Patrick Winn's Notebook:

Burma and the D-Word

Most journalists I know hate the word "dialogue." Mostly because it's a favorite of uncooperative or boring interviewees.

You ask a question seeking the specifics of a political conflict. And they start talking about "dialogue." How they want to establish it, spark it or foster it. It's a lame dodge that rarely  imparts anything revelatory to reporter, or more importantly, the reader.

But sometimes, in a place as reclusive as Burma, "dialogue" itself is news.

I've just returned from a briefing by Obama administration diplomats, who recently arranged a sit-down with Burma's autocratic junta and Aung San Suu Kyi, the country's imprisoned democracy icon. The talks were led by an assistant secretary of state, the highest-ranking U.S. official to negotiate with the junta in well over a decade.

Back in Bangkok, a packed room full of reporters wanted to know all the details of the trip: the results, the next steps, even the Burmese generals' body language.

So did I. But the diplomat behind the microphones wouldn't go much further than to say the U.S. wants "dialogue." Between the U.S. and Burma. And between the Burmese people and the junta, whose state-sponsored killing and force labor violations are well-documented.

The junta is planning a 2010 election that most observers assume will be rigged. But America's hope is that all this dialogue will set the stage for a little less oppression and a little more freedom.

"We're going into this with our eyes wide open,"  said Scot Marciel, U.S. ambassador for the 10-nation Association of Southeast Asian Nations. "We've not been under any illusions that this would be easy."

Even if this is just dialogue, relations between the U.S. and Burma have been so cold for so long that high-level talks do represent forward movement. Few expect miracles, Marciel said, especially given that all of their diplomatic precursors have failed.

America's risk of opening dialogue with the junta is looking for foolish for trusting the junta. But the potential payoff -- political prisoners freed, a halt to Burma's nuclear ambitions -- is huge.

So for now, given the extraordinary circumstances, the diplomats get a pass for heavy emphasis on the D-word.

"As to whether they ignored us," Marciel said, "time will tell."

Spotted: An Obama-Themed Bar in the Thai Hinterlands

Discovered in a Northeast Thai town so tiny it's not on the map: a bar with the most confounding name ever.

Oh! Bar Mark: Chill Restaurant

I'm not exactly sure how to process this, so let's dissect it slowly.

I was returning from an assignment on the Thai-Lao border with photojournalist Pailin Wedel, also a Global Post contributor. The sign appeared just after we passed through a rural crossroads outside a town called Kalasin.

How rural? This was the view, minutes before, out of my driver's side window:

This is a countryside region where most bars decorate with twinkling Christmas lights and buffalo skulls. That fits my refined sense of style just fine, just so you know. But it's not a place where you typically encounter Obama-inspired wordplay.

Back to the sign. I am reasonably convinced that the title is an Obama-related play on words. I am less sure who "Mark" is.

It's possibly alluding to the prime minister of Thailand -- real name: Abhisit Vejjajiva -- who adopted the name "Mark" while studying at Oxford University. The name stuck and now the Thai press is hooked on calling him "Mark." And occasionally, the tongue-in-cheek "Oh-Bah-Mark."

But this adds an extra layer of confusion: "Mark" and his Democrat Party are none too popular in this rugged, rice-farming region. To indulge in stereotypes, many rural Thais regard their Oxford-schooled premier as effete and privileged.

It doesn't help that his name, Abhisit, literally means "privilege" in Thai. This is not Mark country.

But, as I learned growing up in mill-town southern America, small-town folks are too often pigeonholed as simple and predictable. Our capacity for unexpected weirdness is not to be underestimated. So maybe the bar owner loves both "Obama" and "Mark" and went for it. Which is sort of like a rural Arkansas bar owner naming his joint after Obama and, say, the Queen of England.

Or maybe Mark is just a misplaced foreigner. Who likes to open bars with quirky names in the Thai hinterlands.

We'll never know. Because when I pulled into the parking lot to check it out, all I saw was a veterinarian's office and a drug store.

