Thailand September 2008
This weekend, I went for a ride on the Death Railroad on the Burma-Thailand border. With sheer cliffs on either side and sharp turns, it certainly earned the title. Though the ride certainly kept my mind on the possibility of death, the railroad was named because of the massive death toll during its construction. The railway extends between Bangkok, Thailand and Rangoon, Burma. It was built by Japan during WWII using prisoners of war. Due to the terrain and the working conditions, nearly 110,000 people died during construction.
When we first tried to get on the train in the regular section, there were people crammed inside from end to end. We couldn’t find standing room, the smell was launching a full scale attack on my olfactory system, and the heat was suffocating. So we made an executive decision to pay an extra $9 for the “Foreign Tourist Pass” to sit in a less crowded section.
Less crowded is an understatement. There were only two Thai locals sitting in front of us in the large boxcar. It was too expensive for the average Thai person to afford. This situation perfectly demonstrated the inverse relationship between community and affluence.
So often, our affluence leads us toward isolation, and separates us from human contact and community. Technology has a similar effect. You have your own car, so you don’t need to sit with strangers on the bus. Your apartment is equipped with a washer and dryer, so you’ll never see the same people every week at the Laundromat. You have wireless internet at your house, so you’ll never learn from eavesdropping on outspoken coffee drinkers at the internet café. You can afford your own apartment, so you won’t enjoy the company of a roommate.
None of these things are necessarily bad, though they do shield you from human contact. We NEED human contact—to learn from those who are different than ourselves, to develop patience, to remember that we are caught up in the human struggle, and most importantly, to remember that we are not alone.
