground. He pointed to the burning field across the creek and with a smile said, “the farmer over there is an FIO officer.” I asked what it was like

living across from his sworn enemy. P’Pramodt responded, “It’s fine. He comes across the creek sometimes to say hello. He just does his job and I do mine.”! ! ! ! !A month later, a group of students and I walked across the Hua Na Dam in Si Sa Ket Province. The weather was even hotter. Our guide was Pah Deng, a village elder fighting to keep the gates of the dam open in order to prevent his village from being flooded. The dam was built and operated by the Royal Irrigation Department (RID – the acronyms never end), which plans to close the gates of the dam and turn the surrounding land – including Pah Deng’s farmland – into an irrigation reservoir. As the sun beat down and the river water evaporated around us in a salty steam, a black SUV rolled up and a Lacoste-clad Thai man jumped out. He and Pah Deng embraced and laughed, they grabbed each other at the elbow and slapped their knees. When the bro-hugs ended, Lacoste guy whipped out his iPad, took a picture of us farang, and drove away. I asked Ajaan John, “Who is that?” He smiled and replied, “RID.”! ! ! ! !I later asked Pah Deng how he became such

good friends with the RID official. He told me that after protesting outside the RID’s regional headquarters for six months straight, living, eating, and sleeping on the lawn outside the air-conditioned hallways, you get to know each other pretty well. “Now I just walk in their office like it’s my own home,” he told me.

Thinking about political struggles back home, I can’t imagine fights such as these ever resulting in friendships. We take our issues, arguments, and opinions so personally – try to imagine Ralph Nader and Dick Cheney ever locking in a tender embrace. It seems that the people I’ve met here are much more able to s e p a r a t e s o m e o n e ’ s p r o f e s s i o n a l responsibilities from his or her personality. This concept is foreign to me as an American, but part of me wonders if it’s a better way to operate. I think that someone is much more likely to respect your opinions, whether they be professional or political, if he or she likes you on a personal level. So next time my own enemy speaks, whomever they may be, I’m going to try harder to actually listen to what they say. Then maybe afterwards we could get a beer.wwuthmann@bowdoin.edu

Water, Water

! ! I Ponder

! ! ! Where You Wander!! ! Through The Earth! ! ! ! ! ! In Our Bodies! ! ! ! Why Do We! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! Always Thirst

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Mining

Not a Lie, Just Not the TruthBy: Maia Cole, Amherst University

For the villagers of Na Nong Bong in Loei Province, it is an “undisputed fact” that their water sources and soil are contaminated with high levels of cyanide and heavy metals. The contamination, in turn, hurts villagers’ health and irreparably damages the environment. It is also an “undisputed fact” that the Tungkum Limited (TKL) Mining Company holds responsibility for the contamination because they have been operating a gold mine in the community for five years. The villagers’ undisputed goal, therefore, is to end the mine operation and begin reconstructing their damaged environment.

But for TKL, it is an “undisputed fact” that the cyanide contamination in the tailings pond, which holds the chemical runoff from the mine, is very low, registering at less than twenty parts per mi l l ion (ppm). In

comparison, cyanide contamination in a cup of coffee is about six hundred ppm, according to TKL’s managing director. It is also an “undisputed fact” that they test the water flowing from the mine into the village every day, and if it registered much higher than twenty ppm, TKL would shut down the operation. It is, therefore, impossible that the mine is the source of villagers’ health and environmental problems.

The Na Nong Bong community and TKL represent opposing sides in the ongoing fight over the gold mine. It is easy for many of us on this program, coming from an anti-corporate, pro-villagers position, to dismiss the TKL’s words as bald-faced lies, a cheap attempt at good publicity. But in the words of Albus Dumbledore, “Soon we must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy.”

It is easy to uphold one argument as the objective truth, and discard all others as distortions. It is natural to latch on to one idea as correct, because doing so simplifies what we see as reality. If there is one explanation, one course of action, one truth, then all we must do is follow that path.

But almost immediately, we will run into problems. In the case of Na Nong Bong, both sides have scientific research and facts to back up their claims, but each side still entirely contradicts the other. This sort of dilemma comes up again and again, whether it’s among theologians arguing over the true meaning of religion, politicians debating the best economic plan, or villagers and the government fighting over how high the water level in a reservoir can be before it destroys the village land. In many of these situations, I am tempted to pick a side as “truthful” if it agrees with my ingrained biases. But how can that be the truth if so many others disagree with it, and can support their positions with reasoned argument?

I am here to say that really, there is not and never will be a single truth in any situation. At

least, there will never be a single truth that we, as unknowing and fallible humans can discover. But that’s okay.

It’s okay because knowing that there is no truth enables us to listen more to each other. Instead of tolerating differences of opinion, we can actively accept and welcome them. Perhaps most importantly for me, this means that there is no one way we have to act. We don’t have to, and in fact should not, pick a po l icy or deve lopment pro jec t and determinedly stick with it, as is often the case with politicians. We can think and act and learn differently. For me, accepting that an objective truth simply cannot exist opens the way for change because we are never tied into just one perspective. It is immensely freeing.

As I start preparing to think about going home, I’m going to hold on to this knowledge and this feeling. Knowing that there is not just one way to be means that I don’t have to return home and fall back into who I was before the program. It means that we all can allow the program to change us.mcole14@amherst.edu

Vantage Point From the OutsideBy: Aziza Seykota, Washington University

I feel torn. I am so confused. I have newfound insight that much of the things I have done in my life are hollow. I know this is a bit strange to start an article like this, but it is the only way that seems to fit. This is a bit terrifying for me, too. It’s a little disturbing realizing that everything that seemed important for your entire life suddenly isn’t and that all your paradigms are suddenly shattered.

