Walking, Talking With Small Vendors After the City Was Set on Fire

Authors: Kanya Panichkul · Kanya Leelalai · Ruedee Roengchai

ภาษาอื่น / Other language: English · ไทย

.....When I decided to write about what I had seen and felt while roaming around to meet and talk with people affected by the UDD protests (March–May 2010), after the fires that burned parts of the city, I didn’t even know which blog category this should go under. I only thought about the fact that people are suffering—deeply. For me, this isn’t politics. It’s life. It’s about people. So I decided to post it in the “Diary / Life Experiences” category.

......After putting up the first post, I continued talking to people in the Bon Kai area. Those conversations were only just beginning—there were puzzling stories from the mouth of one alley to the end of the next. I’ll bring those stories onto the blog later and share them in due course.

......When I first posted the story, it felt too long, so I split it into parts and stuck them into the comment section. I’m now adding the Bon Kai material, so I’m doing it the same way.

..........

1. Inspiration

.....I intended to survey the clash zones and burned areas since things had barely calmed down, but that intention grew stronger on Visakha Bucha Day (28 May 2010) after talking with a young woman who lives around Lumphini–Bon Kai, right where clashes took place. We met at the Buddhism Promotion Week fair at Sanam Luang.

.....She came to buy a book at Khun M.’s stall. Khun M. introduced us: “She lives in Bon Kai—if you want to know anything, just ask.” But when I moved to ask, she shook her head, as if wiping away tears, and said, “I don’t want to talk.” I expressed sympathy: “It must have been hard—the government cut the water and electricity.” She flared up immediately: “The government didn’t cut the power, sis. The Red Shirts shot the transformer. When the power went out, the water pumps stopped. Fourteen floors of a condo, sis—that’s like having the water cut off automatically.”

.....I was stunned. “Then why did the news say the government cut it?” She shook her head: “They cut power around Ratchadamri, not Bon Kai. Here, the Red Shirts shot the transformer. When the electricians came to fix and reconnect, they shot the electricians too.” I reached out and held her hand. “I really feel for you. Watching from home, we had no idea—we only saw evacuation footage and none of this.” She looked me in the eye: “There’s a lot outsiders don’t know. I never thought I’d live through something like this. It felt like war, sis.”

.....We kept talking—three straight hours. I learned how bravely the Bon Kai flat residents had to protect themselves to prevent the Red Shirts from seizing the building. “I was there in the flats and fought them. The women served as scouts, using binoculars all the time, alerting the guys to fire warning shots to keep them back. They had far more weapons than we did and kept shooting over our heads. Across all 14 floors, believe it or not, we had only a few handguns among us, but we used them to keep them from storming in and burning our homes.”

.....Amid the courage there was humanity—fear and tremors. “We only fired to warn them off, not to kill. If any of them died, they wouldn’t have spared us.”

.....Her building sits next to a dense community with many Red Shirt supporters, but most of the attackers were strangers; many in black mixed in, and others in camouflage. The flat residents fired warning shots to push them back, while on the other side the army had bunkers. She told many other stories: the fate of small shops that were burned; how government aid wasn’t well targeted because subtenants were the hardest hit; and her sympathy for rural Red Shirts who came to protest. She herself owns a shop but couldn’t sell due to the protests, and since she lived nearby, she often went to see what their demands were.

.....She wanted the Red Shirts to go home because she was shouldering heavy expenses with almost no income—she couldn’t keep going. The protests dragged on with no end in sight. She had a simple idea: if those losing tens of thousands of baht a month—or even hundreds of thousands—because of the protests could pool money to pay people to go home (since they were paid to come, why not to go back?), maybe it would help. She befriended some rural protesters enough to make this offer.

