A First Nation’s call for help

The author at 15 years old, just past the halfway point on the 8.5 mile long Grand Portage linking Lake Superior with the Pigeon River, and the namesake for this 1977 expedition.

On Thursday, February 23, 2012, the last of 22 new modular homes arrived in the Attawapiskat First Nation of northern Ontario. To the Canadian federal government, it signaled the trumpeted end of a crisis that began almost a full four months earlier.

Minister of Aboriginal Affairs John Duncan issued the following statement: “The arrival of these modular homes demonstrates our government’s commitment to the residents of Attawapiskat First Nation.”

Not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth, I can’t help but think that maybe this type of band-aid solution, although well intentioned, is only masking the reason why Attiwapiskat, and many other First Nation communities find themselves on the precipice of marginalization.

Attawapiskat, Ontario, Canada, 2011. Photo by Oakland Ross / Toronto Star.

On October 28, 2011, Attawapiskat, an aboriginal community on the shores of Canada’s James Bay, declared a state of emergency. The reason was not one of natural disaster, or act of God.  Instead, it was a human act: that decidedly oxymoronic, and inhumane human act known as neglect. Attawapiskat was, according to Chief Theresa Hall, suffering from inadequate housing.

What makes this so hard to stomach is that it is happening in one of the wealthiest countries on earth, and I can’t help but think not much has changed in the 35 years since I viewed my first northern First Nations’ community from the middle thwart of a canoe.

The long-haul transport rigs of Canada's fur trade: the voyageur canoe. Painting by Frances Anne Hopkins. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

As a high school teenager, one of my unconventional school’s requirements was paddling the historic trade routes shared by the voyageurs, and the companies vying for control of the fur trade: The Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson’s Bay, which became the Hudson’s Bay Company; and its rival, the Montréal based North West Company.

These corporate entities provided the drive and determination needed to open up the interior of the continent through exploration and mapping, linking great watersheds like Hudson’s Bay, the Arctic, the Pacific, and the Great Lakes-St. Lawrence River in the process. Ultimately, their competitive zeal would lead to this vast landmass’ improbable birth as the nation known today as Canada.

Our trips were up to four weeks in length. On top of giving myself, and my fellow students an up close and personal view of but a small portion of the huge tracts of wilderness that made up our country, it allowed us the opportunity to truly experience its history.

Paddling the Grand Portage Route: the roughly 800-mile fur trade "highway" from Fort William (present day Thunder Bay, Ontario) to Lower Fort Garry (Winnipeg, Manitoba), 1977.

After a week or more without seeing a trace of human existence, we would often paddle our 22’ Chestnut Freighter canoes around a point of land, exposing First Nation communities the likes of Wabaseemoong, Little Grand Rapids, Bloodvein, and Berens River. We were offered only a fleeting glimpse into the world of the Saulteaux, a branch of the Ojibwa, or Anishinaabe people. But it was a glimpse I remember with sharp clarity.

Clusters of pre-fab style homes would be grouped together overlooking the shoreline, often with newer buildings set amongst what looked to be their decidedly older, dilapidated brethren. Not all buildings were in such a sad state of repair. But the overall impression was one of poor quality, and disposability, as opposed to longevity.

When a building reached a certain state of disrepair, it was replaced. Left to the elements, it became an empty gutted shell of a structure that neither grew old gracefully, nor accurately portrayed the proud history and culture of its former inhabitants.

The sign that adorned many of the Hudson Bay Company's former northern stores in Canadian First Nation communities. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

The locals would look on, perhaps offering a friendly wave and smile, as we cut through the water, and paddled out of their sight. Sometimes, we made a brief stop at the Hudson’s Bay Company store. These were often white washed buildings boasting impressive signs done in immaculate script, pronouncing the birth date of what is today, still the oldest company in North America, and one of the oldest in the world. The Northern Stores, as they were known, served as the last vestiges of the fur trade era, and stood in stark contrast to the worn, tired buildings many locals called home.

Little did I know that the situation I saw as a teenager would become symptomatic of the welfare state we have created for the First Nations people of Canada’s north. No doubt, a lot of money is spent at Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development Canada, the department tasked with ensuring the Government of Canada meets its obligations and commitments to First Nations, Inuit, and Métis. But, there does not appear to be much change in the housing situation since my youth, other than the fact that communications and media allow for more well-intentioned Canadians to become aware of the problem.