Something switched on in my head after staying with a community of villagers we visited in rural Northeast Thailand as part of our program. Meeting people without the pressure to consume and who live their lives a

The Tungkum Ltd. Mining Company (TKL) began mining one kilometer away from Na Nong Bong in 2004. Ever since, there have been significant health impacts on seven villages closest to the mine. TKL is currently pushing to expand operations to a nearby mountain, potentially impacting another six villages in the immediate area.

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completely different way than we do in America is awakening.

Suddenly consumerism is all I can think about. When I read articles now, I find connections everywhere. My eyes have tunnel vision, and everything I see seems to connect to some aspect of the buying culture and the desire to always want more. Oftentimes, I feel on the verge of crying.

I am mourning every belief system I have had for the last 20 years. It’s weird when you think that you are doing a good job in your life, that you have your ducks in a row by your culture’s standards, and then you suddenly realize that you have been playing the wrong game, in a sense you were not even living. It’s quite disorienting.

Many of us are not present. We cannot see that we have enough. Any motivations driven by deep meaning are covered over with messages to consume, to get a job, to earn large amounts of money, to buy all the things we see on TV and that our friends have. We feel that we need the newest version of any product after two months, that worn and un-new is negative, and that these things we buy connect directly to the core of our being and identity.

Success, as we know it in America, has never meant so little to me as it does now. We are

successfully oblivious that there is a whole world outside the meaningless game we play with money and possessions.

But I am still scared to go back. The pressures of American culture seem heavy and oppressive. I feel it like thick rain clouds, and me breaking free at times—glimpses of sunshine piercing through. I feel strong and clear some days, foggy and confused others.

My experience here has been life-changing. I never had the opportunity to look at my American culture from a vantage point other than from within. I invite you to step outside your own current vantage point and see what i t l o o k s l i k e f ro m t h e o t h e r s i d e. azizasekota@gmail.com

Gold for All, and All for GoldBy: Ben McCormack, Bates University

“The water’s so clean you can go swimming in it!” exclaims the CEO of the gold mine company Tungkum Limited. I imagine him racing off, and with a twist of his body, joyously swan-diving into the pool of water. “I try to get my laps in every morning,” he pants as he emerges, drenched and dripping like a creature from a black lagoon.

This pool of water is actually a tailings pond, which is another way of saying it’s a pit filled with cyanide wastewater that’s been processed through a factory and is waiting to be reused. I know one’s immediate thought might be that such water couldn’t possibly be safe for human contact. Surely no sane person would ever willingly expose themselves to such a substance? But I assure you, it’s quite harmless. The CEO of a big multi-million dollar company told me that the water was “contaminate free.” Everyone knows that company executives cannot tell lies, just like our founding father George Washington.

This particular tailings pond only has cyanide levels of 20 parts per million. According to the CEO, cigarettes have 1600 parts per million. Almonds and coffee are right up there too. So before you sip that grande mocha frappuccino, stop and think. Do you really want all that extra cyanide in your body? You might as well just import your water from a tailings pond because it’d be much safer for consumption, with an added benefit of seeming cultured and exotic.

The CEO continues to fill my brain with knowledge. He informs me that the mine has very little impact on the surrounding villages located a couple kilometers down the mountain. The oily orange goo enmeshed in the trickling creeks and streams? It’s always

been there. The sickening sheen may be a telltale sign of acid mine drainage, but let me be clear, it’s not from the gold mine. It’s simply a byproduct of the heavy metals that occur naturally in the area.

If only those pesky naturally occurring heavy metals would remain underground, trapped amongst layers of rock! It’s just really hard for them to stay put, especially with all of the drills and dynamite and bulldozers and pick-up trucks.

According to the CEO, the villagers have even seen some improvements to their livelihoods. Since the build-up of metals and cyanide in the soil has inhibited some villagers from growing crops, many people now have more free time! Although I personally don’t see the big deal—if my almonds and coffee have cyanide in them, why shouldn’t my soy and rice products as well? I’m all for equality when it comes to the poisoning of my food.

With all of this extra time on their hands, villagers have the luxury of caring for those whose nervous systems have begun to fail or spending more time foraging for food in the wetlands. A necessity now that most of the fish seem to have mysteriously gone away. The acidic cyanide water was probably just too clean for them.

When the mining company wraps up production in ten years, they’ll even leave the land as they found it: a concave mountain, a massive gaping abyss. Another pockmark on the greasy adolescent face called Thai development.

I learn from the CEO that the real issue here is the poor plight of the mining company. Attempting to fulfill the insatiable appetite of global consumers for shiny objects is really quite difficult. It doesn’t help that the value of gold is steadily increasing either. It’s really hard to make so much money at the expense of the people. They even have to deal with a protest every now and then. Playing the role of hapless victim, the CEO criticizes the central government for its lack of support and corruption. This is the same government that put a mining license into his hands, the same government that ignores its people for the sake of economic development. “In America you have the power to change the law, but in a developing country like Thailand money has the power,” he whines.

Then he sputters, “Our company is like a cake and everyone wants a piece.” This is the most truthful statement to leave his lips all day. Global gluttony runs deeper than the veins of ore flowing beneath mountains. bmccorma@bates.edu

“You must change yourself to

become a better example for the

people around you. This is a good education for yourself and for

others.”—P’Decha

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The Thailand Experience

The U-Fac ExperienceBy Melanie Ferraro, University of Colorado Boulder

Unit facilitation is exhausting and stretches you to your limits—no sleep, no meal that isn’t dedicated to planning, and no time to slow-down in order to process what you’re experiencing. It forces you to work very intensely for long hours with people who have working styles very different from your own.