.....The answer shocked her: they wanted to go home, but couldn’t. Having their ID cards seized by the UDD wasn’t even the main issue. The big issue was that if they returned on their own, not led back by a leader, they would no longer be able to live in their village. They would have to abandon their home entirely. Hearing this, she felt defeated. “I pity them, sis. But I pity myself too. Sigh.” Those feelings intensified her hatred for the UDD leaders—especially the man behind them, Thaksin. Her hatred peaked when Bon Kai became a clash zone and the burning began.

.....We talked for a long time. Another woman hovered nearby browsing books, clearly interested in our conversation. I offered her a chair to join us. She was a practitioner observing the eight precepts for Visakha Bucha, yet she wanted to understand what was happening in the country. Having a “Dhamma person” join helped cool the heat and ease the young woman’s pent-up feelings. In fact, she loved Dhamma—she came to Sanam Luang every year and stayed until the Buddha relics were returned to Wat Phra Kaew.

.....From this young woman’s story, I felt how many people were bottling up similar anguish. I realized I had to go into the field urgently. Even if I couldn’t do much, I could at least listen. I could also piece together the broader tragedy I’m trying to understand. I told Khun M. of my plan, but other commitments delayed me. We finally managed to go survey on 8 June, with Khun M. as my guide—she knows the area well.

1. The Country’s Karmic Lot

.....On 8 June, we boarded a boat at Wat Sriboonruang pier in Bang Kapi at 1:30 p.m., heading along Khlong Saen Saep toward Ratchathewi. We chose the boat because it’s quick and lets you see both banks—Bangkok’s older communities. Even close to the inner city, they remain much the same: crowded, old communities interspersed with temples and buildings big and small. This is the city’s true way of life: mostly poor, then middle class, with only a small fraction truly wealthy.

.....The boat slowed as we neared Sa Pathum Palace, shaded thick with trees. We disembarked at Ratchathewi and walked along the palace wall to Phaya Thai Road, toward Siam Center, across to Siam Discovery, then over to Siam Square. There, tents had been set up for sellers whose shops in Siam Square had burned—part of the relief for those affected by the protests and arson in the area.

.....Soi 4 of Siam Square and nearby areas had become a small bazaar, lined with tents. Each tent had a sign with the affected shop’s number, making clear they were real victims. After two or three tents I paused to listen to a buyer–seller conversation. The buyer liked a shirt but asked for a further discount because it smelled of smoke. The seller pleaded: “It used to be almost a thousand baht; now it’s just over 300. I’m already taking a big loss.” I wanted to talk with her, but customers kept arriving, so I moved on.

.....A few tents later, a young woman was busy arranging T-shirts with crisis-era slogans: “Sabai Dee, Thailand,” “Bring Back Happiness,” “Love You Thailand,” etc. I walked in to look. With no other customers, we began to talk. I learned her original shop—selling silk clothing by the Siam Theater—had been completely burned. Nothing remained. She had to start over. “How long had your shop been open?” “It was my aunt’s shop—twenty years.” “Oh… and before that, it must have taken ages to build up.” “Yes.” “Nothing left at all?” “Nothing.” “Any help from the government?” “We’ve received 50,000 baht so far, but insurance and everything else—no idea yet.” “What about Chula (property management)?” “They’re letting us sell here free for one month. It helps us get by.”

.....She looked sad, so I picked T-shirts to send my daughter—just to support her. “100 baht each.” “Let me bargain—up.” I handed her 120 baht. She looked puzzled. “I’m bargaining up, not down—just a small gesture of goodwill, as fellow Thais.” She smiled, pressed her palms in thanks. As she bagged the shirts, I asked, “How much was your original rent?” “Forty thousand baht a month, plus a key money payment of 100,000 every year.” “During the protests, it must have been rough—no income, only expenses.” “I had to do a lot of letting go.” I could see the sorrow in her face and eyes, then she brightened again. “Thank you so much for your kindness,” she said. I gave her blessings—to stand again with diligence and mindfulness—then we parted, and she pressed her palms together to me once more.