Our government’s first response always seems to be laying the blame for deplorable conditions squarely at the feet of the chiefs, and band councils, citing fiscal mismanagement. But, then that same government offers another temporary solution to what appears to be a systemic issue, by throwing more money at the symptom, rather than fighting, and eliminating the cause of the problem. It is oxymoronic, bad business practice, and plain wrong on so many levels.

Attawapiskat is not the first cry for help to be heard from Canada’s First Nations, nor unfortunately, will it be the last. But, my hope is that the plight of these communities becomes a greater priority to all Canadians, and by extension, the federal government that claims to represent our views, and serve our needs. Because up until now, our collective actions prove the old adage that we have learned nothing from history. As a Canadian, this is embarrassing, unacceptable, and very sad.

On being Freshly Pressed…

In essence, it was an awakening. Photo by Andrea Sirois.

A wonderful thing happened to me one year ago. Barely six months after the launch of Cyclelogical, my on-line repository for thoughts on a variety of topics, I published a post entitled The Human Spirit. A short time later, I received an e-mail from WordPress.com congratulating me on being promoted on Freshly Pressed.

Freshly Pressed? What did this mean? I was new to the blogging world, and I used Cyclelogical, in part, as a virtual storage facility for some of my previous writing. It was my library of travelogues, thoughts and yes, even opinions that shared a sometimes obscure, at least to the outside reader, connection with cycling, and the role it has played in my life. But, perhaps more than anything, it was a treasure chest of memories that was unlocked by the subjects I wrote about, subjects that truly spoke to me.

On March 1, 2011, while contemplating two seemingly divergent news events on opposite sides of the planet, I was riveted on what appeared to be, at least to me, their commonality. The Arab Spring had well and truly begun, and  the city of Christchurch, New Zealand was reeling as it tried to deal with the aftermath of a devastating earthquake.

As I wrote, the thoughts and words flowed with an easy continuity. Jumping from one story to the other,  I thought about the nature of the two life-altering events. I thought of the wave of pro-democracy protests building energy across North Africa and the Middle East. I thought of my time spent in Christchurch years before, working as a cycle tour guide, and frequenting areas of the city that would now never be the same again.

Emotion welled up inside me as I pictured friends from New Zealand: people who shared important times and places in my life; places shrouded in time past, and now laid open by the tragic, present day reality. Ironically, the feeling I was left with after the initial rush of emotion was not one of angst, or despair, but one of hope. The strength, and resilience exemplified in the actions of the people from these two far-flung regions, dealing with drastically different issues, in markedly different situations, would ultimately result in my title.

Within minutes of the WordPress notification, my Inbox began to fill with comments: some insightful, some knowledgeable, and some very personal. But, their common trait was that they were overwhelmingly positive. This continuous two-day stream of reaction was joined by perspectives and subscription notices from fellow bloggers the world over, some from the very regions being affected.

To say I was surprised at the response would be an understatement. Overwhelmed would be closer to the mark. But, the thing for which I was totally unprepared, and for which I am most grateful, was the extent to which people shared their feelings upon reading my words. It was these raw, honest, and sincere reactions that spelled out for me, in no uncertain terms, the strength and power of this medium we call the Internet.

Today, an average, ordinary person’s ability to communicate, to share insights, opinions and thoughts that can truly affect others, is remarkable. Call it cliché, but the world really is a much smaller place than even a generation ago.

Thank you to all who read The Human Spirit. Thank you to all who shared a bit of themselves with me through their comments. And finally, thank you to all who unknowingly contributed to my very personal awakening to the power of the written word, which made this ordinary person’s day one year ago, well, nothing short of extraordinary.

Lest I forget, the biggest thank you goes to my life-partner Andrea, who is the person responsible for initially suggesting I use this blog as a writing tool, and as a purposeful reason to hone the craft, and write more. Her amazing photography graces many of my posts, including this one.

Paix , Friede , Vrede , Solh , Ειρήνη , 平和 , Shanti , Pax , Shalom , Kapayapaan , Santiphap  , Ukuthula , Salaam , Wolakota , Paz  , Peace   .

Happy Belated Birthday Baby!

The Buddhist mudra, or hand position, known as Bhumisparsha. The name translates into "touching the earth", and with five fingers extending towards the ground, it symbolizes the Buddha calling upon the world to witness his enlightenment. Photo © Andrea Sirois Photography.