Each student on this program is required to be a unit facilitator (U-Fac) once during the semester. As unit facilitators, we work in teams of three or four to plan sessions, cultivate discussion, and guide the group towards a greater understanding of the issues we’re studying. Despite these challenges, unit facilitation has been the most rewarding part of our program for me. It is where I’ve experienced the most personal growth, by acquiring new group skills and a greater understanding of myself.

Here are three of the most significant things I took away from my time as a unit facilitator:

1. How to work as a team in an academic setting with people different from myself. Because we spent count l e s s hour s collaborating with one another, it became apparent the three of us have very different working styles. One of us liked to pound things out all at once, the other two liked to break things up over time. Two of us were detail-oriented, the other focused more on the big picture. The list goes on. While frustrating at times, respecting our diversity and finding ways to compromise accordingly ultimately made us a more cohesive group and effective facilitators. We learned to see our differences as strengths that completed our team.

2. How to be a supportive team member. Until now, any academic group work I’ve done has been fairly formal- personal relationships and emotions are left at the door since the group’s sole focus is to produce an output. I loved facilitating because it was my first time in a situation where group dynamics and personal relationships were just as important as the final product. Often our planning meetings started with an energy check-in to see how we were doing emotionally and how we could support one another before diving into the planning itself. As U-Facs, we had to learn to support each other academically and emotionally both within and outside the classroom.

3. We have the power to maximize our education. As U-Facs, we entirely planned our classroom encounters, allowing us to create our own educational experience.

Instead of being a passive student, I was encouraged to change what I thought needed improvement and try alternative ways of engaging the material. I look forward to using these new skills when I return home in order to make the best possible educational experience for myself.

Through all of this I learned an incredible amount about my own working style and thought processes. I had to learn to be patient, understanding, and accepting of my teammates and their needs, how to listen to my group, and how to give up control in group situations. Ultimately this challenged me to be a better teammate, a better person, and a better friend. I’m excited to continue building upon these lessons learned within my personal relationships and within myself once I return home. melanie.ferraro@colorado.edu

This section is a collection of reflections, unique experiences, and some humor, all of which help illustrate our time here in the Land of Smiles.

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Emma Balmuth-Loris, Brandeis University

As our program progresses and we delve deeper into the topics, our student group has become much more at ease living in Thailand. Along with that, our comfort and ability to use Thai has immensely improved. This was definitely displayed when eleven of us went to volunteer at a school for an afternoon during our trip to visit dam-affected communities. P’Banya, an NGO we exchanged with during our stay in the village, set us up at the school. P’Banya was able to do this through his connection with the local Learning Center, a place where villagers can educate themselves about the Rasi Salai and Hua Na dams that were built more than a decade ago in the area. The dams have had a devastating effect on the crop yields of hundreds of villagers and the Learning Center is working to engage youth more in their activities. As part of this youth initiative, the center expressed to us that going to a nearby school to teach English would be beneficial.

After eating one of the most delicious vegetarian meals since being in Thailand, we split into four different stations teaching a range of words, from directions to body parts to daily routines. We tried to make it as fun and interesting as possible because we knew what it’s like to sit in a language class for so many hours. We played the hokey pokey, follow the leader, and had them draw pictures throughout each station. It was an interesting experience because we went from listening to the Ajaans, to becoming the Ajaans for a day. The children were so cute, running around and getting into all the activities we had planned out for them. They loved when we played the hokey pokey and screaming the words with us.

We all had so much fun playing and teaching the children–we probably enjoyed it just as much as they did. One of my favorite parts of teaching the students was when we were teaching them how to pronounce the body parts; the Thai teachers were trying to learn them too. They kept asking us to repeat the words over and over so that they could pronounce it correctly themselves. This is when I realized how strange some English words sound. “Mouth,” ironically, is incredibly difficult to pronounce. This realization made me appreciate that pronouncing some Thai words are not as bad as I think; English is actually equally hard to learn. After this experience, I definitely have a higher appreciation for the Ajaans who teach us, as well as fully understanding how hard English is to learn for a majority of the world. emma@balmuth-loris.com

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Melanie Medina, Whitman College

It’s always hard to convey your study abroad experience to people who’ve never been, but our program in particular is especially challenging.

“How are your classes in Thailand?” our friends and family at home ask. “Do you like your teachers?”

Well, we don’t really have either of those. "Instead, we have exchanges: two-hour Q&A sessions with people who are directly affected by the issues that we study.

Picture a gaggle of American students sitting in a circle on the ground, sweating profusely and reminding each other not to point their feet at people—the last thing we want to do

is offend our interviewees. This non-traditional learning format takes a while to get used to. We’ve had late-night, after-dinner exchanges when we’re struggling to stay awake after gorging ourselves on sticky rice and kai tjiao; afternoon exchanges in the heat of the day, when all anyone wants to do is nap; morning exchanges in over-air-conditioned meeting rooms, shivering in our polite clothes as district officials present Powerpoint presentations written in Thai that go on and on; and exchanges where NGOs and activists ask us what we’re going to do with what we’ve learned, when we still have no idea ourselves.

No one tells us what to ask about. There’s no test at the end to assess what we’ve learned. We often don’t even know who exactly we’ll be talking to: asking our Program Facilitators for more information usually results in more questions than answers. It’s up to us to figure out what information is important, and how to get it.

But there is so much to learn. We talk to village headmen, farmers, mothers with kids on their laps, and old paws with cataracts who’ve had a bit too much Lao Kao (rice whiskey). Freelance lawyers, district officers, the head of a mining company’s PR, and government mouthpieces confused about why we’re talking to them. Green market entrepreneurs, leaders of social and environmental movements, and community organizers so distinctive, each individually is referred to as an NGO. And the questions aren’t all one-way: a true exchange is more like a conversation. We bring an outside perspective and our own experiences with issues that we study, answering questions with whatever limited knowledge we have. Villagers fighting for adequate compensation from the Royal Irrigation Department when their land floods from their dam project want to know about American environmentalists

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successfully removing dams from rivers. Villagers living with water and food sources contaminated by a nearby gold mine want to know how public participation is attained in North American mining processes.