.....Other buyers and sellers had similar conversations—people asking the real victims what happened, like I did. I didn’t intrude, only paused to listen and glance at goods until I grasped the gist, then moved on. It showed me I wasn’t alone in seeking the truth; many others wanted to know and came straight to the scene.

.....We passed a stall making stuffed egg cakes on the spot. I stopped to buy and chat. This shop hadn’t burned, but its bay had, making it impossible to reopen, so they moved to this temporary Chula-managed area. They had a fair number of customers. The seller said he was lucky—the equipment and other assets hadn’t burned like others’. He still had vigor and shouted a long “Thank youuu!” whenever someone bought. At another stall selling clothes (again), I said, “I want to support you but can’t wear these.” Then I asked, “Be honest—after your shop burned, how many days did you cry?” “Three full days—no tears left. I don’t understand how people can be so heartless to one another.” It stabbed my chest. I thought, “This is the karma of the country—Thai society’s karmic web is so tangled, my dear child.”

1. Hard as Stone, and Crumbling Like Incense Ash

.....At a bag shop, I saw a big, roomy bag and stopped. The seller seemed eager; we chatted and I decided to buy. We talked for a long time. Her accent was slightly odd, but she was fun and very friendly (Khun M. later guessed she might be a Myanmar worker). This shop had burned too. As usual, I paid her a little more. I asked a follow-up question from the previous stall: “How many days did you cry?” “I didn’t cry. I was speechless.”

.....She disappeared briefly and brought an older woman, younger than me but older than her. The older woman made my change. The young seller told her, “She wants to know how many days you cried.” I realized the young woman was just an employee; the owner’s long story poured out—another Siam Square shop that had burned.

.....She told me about the hardship throughout the Red Shirt protests. Income was tiny compared to the enormous expenses—rent here is very high. She had to keep her staff—finding good, trustworthy, compatible employees isn’t easy. So she bore all the costs, dipping into savings daily, hoping to reopen when the protests ended—hoping to return to normal.

.....But when the protests ended, the shop burned down. It was curfew. She could only watch the news on TV. “You know, sis, I never cried. All that time—no sales, a dead-silent shop—I wanted to cry, many times, but didn’t know why I should. And when the burning happened, I should have cried, but I couldn’t. I was stunned—completely stunned. I felt like stone. That day I lit incense to curse them—Thaksin and his people. They are so cruel. The incense ash that fell on my hand felt like my stone-hard body crumbling to dust. Exactly the same, sis. But I still had no tears.” I held her hands, full of sympathy.

.....We talked long enough for me to ask about signs I’d seen in post-event photos—shops posting “We’re Red Shirt supporters, please don’t burn us,” and such. I asked, “Were those really Red-shirt shops, or were they posting to survive?” “Some were just trying to survive, but some were truly Red. There are quite a few Red-supporting shops around here.” “Did any of those Red shops get burned?” “Plenty did, sis. Fire doesn’t pick sides. Once it spreads, it spreads. Shops here are small and packed together in long rows—that’s why it’s so expensive.” “Did any of those Red shops set up stalls here too? They’re pitiable as well—harmed by their own side.” “I don’t know. Everyone’s scattered, each for themselves. But if I meet those people, I won’t talk to them. I don’t even want to look at their faces.” Her voice carried deep pain.

.....From this bag shop I saw many layers: the bond between employer and employee; the suffering, pain, and rage I can’t soothe; and how impossible it is to talk reconciliation at times like this. I asked her, “Do you believe in karma? Do you believe that Dhamma overcomes adhamma?” She said she did. I urged her to stand firmly in wholesome qualities, to remain an honest person, to strive to rebuild and move forward. I told her many people were silently rooting for victims like her.

1. More Than Meets the Eye

.....After that, Khun M. took me to see the original shop of the young stuffed-egg-cake seller. What we saw made it clear: not only the burned shops were closed; neighboring bays had to shut too. Other areas that weren’t burned or sealed off became deserted—no foot traffic. Even the open shops felt desolate. Worse were shops on the opposite side that hadn’t burned—since the whole alley was as silent as a graveyard, nobody passed by. Even though those shops were open, no one seemed to go in while we were there.

