It’s well far and beyond any reasonable justification for me to call this a regular blog of my new life in Thailand, so this entry won’t entail a week by week account of the past six months (something that would undoubtedly cause even the closest of family members to skim-read in a rather disinterested vein). What I hope it will do, however, is reveal and elucidate the extent of the cultural differences that separate Thailand and the Western world as I’ve experienced them.
‘This guy thinks he’s an expert in Thai culture after a mere six months?’ I hear you cry. To which I respond: ‘No, not by a long shot. I may be a little off the mark, but I’d like to convey my observations and experiences all the same. Take from them what you will.’
In order for Westerners to understand the Thai mentality, it’s worth first considering something I’ve touched on in earlier entries, the ubiquitous Thai phrase: mai pen rai.
What does this mean? A lot of things, chief among which we would generally translate to ‘it doesn’t matter.’ Dad once told me that when he did the tourist thing in Thailand, perhaps three decades ago, and was cruising down the Chao Phraya River (the main watercourse that snakes its way through Bangkok), his boat was hit by a Thai fisherman. Said fisherman had spent the entire day obtaining his catch (now lost to the Chao Phraya), but instead of erupting in an explosion of Thai expletives, he simply said, mai pen rai, and continued on his way, bereft of the fruits of his hard day’s labour. This one phrase epitomizes the non-confrontational nature of Thais. Compare a similar incident on the Thames and you’d probably get a ‘What the fuck! You owe me fifty quid!’ (granted, we don’t have single-boat fisherman on the Thames, but you get the point).
So what am I really getting at? The Thai tendency to avoid confrontation at all costs. While when viewed superficially, this mindset would promote the concept of an idyllic, harmonious society – and Thais are undoubtedly one of the friendliest out there – it also links into a deeper, yet fundamental facet of the Thai psyche: losing face. Westerners don’t really have this concept of ‘losing face’, but a close approximation would be to ‘feel embarrassed’. Thai society is very hierarchical, and to ‘lose face’ in public is like a black mark on your reputation, a demotion in your position amongst your piers. The confronting (or questioning) of the way things are done is thus often avoided, even if to the detriment of other things we (Westerners) would deem more important.
Consider the following examples. At a military school I work at, a Thai teacher was teaching Thai kids English. I had a free period and so loitered around to see how she went about it. Firstly, it’s worth noting that the Thai educational system favours a somewhat archaic ‘learn by rote’ methodology which stifles the Thai student’s mind in ‘thinking outside the box’. As such, a bunch of English sentences were written on the black board juxtaposed against Thai translations (written in Thai script), and fifty Thai kids were busily scribbling away in their notebooks. During my eavesdropping I noticed a plethora of grammatical errors in the Thai teacher’s writing, yet knew that to walk over and correct them all would cause her to ‘lose face’ in front of her students, and so I had to watch an entire class copy erroneous translations. Add this to the fact that the majority of Thai teachers aren’t well educated (especially in English; the ones that are tend to venture into more lucrative trades like hospitality) and can only speak in Tinglish, a stunted Thai version that gets passed onto the kids, it’s probably not surprising why, in a recent survey of English proficiency, Thailand ranked #59 out of 62 countries.
This ‘losing face’ concept means that Thai students cannot question their teacher. For if - God forbid - said teacher couldn’t provide an adequate answer, he or she would ‘lose face’. Some of the kids I teach privately, one in particular, who’s eight years old and practically fluent, has a vastly superior grasp of English than any Thai teacher I’ve ever met. Thus the asking of questions, the ‘thinking outside the box’, is discouraged within the Thai educational system. To illustrate this, if a Thai teacher pointed to the blackboard and said, ‘this is white,’ the students would have to accept it as gospel. Yet the ‘losing face’ mentality isn’t exclusive to adults in positions of authority, but is inculcated to kids at an early age, so that when I ask a question to a class of seven-year-olds that isn’t abundantly obvious, I might get the occasional whisper from the back of the room, but none of the kids would ever hold up their hand or shout out possible answers, because to do so, and for me to then correct them, would constitute a what? You guessed it - a loss of face. So, in essence, it’s a non-positively reinforcing cycle, a double-edged sword if you will; students are reluctant to answer questions in English to me because they may get it wrong (cue loss of face) and are outright forbidden to ask their Thai teachers questions because said teachers may (and often) not be able to give the answer (cue loss of face, on the part of the teacher this time). And what’s the eventuality? Unfortunately, it’s the aforementioned statistic – a comparatively poor national competency in English.