Instead of doing research just to turn in a paper at the end of this program (although we’ll be doing that too), we will be working to make something that we can give back to the people we’ve talked to and learned from. It’s a nice change to use our growing knowledge for something other than a grade on a transcript.medinamj@whitman.edu

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Jeremy Starn, Art Institute of Boston

Hello? Is there anyone out there? Didn’t mean to bother you, I just popped out to say “Hi.” My name is Mr. Skitters, but I doubt most people even know cockroaches have names. They mostly just scream and run away when they see me. It makes it difficult to make friends, which is probably why I don’t have any.

I’ve been living underneath the sink in the Student Activities Room for a few years now. I used to live by the rags at the motorcycle

shop next door, but it was quite loud and their Chihuahua was always chasing me around. Sorry, am I rambling? I didn’t mean to waste your time, are you sure you don’t need to be somewhere? People don’t usually stop to chat with me. If you have a second, let me tell you about some of the CIEE students.

It all started a few months ago when the new group showed up. They’re obviously from America, you can tell by their skittishness around small insects. I was enjoying a few crumbs that I had saved from the last group when they boisterously barged into the room. It was dark so I was able to scuttle away before they saw me. A first impression is very important you know, and this time around I was going to make sure it would be a positive one. Would these students be different? I was skeptical, why do I always have to make the first introductions? Am I being too forward? What if they don’t like me?

After a few weeks of being shy and generally avoiding them, I decided today was the day. I was going to try to introduce myself. I had found that the previous groups of students didn’t particularly like me walking up to them. They tended to flip chairs over and run out of the room; if you’ve ever had that happen to you then you know how depressing it can be. It really hurt my feelings and I wanted to avoid that happening again.

I decided I would crawl into the fridge and sit next to Mr. Somdtam. He was grumpy, as usual, (I think because the students didn’t finish him again) and he didn’t say much. I was very nervous, I cleaned my antennas until they were nice and shiny and slicked back my wings. Fidgeting endlessly, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about what my future friends and I might do together. Maybe we would paddleboat around the lake, or go see a movie!

Just then the fridge door opened up, the light turned on, blinding me, and I ran off the shelf in sheer terror, landing right on a student’s foot! Before I could say “Well hello, sir!” they screamed and jumped in the air, almost crushing me! What a fright! I retreated underneath the fridge, scared to death and a nervous wreck to boot. Why do they always scream? I thought they liked me, especially after all the food they had been leaving me. This incident left me very confused and frightened. I decided from then on to approach them only when they dropped food for me, hopefully this won’t warrant any unnecessary screaming in the future.jerjstarn@gmail.com

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Eleanor Bennett, Middlebury College

I hesitate.

You are dark and murky. Your clay basin, endless. Glorious morning. So cold.

Take a deep breath. Hah.Scoop water, and pour- little plastic SpongeBob bowl. Chills down my spine.

A shriek in the dawn.Did anyone hear that?Silence. Phew.

Attempt salty toothpaste. Never again.Eight eyes watch from dark cobwebs. No turning back now.

Inhale, exhale. Brace myself. Splash. Tingles on my skin. Splash. Hair-raising goosebumps.Splash. Heart pounding. Lungs expanding.

Splash. Invigorating. Another splash. Joy!Exhilaration!

Oh Ab Naam!I Am Awake At Last!

“No one tells us what to ask about. There’s no test at the end to assess what we’ve learned. We often don’t even know who exactly we’ll be talking to: asking our

Program Facilitators for more information usually results in more questions than

answers. It’s up to us to figure out what information is important, and how to get it.”

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Conflicted EmotionsBy Kaitlin Reed, Susquehanna University

On my return to Thailand, I’ve found it difficult to deal with not being around Thai people as much as I was during my time here in high school. I’m home, but I’m not seeing anyone from my home. I’m not spending time with the people who changed my life and who helped mold me into the person I am today. I can’t spend time with them because my days are spent inside a classroom with 21 other people from the USA. Our free time is limited and not many of my old friends go to this university, so that also makes it hard to see them. To be honest, it’s almost disheartening.

But I have come to realize that I don’t know as much about this place as I thought I did. However, I’ve been learning, and it breaks my heart to know what I know now. My home in Isaan is filled with suffering; the suffering of peoples’ land wrongfully taken from them by the government; the suffering of communities losing their way of life to flooding from dams or contamination of mines. But I have hope. Hope for the new families I’ve met through home stays and the future that they have ahead of them. Hope for their strength and their happiness.

I find it unsettling how much is kept hidden beneath the surface; how sheltered we are in the world; how many wrongs are being committed against these wonderful people who want nothing more than to live and love one another. I am inspired by the fact that no matter what is going on in their lives and how bad it gets, they always find happiness. They always stay smiling. And because they’re smiling, I’m smiling, too.

Although I don’t get to see my old family and friends, I have met new people; happy, smiling people who are starting to impact my life. And the connections I have through old friends and family are helping me make new ones. The connections may be small, but through these seemingly small connections I’m making bigger ones. I’m making more friends, more family, meeting more people who I know will ultimately impact my life in greater ways than I or anyone else could imagine. And I’m ready for it. I’m open to it.reedk@susqa.edu

Quaker StyleSonja Favaloro, Bates College

In the bustle and rush of life here in Thailand I often feel like a yellow sponge, brightly and eagerly absorbing beautiful, terrifying, and inspiring experiences. However, my sponge-self gets overwhelmed without time to pause, to sit in a calm space and wring out some of the juicy, rich stuff I’ve been soaking up. Finding time and space to process not only my daily external experiences but also the murky inner life of my mind and emotions is essential. Reflecting allows a chance to catch up with myself, which in turn allows me to stay open and present.