.....To grasp the extent of the burning, we climbed a footbridge and looked down at the Siam Theater and the surrounding area. From above you could see the damage; at street level everything was closed off with corrugated iron—unsafe, off-limits, and likely to facilitate restoration. Beyond the theater and its vicinity, there were other spots of burned shops here and there. We kept walking and observing.

.....We crossed back to Siam Paragon to check the scene inside—maybe they had opened sales areas. It turned out the event had ended. My favorite shoes were acting up—sore soles—so I bought plasters. We didn’t stay long. There were more people here than in Siam Discovery. Life seemed almost back to normal.

.....We left Paragon for Wat Pathum Wanaram. Inside, I suddenly understood why people kept saying “shots from the skytrain.” When we visited, there were no traces of protesters sheltering there anymore. We could only guess where the medical tents or sleeping areas might have been, recalling the many clips on the internet. Honestly, this part is still murky. Several groups could have carried out such cruelty. The truth must be untangled step by step. There were clear objectives and clear beneficiaries.

.....At the temple, Khun M. asked construction workers for water to wash up, and they kindly obliged. Opposite the temple is Henri Dunant Road. From the elevated walkway toward the BTS, we observed the burned buildings from Siam Square to the roadside of Henri Dunant. Some facades were sealed with corrugated iron; others looked fine from the front but had signs showing temporary locations. We walked around back—each building had varying degrees of burn damage.

.....I recalled the day traffic reopened. I went with Nong S., who drove me around to view the damage. At that time things were raw—no corrugated panels yet—so you could see the devastation clearly, and how the arson had been done in targeted patches at multiple spots.

.....Watching the news, I saw government forces fighting conventionally while the UDD fought unconventionally. After walking the area, I was even more convinced: the city-burning was a contingency plan, intended to spark a large guided riot and then let it spread on its own. In reality, most of what happened was guided arson. The genuinely spontaneous mob frenzy seemed much smaller.

1. CentralWorld and Gaysorn

.....From Wat Pathum Wanaram we headed to CentralWorld, passing the Royal Thai Police HQ and the Police Hospital. I noticed how huge CentralWorld really is—and how vast the burned area was, because it burned for days. But the truly gutted portion was about one third; another third was burned but salvageable; offices could still operate. The police HQ is right across the street, yet most officers seemed indifferent to the burning. In fact, police often turned a blind eye to protesters’ illegal acts, showing by their behavior that they stood with and supported the protesters. But to ignore CentralWorld burning before their eyes—to feign ignorance of the events—was going too far. It’s shameful that such a disaster happened in front of their own headquarters.

.....From the skywalk looking down you can see where the protest stage had been—skewed across the Ratchaprasong intersection, with its back to the Erawan Shrine in front of the Hyatt Erawan, and its front angled toward CentralWorld and the Police Hospital. Astrologers and feng shui masters clucked that the UDD stage “turned its back to the sacred and faced the spirits.” Now, of course, there was no UDD stage.
Looking at the Erawan Shrine, I saw small vendors selling offerings, tiny teak elephants, lottery tickets; inside, a dance troupe waited to be hired. Everything was quieter than usual. Across the way was the luxury Gaysorn mall. I had never been inside. Down the corner stood Louis Vuitton in all its glory at Gaysorn’s most prominent corner. I then understood stories I’d heard: the mall’s owner allegedly handed out money to protesters in front of that LV store to beg them not to enter, thus sparing it from looting and arson. A younger friend told me there are two LV stores in this area—Gaysorn’s branch was safe; the other wasn’t. “But notice, sis—more Gucci bags surfaced than LV, because Gaysorn’s side was protected.”

