Conscription lottery lets us down

Actor Pachara Chirathivat tries his luck in the draw (file pic)

Ball pulled a red card, so will have to serve in the military as a conscripted soldier.

He will join the army for two years, based in Bangkok.

Each year’s intake is split into two, with the first group leaving in May. Ball will join the second group, leaving home in November.

This means he can be present for the birth of his first child, expected in early June. If he had been assigned to the May intake – it’s only by the luck of the draw that he wasn’t – he would have missed it.

Conscripts must spend the first three months at a training camp, and cannot return home until training is over. However, families are allowed weekend visits.

Once the camp ends, he can visit home at weekends.

Conscription day was held at a temple school. Ball and his girlfriend Jay went together in early morning; I took Ball's mother a few hours later.

More than 300 young men reported for the draw, though 130 sought a deferral to next year, mostly because they are studying. The military wanted 70 soldiers from Ball’s district, but 28 applied, leaving them with just 42 to find.

The young men who took part in the draw sat in rows of 15 each. Ball was in the second row.

Their names are called one by one. When his name is called, each young man stands up, and walks to the front of the crowd where soldiers have set up a small pot sitting on a stand.

He dips his hand into the pot, and pulls out a card...actually, a piece of curled paper which will tell him his fate.

A soldier unwraps it for him, and reads out the result – while another soldier, an avuncular looking type aged in his 50s, holds the young man around the waist or across the chest in a warm embrace.

Well, it looks warm, but I suspect he is really there to stop young men who pull a red from falling into a distressed heap, or bolting for freedom.

No one wants to be a soldier, and the army knows it. Before the draw, one soldier joked with would-be conscripts through a microphone that they might want to pray to their favourite deities to bring them good luck.

Those who pull a black card can return to their friends and families, who watch from behind a cordon.

Many young would-be conscripts turn up with their friends, who cheer them as their names are called.

Of the first 15 names called, only two or three young men drew red cards; the rest drew black, which meant they regained their freedom.

Only one drew a red in the second row before Ball’s name was called. By then the numerical odds of his drawing a black were against him. He pulled a red, though put on a brave face, smiling throughout.

Some of the other young recruits weren’t so steadfast. One young man who pulled a red started to cry, while another staggered around and looked so unsteady on his feet that I thought he was about to collapse.

Those who pull red join a queue to sign various forms, and are told what happens next.

Ball joined a queue along with half a dozen other young men who pulled red before him. He was the smallest one there, in height and in build.

Ball’s height, 162cm, was right on the minimum which the military demands of a potential conscript. If he had been just a little shorter, they would have sent him home.

A handful of Ball’s friends from the slum were there to take part in the draw, along with their families. Ball knows only a couple who, like him, pulled red. The rest breathe a sigh of relief and carry on with their lives.

Conscription day – with its stallholders selling food, parents mingling, boisterous young men cheering, and children running around – felt like a temple fair, and with a hint of gambling (the conscription draw, where youngsters chance their luck with lady fate) thrown in.

But having been there for hours, and now having learned the grim outcome, we did not hang around.

I was the first to meet Ball when he finished signing his forms.

‘Where’s Jay?’ he asked.

His pregnant girlfriend had taken herself off to a quiet corner for a cry.

Mum, who went through this drama a year ago when her eldest son Boy was conscripted, left us several hours before rather than wait for the outcome of the draw. She called a moment after it was complete to find out the result.

We found Jay, and I took her home in a taxi. Ball went back alone on his motorbike.

While Jay and I have shed tears many times since he pulled red, Ball has yet to cry for himself.

'I don’t want to be a soldier,’ he told me several times later that night, as we drowned our sorrows in whisky. I shouted the family a Korean-style bar-b-que, so at least we could enjoy a good meal as we lamented Ball’s fate.

That was a week ago. Since then, Ball has had the chance to talk to his brother and friends about what life as a soldier will be like. He is starting to accept his fate, and at times even says he is looking forward to the experience.

'You will pass through many emotions before November, but in the end I believe you will be ready to serve,’ I told him.

‘I don’t want people crying for me,’ he told me one day, as he saw tears welling in my eyes.

‘You are always the tough one in the family. Sometimes it is okay to let go,’ I said.

If he still feels sad, I seldom see it. Ball has been dealt his fate, and knows life will just have to carry on.

‘We will visit every weekend, and bring your favourite food. Jay and I will also write letters, so I hope you reply,’ I said.

He looked at me bravely – an intense gaze, right into my eyes, as if he wants to make sure I will stick by him – and smiled.

Facing up to the men in khaki

The waiting is almost over. Within hours, we will know whether Ball has to serve as a conscripted soldier.

Forced military service, which in his case could last up to two years, could change my young man’s life, and probably for the better.

However, I cannot help wanting him to stay close to us instead.

Men who enter their 21st year are eligible for the conscription draw, decided at district offices and schools around the country (the pictures here come from previous military conscription rounds).

He will report to his local district office to be weighed, measured, and take part in the conscription lottery.