The day after returning from one of our home-stay villages, our Program Facilitators split us into small groups of five and led us into a dimly lit room where we sat in a circle. I felt wary of this meeting being one more of the usual, writing lists of adjectives on a blackboard or goal-setting. I was relieved when instead our facilitator announced that we would have a Quaker-style meeting. This meant, she explained, that silence is valued and we would sit and speak when we feel moved to, and do not directly respond to others’ words. Silence is valued…I realized how strange these words sounded, how uncomfortable it felt to sit, just sit, in a chair in a space with other people and not be constantly talking, shifting, or even looking at one another.

Slowly I felt myself slipping into a place of calm like cool dark water. When I spoke, I felt my words pour like water into the basin of space and just float there. They broke the glassy surface of the silence we had created, and I could see them rippling out to others as they looked me in the eyes and let my words in. And then when my friend spoke next I saw her words spilling out of her slowly clearly into the basin, melding with mine while still bravely her own.

There was rare luxury in telling someone with my eyes, my presence, and the respect of my silence, I hear you. You are not alone.

And in that open space, I felt myself voicing a dark purple pain that had lodged itself somewhere under my enthusiasm for new adventures and new people, my daily joy at peach sunsets and new Thai foods. The pain was an unresolved conflict with a loved one at home. Once I spoke those hard words, it was a rare luxury that no one responded to me-- no one said ‘don’t be sad’ or ‘it will get better’ or asked ‘why?’ My pain slithered out into the basin of our circle, naked and disoriented after weeks of lying hidden in me. And when I could see it, and so could everyone else, I felt it weaken. Silence washed over me, over us. Silence is valued. Silence is healing.

The Quaker meeting for me was expression as much as it was communication. It was release and acceptance. It was slowing down the pace of our frantic and fantastic experience to get in touch with what else is swimming beneath the surface, and trusting each other enough to let those things swim out.sonjafavaloro@gmail.com

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The North

The Oshi AnswerBy Nelson Falkenburg, Whitman College

“Aragorn, Aragorn,” Oshi whispers, a grin spreading across his face as he hands me a glass of rice whiskey, “Once you drink spirits, you have arrived in the village.” The clear liquid traces a line of fire down my throat and I choke down a cough. “Aroi, wee, sebp” I say, trying to convey the deliciousness of the gasoline. I don’t want to offend Oshi, or the spirits.

Oshi is somewhat of an enigma—a perfect contradiction, a walking paradox. He wears skinny jeans, but a traditional Bogagayo woven shirt. He plays the Thana, a traditional stringed instrument, but he knows the chords to “Imagine.” His first language is Bogagayo, but he is also fluent in English. In truth, Oshi straddles the cultural divide that all hill tribe people face—modernization and tradition. However, unlike the country of Thailand, which has generally been complacent in its runaway development, Oshi has been intentional about what he draws from American culture; he enjoys Lord of the Rings because it relates to a Bogagayo folktale, he consciously buys his western clothing secondhand, and the music he listens to is didactic—music with a moral.

Twenty-six years ago Oshi was born in a rice field, and following the tradition of the Bogagayo Hill Tribe, he was named after the

circumstances of his birth. I presume this means that “Oshi” is Bagagayo for “born in a rice field,” which seems remarkably succinct. Nevertheless, he has since focused on preserving the rich cultural practices of the Bogagayo in the face of burgeoning development.

Over two days and two whiskey-saturated nights in the hill tribe, we got to know Oshi well. We talked about love. Oshi isn’t married because, according to him, he has the mind of a sixty year-old (in terms of wisdom, not Alzheimer’s). Also, the courtship process for the Bogagayo is very competitive, as thirty men vie for the hand of one woman, while sitting altogether in a room with her and her father. Apparently, most men make an average of thirty proposals before finally getting hitched. It was unclear through our conversation whether this tradition persisted today, but it was clear that Oshi wanted no part in it.

We talked about religion. When Ben said that he wasn’t religious, Oshi, without missing a beat, and with a sly grin responded, “Are you afraid of the dark?” leaving us to contemplate the very roots of religion. In the Bogagayo tradition there are thirty-seven different spirits representing animals and natural features in the landscapes. The extinction of an animal, or the destruction of the forest, represents sickness in the world, an imbalance.

We talked about laziness, we talked about community, we talked about materialism, and

we talked about the world views of our two cultures. We talked until the sun set and our Paw turned on the solar panel-powered light, until only fumes were left in the whiskey bottle, until our eyelids threatened closure, and until I finally understood what was so special about Oshi. In him lies the answer to reckless development.

At this point it is impossible to halt development in Thailand, not just because the mechanism is too big, but also because people have the right to determine their own lifestyles. And yet, rarely does one find someone like Oshi, who has felt the invisible hand of development, but speaks wisdom to the specter, keeping tradition alive through practice and storytelling. Oshi is neither ignorant nor naïve—he understands Western ideals and culture, but deliberately lives outside that lifestyle, embracing his Bogagayo heritage. I imagine him as the poster child of NGOs, a less destructive and better-shaven Che Guevara. He is the model for sustainable progress; he should be made into an action figure and sold to every boy and girl in Thailand, perpetuating—and rebelling against—material consumption.

But alas, I was only able to discover that Oshi is a model for sustainable development, not how he came to be that way, or whether his ideologies are replicable. For that I may need a coup le more bot t l e s o f whi skey. falkenna@whitman.edu

EMPOWERBy Astrid Quinones, Fairfield College

After spending two months studying issues regarding the environment and human rights’ violations through the lens of Northeastern Thailand, CIEE Thailand traveled to Chiang Mai to look at these issues from a different perspective. During our trip, we visited the Can-Do Bar, home of EMPOWER.