.....We used the restroom in Gaysorn. I realized it’s more luxurious than CentralWorld. I couldn’t help telling Khun M.: “Protesters don’t know that ordinary Bangkok life isn’t about walking fancy malls like this. I don’t stroll CentralWorld with my kid either—we park there and go to Platinum or other wholesale centers in the area.”

.....“Protesters don’t realize ordinary Bangkokians must budget tightly or they can’t make ends meet. They see grand buildings and are fed false information, thinking everyone in Bangkok is rich and extravagant.” We crossed the bridge to another burned section of CentralWorld. Khun M. said there had been no fencing a few days earlier and that restoration had already begun—like in many places we’d seen.

.....We left Gaysorn for Big C (partly burned), then headed to Ratchaprarop, which the army had once designated a live-fire zone. I stopped again to bandage my soles—still a long walk ahead. I was determined to go on foot all the way to Victory Monument.

1. Slowly, Clearly, With Virtue and Honesty—and Please, No More Harm

.....Walking, step by step, lets us notice far more than riding. To understand complex things, moving slowly can be better than rushing. In meditation we move slowly to “know the body and see the mind” in the present.

.....True, we were walking through fresh ruins—wreckage from struggles over power and gain—born of a lack of virtue and honesty, of people harming and hurting one another, creating massive numbers of victims on all sides, especially hostages in the middle: the “blades of grass.”

.....The losses weren’t only lives and property, but also unimaginably wounded hearts. Our eyes saw fresh scars of the past, yet our feet walked in the present.

.....Deaths must be addressed as they are—carefully, part by part—bringing forth the truth and justice for the bereaved of all sides, because there are many hidden twists. Property is gone. But the living—those directly affected, families of the dead—

.....included UDD guards, genuinely idealistic protesters, soldiers, civilians on duty, and bystanders killed by stray bullets, plus a great many injured. These people suffered not only physical harm but psychological trauma—on all sides.

.....As for destroyed property, it is never separate from people. Tens of thousands of families were left as the living dead—their assets burned or looted; they were destitute. They looked around for help and found little, because those around them were also affected—if not directly then indirectly—through broken business networks.

.....The psychological wounds cut too deep to heal quickly. Even so, they forced themselves to stand up as fast as possible—not from strength, but because they had to live, and their financial lifeline was short. Otherwise, they couldn’t salvage what remained of their lives.

.....This is what social scientists never understand. Anthropologists ignore urban communities. Economists see only numbers. Political scientists see only a power game. Lawyers see only the letter of the law. Historians overlook the history of the urban poor. They don’t see how tightly big cities and the poor are interwoven; how cities generate poverty; why the poor make up the urban majority; nor do they grasp the economic, social, and cultural mechanisms of a metropolis like Bangkok. They can explain in great detail yet fail to understand life—people, and people’s interdependence.

.....But I was born and raised among the poor. I’ve seen people build themselves up, choose to move up, and I’ve seen those from other classes fall into poverty. I’m an ordinary villager who understands precepts (sīla).

.....Precepts are the basic conscience of being human. Keeping precepts expresses a sense of oneness with other living beings. From that sense comes precepts—putting ourselves in others’ shoes, having loving-kindness, refraining from harming, from wrongdoing, from deceit, from false accusation, from violating others’ belongings—their cherished things. This helps us avoid harming one another. It gentles the mind. A gentle mind can restrain anger (from hurting others), greed (from grabbing what’s not ours), and delusion (from blind rage or wrong views).

.....If we carry precepts in our hearts, we will be considerate, listen to others’ problems, see that others have minds like ours, and treat them as siblings. Then we see how each life is connected—how we share a common humanity: we all feel, think, and experience happiness and suffering—whether rich or poor.

1. People’s Suffering—Each Piece of Suffering Is the Nation’s Suffering

.....In meditation, my teacher tells me to move slowly, so I can discern clearly. I also like Ajahn Kor Kritsana’s teaching from Khao Suan Luang: “Take suffering as your lesson.” I wondered—if Thailand were a person, how could we take suffering as our lesson? So I tried to “know the nation’s suffering,” as much as possible.

