The Armed Forces are an "Old Boys’ Club." The New People’s Army has its own version of a Maoist-Marxist "Old Boys’ Club," including the members of Bayan Muna, who have attained respectability and gotten seats in the House of Representatives.
In the legal profession – haven’t you noticed? -- Sigma Rhoans have been getting the upper hand – with plums from appointments as prosecutors to judicial benches going to this influential U.P. fraternity. Powerhouse law firms like ACCRA (who are our lawyers for The STAR) to Carpio, Villaraza, Cruz – the latter now in power in the Palace – are outposts of Sigma Rho. They’re one, big happy Old Boys’ Club.
Yesterday, solons – from former Senate President Aquilino "Nene" Pimentel on down – fulminated in the upper chamber, then the "detained" witness "Ador" Mawanay has been released from the Senate "jail". I trust Ador got the message: Be more polite to Senators in their own den, and for heaven’s sake, don’t attack pretty lady Senators!
It saddens me to see the "exposé" frolics in our society. We’re so obsessed with hate campaigns that nothing gets done. In Bangkok, they have swarms of crooked politicians, bent cops (and military men "moonlighting" in spurious enterprises). The media are even calling the new Prime Minister, billionaire businessman Thaksin Shinawatra, "corrupt" – a man who concealed his assets to evade taxes, then "bought" the election which propelled his party to power.
Yet, things get done. Bangkok is CLEAN, while in Metro Manila – as our leaders debate and our intelligence officers ladle shit on a lot of people and sow suspicion about others – the garbage is piling up. We are drowning in our own filth.
The roads and expressways in Thailand are smooth and efficient. Bangkok, great metropolis of 7.5 million inhabitants, has solved its traffic problems and its garbage problem. The smelly trash and the stinking klongs (esteros) are gone.
The Queen, Her Majesty Queen Sirikit, has just celebrated her 69th birthday to nationwide rejoicing. Bangkok and Thailand, for that matter, may have a dark and tragic side, but the face the Thais turn to the world is smiling, and their capital city sparkles with color and light.
To cope with Thailand, in fact, the cautious traveler from the "outside" world would do well to suspend logic as he knows it. The Thais – a handsome people, quick to smile, gracious and artistic (in appearance a cross between a fine-boned Filipino and a Chinese) – march to the beat of a different drum.
In Manila, or for that matter, in the West, to pat a child on the head is a sign of friendship or affection. To the Thai, it is anathema. The head is the seat of the "soul", and to touch it is an outrage and damages the soul. Although the more modern and sophisticated young Thais no longer resent it as greatly as their parents did, the stranger must be wary about crossing his legs and – worse – wagging his toe at a Thai. Or crossing his arms across his chest while looking at any particular person. Both are "insults" and must be avoided at all times.
When Americans infer that when their accounts are "in the red", they mean that business is bad. In Thailand, "red" stands for the ultimate in bad luck. This is perhaps because, when the coffin of a deceased person is stored in a temple warehouse, the dear departed’s name is scribbled on it for identification in red lime. If a Thai were to sign his name in red ink, therefore, this would be tantamount to signing his own death warrant.
The Thai and the falang or foreigner even disagree on the name of Thailand’s capital city. We call it Bangkok – which was (truth to tell) its old name before Rama I, the first king of the reigning Chakri Dynasty, adopted this small fishing village as his capital in 1782. Actually the village was originally known as Bang Makok, Rama I loftily renamed it "Krung Thep" – the City of Angels. And that’s what the Thais really call the place. Why not? You’ll find those "angels" in Patpong, Petchburi, Sukhumvit and all over, many of them "fallen" (not into disgrace but into prosperity). The most attractive and "efficient" bar girls or massage "experts" drive around in shiny BMW’s or Mercedes-Benzes and their earnings may run to as high as an "honest" Cabinet minister.
The Guinness Book of Records accords Bangkok’s real name pride of place as the longest proper-name in the world, owing to the fact that its complete title is Krungthepmahanakhonbowornratakanakos- inmahintarayudyayamahadilokpopnoparatanaraj- thaniburiromudomrajniwesmahasatarnomorn- pimarnavatarsatitsakattiyavisanukumprasit – a proofreader’s nightmare of 152 letters which that erudite student of Thai customs and mores, Denis Segaller, has translated into: "City of Angels, great city of immortals, magnificent jewelled city of the god Indra, seat of the King of Ayutthhaya, city of gleaming temples, city of the King’s most excellent Palace and Dominions, home of Vishnu and all the gods." King Rama I, evidently, was determined to leave nothing out.
Theroux’s harsh indictment falls on deaf ears in Thailand. They love tourists there.
They are more discreet today but they still have Tours for the Men with Yen. Tourism has carved a progressively venerated niche for itself in the calculations of national budget directors. Thailand with 8 million free-spending foreign visitors a year is obviously in no pain. (Most of them hordes of German, Swiss, and Japanese males – and you can be sure they aren’t in town to visit the statue of the Reclining Buddha.)
Secure in their "Spouse Tours", the wives ooh and aah over the beauty and serenity of the city’s 400 Wats and temples, the lustrous colors of Thai silk, the glitter of sapphires, rubies, emeralds and diamonds, the local intricate workmanship in gold, silver, bronze and nielloware. The men attend what some like to call the "Patpong Workshop" in which they manage to come to close grips with the other side of Thai culture.
Hundreds of bars, nightclubs and massage emporiums turn night into day.
Everything is in its proper place: Patpong I and Patpong II are neon-lit streets that radiate from Suriwongse to Silom Road, with fun places bearing saucy titles like "African Queen", "The Barn", "Borsalino", "Bottom Up", "Bunny House", "Butterfly" (in fact, that’s what the girls call the wandering lotharios, butterflies – I guess, since they flit from flower to flower), "Crystal Palace", "Derby King", "Father’s Place", "Key Note", "King Castle", "Madrid", "Montmarte", "Mississippi Queen", "New Jockey" (anybody can ride), "Napoleon", "Safari", "Scene Club", "Sexy Bar", "Texxan", "Alamo", "Blow Up" (wow), "Cloud 9", "Flying Machine", "Madam" (just call me), "Mike’s Place", "Peppermint", "Royal Salute", "Smile", "Sugar Shack", "The Tavern", "Tiffany". Everytime I go along the strip, I check to see whether that joint called "Max’s" is still there. It is – but, I hasten to clarify, I’ve nothing to do with it.
Then there’s Patpong III, which is for the "gays." There’s something for everyone.
The operative word in the Thai tongue is "sanuk" – which, loosely translated, means "having fun." Anything bad, annoying, unhappy is curtly dismissed as "mai-sanuk" – not good, or not fun. When confronted with disaster, adversity, or some insurmountable problem, the Thai shrugs and says, "mai pen lai." This means "never mind" – Thailand is the realm of Never Mind.
What the Thais mind is love and respect for their King, His Majesty Bhumibon Adulyadej, a monarch who loves his people in return. And they love their country. This is what makes the Thais so admirable. I wish we could emulate them.