To give an example outside of the educational system: A Thai factory worker says to his/her boss that there’s a better way to improve production. This would involve questioning or confronting how something is done, and would never happen, because for the factory worker to suggest an improvement in productivity and hence profitability – irrespective of how logical or innovative it was - would cause the next person up the ladder (who hadn’t thought of it themselves) to ‘lose face’. In Thailand, people in positions of ‘high authority’ cannot lose face, especially in front of people in the lower echelons. The head teacher of my school elucidated this point to me very well. I’ll pass on the story he told me:
‘I had to teach a Business English Course to the employees (and the director) of a Thai company. They had to take a test at the end of the course. The director did terrible and so I failed him. I was then discreetly told that I cannot fail the ‘director’, and that I have to give him 100%, irrespective of his inability to speak two words of English, because to do otherwise would constitute a loss of face amongst those under him, and so he got top marks. That’s when I lost all faith in the Thai educational system.’
I may well be faced with a similar scenario in a few weeks when I’m to teach the Thai teachers of a university prep school that I’ve been working at for a few months. Apparently everyone, from head mistress to junior teacher, will be in attendance. I’ve broached the prospect to the director of studies at my company, and have been told to tread carefully as it’ll be a potential minefield of ‘losing face.’
Another concept central to Thainess is sanuk, which means ‘fun’. And, like mai pen rai, it is, on the surface, a very attractive part of their culture. The emphasis placed on it, however, spills over into the classroom to which the actual act of learning often plays second fiddle. Don’t get wrong, learning should be fun, and I try to implement language-based games and activities into most of my lessons, but for some of the veterans at my school, who’ve been influenced by this cultural precept for more than a decade, sanuk is everything. To give an example: there’s one teacher, a qualified British guy, whom I’ve only ever seen playing Uno, Monopoly etc. in his classes. He’s basically given up on teaching. Many of his students comes into each lesson and start playing Minecraft on his laptop for an hour, often against other students in a different classroom! The students love him, the parents love him, and thus the administration love him because the parents keep digging back into their wallets. For my part, I didn’t study teaching to ultimately end up as a babysitter, and I think that students attending a language school should be learning language.
Why do I continue to teach there? Well let me paint a brighter picture. Owing to my qualifications and level of preparation, I get a good deal at my language school. In general, my students range from fairly gifted youngsters to high-proficiency teenagers, fluent uni students and older wealthy business owners. As such, I get to be challenged by teaching advanced aspects of English, and have built a strong rapport with each of my students. My having ‘poached’ – not intentionally, but by decisions from above – said preferred students from the more ‘seasoned’ teachers, together with me having a bit more negotiating power, has, I’ve been told, caused some of my co-workers to express resentment at said preferential treatment, but I simply consider it a promotion by dint of always wanting to produce the best lesson I can. I get a pretty shitty feeling if I finish a lesson which hasn’t achieved what I wanted it to. I’m not going to slate my fellow co-workers because, though they may have various teaching abilities and levels of enthusiasm, I think they’re all a great bunch of guys and we get on well, go out, have a laugh etc. On the other hand, some that have come and gone during the last six months have, to be blunt, been complete jokes. Two guys in particular. One was an electrician from London who had neither a modicum of ability nor the inclination to teach English, but was here for the sole purpose of chasing after Thai bargirls. He lasted three months before his savings were gone, and jetted back home just before being fired. The second was a Northern Brit who was more than a little snug around the midriff, and though claiming to be learned teacher, garnered a plethora of complaints from his students after the first week. Now, bearing in mind that Thais are quite passive, for students to complain to the management means that you were an abominable teacher, and were probably doing things in class you shouldn’t. He was sent packing shortly thereafter.
Why do these big chain schools attract the riff raff? Unfortunately, it’s comes down to the Thai management. The pay is poor, the hours long, the incentives (other than the personal reward that teaching should give) few, and holidays and free weekends non-existent. You also have to do things the Thai way or it’s the highway. I feel sorry for a good friend who had to take the latter route last week. He wasn’t a bad teacher, but simply asked the question ‘why?’ too often, even though he was, in our opinion, fully justified in doing so. No small amount of resentment has been building between the teachers and the management as a result of this and similar incidents.
Admittedly the Thai educational system is flawed - and some of my Thai friends, who were educated in England, haven’t been shy to come right out and say it - especially by Western standards, but we have to understand the cultural and economic gulf that separates them.
Once I’ve finished my year’s contract, my plan is to look farther afield to either international schools or the British Council where curriculums and teaching standards are more like we’d expect back at home. I consider my current job a stepping stone to accrue experience and refine my teaching techniques. In six months I look forward to a normal working week, a decent salary that allows me to save money, paid holiday, and a generally better standard of living where I can fully experience everything this country has to offer.