EMPOWER is a national organization founded by sex workers, for sex workers.

To provide a comparison for Isaan, the program traveled to Northern Thailand. We stayed with a Karen village which has only recently been exposed to development due to their seclusion, and a village that has successfully fought against the Keng Sua Ten Dam for the last 20 years.

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Located above the Can-Do Bar, we had the opportunity to tour its two floors that facilitate its mission to educate and empower women sex workers in Thailand. The space includes a library, gym, office, computer room and, most importantly, two classrooms. Theses two classrooms are where the women, who come on a walk-in basis for 1 baht a day, are taught English and Thai. What is so incredible about these classes is that they are designed to be applicable to their work. Their education motto is “learning by doing.” The women are learning English phrases, that they can use to speak with farang, such as, “would you like a drink,” or “do you have a condom?” They are even learning the alphabet in both English and Thai.

This organization also teaches them how to fill out job and identity card applications. Many of the women have been able to get the American equivalent of a GED or a high school diploma after taking these classes not only because they are learning the skills necessary, but also because the staff encourages and empowers the women that they can succeed. But enough about EMPOWER, which I think is doing a great deed to the women of sex work. Let’s talk about the exchange with the bartenders of Can-Do Bar.

After the tour, the student group interviewed the lovely bartenders of the bar that is underneath EMPOWER. Sex workers who do not have social security or health care founded the bar six years ago. The women together create a safe working environment to ensure that they are protected and given workers’ rights just like everyone else, regardless of whether their work is considered taboo. The women work an eight-hour day and are given vacation, social security, and government holidays. Within the bar, smoking is not allowed and the music’s volume is limited to 90 decibels. The bar also has fire alarms and emergency exits.

T he mi s s ion and pur pose o f bo th E M P OW E R a n d C a n - D o B a r a r e commendable, appreciated, even needed in today’s society because I agree that all people should be given the same protections and rights in their workplace. However, I was thrown off at how the women responded to our questions. We have exchanged with many villages, government officials, and NGO organizers, but never anything related to sex working or labor rights in general. I guess that was not clear to the women because when we asked simple or basic open-ended questions like, “what is the daily life of a sex worker?” we were immediately directed to their book that included 12 stories of sex workers instead

of getting it from them in an interview setting. We did not understand why they were being defensive and guarded with us because all we wanted to do was learn more about their occupation and movement.

After the interview, Emma, another CIEE student, and I spoke with Whitney, the English teacher and our tour guide, to follow-up and hopefully get a better understanding of the women because with the language barrier we thought it would be easier. While speaking with her, she also was defensive. This is when I realized that when people are being marginalized because of what they do, it is difficult to let others in. Reflecting on it now, the women were vulnerable and that is not a comfortable feeling. I even look at myself and wonder how I would feel in that situation. At the same time, I also think that it’s not the best way to create understanding if one is always on the defense. We did not want to exploit them or make them feel judged, but how would you feel, knowing that society does not approve of your life choice to be a sex worker, if westerners (or people of another culture who are considered of higher status) came into your space and asked you questions? It’s not an easy thing to do – being open, raw, and honest even though there is the fear of rejection, judgment, and criticism. I do not like being vulnerable by any means but I have learned to do so when it is beneficial to others’ learning and also for my own healing. I hope that these women can do the same.astrid.quinones@student.fairfield.edu

Rethinking PreservationBy Judy Florio, Muhlenburg College

Driving up the green mountains, each element of the forest landscape was more breathtaking than the next. In our week-long stay in Chiang Mai, we had one day to spend however we chose. Several friends and I decided to spend our day in Doi Inthanon National Park. Advertised as having Thailand's highest mountain peak, numerous waterfalls, and temples—all within a breathtaking cloud forest—Doi Inthanon National Park is one of Chiang Mai's main tourist attractions for visitors from all over the world. After entering the park, we spent the next hour climbing the mountain in a songtaew. The scenery was beautiful, and once we reached the top, the rest of the day was filled with spectacular sights. Every aspect of the park lived up to the descriptions that were wri t ten. Cascading waterfal l s, misty mountains, and crisp clean air surrounded us as we spent the day exploring all that the national park had to offer. Before coming on

the program and learning about displacement of peoples, as well as other human rights violations that often go hand and hand with the creation of national parks, I would have left the day elated and completely enthralled with everything that the park had to offer. However, my heightened awareness of the history of many national park formations has made it hard to look at these beautiful landscapes through an untainted lens. Displacement that often comes with the formation of national parks forces indigenous people to pay the price of their culture, and sometimes their life, for what becomes tourist attractions. Although I did not study how Doi Inthanon National Park was formed, patterns in national park declaration make it difficult to believe that this park is an exception to the common occurrence.

Just days after going to the national park, the group went and stayed with the Karen hill tribe who live on a mountain very similar to the national park. Our time with the hill tribe people was beyond amazing. Everyone we met treated the group with immeasurable kindness and generosity, giving us knowledge about their way of life and their local forest that could not be delivered by anyone else. The forest in which they live is carefully interconnected with their culture, livelihood, and way of life as a whole. During a hike through the forest this interconnectedness became increasingly evident; the community member that lead the tour navigated through the thick forest as if it was paved road—each step confident and sure—while showing us beautiful or edible flowers, berries, and plants along the way. Hundreds of indigenous hill tribes, like the Karen people, have been stripped of their land by the government and national forestry programs so parks much like Doi Inthanon could be made.

