The Golden Triangle: A Photo Essay

Like its name suggests, the Golden Triangle holds wealth, though it may not be the kind that’s visible in the ornate Buddhist temples or market value of all the tourist merchandise. Indicating the region where Laos, Myanmar, and Thailand intersect, the Golden Triangle hosts a history of pain and poverty at the same time that beauty inhabits the land and its people.

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A Visit to a Burmese Village

Joy and Serenity sat in the form of a husband and wife in a Burmese village. As they spoke, sharing their experiences with us, joy spilled through the woman’s smile. Even while we waited for a translation of their words, she needed no interpreter for her kindness. Only moments before, she had been bustling around the table to make sure all of the guests’ dishes were filled with food. The ever-present curve of her lips imbedded in the soft brown tones of her face, she’d gesture to the bowls of rice, soup, and meat, then point at one of our dishes, indicating that we should eat more or demonstrating which herbs went with which dish. We understood her intent, filling up with food as she directed. We were strangers to her, eight young farang with our Ajarn’s and study abroad directors, yet she spared no amount of generosity. I don’t even know her name, yet she set a table for us at her home and let us eat her food.

Her husband, the leader of the church, spoke with a sincerity kindled in his gaze. Both of them also discussed one of their daughters, a woman we had met briefly at the border. Now a pastor, she had once been like us: a student in need of support to pursue her education. The vulnerability of a young adult is not unique to any one culture, but the outcome of that insecurity can look different.

Here in Thailand, steeped in Buddhist culture, the burden of provision is left at the feet of children (Crawford 5). For the son, merit must be earned through temporary service as a monk (qtd. Crawford 7). The obligation holds prestige, presumably reserving favor for parents in future lives. For the daughter, debt is monetary to be cashed in the present life (Crawford 7). While duty to parental elders looks wise and magnanimous, it is one factor behind the exploitation of young women. It is not mere desire that drives women to attain money, but duty, and the pressure can lead them into labor and sex exploitation and trafficking (qtd in Crawford 8). As we learned in Dr. Christa’s class, for the son, the path to pay off debt lies securely in the service to be a monk. For the daughter, money must be gained in whatever way possible.

Like the daughter of the two people in the village, I find myself in a place of uncertainty yet always sure of my parents’ support. The daughter had that certainty too, her experience differing vastly from the stories I’d heard in class of Buddhist families. I had thought it was because her family were Christians, but Dr. Christa informed us later that even in the company of Christians, the support the couple gave their daughter made them unusual. When pursuing an education their daughter could not afford, the parents took on more work. Together, they perfected a system in which the mother would sell the fish that the father had caught the day before. They sent that money to their daughter how was pursuing a degree in seminary. As if the set-up of parents providing for children didn’t already take a cross-cultural hue, her parents received questioning about why they would let their daughter study to become a pastor rather than the more secure options of teaching or nursing. Again, it is not just one culture that values the fields that are most secure. But the parents made the choice to support their daughter in that as well.

The Market in Laos

There is a little strip of land in Laos that tourists can visit without the hassle of immigration regulations. All we had to do was board the river cruise that sliced through the depths of the Mekong River and delivered us at the dock of Laos for a half hour among the market stalls. Much of the merchandise boasts brand names or exotic alcohol, with prices cheap enough to lure lure tourists in.

Yet the little girl I saw there would probably receive only the afterthoughts of a tourist’s money. Even before we talked about the issue of forced begging, it was a concept I encountered in Europe. Gypsies would wait at train stops and approach waiting passengers for money. Some of them sit on the ground against cement pillars, others standing around, but all of them in the background of people's minds as they go about their day. Even if we gave them something, we were informed that they would likely later have to turn that money in to someone who exploited them.

I wondered if that was the case when I walked up to some of the students who interacted with a little girl. A layer of dirt covered her, though her smile emerged every once in a while in response to our interactions. Just as quickly, her face could transform, her brows furrowing and her hands folding together in front of her. I couldn’t understand her language, but I knew her request: money. We were warned that if we gave her anything, a swarm of children would soon surround us, and I also couldn’t ignore the possibility that she might have had a pimp waiting to snatch anything I gave her. But how could I just do nothing? There we stood in a market where we could easily purchase souvenirs, and I had a wallet full of money, but I still felt somehow powerless in the face of this little girl. In one of my classes, Exclusion and Exploitation in the Mekong Subregion, we talked about the concept of justice and how to pursue it. Should we look directly at those in front of us and look to offer immediate relief or take a step back and attack the systemic issues that put them in that situation in the first place? Ideally, we should chase after both approaches, especially those of us who are Christians. But I am ashamed to say that my uncertainty in the face of such a Goliath paralyzed me.

I knelt down to her and held up my hands in the gesture that all children somehow know: a high five. When our hands hit together, her smile reappeared and I felt a surge of satisfaction almost immediately followed by one of disappointment in myself. It was a moment of shallow pride followed by guilt. Our interaction had gotten her to smile, but when I walked away, I had left her with the same amount she’d had before: nothing. As our group crowded together for a photo, she stood in front of us, a stark contrast to the smiling faces of tourists, and the whole ordeal felt cheap. Here we were surrounded by commodities we could buy without batting an eye, but it was the little girl in need made me squirm. A smile had taken minimal effort, and I had enough money on me to provide for her for a time, yet I still walked away without giving her any, and I struggle to know what response I should take in those situations, both as a Christian and as someone who has privilege. Maybe you can help me with this, how are we to respond? It shouldn't even be about "as Christians, we should...." but shouldn't it be an inherently human response to want to help those in need?

17 "But if anyone has the world's goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God's love abide in him?" - 1 John 3:17

So maybe it's not the best to end a post with thoughts on guilt. But I also think it's worth thinking about. How will I respond when I see someone in need? Or more importantly, how will I be listening for God's voice when I see someone in need?

The Golden Triangle tells many stories of struggle and resilience. How do you see those unfolding in your own life?

Crawford, Christa F. "Duty, Obligation and Prostitution: How Family Matters in Entry into and Exit from Prostitution in Thailand." Family and Faith in Asia: The Missional Impact of Social Networks. Ed. Paul DeNeui. N.p.: William Carey Library, 2010. 1-9. Print.