Oh well. Maybe it's more fun to not know.

P.S. To my Thailand readers, I think the town's name is Song Bleui (สงเปลือย). If anyone knows the story behind this place, please comment.

P.S.S. Bonus Obama-themed signage, spotted about this time last year by the Northeast rice fields.

That reads, "FRESH COFFEE - STRONG!!"

Journalism or Bangkok Noir?

Journalists on assignment in Bangkok often turn out amazing prose. It's a glittering, messy and alluring city that tends to inspire.

Trouble is, out-of-town reporters have a tendency to rely too heavily on the fantasy Bangkok they imagine on the plane ride over. The city offers a feast of cliches: lurid sex, prowling transsexuals, low-lifes who'll kill for cheap. And what better place to finally work the phrase "seamy underbelly" into your copy?

The latest example can be found in Maxim Magazine's spread on the bizarre death of actor David Carradine. It's riveting, perfectly paced and dripping with detail -- the type of writing I'd hope to crank out on my best day.

It's also full of uninformed guesses and bad cliche.

From the piece, which the writer has posted on his Web site:

"Looking for answers at the dodgy Nana Hotel, I meet a striking-looking child bride who calls herself A. She pours herself into my lap. Like everyone I talk to in the Patpong, she doesn't know anything about Carradine, but for 10,000 baht (roughly $300 in U.S. currency) she will come back to my hotel, choke me, and stay the night."

This child bride-turned-dominatrix is one of five (five!) unnamed sources in the story. And there's a geographical blunder: the city's three foreigner-centric red-light districts, located in three different places, become one amorphous "open-air sex market." (Hey, don't look at me like that. Everyone in town knows where they are.)

The piece is filled with aliased sources (none of them Thai) explaining that "life is worth nothing here" or "they'll kill you for 500 baht here." That's $15, by the way. Good thing "they" won't kill you for condescension.

There's also a Hollywood producer living in Bangkok who insists that Carradine was murdered by a "ladyboy" or transsexual. Don't bother asking for proof.  You're just meant to assume all ladyboys are homicidal vampires.

Honestly, of all the cities in the world, Bangkok should be the one you don't have to sensationalize. It's a shame out-of-town journalists resort to depicting the cliched Bangkok.

Because the real city is sometimes much more interesting and strange.

P.S. The Maxim piece really is quite entertaining, so don't let my whining get in the way of a good read.

Off to the "Meeting"

"Hey, bro, you're going to the meeting tomorrow, right?"

That's what some teenagers around my neighborhood wanted to know yesterday. My brain flickered for a second. What meeting? Had I joined Kiwanis after a long night out?

Then it clicked into focus.

"You mean the red shirt protest? Of course, I'm going!"

The "meeting" is an expected gathering of up to 30,000 on the third anniversary of Thailand's most recent coup.

There's no attendance taken or minutes recorded at this "meeting." Just droves and droves of Thais in red shirts, the signature color of those who support deposed ex-Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra. He was the one ousted in that military coup three years ago and, from his hideaways abroad, he still wields power through a very loyal street movement.

Yes, I'll be there. I don't wade into every street protest in Bangkok. It's a lot of standing around in elbow-to-elbow crowds. A lot of cheering every 15 seconds when the protest leader on stage fires off a rhetorical zinger. A lot of sweating and hoping you don't have to join the port-a-potty line.

So, my neighbors asked, why are you going? Actually, they proceeded to ask a series of questions that most Thais ask when the conversation turns to political protests.

"What are you going to write about?"

Maybe nothing. But I'm curious to see whether how the military and police will respond if protesters attempt to seize the prime minister's compound. In the past year, security forces have put up little resistance when protesters rushed in to set up a stage and tent city. But this time, the current premier says, it's not going down like that. His warning is backed by an emergency decree and heavily patrolled checkpoints already set up in the area.

"Do you wear the same color as the protesters when you go?"

No way! I'm a reporter, not a Thai protester!

"Is it scary?"