.....But the country is vast, and I am just an ordinary poor woman. So I focused on opening my heart to concrete stories of suffering: garbage pickers, motorcycle taxis, cab drivers, pushcart and street vendors, employees, and small business owners around Ratchaprasong. Some I spoke with directly; others online.

.....Concerning the Red Shirt protests alone, I’ve listened to hundreds of people. After the May bloodshed and city-burning, I had to go into town—to walk, to see with my own eyes, hear with my own ears, speak with people—to cross-check what I’d learned and to absorb as many firsthand feelings as possible.

.....When we reached Phetchaburi Road and crossed to Pratunam Complex, I slowed to listen to street-vendor women sharing their troubles. The gist: even if their stalls weren’t burned, they lost significant income during the protests and were now struggling to make ends meet.

.....I couldn’t help studying the massive Pratunam Complex building and the road with a heavy heart, because everyone knows these vendors pay regular bribes to the police—yet the police didn’t protect them. As for Pratunam Complex’s “Hia Por,” I recalled local tales of conflict mediation—any trouble, go to Hia Por and he’ll fix it. But now that he’s chummy with UDD leaders—sheltering them—ordinary shopkeepers taken hostage by the UDD had no one to turn to.

.....We had dinner at Pratunam. My feet hurt more, so I bought socks—I still had many places to walk. I’ve been coming here to chat with locals for nearly 30 years, so I’ve watched it change—from before it became a retail/wholesale hub for clothes, accessories—how stalls moved into malls, how many small vendors each mall holds, how stores do retail and wholesale, how they tie into garment factories, leather workshops, and accessory makers, and their diverse customers—Thai and foreign, every skin and hair color.

.....These are middle-class people who make an honest living, keeping their heads down—especially around those with power and influence. It took years to build enough capital to move into a mall. Many shops have accumulated capital since their parents’ and grandparents’ time.

1. Among All Humanity, We Have Only Fellow Humans

.....We walked the small alleys. The familiar scene: behind colossal modern buildings stood small flats and shophouses. Behind the high-rises, people crammed into tight quarters. In narrow alleys, tiny shops survived. Even tiny rooms in small flats charged 3,500–4,000 baht a month—housing for office workers or students. The poorer lived in even more crowded, shabby conditions. Around Ratchaprasong, life ranges from sky-high to grass-low, woven through every social mechanism.

.....I feel sorrow every time I see academics, peace activists, volunteer witnesses, and human-rights advocates coming and going at the Ratchaprasong stage while failing to see the lives around it—as if these weren’t lives. In truth, these are living beings in the urban ecology—unable to leave, their food sources destroyed. Those with short financial lifelines either fled or gradually “died” economically.

.....It’s as if those intellectuals don’t see these as human lives—fellow human beings. When some speak of Bangkokians’ suffering, they drone like a broken record about traffic jams and not being able to stroll air-conditioned malls—nonsense, utterly divorced from reality. Most Bangkokians don’t float in the clouds; they’re hand-to-mouth strivers fighting to survive. If those intellectuals know this yet distort it, that’s cruel. If they truly don’t know, that’s shocking ignorance.

.....At the Pratunam intersection, Khun M. pointed out where the UDD placed tire and sharpened-stake barricades, where the army set bunkers, how the UDD tried a “layered cake” flanking tactic, why the army declared live-fire zones. It all explained why there was no burning within shooting range—and why locals felt safer with soldiers present, rather than hating them for gunfights in the city.

.....Were they miserable throughout the protests? Extremely—bleeding financially. The early phase was like constant bloodletting; the later phase felt like living in a battlefield—hearts constantly dropping—lives hanging by a thread.