According to United Nations predictions, mother earth welcomed her seven-billionth child on October 31, 2011. If we play the odds, it was probably a boy, and probably born in either China, or India. Regardless of gender, or home nation, happy belated birthday baby!

Today, well after many nations have already welcomed their own symbolic seven-billionth milestone, I would like to pass on my best wishes, and hopes for you in the years to come.

You have arrived into a world filled with seemingly unlimited potential, fuelled by the creativity, intelligence and vision of your many brothers and sisters. You will hear about their exploits: how they mapped the globe, climbed the highest mountains, navigated the longest rivers, and explored the heavens of the night sky.

Like you, they were full of wonder, and excitement. They sought to learn, and share their knowledge. Some were great inventors, learning to fly like the birds, and making the world a smaller place with amazing technologies. Some were great doctors, fighting sickness and disease, and allowing everyone the chance to live a happier, healthier life. Some were great communicators, whose inspirational messages told us to respect the earth, as well as each other. While others taught us to share, look after one another, and not to fight.

These are all great things, and represent much of what is wonderful about your new family. But, your life will not always be easy. As you grow up in your great big world, you will be met with many challenges. You will be tempted to avoid hard decisions. You may be convinced to look upon grief, and sadness as purely negative, something to be avoided at all costs, and lose sight of their lessons. You may be overcome with circumstances that cloud the real issues, and make it harder to find your way. You may be coerced into thinking about you, and you alone. And sometimes, you may see the very worst examples of our human condition.

But, amidst all of this, I wish for you the ability to think, and look for meaning and hope on the periphery, and in places where it might not readily appear. I wish for you the desire to grow your knowledge and creativity to the betterment of all around you. Lastly, I wish you a never-ending sense of wonder, at the rainbow that makes up your extended family, at the natural world you share, and has been entrusted to you, and at your important, and deserved place within it.

Corporate Greed: the plight of Indian Alphonso mangoes and the message of the Occupy movement.

Occupy Vancouver protest on the steps of the Vancouver Art Gallery. Photo courtesy of Andrea Sirois Photography

What do the spate of Occupy movements around the world have to do with a group of protesting Indian fruit growers back in the mid 1990’s? Well, at first glance, perhaps nothing. But for me, it is probably closer to everything. With the benefit of hindsight, it doesn’t take long to unearth the common underlying thread in these stories, one that has prompted action in the struggle against imbalance, social injustice, and quid pro quo economics, which first rose up on Wall Street and has since gone global.

In March 1996, I travelled by bicycle along India’s west coast from Mumbai to the subcontinent’s southern tip. After a routine descent from Maharashtra state’s Deccan Plateau towards the estuary of the Vishishthi River, I boarded a small ferry in the town of Dabhol. Dabhol, or at least the headland on the other side of the river, was to become the home of India’s largest power project, a fact often trumpeted by local, and regional politicians alike. Now, anyone who lives in India, or has travelled there will be aware of the electricity supply problems that plague the countryside, leaving rural areas with lengthy daily disruptions in order to benefit the major cities, a practice commonly referred to as load shedding. So, one would think a power plant to be a good thing for all.

Maharashtra's Alphonso mango, India's anointed king of fruit. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

But, on that particular day, mango farmers and fishermen gathered along the roadway. They were part of the local population who saw, and were already experiencing the negative side effects of what was being heralded as an overwhelmingly positive initiative. They opposed the project, and its American backer, a company that I had heard of, but knew very little about. The company was Enron.

Unlike the Occupy movement, the complaints of Dabhol locals were simple and direct: pollution from the plant was ruining the local mango crop, and killing local fish stocks. As much as the Dabhol plant symbolized to some a change from the old socialist and corrupt India to the new capitalist and transparent one that benefitted the poor with jobs and financial compensation for expropriated land, it devolved into a case of environmental negligence, rampant cronyism, and allegations of both political and corporate corruption. It left the local economy in tatters, and over fifteen years later, the project still has not lived up to expectations. The power plant is not fully operational, Maharashtra State’s electrical power problems are arguably still the worst in the country, and the plight of local residents has worsened.

Enron country. The Maharashtra coast, India. Photo by Mark Mauchline.