Let me now tread away from what might be considered a bleak and/or moaning discourse in this overdue blog entry. I may take issue with how certain things are done in this neck of the woods, but ultimately I feel that the pros outweigh the cons. And it’s not just the beautiful beaches and tropical climate (which to be honest is rather overpowering now that we’re into the summer season) but the otherworldliness of it all. Something completely different. I’ve talked about mai pen rai and sanuk, and these traits equate to a very welcoming community. Thais like to have fun and avoid conflict. In six months I’ve never heard a single argument between Thais, nor have I ever had a single argument with them. They always smile and want to have fun – it’s not called the Land of Smiles for nothing.
I also love their language. Over the years my hobbies have come and gone, but now I’m fixated on languages; their intricacies, nuances, and meanings. Currently I’m attempting to achieve fluency in Thai, and then hopefully after, other Asian languages. The window that knowing a language opens is wide; it allows you to view a detailed cultural landscape that would otherwise be obscured by frosted glass.
To know the language is to know the culture. I’m sure many people have said this, and I believe it to be true. I’ve met some farang who’ve been here for years and can only speak the bare fundamentals in a horrendous foreign accent. I take the view that if you choose to live in a country whose first language isn’t your own, you should make some sort of effort to learn said language. Granted, it may be easier for us English teachers as not only do we have to know grammatical structures, but we’re exposed to Thai grammar and pronunciation every day when our students inadvertently superimpose mother-tongue interference onto their English speaking – a phenomenon that I’ve capitalized on to improve my own Thai ¬– yet it’s my believe that anyone who’s willing, can, with time and practice, become fluent in any language they want to. Motivation is key, and many aspects of Thai (and Asian languages in general) put people off. For the native English speaker, learning a European language is comparatively easy as they generally (with perhaps the exception of Hungarian and Finnish) fall into one of two families – Germanic (German, Dutch, English etc) or Romance (French, Italian, Spanish etc) – and all use the Latin alphabet. Learning a language outside of these families, however, is considerably more difficult; they use difference alphabets, sounds, intonation, and grammar. I won’t bore the reader with a detailed breakdown of the Thai language, but I think a few points are worth mentioning. Firstly, Thai is a tonal language. What does this mean? Let me use English as a reference point. Your partner tells you that she is pregnant. You say ‘oh really!’ Are you going to say that like a robot? Not likely. It’s going to be a surprised tone, or a high tone – ‘really!’ Juxtapose this against your partner telling you that her dad’s just died. You say, ‘oh really. I’m so sorry.’ This is going to be a low, sad tone. ‘Are you hungry?’ would be said in a questioning - or rising - tone. Thai has five tones: low, mid, high, rising, or falling, which in English we could apply the mental states sadness, boredom, surprise, questioning, and exclamation respectively. Every syllable in Thai has to be said in one of these five tones to make sense, and they don’t convey politeness or appropriateness as they might in English, but change the entire meaning of the word. Consider the following: ‘maa’, with a mid tone means the verb ‘to come’; rising tone, the noun ‘dog’; high tone, the noun ‘horse’. So in Thai, to say ‘a dog and a horse come…’ would be ‘maa maa maa…’ but with different intonation given to each ‘maa’. You’ll probably deduce from this example that Thai grammar is also very different from English. As is the alphabet. English has twenty one consonants and five vowels; Thai has forty four consonants and twenty two vowels, and bares absolutely no resemblance to the Latin alphabet. The phrase, ‘I’m an English Teacher’ would be written in Thai as: ????????????????????. The full-stop that I’ve used at the end of this sentence doesn’t exist in the Thai writing system, neither do spaces between words nor punctuation in general; it’s all deduced from rules and context. I’ve read that the Thai writing system is the most difficult in the world, but can’t give a personal opinion on this as I only know one other.
Whilst I’m here, let’s touch on Buddhism. Religion pervades every culture back to the age of antiquity. In the west, atheism has become more prevalent in the last century – currently only x % of British are Christians. In Thailand, it’s a different story - 95% of Thais practice Buddhism. In the UK we have churches and vicars; in Thailand, it’s temples and monks. I frequently see the orange-robed clergyman at the mouth of my soi giving blessings to the public, who in turn make offerings of food and other essentials. A few months ago, when I was dating Joy, we would often visit temples, and I enjoyed getting stuck in, lighting the smoke stick, kneeling and bowing. Not remotely religious by nature, I still found it rather enlightening.
Oh yeah, and the food's lush as well; I dined on fried scorpion a few days ago with some friends from Bristol. Delicious!
So that’s my take on a few aspects of Thai culture, but it’s only really the tip of the iceberg; I’ve heard it said that you can have been living here for two decades or more and still not understand all the idiosyncrasies of Thainess. School term broke up a month ago, and Songkran – the Thai New Year water festival - starts tomorrow. I’ve finished this entry just in time, because now have several days off to get merry, have water fights, before heading south to Koh Chang to dry off (and sober up) on its luxurious beaches. Will endeavor not to be so tardy with my next chapter.
Now, where’s my Supersoaker . . .