If he pulls a red paper, he must serve. If he pulls a black paper, he can breathe a sigh of relief, and go back to leading a normal life.

Service for conscripts starts with a three-month training exercise which will keep him away from home for all that time.

Conscripts enter service in May or November. They must sever themselves from their daily lives as civilians, including quitting whatever jobs they are working.

‘At least I will be here for the birth of my daughter, who is due in a matter of weeks. If I could not see her before I leave, I would feel terrible,’ said a stoic Ball, when talking about the prospect of military service.

Thais who finished school with an inferior leaving qualification – Year 3 of secondary school, in Ball's case - can expect to serve up to two years, compared to just one year someone with a university qualification (discounted to six months if he volunteers).

‘Mum said that if I am chosen, I should try to be strong. My elder brother was a conscript before me, and she gave him the same advice. She said that on the day I leave, I should walk out the door and not look back,’ he said.

The fact that Ball and girlfriend Jay are expecting their first child does not excuse him from military duty, should he be unlucky in the conscription draw.

Jay will have to wait for his return, along with everyone else. Ball’s family will care for her and the baby in the meantime. While he can’t return home for at least the first three months, we can make family visits to the military camp where he serves out his training...be it in Bangkok, or in the provinces.

Ball's mother asked me last week if I would help her pay a bribe to the military people to have his name taken off the list for this year's conscription lottery and put on the list for next year's draw instead, so he could spend the first 12 months at home with his young child.

However, she must have spoken to the military recruiters again since then, for she has now told Ball that no bribes can help, and he has no choice but to present himself for the draw.

'We left it too late,' he said.

On the plus side, when he visited the military recruitment centre recently to pick up a conscription form, he found the place packed with young men signing up as volunteers.

If the military enlists plenty of volunteers, it won't need as many conscripts to fill out the numbers (conscripts top up the total number needed by the forces in any one year, broken down by districts).

Young men in poor districts like signing up, because the military offers job security.

On the negative side, the military is recruiting more people than in the past.

The armed forces and Defence Ministry want to conscript 97,280 men this year - an increase of 9,828 from last year.

Almost everyone has heard stories of families bucking the draw by paying bribes, or citing an obscure medical complaint to give their sons an exemption on health grounds.

A committee oversees conscription in each district, to make sure the process is held fairly.

Ball, while scared initially, says he is now prepared for his fate, whatever it may be.

‘I am not scared about serving. If I pull a red card, I will have to serve, and that’s it,’ he said.

Fleeing his responsibilities would not work, as the military comes after conscripts who refuse to serve. He would not be able to use his ID card if he bucked the draft, which means he would not be able to work, either.

Until last week, Ball was working at a local coffee shop, where he served customers and helped in the kitchen.

The shop is a tiny place attached to a petrol station, but the owner has big ideas. ‘She told us the customers were hi-so, and we would have to watch our behaviour,’ he said.

Ball lost his job, after he made the mistake of turning up with his girlfriend.

‘I started work one day at 5am. Jay took me on the motorbike. I asked her to sit in the shop until the sun rose, so she could go home safely. I didn’t want her driving home in the dark,’ he said.

However, the owner resented her presence, as Ball thought he had invited Jay into the shop to be nosy.

‘She pulled me to one side and told me the job was not really for me. She said I would probably have to serve – the owner and her boyfriend had laid odds on my chances – and I should prepare myself for military duty instead,’ he said.

‘She worked us hard, but was constantly criticising her staff rather than giving encouragement. I had decided I would have to leave anyway,’ he said.

While Ball can laugh about his ill-fated coffee shop adventure now, he was upset at the time, and I do not blame him.

Ball and I were sharing a couple of beers, with a heavily impregnated Jay perched on the couch next to us.

Our young man told us what was likely to happen if he was called to serve.

I admired his courage. He spoke matter-of-factly, and laughed as he tried to make the best of whatever fate was about to throw him.

He wants to spare my feelings, and those of his girlfriend.

I wept, Jay followed my lead.

‘I can’t get used to this idea,’ I said, rubbing my eyes.

Ball patted my knee.

‘Save your crying for conscription day...don’t rush into assuming I will have to serve!’ he laughed.

Aware that he will soon be a father, Ball has made concerted efforts to find work, attending a handful of interviews, including some on the other side of town in an often-futile quest to find a job which will keep him happy.

He has curbed his drinking, and vows to carry on looking for work if he is lucky enough to escape the draft.

'Mum has asked my elder brother and I to enter the monkhood if I escape the lottery,' he said.

His determination to improve himself is showing results: his girlfriend beams when I see her these days, and chats away happily. She is no longer the sulky, unhappy teen of old who despairs of her future with a young man who drinks and refuses to work.

She teases him mercilessly, making good use of her sharp tongue. Ball doesn’t mind being held up for a gentle ribbing, and in fact enjoys the attention.

‘Why don’t you take pills and grow a temporary set of breasts...you’re face is so soft, you could pass as a girl and gain an exemption from service,’ she said.

Ball smiled. ‘I would rather pull a red than go as a woman,’ he said.

Conscription has its pluses.