This is a threat that looms over the Karen people who opened their homes to us, shared their food and their wisdom. If patterns of development continue in the way that it has in the past, there is a high possibility that the home of the Karen people will be turned into a place similar to Doi Inthanon National Park; a place where foreigners walk around and take pictures rather than a home to hundreds. How can we best use our new knowledge for people like the Karen community not only throughout our final month in Thailand, but also when we return to the United States? This is a question that I think many of us are facing as our time in Thailand dwindles, a question that is especially poignant when living amongst those who are potentially affected, such as the Karen people.jf244463@muhlenberg.edu

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Spirituality

Shunyata By Mariko Dodson, Occidental College

Shambhala Sun is an English-language magazine devoted to Buddhism, culture, meditation, and life. Within the pages of this magazine I read, for the first time, of the Heart Sutra in an article entitled “Love & Emptiness.” The Heart Sutra, just a few paragraphs in length, is said to be the most influential of sacred Buddhist texts.

All things are empty, says the Heart Sutra. Eyes, ears, nose, mind, and body are empty. Even the Buddhist teachings are empty. All things are empty."

The English word “emptiness” tends to connote negativity. Something empty lacks meaning, purpose, direction. That which is empty we wish to fill up.

The emptiness exalted in the Heart Sutra is not this kind of despairing emptiness. The original Sanskrit word, shunyata, instead refers to joyful liberation. Emptiness in the Heart Sutra’s teaching means being empty of all boundaries and limitations. To be empty in this sense is to be empty of burden, of separation, of heaviness. To be empty is to be free.

Wrapped in my own self and my own suffering, I cannot see the connection between all beings who suffer, all beings who live. But with openness and without boundary, compassion and love come naturally. The Heart Sutra teaches that you and I are not as separate, as different, as burdensome as we may believe. Without boundaries between us I am free to extend myself wholly, lovingly, and compassionately to others.

The Heart Sutra is no easy practice. A Thai friend of mine says shunyata is the highest and hardest of all Buddhist teachings. Boundless compassion applies not just to our friends, but also to our exes, our enemies, those we judge, and those who wrong us.

All of my close friends have lived with depression for some part of our short twenty-year lives. We all know what it feels like to be convinced of our own seemingly unique suffering. Surely that suffering can be triggered by different factors. But what unites us is not the cause of our suffering. What unites us is our suffering.

I think back to when I felt incredibly alone with my own suffering. The suffering of depression convinces you of your separate helplessness. Over time I came to realize the self-fulfilling path of this mentality. Once I stepped outside the fence I built around myself I saw the life-sustaining connections between myself and those around me. I only wish that those who suffer now, convinced of their separate selves, could feel the liberating emptiness of shunyata.

This concept of emptiness is powerful enough to shift the ground on which our understanding of life rests. Understanding shunyata means pursuing the practice of boundless compassion to relieve suffering and connect with liberation.mdodson@oxy.edu

Chasing the MistBy Corinne Molz, University of Maryland

Spirituality pulls our attention from our earthly human nature and can push the limits of the physical world to the existence of the intangible. The great beyond is scary in its very nature. The concept itself is terrifying, so adding some practical comfort is natural. Choosing a conscious direction in life, joining with others under a set of shared ideals created to guide your decisions, is an innate human tendency. At least history says so. But why is this? And how could something so embedded in our psyche cause wars for so many thousands of years? What determines what you’re meant to believe?

Buddhism is not just a religion Thai citizens decide whether to participate in or not. It ends up in the air on the streets, in flowers hanging from taxicab rear view mirrors, a public university’s annual ceremony based on giving alms to the monks, temples and Buddha statues abound in every city center. It is not easily missed. It’s the way of Thai life. As an outsider, the beauty of the union under Buddhism is still fresh and vibrant, also making it difficult to ignore its potential downfalls. "On February 25th, we were able to transition from observation to action when we attended the Buddhist ceremony of Magha Puja. This marks the date 2,500 years ago when 1,250 Arahata, or “enlightened ones” who were personally ordained by Buddha, came to hear his teaching without any scheduling. This is where they were taught the core principles of Buddhism called the Ov!dap! timokha, or “Heart of Buddhism.” We experienced hundreds of Thai Buddhists gathering in the temple, bearing candles and flowers while reciting prayers in Bali Sanskrit. The ceremony concluded with the entire congregation circling the building three times, for Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha. Of course, at the time we wore dazed faces and haphazardly followed their footsteps without any knowledge

“Therefore, in the void there are no forms and no feelings, conceptions, impulses and no consciousness: there is no eye, ear, nose,

tongue, body or mind; there is no form, sound, smell, taste, touch or idea; no eye elements, until we come to no elements of consciousness; no ignorance and also no ending of ignorance, until we come to no

old age and death; and no ending of old age and death.”

—excerpt from The Heart Sutra

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of the significance. There was a certain grace in being a stranger beholding the beauty of the ceremony that was quickly followed by frustration of ignorance.

Beauty would not be so sweet without its dark counterpart. Behind the reverence and devotion, pockets of Buddhism lean towards evangelical preaching that boast healing and spiritual rejuvenation. Upon visiting a Buddhism center near Baw Kaew village in Northeast Thailand, we were smacked at the door with hypnotic high-pitched chants projecting from the 6 men and women kneeling before a large Buddha statue. The monk lead ing the ceremony he ld a microphone to his mouth while leaning in the ear of a Japanese businessman seated in the middle. According to the monk, the man had arrived at the center days earlier seeking a cure for his ailment, claiming that he had not been able to speak or walk for 10 years before receiving the Buddhist treatment. Whether or not this miracle occurred, the businessman was definitely digging deep in his pockets for the m o n k ’ s p e r s o n a l i z e d s e r v i c e s a n d accommodations.

