Fred*, an Australian media celebrity, and his wife were in Thailand to Do Good. They’d raised a significant amount of money down under and were here to disperse it to the “poor people of Thailand”. A mutual acquaintance in Bangkok had hired me as their guide.
After Bangkok, the first stop was antique shopping in Chiang Mai, then to Chiang Rai to visit their target village. I got the gig as their guide because I knew my way around the area, and, well, I don’t think anyone else wanted to do it. Hell, I needed the money.
Mountain scenes, Chiang Rai Province. Photo: Stuart McDonald.
We caught the day train up—air–con first class—because according to Fred, “local people don’t fly”. I’d never been in a first class car before—it was pleasant and all, but I missed feeling the wind in my face.
It was about an eleven hour trip, so Fred and I got talking. I knew nothing about him. I had never heard of his show in Australia and within 45 minutes of the train pulling out, I wish I’d never heard of him.
Religion was very important to Fred. The village we would be visiting in Chiang Rai were into his faith. With the funds he had raised he was paying for some school materials, a water pump and some medical care. I asked more about the medical care and he pulled out a bunch of photos of sick and injured kids.
Village kids (not from Fred’s village!), northern Thailand. Photo: Stuart McDonald.
“I’m going to save them,” he said.
I’m not a religious person, and the conversation got uncomfortable pretty fast. He’d never been to Thailand before, but he didn’t hold back from lecturing me on the shortfalls of Thai healthcare. Particularly when it came to people of his faith.
“The Thais don’t care about my people,” he said.
I pointed out that save Singapore, Thai healthcare wasn’t too bad. Even for locals not paying top dollar for international standard care—for the region, it was ok. He pooh poohed me away.
Village kids (not from Fred’s village!), northern Thailand. Photo: Stuart McDonald.
“They don’t care about these people, they’re not Buddhist,” he said.
I stared out the window. The train wasn’t going fast enough.
Days later we reached the village in question. By this stage Fred and I were talking as little as possible—we were not on the same page on much—not even in the same book. The previous days had been a litany of one upmanships. I’d suggest a restaurant, but no he wanted to go where his “local contact” suggested. So to Cabbages and Condoms we went. Whatever dude.
But he was paying and I was the guide. There’s only so long you try to drag a horse to water. One day you just decide to give up and die of thirst together.
Decent medical care can be a ways away. Photo: Stuart McDonald.
The village, was home to a minority group, an hour or so from Chiang Rai in our shiny hired SUV. The mountain scenery was pretty. The village was poor—not grinding—but things could have been better.
The local mover and shaker had set everything up for a presentation. Fred on the stage, about fifty locals sitting before him. No translator. He talked in English about how popular he was in Australia, and about how many people listened to him. Mostly though, he talked about how much money he had raised. About how he was going to make a difference to their lives. About how he was going to make them better.
The crowd nodded and applauded on cue. Fred gave me his camera and I took photos of him, on the stage, with the village headman and a few of his entourage.
Just some pretty scenery on the way back to Chiang Mai. Photo: Stuart McDonald.
After the third round of applause, they wheeled out the kids he was saving. One kid I’ll never forget, he was only seven years old. His leg looked like it had gone through a meat grinder. I never got a clear answer on what had happened to him, but the damage was old and severe.
Wheeled out in a chair, Fred picked him up, cradled him in his arms and lifted him in front of the crowd. Fred was going to save the boy. It was but one in a sad and sorry procession of kids who, yes, deserved far better.
That night, sleeping on the floor of a wooden house, Fred and I got into an ugly argument. I acknowledged that maybe he was doing good, but there was a lot of self–promotion wrapped up in the escapade. The self promo I could deal with but my main issue was the religion, and that really, he seemed to have little idea about the country. Surely the money could be put to work far more effectively by professionals? The only thing he seemed to be an expert on, in my opinion, was himself. I said as much.
Honestly, I wish we’d left Fred in the tunnel. Photo: Stuart McDonald.
“Stuart, you don’t believe in God, so you’ll never understand. I’m wasting my time talking to you. These people are of my faith,” he said, then, taking a breath, “You don’t bat for the other side. I am here to save them.”
A few months later I got in touch to find out what had happened to the child with the mangled leg.
“They cut it off,” he wrote back in a two line email. There was not the care required in or near the village to deal with it, so the family opted for amputation.
The kid had been the star of the show (aside from Fred of course). I suggested, if he wanted to change one life, he could have forgone his celebrity and sent more funds to the family.
No, he replied. He’d got so much material out of this trip he’d be able to raise even more money for his next trip—to Laos.
*Fred is a pseudonym.
If you’re looking for organisations doing good and thought–out programs in Thailand, here are a couple of suggestions to get you started:
Couchfish Week 16: You don’t bat for the other side