The story of Enron is now one for the history books. Among other allegations at Dabhol, and in the true spirit of baksheesh, opponents accused the company of bribing officials, and charging exorbitant electricity rates. These were business practices that should, and could have been a warning perhaps, if they were taking place in some place other than rural India.

In December 2001, Enron, the institution worth over $100 billion and voted by Forbes magazine as America’s most innovative company six years in a row, filed for bankruptcy. It seems that the company’s innovative tendencies also included entrenched, systematic accounting fraud. Its legacy became not that of one of the world’s largest energy, commodity and services companies, but one of corporate corruption and fraud. The business tactics and methodology used in the handling of the Dabhol power plant seemed to be consistent in the way Enron did business. For me, it was as simple as that.

More recently, barely two weeks ago, and in the latest example of corporate greed with criminal underpinnings, hedge fund tycoon and self-made billionaire Raj Rajaratnam was sentenced to 11 years in prison on insider trading charges – the largest prison term so far handed down for such a case. In addressing the court, US district judge Richard Holwell stated, “his crimes and the scope of his crimes reflect a virus in our business culture that needs to be eradicated.”

Occupy Vancouver, October 22, 2011. Photo courtesy of Andrea Sirois Photography.

The question has been posed: was this an isolated incident, or part of a wider culture of greed? With Enron sealing the fate of former “Big Five” accounting firm Arthur Anderson, and Rajaratnam’s conviction paving the way for ex-Goldman Sachs director Rajat Gupta’s guilty verdict on associated civil fraud charges, my guess would be that many of the world’s Occupy protesters, as well as rational and honest individuals of both the 99% and the 1%, see it as closer to the latter. While many Occupy groups meet daily to reaffirm their cause and stay on message, media and some opposing their protests criticize them for not having one that is clear enough.

For me, nothing could be further from the truth. Whether they articulate it to the media’s standards or not, they are protesting greed, and I would hope we take note. Often, real issues and themes can be found through the nuances of actions and events. The Occupy movement’s method of tugging at the shirt tails of democracy may not be to everyone’s liking, but what embryonic movement, whether democratic, economic, or environmental, ever was?

Inequality is both a perception, and for many of the less fortunate around the globe, a reality. The irony being that, as a perception, it is no less real for the individuals involved. We should heed the warnings of corporate greed and growing inequality. Now is the time to turn the lessons learned from hindsight into some decidedly honest and inspiring foresight. Perhaps then, and only then, will we disprove the adage that man learns nothing from history. I prefer to believe that we, as a society, will “get it,” but only if we choose to recognize the message.

Who could have guessed that the concerns of some fruit-growing rural villagers on the west coast of India could have pointed to the corporate corruption at Enron? If the Indian government had listened, if the world had known, and if anyone had perhaps cared, the whole Enron debacle might have been recognized for what it was, and much sooner.

Will we remember these pie charts fifteen years from now? Occupy Vancouver protest. Photo courtesy of Andrea Sirois Photography.

Soul Sport: much more than the Tour de France.

The spirit of the peloton. Christian Meier, Team Garmin-Transitions, in Vancouver's 2010 Yaletown Grand Prix. Photo: Andrea Sirois Photography.

Bastille Day has come and gone. It’s mid July and cycling aficionados the world over are having to adjust their much-varied, geographical time clocks. For people who follow this sort of thing, it is the height of the professional season, and daily schedules are reworked in an attempt to watch the Tour de France: 21 days of racing spread out over three weeks, and some 3200 kilometers of French countryside. It is the time made famous by the bastions of the sport: Anquetil, Merckx, Hinault, Indurain, Armstrong, and now, Contador.

But, for me, the colour, pageantry, and rabid crowds that turn cycling’s marquee event; the travelling circus that affords the most nondescript of wayside French towns their own Warholian fantasy, is not necessarily the true essence of the sport.

I know of no other human-powered pursuit that affords one the combination of speed to cover a significant distance, while offering the opportunity to truly absorb the surroundings. Bicycling can be as competitive as a Grand Tour, as social as a granfondo, and as solitary and deeply personal as you wish.

I never feel alone when I ride. Whether doing circuits close to home, or expedition length trips half a world away in South or Central Asia, I am in constant communication – with my bicycle, the terroir, and myself.