.....Along Ratchaprarop I noticed many small stalls had vanished. Once a continuous band, now they appeared only intermittently, with long empty stretches. Stalls lined the road while shophouses pushed their own tables outward; others rented space to micro-vendors, leaving a central walking path.
These stalls sold odds and ends—tank tops, socks, handkerchiefs, garlands, hair clips, water, snacks. Their lifelines were short—day-to-day. If sales dried up for a while, they had to switch jobs. If Pratunam didn’t revive, they couldn’t return. I pointed them out to Khun M.: “These are all poor folks. They’re the first to ‘die,’ but if things recover, they’ll be the first to revive—because they start small.”

.....We ducked under the Indra Regent Hotel. Some sections were under major repair; others were selling as usual but closing earlier—stores that once stayed open into the evening now shut by 6 p.m. We continued through side streets, checking larger stalls not yet in malls, shophouse stores, and the Baiyoke buildings, which were also closing.

1. Many Lives Not Only Reset to Zero—They Went Deeply Negative

.....From Pratunam, we walked to Din Daeng Triangle to see burned buildings. I noticed many 7-Eleven stores had been targeted—several of them. Some were looted first, then burned later. By then it was evening. I was exhausted but kept going.

.....We stopped at Century Park Hotel—one owner had raised a red flag atop the building to save it from Red Shirt arson. Even so, parts of it burned. Then Khun M. stopped at a motorcycle taxi stand to look for a friend to ask about events in the area—those drivers see a lot—but he wasn’t there. We pressed on toward Victory Monument.

.....Center One was completely destroyed. The stench of smoke and rotting food was strong—the ground floor was full of restaurants. The sidewalks were still lined with stalls. The burned areas were closed off with corrugated iron, but through Soi Loet Panya we could peer into the damage. The narrow alleys made it clear why fire engines couldn’t enter—never mind the chaos and obstruction by those who wanted more destruction, hoping that if enough was burned, the UN would send foreign forces to intervene.

.....We climbed a footbridge to assess the damage. The destruction was immense, and Dok Ya (Wild Grass) Bookstore was reduced to dust. We also learned the Foundation for Consumers had burned too—they’d just rented a Crown Property Bureau building and set up there, but we didn’t know exactly where it was.

.....Center One isn’t a big mall—inside are many small shops, each only about 4×4 meters, often subleased further—half to someone else, or even quartered. Subleases could split by time as well—day and night—because Victory Monument is a major transit hub (buses, BTS, vans), so they sold until midnight.

.....These tiny shops belong to lower- and mid-middle-class people—not upper-middle or upper class like CentralWorld or Gaysorn. Burning a small mall like Center One destroyed the livelihoods of thousands of families. Many people didn’t just return to zero—they sank into debt and didn’t know how to begin again.

.....I was dragging my feet. My energy to converse with people had faded, but pity still flooded me. The last place Khun M. took me was a corner of Victory Monument—“Boat Noodles of Phra Nakhon”—burned to the ground. Memories flashed back to forty years ago when I ate boat noodles here with my school friends. Back then, each stall sold from a boat—tiny bowls at 50 satang, spicy and bold; two or three bowls to feel full. It took them so long to save and haul the boats up into proper shops. Heartbreaking.

.....I reached home at 10 p.m. Subtracting travel time, I had walked for 6–7 hours. I couldn’t help poring over maps, tracing my routes, and replaying the day’s heavy stories. My mind lingered on Rama IV Road—from Sam Yan to Khlong Toei—which I couldn’t survey that day. I went online to read about incidents along that road and to find where the 14-storey flat (from the Visakha Bucha encounter) was in the Lumphini–Bon Kai area. I read until 5 a.m., startled at how time had flown, and finally slept at dawn.

1. From One Spark of Inspiration to Another

9 June 1992

.....Late this morning, another junior colleague phoned about admin matters. Her name is Khun P. She dropped by, and we went out for lunch. I told her what I’ve written here. She used to live in Bon Kai and still has many relatives there. She was happy to take me to survey that area, but I couldn’t picture the layout, so she sketched a map of events for me, including connections to Khlong Toei.

