Culture Wars

I had two conversations in succession recently, both over a beer and spicy delectables from the Chiang Rai night market, both on the balcony of my guesthouse. While the content and structure of the conversations were remarkably similar, the viewpoints presented were pretty opposed.

The first was with Jake, a devoted, impossibly kind British man who is the whole reason I ended up staying and working in Chiang Rai for the ten days I was there. Ok, maybe "reason" isn't the right word... more like "the first in a line of related events." He was Gabby's contact for the story about corrupt Christian missionaries that I actually wasn't shitting you about, and as we were determined to start with him, we hightailed it from the Chiang Rai bus station to his homebase. The only reason we stayed at that guesthouse is because of him, and the only reason I met Paul, the head of the Khom Loy Development Foundation (www.khomloy.org) where I volunteered for a week, is because Paul happened to be there one morning, Gabby happened to ask him how to get to the Hill Tribe Museum, and he happened to offer to drive us there.

Long story very short: There is an INSANE amount of Christian missionary work in the Chiang Rai province, the area where Thailand meets Myanmar/Burma (I hear mostly Burma still, in these parts) and Laos, as well as a short-ish distance from China's Yunnan province. Many different ethnic minorities from the region, known in the Chiang Rai area as "hill tribes," or nomadic peoples with their own languages and traditions, are now, like so many indigenous communities, butting heads with modern nations and their economic agendas. Most hill tribes in Thailand are denied Thai citizenship, which can mean limited access to public education and health care. They are often shooed off their land, discriminated against in a variety of ways, and live in increasingly desperate poverty. They are also, and have been for generations, relentlessly pursued by Christian missionary organizations from all over the world. Those organizations have in some cases been entirely successful. The Karen, for instance, famous for a subgroup that once encouraged young girls to wear successive metal rings around their necks to stretch them (there are now bulletins plastered with "Trek to Karen Longneck Village" across Chiang Mai, and I heard a rumor that this is a tradition that is only continued for tourists' benefit), are almost all practicing Christians now.

The story as a whole I find incredibly depressing (partly because, of course, it's so goddamn familiar): People who are living close to the land and close to each other for generations upon generations, developing localized languages, spiritual practices, herbal-medicinal knowledge, and all manner of interesting, valuable, necessary things, are suddenly confronted with a force that says: You are not enough. You do not have enough. This is because you do not know MY God. Therefore, your children need to come with me, and I will provide them with food and shelter and education, and they will know My God, and they will love My God. (Chatting with two recent college grads from the UK who were also volunteering for Khom Loy confirmed this kind of thing pretty literally: They attended a church service in Chiang Rai with some kids from the orphanage they were stationed at, and reported with surprise that a free lunch came with it. "All right! I mean, a free lunch, can you believe that? I'd go to church for a free lunch!" I laughed and replied with a sigh, "That's right, MY God gives you free lunch. Does YOUR God give you free lunch?")

Enough free lunches and educational or vocational opportunities, and slowly, slowly, over time, the former religious practices and cultural values of a community fade and subside. Languages die, beliefs disintegrate. This seems impossibly sad to me; this nightmarishly repeating story of imperialism and colonization the world over (though of course missionary work is sometimes -- not always -- less bloody). In some cases one might argue that this kind of blending, merging, submerging of cultures is inevitable (such as the clash between tourism and these populations); in this case I find it to be disgusting, morally abhorrent. To make matters worse, the story Gabby and I were planning on researching was about corruption that exceeded even the corruption that in my view is inherent in missionary work. (We didn't get very far since it seemed such an impossible wild good chase, especially given her limited time in the country before she took off to India.)

The investigation was regarding Bobby Morse, a Christian missionary born of Christian missionaries with his fingers in lots of exploitative pies, but especially among the Akha, a group a couple million strong in total but with about 70 thousand in northern Thailand. He and his organization would encourage Akha families to release their children to his missionary boarding school, where he promised not only free lunch, but free room and board and education. Not a tough sell if you're talking to people who've got too many mouths to feed. Unfortunately, not only are these schools brainwashing tanks, but Morse and his assistant were arrested by the Thai police for consistently molesting and raping Akha girls. The sickest part of the story is that, rumor has it, he was acquitted after a brief trial due to a big payoff by the American embassy. There was no media coverage of the incident besides one article in a local Thai paper, and by a few human rights activist organizations (specifically the Akha Heritage Foundation, www.akha.org, the reason Gabby was tipped off to this whole thing in the first place.) Gabby and I decided that, were we to pursue this further, our central question would have to be: Why (!!!!!) is the American Embassy protecting Bobby Morse? We were sent down a dizzying wormhole of conspiracy theories by Gabby's contact at the Akha Heritage Foundation, including the allegation that the CIA and Christian missionary organizations have always been in cahoots in the Golden Triangle due to the now-dying but historically lucrative opium trade. Ay yi. You can see, I hope, why I decided to drop the ball on this one for the time being.

