Slums and Spirit Houses:

Jay is alone in the computer lab. He is one of the founding
members of a famous band of computer geeks – better known as the Gang
of Angels. He makes several clicks on the mouse as a large map of
Bangkok starts to appear on the screen. His eyes are tired from staring
at long strings of programming codes and he is not so sure if what is
emerging on the screen is not some sort of mental hallucination on his
part. As he waits for the entire map to finish loading up, he feels compel
to leave his computer station – where he has been sitting for the past
5 hours. He takes a Djarum cigarette from the pack, dismounts from the
chair, and left the room. The map continues loading.
The city map makes its appearance with dark blue dots
and veins sprawling over a bland yellowish background; it brings to mind
the image of a certain type of cultured cheese – perhaps the Gorgonzola.
They are the colony of slums and shantytowns that have
informally taken over the city; turning it into something very alive –
much like the blue cheese. Their patterns, too, are unique to its location
of origin. The connoisseurs may have acquired a taste for the Gorgonzola,
the Roquefort, or the Stilton; but they have yet to acquire the taste
for the Mumbai, the Nairobi, the Caracas, or the Bangkok. Perhaps these
cities are much too pungent for their fine palates.
Similar to the colonies of Lactobacillus Bulgaricus
that labored tirelessly so that the connoisseurs could enjoy it with their
red wine, the slums of Bangkok or Mumbai suffered the same fate; but in
a rather different way.
Prior to 1957 – when the American planners arrived -
most Thais were living on the land without the concept of title deed.
The land was handed down from a generation to the next generation. If
the land was left unused, it would automatically be taken up by someone
else who could make use of it.
The
Spirit House is a living relic to this traditional land use pattern. The
fundamental concept of the Spirit House – aside from its complex rituals
– is rather simple. It reminds the living that the dead is the undisputable
landlord; and that the land belongs to the ghosts who reside in the Spirit
Houses. So most people – the living - accepted their common lot as ‘trustees’
who take care of the land; making useful things out of it while they go
through the stage of being alive. It was the concept of trusteeship that
laid the foundation for traditional land use patterns in Thailand. It
is also interesting to note that a piece of land is traditionally thought
to be owned by a collective group of ghosts; rarely would a land be owned
by a lone individual ghost.
After the arrival of the American planners, we see the
rapid expansion of roadways throughout the nation. It was a first step
in preparation for the Vietnam War in the eyes of the American planners.
It was also a boon for the speculators as the price of land along these
new roadways skyrocketed. Land titles were sold to local investors – many
were men in military uniforms – who were more than happy to make accommodation
to the Americans GIs. Like in South Vietnam, the Americans had hoped to
create an infrastructure that could help support their troops while providing
a steady cash flow to their hungry hosts.
The night is warm and quiet outside the computer lab;
Jay is puffing his 2nd clove cigarette, thinking about the ghosts. The
computer labors on his behalf; making strange noises while it renders
the city map for its master. It is halfway done with the map now. Jay
takes out a watch – which he has removed from his wrist – and finds that
it is now 2:05 AM. He doesn’t like to be reminded of time; so he usually
removes his wrist watch and puts it in his pants pocket. He used to say
that there are lots of people out there these days who don’t seem to have
enough time; but some people – like him – always have time; they just
don’t look at it.
Inside the computer lab, the emerging map starts to
render up the location of the bazaars and markets; they are always seemed
to be in close proximity to the slums. Often, the people who live in slums
create social spaces near their homes so that they could trade and sell
goods; sometime they sell their own bodies to delirious sweaty men. Over
time these social spaces became bazaars and they, in turn, became important
destinations; places where people meet, eat, shop, and dream. The land
value goes up proportionally to the popularity of such dreams; and some
land owners wake up with bulging pants after seeing one of those dreams.
When this happens, he usually relieves himself by going to the slums;
waiving his impressive Chanod to some astonished grandmas – who
have never seen anything like it for the past 50 years. The grandmas and
her belongings and her pets and her battery powered radios are usually
thrown out; either by force or by the more common method of arson. Like
the micro colonies that live on the blue cheese, the slums dwellers are
active agents that create value and life for the otherwise bland piece
of land. But a ripen piece of land could no longer protect the colony
of squatters from the inexorable thrust of the Chanod.
The age of capitalism had begun, and it brought its
own tools and dogmas. The concept of land title and deeds – the Chanod
- were one of those dogmas; and it was taken up by those who had power.
Traditional beliefs - like the Spirit House – were relegated to decorative
and routine rituals. The folks who still practice this traditional ritual
are seen as backward and animistic.
General Eisenhower starts howling; it has arrived here
with his friend Tuy who has a peculiar taste for naming his dogs after
the military men in Washington. The dog, too, is a creature of discipline;
it is proud of its name, and for 6 months, it is unresponsive to everything
but General Eisenhower – not even "Ike."
“You’ve left this CD-R in the teahouse last night,”
says Tuy as he handed the disc to Jay and walks the dog away towards the
field.
“Thanks dude,” shouts Jay as he handles the CD-R with
care.
Back in the lab, he finds that the entire map of Bangkok
has finished loading up. The rendering is complete. The computer is not
making any more noises and the shaking movement has stopped. He glances
at the map for some minutes; absorbing it in his memory picture. The blue
dots are so extensive; more so than he has originally thought they would
be. Bangkok is indeed a city of slums. Today, the eviction of slums is
no longer popular with large and experience landlords. The squatters –
during eviction seasons – scattered themselves throughout the city; germinating
their new settlements; inviting more families and relatives from the villages.
The landlords had come to realize that the eviction of one slum could
cause 20 more slums to reappear in a matter of weeks. And when they find
that the new slums so happen to be growing on several of their million
dollars properties, their worst fear is confirmed.
Jay starts loading the CD-R he got from Tuy on another
computer station. His mind is shutting down on him so that his head becomes
heavy and it falls on the computer desk; it would remain there for the
whole night, resting and rolling on the mouse pad.
The hands on the wall clock now read: “6:25”.
“Wake up dude!” says a young man with a bushy head.
“Got the disc?”
“What?” Jay gets up slowly from the chair like a fat
man; his eyes are still watery; his cheek bears an etching of the mouse
pad’s logo. From the lab’s windows, he can see the orange sun at the edge
of the horizon, but he is not so sure whether it is early morning or early
evening. Sometime he sleeps during the day and wakes up at 6:00 PM; and
the sun looks exactly like the one at 6:00 AM. So he stares at it; trying
to see if it's rising or falling.
“The disc, the BUDO community map…you know what I mean?”
“Oh….. sure… I got it right here. What time is it?”
says Jay, still dazed.
“It’s 6:27 AM…… Look, they say we still need to add
more communities to the map; they’re presenting it to the Cabinet in two
weeks!” the man says.
Jay yawns as he stretches his arms. “We’ll make
it… we have time,” he says, feeling the wrist watch in his pants pocket.
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