.....She described the slums between the Bon Kai flats. Those communities generally favored the Red Shirts and watched PTV en masse. Even so, they rarely stirred trouble inside their own communities; most of the troublemakers came from Khlong Toei. By comparison, Khlong Toei folks were rowdier, and there are lanes linking Bon Kai and Khlong Toei communities.

.....We agreed in principle to go together later. I also wanted to meet the young woman from Visakha Bucha Day, bring her Dhamma books, see her shop, and talk about her and her friends’ lives in the Sindhorn Building. She had promised to show me.

10 June 2010

.....I had to renew my driver’s license today—every five years. The Department of Land Transport is opposite Chatuchak Weekend Market, so I stopped by to find comfortable shoes for future field walks. I went with my friend Khun L., who has relatives near Sam Yan on Rama IV Road—nearly burned as well. She said Red Shirts prepared to burn a building at the mouth of her relatives’ alley. Locals prepared water and extinguishers to stop the fire, so the Red Shirts fired warning shots to keep them indoors. Then they swarmed to burn a Bangkok Bank nearby instead. Her relatives’ house was spared.

.....At JJ Mall near Chatuchak, I went shoe shopping while Khun L. stopped to buy pants at a shop selling Thai-style comfy clothes. We chatted a bit about the Red Shirts. I asked how the seller felt. She was scared—Chatuchak is near Lat Phrao, a major Red Shirt stronghold. She feared there were no soldiers to protect them and that arsonists might attack—if so, she’d be ruined. When she saw the fires on TV, she hauled her goods home, just in case.

.....She wasn’t political, but danger drew her in. Once interested, she followed all sides, wanting to discern the truth, and she couldn’t accept the Red Shirts’ movement—she felt they lied brazenly and caused hardship to ordinary people. When we paid, she told us about 100-baht notes stamped “King Taksin reincarnated as Thaksin”—some people had received them. She warned us to check our change. We all rifled our wallets, but none of us had one.

1. Opening Our Hearts to One Another

11 June 2010

.....I invited my older sister to photograph everyday life around Siam, Ratchaprasong, and Victory Monument. We arrived mid-morning. The white-tent stalls in Soi 4 were not yet fully set up, so we shot the burned Siam Theater area first—mostly from high angles since the street level was sealed with corrugated panels.

.....My sister brought two cameras and let me practice with one. I took her along the skywalks, shooting from above—Siam, Wat Pathum Wanaram, Police HQ, CentralWorld. Walking and photographing takes time; we didn’t manage to shoot the surrounding communities. I was still getting lost and felt tired from previous days. After lunch, we headed home.

12 June 2010

.....I had errands at The Mall Bang Kapi, including buying a compact umbrella for my sister. I had to hurry because the mall was hosting a short-term fair to help vendors affected by the protests—ending Sunday the 13th. I didn’t chat with many stalls, planning to go in and out quickly, assuming it was just a sales event cashing in on the trend.

.....But the umbrella stall I went to belonged to a shop formerly in CentralWorld—a real victim. She now wandered like a ghost, selling wherever there was an event. She could price cheaply because she wasn’t paying rent and needed to sell in volume for working capital. Once I knew she truly came from CentralWorld, I asked about her story.

.....Her shop had been completely burned; none of the goods could be saved. Everything now on display was newly purchased stock. She lost over 600,000 baht in inventory alone. She hadn’t saved anything because she never imagined they would burn it. I asked about government assistance. She said she’d received only 10,000 baht so far—the promised 50,000 hadn’t come through.

.....I told her sellers in Siam Soi 4 had each received 50,000. She said it might differ by location and intermediaries, so she got less. “They told me to take this for now. I haven’t followed up. If I spend time chasing aid, I can’t sell, and then I’ll lack working capital.”

.....I realized each place has its own details. We cannot generalize. Those affected scatter everywhere seeking survival. Sometimes, simply by asking, we find them right beside us. The key is whether our hearts are open to listen.

translated by GPT-5

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