I feel the wind, both around me and self-generated. I hear my surroundings with an amplified ability, ready to react, while at the same time being lulled into a trance by the sound of tires on pavement afforded by a generous tailwind. I see the world with a certain focus, and peripheral perspective whose intimacy is dictated by speed. I smell the earth, the flora, and the approaching rain.

Spinning down the road, the slightest increase in grade translates into more force going to my pedals, a tensioning of hands, arms and shoulders as I grip the handlebars or brake hoods tighter, and the burning sensation of air as my breathing ramps up to the point where it forcefully mimics my pedalling cadence.

Once crested, a climb rewards me with a levelling out, or a brief pause before the inevitable, gravity-induced adrenaline rush of  the downhill. All the while, the back and forth swagger, and up and down nature of the terrain supply the rhythm for my pedalling, my breathing, and my thoughts.

As the pro peloton snakes its way through the Pyrenees, the Massif Central, and now the Alps, I watch the almost super human efforts of the sprinters, the puncheurs, and the rouleurs as they connect with the environment of the parcours in their own way.

I am not a competitive athlete. But, after a relatively late start in life, cycling has provided me with a means of healthy transport, some fulfilling work, adventurous travel, challenging workouts, and ample opportunity to think, and ponder my surroundings, as well as my place in them. It transcends the basic role of recreation, and sport in my life. It provides a connection to the world around me, while forcing me to delve deep within myself. For me, it embodies, and represents a pursuit of the soul.

Bonne route.

Our World out of Balance: rioting in Vancouver, and for what?

Superman? I think not. An example of the sad events in Vancouver, Canada on June 15, 2011. Photo by Jonathan Hayward AP

So, what is wrong with this picture? We could start with the fact that it is a depiction of the flagrant destruction of public property in the form of a police cruiser. Then, we could point out the not-so-subtle spitting in the face of the rule of law, and the authority that, although not without its own issues and problems, attempts to keep order in a society where the majority prefer safety, respect, and common courtesy over chaos, anarchy, and criminal activity. Lastly, we could point out that this is not some flash point on the global front pages showing unrest in the Middle East, North Africa, or Asia. This is my home, Vancouver, Canada.

How do we, as citizens of Vancouver, explain what happened on June 15, 2011 to the world’s most livable city, according to The Economist magazine? A little over one week ago, after the Vancouver Canucks lost the decisive seventh game in the Stanley Cup championship final – ice hockey’s Holy Grail – the city’s 100,000 strong street party turned into a riot.

The growing 100,000 strong crowd during the game. Photo © Cameron Brown / www.cameronbrown.ca.

The response from the citizenry was immediate. Disappointment, embarrassment, and anger were common sentiments. Fingers began pointing almost immediately as the blame was laid squarely on a small minority of hooligans, anarchists intent on trashing and burning regardless of the outcome in the game. The government, police, and even the CBC, the nation’s broadcaster and original host of the outdoor gathering, were also held partly responsible by some. And then, an unprecedented social media backlash began by exposing the perpetrators of the civil disobedience, the vandalism, and the looting through the posting of video and photographic records.  Contrary to popular belief, a belief initially voiced by the police, government, and broadcast by media, many of the culprits ended up being very average adult citizens, albeit of the young variety.

I know I must sound like my parents when I say the extent of the destruction; the wanton disregard for property, respect, and common courtesy leaves me scratching my head, and searching for answers. Sure, I was taught to obey traffic signs, be kind to strangers, and not litter. But, what is hidden deep within the human psyche that would allow a group of people, however small or large, to seemingly toss away a society’s professed values as if it were an empty drink can?

To quote David Bowie: "This is not America." Nor is it North Africa, the Middle East, or any other political hot spot. Photo © Andrew Ferguson / www.goldengod.net.

The experts are already in deep discussion over so-called “mob mentality”, and the connection to an under-developed prefrontal cortex of the brain, and its inability to manage critical and rational thought, as well as action, in a “schooling” scenario. No doubt, the causes, and responsibility for the 2011 Vancouver riot will be debated for quite some time, and the feelings, for many of us, will remain raw.

I think back to the democracy protests in Tahrir Square in Cairo, to the aftermath of the Japanese earthquake and tsunami, and to the current protests in Syria and I am left with a feeling of emptiness. Personally, I feel not only embarrassment, but also shame; shame at the fact that all which transpired that night in my city, my home, was for no good, or rational purpose. Not only can it never be justified in my eyes. But, this stupid act of civil disobedience serves to cheapen the efforts of everyone around the world who really has something to protest and fight against.