It would remove Ball from the poisonous environment of the slum, where the tempting sight of people drinking surrounds him constantly.

The discipline of the military would also toughen him up. When Ball encounters difficulty at work, he bolts for the shelter of home.

If he comes across someone he dislikes, he cannot run for cover, but must face the problem head on, as he will be confined to the based at a military camp. There is no escape.

The young man who leaves us in a matter of weeks, should he be chosen to serve, will not be the same man who returns in many months from now.

I can only hope the military cares for him, that someone there will take an interest in his welfare and help him get through the experience in one piece.

Ball plans to arrive at the conscription office at the ghastly hour of 5am. I doubt that reporting so early will hasten the draw, or improve his chances, but he wants to put an end to the uncertainty.

Jay and I will follow a few hours later, to lend moral support as he submits himself to the draw.

Conscription day is tomorrow. Wish us luck.

I left my coat and hat at the door

This blog marks its fifth anniversary next month. That’s a long time for any blog to be in action, particularly one based in the Land of Smiles. I can think of only one blogger who has been going that long, and even he appears to be running out of steam.

In the past few months, in preparation for BOTM2’s birthday, I have been doing housework on the blog...tidying up the language in old posts, parsing out posts which are out of date or have served their purpose.

Google, which dislikes bloggers messing with old posts, has rewarded me by removing a large chunk of my daily readership drawn from Google search queries. I suppose I should have expected that, as bloggers who know more about the internet than me had warned me against messing with old posts.

However, I don’t like the idea of lugging around posts which, in retrospect, should never have seen the light of day. If I can’t delete outdated or embarrassing posts from my own blog, I would rather not bother.

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Reader reaction is essential to a functioning blog. If readers are not prepared to get involved, and foster a sense of community around the blog, I would rather not carry on, and I have said as much before.

I am not prepared to post in a vacuum, yet lately reader reaction has all but disappeared.

I am not too fussed about Adsense earnings, as I write for enjoyment, and hopefully that of my readers as well. Yet I have noticed that Adsense goes up when readers are happy, or enjoying themselves...and lately, readers barely to click on the ads, which suggests something is wrong.

The problem may lie with me. This is not a blog written by a newcomer to Thailand, or some expat content to look at Thai life from the outside in. I have tried my best to involve myself in Thai life from the start of my journey, as I can’t see the point in living a Western-style life, only transplanted abroad.

One reason readers fail to respond to content, perhaps, is that they can’t relate to it. Humble as these tales are, they are too far beyond the realm of their own experience to strike a chord, or prompt a reaction.

If I set these stories in some seedy Silom bar, perhaps I would have more luck. Yet that is not me, and there are more than enough blogs written for that crowd floating about in the internet wasteland...we don’t need another.

So, as the Thais say, 'Up to you'.

Show me that you care about the content, or I will take my musings elsewhere.

Esan trader minces it up

A woman who sells spicy sliced beef salad (an Esan dish, otherwise known as nam tok nuea, or น้ำตกเนื้อ) likes to imitate me.

I was heading to work the other day when I stopped by her street stall.

I have bought from this woman once before. Her shop is usually surrounded by Esan types, as they like to stick close to food from their region.

The first time, I bought laab moo (spicy minced salad), but the other day when I called by, she had run out. ‘Why don’t you try nam tok neua [pictured], dear – it’s the same, only sliced, not minced,’ she said.

I agreed.

As we spoke, I noticed she was wringing her hands, and wearing a strange, forced smile, like a grimace.

I looked at her again and realised that the woman was trying to imitate my behaviour. She thinks I look girly, I thought, stealing a quick look at my wrists.

Was I holding them normally? Yes. Well, okay...perhaps one of them looked a little limp.

And why the forced smile? Do I look too sweet for her taste?

She asked me about myself as she worked...Where do I come from? Where do I live?

I answered her politely. I wanted to ask if I really looked that gay, or if she behaves like that with all the westerners she meets.

She doesn't do it to be cruel, but simply because she thinks I look odd. In fact, I suspect she is not even aware she is doing it.

As I left, she gave me a mincy gay wave.

I didn't know I looked that gay. I dress normally. I even wear a serious black backpack.

I returned her wave. I have a new member of my gay fan club. And here I was, thinking I look relatively straight.

Rugging up in Bangkok

We are still in the midst of a welcome cool spell, which barely affects farang accustomed to colder climes, but which is harder on Thais who like warmer weather.

Getting dressed for his trip to the supermarket this morning took Maiyuu 10 minutes.

He emerged looking wearing white tracksuit pants, a black singlet, and black parka with red, blue and white stripes for his bike ride to the supermarket.

‘Does this look over the top?’ he asked as he set off.

‘You look fine...no one will notice that you look like a national flag,’ I replied.

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Mr Ball has found himself a job at a coffee shop.

I am not sure what his duties are – I will hear about them when I pay a visit tonight – but he is into day three so far, and doing well.

They make him work strange hours. Today he started at 4am, and is finishing mid-afternoon. What does he do at that ungodly hour – Prepare food? Clean windows?