Pak Mun Dam 10/5-10/7/2007

The ride to the Sirindhorn dam on the Mun River was a long four hours. We all slept, or remained quiet for most of it, dressed in our nice clothes. The government demands respectful attire, so no exposed shoulders, knees, or toes. It’s like the children’s song, except now it’s a rhyme of don’ts. Being folded up into a van for so long really does a number on one’s concentration, so when we pulled into the Sirindhorn parking lot, I was in no mood to exchange.

Our exchange was to be with the Electricity Generating Authority of Thailand, or EGAT, about their role in dam building, engineering, and maintenance. I still know little to nothing about dams, so my questions took a broader view – the effects, the consequences on a social and individual scale. Sirindhorn Dam is an unfortunately beautiful place. The reservoir is peaceful and full of greenery. I walked around between lunch and the exchange to un-cramp my legs and take in some pro-corporate beauty.

The exchange itself was one of the best ones I’ve had so far. We honed in on specific questions and tried to dance around the major issues as little as possible. Take for example, the inquiry into EGAT’s role in the Burma debacle. It seems that most people seem to think China’s influence is the greatest one in Burma, but Thailand is actually the largest importer of Burmese energy – not to mention its neighbor and recipient of a significant number of refugees. EGAT admitted they import some of the energy from outside countries – Laos and Burma. The reasons they gave were that it was cheaper and they wanted to offer customorship to the impoverished nations. Dams are easier to build there, they said. In Thailand, the people are too vocal against dams. The Lao people can’t stand up to their government. The EGAT representatives acknowledged this in some way, in the way of someone who feels helpless to change just embraces it.

But then something humanizing happened. We pursued the Burma question until we got to the question of ethical responsibilities of corporations. The representatives couldn’t precisely respond? Well how could they? True, they are representatives, but can they, should they be held 100% accountable for their company’s actions? Anyway, one man gave some pat non-answer, but then, the mask came down for a brief moment. I don’t know how to respond, he said, but I watch the news too. I read the newspaper.

This was a really interesting exchange, one of the first that we got at really important questions. What made it even better was that we did it not with a really cool, really “wise” NGO leader, but with a mouthpiece of the big-bad corporation. I think we’re definitely on our way to being more inquisitive human beings and students.

Afterward, we toured the Sirindhorn dam briefly, then drove to Pak Mun, about a twenty minute drive. In the shadow of the dam lie the echoes of the Mae Mun 1 Protest village (“the Mun River Protest village”). The villagers who have been protesting the dam in all its various stages set up here in 2003 (maybe?) for a few months. They were kicked off. Now there remains but a few artifacts to mark their presence – some boards, barbed wire, a hammock.

We took a boat ride to where the Mun and Mekong Rivers intersect. This is called the ci song, or “two colors”. One river is blue, the other is red, the way the Mississippi is a muddy brown. Where they intersect, it is a swirling mass of the two colors. You can even feel the difference in temperatures.

Off in the distance, our professor Ajaan Di (note: Ajaan is a title like “professor”) pointed at the mountains in the distance. It was Laos. Our boats pulled up on the far shore, into this new country. It’s funny, the cultures of Isaan and Lao share the same roots, but now are somehow completely viewed as separate. Thailand wasn’t even Thailand until threats of colonization encouraged the nineteenth century rulers to mark borders and rename ethnicities “Thai.” The loosely-defined Lao territory extended into Isaan. Even today, Isaan people especially out in the villages will speak Isaan – a dialect of Lao – as a first language, not Thai. I’ve picked up some Isaan, but move past saying “that was delicious” and I’m at a loss.

Anyway, it’s strange to see how a mere river and political regime can divide a culture that comes from essentially the same cultural soup. In Laos, the small village that we stayed in for about thirty minutes was devoted almost exclusively to the sale of cheap goods, the equivalent of a duty-free airport store. The kids on the road sold brooms, the road-side stores hawked cartons of cheap cigarettes, silk scarves, and whiskey. Some of the whiskey had cobras preserved in the bottle along with the alcohol.

Coming back on the river, we encountered a strong rainstorm. The four of us at the front of the boat stood without roof, without jacket while the wind and rain raged around us. Everyone else huddled under the thin tarp, acting as a roof. The cold of the rain felt warmer when we embraced the fact that, like it or not, we were going to get wet.

I showed up at my homestay an hour later completely saturated. Stay tuned for waterfalls, temple, protest stories, and all the bamboo shoots you ever thought you wanted to eat.