The Khon Thai Family

    I’ve spoken before about Westerners forever being outsiders in Thailand. If you are not ‘khon Thai’ you can forget ever losing the farang (or worse) label. This annoys me to a certain degree. Not because I think I should be accepted here after a mere seven months but because I think this attitude encourages rampant xenophobia at best and overt racism at worst. All this being said, the bond of ‘khon Thai’ is beautifully strong. People speak to strangers as siblings, very literally using terms of sibling endearment which are built right into the language, and Thai children receive parental love from bus attendants, street vendors, and passerbys. The most beautiful examples of the kindred bond of ‘khon Thais’ that I have witnessed happen on the skytrain. The scenario runs like this:
    A BTS officer, clad in a skin-tight and intimidating uniform, gently leads a blind man up the stairs and into a train queue. The officer allows the man, a stranger, to wrap his arm around his waist and lean into his chest for support on the trek up the stairs. As the officer leaves the man in line he pats his hands tenderly and offers a parting ‘chok dee’, ‘goodluck’ in Thai. As the train whizzes to a stop a business man reaches out to the blind mans forearm, calling him ‘Nong’ or ‘little brother’. This business man, clad in an expensive suit and designer shoes, guides the blind man onto a sardine-packed train using his own body to make enough standing room for them both. Once they are both safely aboard, he grabs the man’s hand and lifts it to the handhold above wrapping his own hand around his to ensure his grip. If you were to witness their conversation from afar you would think they were old friends. Instead, they are talking about simple things; the weather, their destinations, their children. The train comes to a halt and there is a mass exodus at a popular stop. Suddenly, the car is barely packed. A seated young woman sees the blind man and immediately stands... tapping his elbow lightly and working in tandem with the business man to ensure that the man’s sight stick doesn’t get tangled in the mid-car support poles. Once seated, the blind man offers thanks and smiles widely. At the next stop both the businessman and the young woman depart saying brief goodbyes to the seated man. We come to my stop, Saphan Khwai. The blind man stands himself up and takes barely a step before a new BTS officer glides onto the train and takes his arm. The first officer must have walkie-talkied forward and alerted the officers at this station of the man’s needs and car number. The train doors stay open longer than usual to ensure that the man is safely departed. I watch as this officer, much like the first, allows the man to wrap his arms around him on their descent down the stairs. They are chattering away like old comrades.
    I’ve seen such a scenario happen on three separate occasions and it never ceases to re-instill my faith in humanity. In a city of 12 million people, it is nothing short of a miracle that a disabled person is catered to and cared for with such compassion. I’m not sure it would happen anywhere else in the world. As much as I hate the exclusivity of the ‘khon Thai’ clan, I am in awe of their ability to drop judgement, fear, and ego to help one of their family members in need. I hope that in this small but world changing way, I will someday be ‘khon Thai’ too.