Seeking divine truths usually leads to more questions rather than answers, continuously occupying our minds and hearts. Perhaps the true answer is a fallacy in itself, endlessly elusive, like attempting to capture the clouds fallen to earth on a misty morning. Perhaps the nature of spirituality is to test our perception of right and wrong, black and white. It’s time for us to adjust our eyes until we can find comfort in the gray in between.cmolz@terpmail.umd.edu

HealingBy Avery Ches, Tulane University

So you want to heal? So do I. Healing in our country goes like this: once, you had an ache and you went to the doctor. They gave you pills and advice on when to take the pills. They asked you when you had gotten sick, how long it had lasted, and the symptoms. Maybe you even left feeling glad and hopeful because now you could be fixed. These pills were the answer. Maybe, just maybe, you even got better because of those little capsules. Let me tell you—some sicknesses aren’t so easily healed.

During our trip to dam-affected communities, we visited a very special place. This place was a healing center. Now, wait one second. What a fascinating concept. This isn’t a hospital or a drugstore; it isn’t stocked with medicines or men in white coats. There isn’t a feeling of

sadness lingering here, of some muddied hope and claustrophobic unease that accompanies one when entering a hospital. This place has the feeling of, well, healing.

I had never been to a place like this before. The energy was tangible in the air, a bright mix of purpose and spiritual health floating around every body that entered the open aired huts and walked the tree strewn paths. We had come to learn from a woman by the name of P’Sodsai. She is an activist against energy plants in Thailand, but she is also a natural healer.

I had looked into natural healing before this point in my life, but never had the opportunity to visit a place like this. I was shocked at the sense of peace that surrounded the area. It seemed like exactly the kind of center someone would want to go to be healed. Why were these types of places so rare in the states? Why are most ailments, and more importantly mental ailments, always fixed with medications? It was a question I had asked many times before, but here it was real.

Suddenly, the pills I was taking every day seemed a little less than helpful. I started to feel that Americans have been going about healing all the wrong way. There are some statistics out there saying that almost every American is on some type of medication or takes over the counter drugs regularly. Is it safe to say that Americans and people in general have become addicted to drugs? Not only to stimulants, but to Tylenol, pain k i l l e r s , a n t i - d e p re s s a n t s , A D H D medications, and the lot?

I would guess that P’Sodsai and the people of the natural healing center we visited would be quick to agree. When we arrived, I could tell that health here was viewed in a very different, alternative way. The meal we were served was prepared without chemicals, the vegetables were grown there, and it was all vegetarian. The meal was medicine, an ancient philosophy, but novel to a world that has lost touch which natural medicine and its coinciding culture.

P’Sodsai informed us that to eat correctly for digestion we should start with fruit juice, then fruit, vegetables, rice and protein in that order. I had never heard of this before and it made me really wonder about the so called diets and health fads that our country faces now. It made me wonder about the diet pills and herbs many are prescribed to in order to balance their eating and the mental effects this mass confusion has on the populations of the world. It made me wonder about how our society functions. But that is the glory of this program. No matter how much we may complain about certain things the program does or how it is structured, one cannot say that this program doesn’t get you to think… to really ponder all kinds of systems.

I once read about an alternative natural dentist who practices in New York City. The article said that the first thing he asks his patients when they sit in the dentist chair is, “What is your diet like?” Not, “do you floss or brush your teeth with chemically sweetened toothpastes?” No. What is your diet like? And really, I don’t see why every doctor shouldn’t start their patients’ exams like this.

I have had the bad fortune of dealing with many unhelpful modern science doctors in my life, many of which have been specialists and gastrointestinal experts. Yet, not once have any of them asked me about my diet. Not one time. Only when I have sought alternative, more holistic medical advice have any been concerned with the many, all-encompassing aspects of human life: stress, work, family, diet, exercise, etc.

The Healing Center makes it clear to me that our country, and our world, needs to seek out holistic approaches to the “ailments” that humans face, but also that the planet faces the sickness of our human consumption and environmental degradation, of our failing governments, and tactless regulations. All these ailments are trying to be quickly fixed or covered up by politicians, big corporations, and huge medical institutions. Maybe, a little more natural healing would go more than a long way. aches@tulane.edu

“Suddenly, the pills I was taking every day seemed a little less than helpful. I started to feel that Americans have been going about

healing all the wrong way.”

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Glossary:

Ajaan: Thai word for teacher

aroi: Thai word for delicious

Bogagayo: one of the many hill tribes of the Karen people

dtah: Thai word for eyes

farang: any westerner

Isaan: Northeastern region of Thailand

kanom- a light snack, usually sticky rice and fruit

kai tjiao- thai omelet

khow neow: sticky rice, a staple of Isaan food

Khon Kaen: capital of Khon Kaen province

Meh: Thai word for mother

meh naam: river

naam: water

Pah: Thai word for father

pood: Thai word for “to speak”

sebp: Lao word for delicious

som dtam: a Thai salad made of sliced green papaya

song teaw: a covered truck used as local transportation

wee: Karen word for delicious

Yai: Thai word for grandmother

Photo Credits

Front Page: Kelly HardinPage 2: Melanie FerraroPage 3: Nelson Falkenburg (top); Jeremy Starn (middle); Chloe Ginsburg (bottom)Page 4: Jeremy StarnPage 5: Keith WarnerPage 6: Jeremy Starn (top); Chloe Ginsburg (middle); Kelly Hardin (bottom)Page 7: Kelly Hardin (both)Page 8: Chloe GinsburgPage 9: Chloe Ginsburg (top); Page 11:Nelson FalkenburgPage 12: Aziza SeykotaPage 13: Melanie Ferraro (left); Chloe Ginsburg (right)Page 15: Jeremy Starn (top); Walter Wuthmann (bottom)Page 17: Kelly HardinPage 19: Jeremy Starn (bottom)