Here's the link to the Bobby Morse story:

http://www.akha.org/content/missions/mossarrested.html

Anyway, back to Jake. A filmmaker of both documentary and dramatic films, he's interested, first and foremost, in promoting, documenting, and preserving extremely localized native cultures. He has been working for AFECT (Association for Akha Education and Culture in Thailand, www.afect.org), making DVDs and promotional materials for them, writing grants, developing fundraising ideas. He heard of the Bobby Morse ordeal and gave us a few names and a lot of background on this whole messy corner of the planet. After a few good conversations with him, especially the last one, I came to understand where his passion lay: in the folklore of the most untouched peoples in the remotest corners of the earth. "That's what's really good," he'd say. "That's where you get stories." (Wish I could include his accent in this post: long, curving British vowels..."stOHwries"...and he pronounced his "th's" like "f's".)

His viewpoint was this: We've got to preserve and protect these cultures at all costs. Document them in order to celebrate them. Almost as if these people were relics from some lost Paradise, innocent, unique, whole.

As a collector of stories myself, I can't help but rather agree. Certainly when it comes to missionary work, or unFair trade, or the bastardizing forces of tourism, or other blatant violations of human rights, it seems commendable to support and protect those who've lived mostly an isolated existence from all those legal and religious and economic winds... which is, perhaps, why there are so many NGOs in the region.

This brings me to my second conversation. This was with a young college grad from Vancouver Island, who was a nice enough guy and had some hilarious stories and interesting things to say, but I have to admit I started zoning out when he got to his obsession with zombies, kung fu movies, and drinking games. (In Pai, northern Thailand's tourist haven, there is a bar that apparently charts drinking champions by number of shots and country of origin on a big wall-sized chalkboard.) This fellow (don't remember if I ever got his name) is convinced that one rosy day, the whole world will speak the same language, use the same currency, all be the same "pale brown color," all be "earthlings" rather than belonging to any nation-state, and cultural norms, such as needing to take off your shoes and cover your shoulders when you enter a Buddhist temple, will be themselves only relics that he hopes people will preserve in museums. My first thought: Heaven forbid. Second thought: You poor, poor naive little fucker. But then, I admit it got me thinking: As the world "flattens," as we become increasingly "globalized," people are finding it more and more necessary to learn the same language, use the same currency. Today, it's English, it's the Euro, it's the dollar. I wonder how long this will last. Is there an ending point? Is there a limit to which we can use these things to be more connected, to more easily trade with one another? When and if we reach that limit, is it inevitable that the next superpower will step in and usher the next era of cultural ubiquity?


I'm obviously getting into really sticky territory here, as what does the word "culture" even mean... but... where do we strike that balance between equity and cultural preservation? If we're talking about the hill tribes, at what point does the presence of tourism or missionaries or a larger nation with a larger economy become a way through which these people can better themselves and their standard of living? Is it so wrong to provide choices to people in a world so sated with choice? That's what the NGOs are doing, trying to do: Provide these people with choices. (And maybe that's what a missionary would say, too: I am giving these people the knowledge, and therefore the choice to believe). Given the choice, people may opt to move out of that village, forget that needlework, stop speaking that language, stop believing in that god. Which is natural, which can and does and should happen; it just seems that, often, it's not exactly about choice...

I guess what struck me was the two opposing attitudes: Jake was so gung-ho about preserving these individual cultures at all costs, and the guy from Vancouver Island seemed almost to advocate for a seamless blending of cultures, as if this would plant us in a future of global harmony.

I don't think either is possible.


Photos: The Akha Foundation, not to be confused with the Akha Heritage Foundation, is a Christian missionary organization just outside of Chiang Rai, that I passed twice, once on motorbike and once on bicycle. The Akha swing, the teepee-shaped figure in the second photo, is present in all Akha villages and is part of regular ceremonies; interesting juxtaposition with the cross. Kids from a Mien village outside of Chiang Rai; mother/seamstress from a Hmong village called Tha Thong; toddler who adored me from that same Mien village, wearing a traditional hat (made, clearly, for far cooler climes); photo of Tha Thong from a hill.

All village shots are from the two days I spent traveling with Patricia from Khom Loy who runs Izara Arts (www.izaraarts.com), which will soon feature some of my words and images under the "producer profiles" link.