In a global sense, it was an example of the privileged few rioting when given the opportunity, versus the world’s disenfranchised protesting to gain it. It was the irony of looting when having everything, versus not looting when left with nothing. Perhaps the rioters, those who were just caught up in the excitement, and those who otherwise embarked on acts of destruction that were entirely out of character, should think about that. And perhaps those same people should not only apologize to friends, family, and our city, as some have already done. But, maybe they should apologize to the global community for their role in contributing to a world seemingly out of balance.

To all those Vancouver citizens who showed up the next morning to help clean up the mess, and shared your voice through written sentiments on boarded up windows, and even police cruisers ticketed with post-it notes, thank you.

To the people of the world who gather together in the hopes of bettering their lives, and the lives of their neighbours; to all those who seek freedom and true democracy; to those who yearn for equality, and who risk non-violent protest at the expense of their own safety, and perhaps life, I would like to say I am sorry.

Vancouver, Canada, June 15, 2011. Photo courtesy of Reuters.

Chiang Mai’s Custodians of Tradition.

A novice monk hurries to class in Wat Phra Singh, old Chiang Mai. Photo © Mark Mauchline.

Ten years ago, I was in northern Thailand bicycling, taking in the vibe, and hanging out with a group of young artists as I escaped a portion of a Vancouver winter. My thoughts returned to that time recently, as my partner Andrea and I began promoting a photography trip to the area through Vancouver’s Langara College, highlighting a part of the world that has become very special to both of us. These were my thoughts, as I recorded them in the Buddhist year 2545 (2002 for us Gregorian calendar types):

As northern Thailand’s population ages, it is becoming harder to find people who can play the traditional instruments. It is even rarer to find someone who can make them. Self-taught, and almost thirty years of age, Somboon Kawichai does both, and he and his friends represent this art form’s hopes for the future.

Somboon lives off a quiet road in the southeast corner of Chiang Mai. Like many young Thais, he lives with his parents and grandparents in the family compound, although he has built his own house. Reflecting his diverse interests, it is a Japanese style bungalow with a central vaulted ceiling. Its delicate rice paper covered wall panels are a little worse for wear, courtesy of the claws of the pet cat. A few simple woven mats, a couple of low-slung coffee tables and a traditional harp of some type sit quietly inside the perimeter alcoves. Occupying center stage and visible from every corner stands his current woodworking project. It is a tammat, or pulpit. Usually found inside Thai temples, this one is bound for the new Chiang Mai Cultural Center. Next to it, in the far corner, stand a row of traditional instruments in the Lanna, or northern Thai style.

Somboon Kawichai plays a hand-made seung. Photo © Mark Mauchline.

They are mainly suengs. Guitar-like in nature and composed of two to four strings and a one-piece, intricately carved neck and body, they are usually made from teak or jackfruit trees.

On accompaniment we have a pair of kluees, or bamboo flutes, as well as the exotic pin pia, another stringed instrument composed of two to four strings stretched the length of a round wooden shaft which is attached to one half of a hollowed out coconut. Often played bare chested, with the coconut pressed up against the musician, its resonant tones are said to come directly from the musician’s heart.

Upon further inspection, one soon realizes that Somboon Kawichai has crafted virtually everything in sight, at least everything made of wood. You see the man is something of a genius. A former trade school student in mechanics, and one time interior decorator, his home has become one of the hubs in a renaissance of traditional Lanna culture, specifically music.

Lanna style wat detail in Chiang Mai. Photo © Mark Mauchline.

Back in the thirteenth century, when King Mengrai unified much of the north’s independent principalities into Lanna: “land of one million rice fields”, the playing of musical instruments was a right of passage for most young men. But this popularity did nothing to promote the passing on of information. Men used music to initiate a dialogue with women, and as such, the ability to play it became a jealously guarded secret.

So, with the help of an accommodating uncle, he taught himself to play, wearing out all his market bought suengs in the process. A perfectionist at heart, he wasn’t happy with the quality of the replacements, so he decided to make his own. He was fifteen years old when he started to make instruments that reached the sound, tonality and weight he sought. Then he began to sell them to other musicians, who loved them.

Early morning in the home of Lipikorn Makaew. Photo © Mark Mauchline.

In Baan Buakkhang, a little further north and east of the city, we find the raised cottage of Lipikorn Makaew. A studio filled with both his work and inspiration, it also sits on his family’s land. There is a calming feeling about the place. In one corner is the small shrine dedicated to Buddha, along with Lipikorn’s grandfather’s written village records, carefully transcribed on hand-made saa paper. His paintings, woodcuts, and gold leaf motifs are hung from the walls and supporting pillars. Interspersed amongst all this, we find evidence of this young man’s accomplishments in the form of certificates.

A recognized painter in the traditional Lanna style since he was seventeen years old, Lipikorn’s devotion to the northern culture stems from his three years spent as a monk, beginning at the age of twelve. He recalls his vision of the easy, and peaceful life of the Lanna people. Through his art, he hopes to show how faith, wisdom, peace and Thai Buddhism were passed down through important ceremonies.

The work of Lipikorn Makaew. Photo © Mark Mauchline.

It is a good thing that his studio doubles as his bedroom; he often wakes to paint at four in the morning. The rich, subdued earth tones, influenced by natural pigments like coffee and tamarind tree bark, seem perfectly suited for his brushes at this hour. It is at this peaceful time of day that he says he receives inspiration and is at his most creative.

Like his friend Somboon Kawichai, Lipikorn also plays traditional instruments. Considering his painting accomplishments, we soon recognize Lipikorn Makaew to be not just a talented artist, but also a multi-faceted one. What’s even more apparent is that both of these men possess a dedication to and versatility in Lanna art forms that belie their age.

The traditional music group Lai Muang in rehearsal. Photo © Mark Mauchline.

Then perhaps the term renaissance is a bit inaccurate. The life these young men, and many of their friends lead is not so much a re-birth, but rather a continuation of old traditions. Although under attack from what may be deemed the blight of the so-called developed world: technology, consumerism and the like, the spirit of Lanna is alive and well here.

Changing lifestyles seem to be the norm in this day and age. For their part, Somboon and Lipikorn seem comfortable with what this entails. They both feel change is inevitable and can be positive, as long as they remain true to their belief in promoting traditional culture.

They have both used the internet, with its inherent global reach, to share their art with those beyond their Northern Thailand home. And, they are hopeful that, like their use of modern technology to promote traditional art, there can be a symbiotic relationship between old and new.

School is out at Wat Phra Singh, Chiang Mai. Photo © Mark Mauchline.

Today, roughly a decade and a half after both their respective artistic births, Somboon, Lipikorn and their friends perform traditional Lanna music regularly as the group Lai Muang. After starting out by playing village rituals and ceremonies, they ended up surprising themselves, and many of the older participants who were at least fifty years old, by winning a number of Northern Thai Cultural Heritage contests in the late 1990’s.

Students attending class at the weekend Lanna Wisdom School. Photo © Mark Mauchline.

Local institutions such as the Hong Hien Suep Sarn Phoom Panya Lanna, or Lanna Wisdom School, are further promoting these traditional techniques. Chatchawan Thongdeelerd, an educator with vast experience and contacts within the local NGO network, founded the school. Under his direction, and the tutelage of instructors like Somboon and Lipikorn, students of all ages can learn traditional music, dance and painting in Chiang Mai on the weekend. Perhaps it is not surprising then, to find many of the school’s mentors and students participating in cultural festivals throughout the seven valleys that at one time made up King Mengrai’s former kingdom.

The ancient northern Thai city of Chiang Mai is still surrounded by a moat. Vestiges of its rampart-laden walls are still visible in a few places. It’s dustier and noisier now. Internet cafes, western-style restaurants, and coffee shops compete with more traditional food stalls and vendors. Pickup trucks and scooters rule the streets and narrow sois throughout much of the day. Even so, at any given time, the visitor can still see Chiang Mai’s quaint samlors, or bicycle rickshaws, jockeying for position with today’s reality. In much the same way, the music of groups like Lai Muang competes with more contemporary strains, both Thai and foreign.

Lipikorn Makaew in front of his work. Photo © Mark Mauchline.

Thailand today represents a nation steeped in tradition, trying to hold on to its past, while forging ahead towards the future. And in the north, if artists like Somboon Kawichai, and Lipikorn Makaew have their way, it will do so to the sound of music – the ethereal sounds of traditional Lanna music.