No. Not that I think this is particularly wise, but a fair number of protesters bring their kids and elderly parents. More than once, I've seen an old man in a wheelchair. If they can hack it, so can I.

Also, I suspect the color of my skin (a Ron Howardish shade of pale) establishes me as an outsider and a harmless novelty. They probably just think I'm a lost tourist.

"What do you talk to the protesters about?"

Simple details. I want to know what motivates them to rally. If they're bussed in from the far northeast -- and many red shirt, anti-establishment protesters are -- I want to know about their life back home.

If you ask a more complex political question,  i.e., about the state of Thai democracy, you tend to get a near word-for-word parroting of what the last speaker on stage said. It's actually quite impressive. (I was once told that this ability to mimic comes from Thai education system's drill-based, repeat-the-teacher style of learning.) But it doesn't feel very organic.

My unorthodox interview method also requires simplicity. For street interviews, I put my camera on video mode, stick it in someone's face and ask 7-10 questions in (choppy) Thai. So I can't get too cerebral. The longer answers, especially when tinged with a provincial accent, often go over my head. My answers are later translated by a native speaker.

OK, I'm now off to the meeting. For the safety of all the cops, soldiers and protesters, I sincerely hope it ends more peacefully than last time.

Rock 'N Roll PsyOps

Mop-haired, swoon-worthy pop star Dan Worrawech has a message for the youth of Thailand.

Actually so does Pod, laidback crooner with the Thai alt-rock trio Moderndog. As does Ad Carabao, Southeast Asia’s scraggly answer to Bruce Springsteen.

Who has the power to assemble this perfect trifecta of coolness: the heartthrob, the indie dude and the mass-appeal classic rocker? And what message have they joined forces to deliver?

That would be the Thai military. And the message – conveyed in song, of course — is that Thailand’s youth must live simply and avoid extremism. Participating in the country’s smoldering political divide? Definitely not cool.

“We need not be so selfish and we shouldn’t fight one another,” said Pod at an event for “Moderation Society Thailand,” a campaign designed by the military’s Internal Security Operations Command, which has a long history of promoting nationalism in times of crisis.

Better known as “MoSoThai,” this is the domestic security division’s hippest and most digital propaganda outing yet. Its anthem, "Thinking Longterm," is well-crafted pop rock, driven by blazing synthesizer riffs and three-part harmonies. The campaign has produced not just TV and radio ads, but an online community as well.

Even the title “MoSo” is a play on the Thai slang “HiSo” or “high society.” It’s a phrase that sometimes pejoratively describes Bangkok’s well-heeled jet set.

“I want people to cooperate to tackle the country’s current problems,” said MoSo sponsor Panwad “Sugar” Nirunkul, the well-known daughter of a celebrity game show host. “Every Thai, in every region, must help one another pass through the crisis.”

The chaos, hinted at by MoSo celebs, is rooted in a political divide fuelled by region and class bitterness. Tension sparked by the 2006 coup of ex-premier Thaksin Shinawatra – a rural favorite — has recently exploded into street protests both for and against the exiled premier. In the past 12 months, various political mobs have seized Bangkok’s airports, hijacked public buses and helped topple Thaksin-allied prime ministers.

Despite its hip veneer, MoSo is the latest in a long of military propaganda campaigns. During turbulent points in Thailand’s development, the internal security command has always promoted images of a united Thailand. (The MoSo campaign did not respond to requests for comment.)

Formed with American aid during the Vietnam War, the division was originally devoted solely to suppressing communists. Even then, the command promoted a strong Thai identity to discourage sympathy with communist guerillas hiding in the jungle.

Back then, and now with MoSo, the ads use quasi-Buddhist concepts of “sufficiency” and “moderation” to discourage political extremism. Thailand’s royal family has long championed a “sufficiency economy” that promotes self-reliance and discourages overindulgence.

If Thais would live within their means and behave moderately, so the teachings go, the country would achieve greater harmony. Joining mass protests, MoSo explains, is not behaving moderately. Some MoSo ads even depict screaming protesters as a disease that has infected society.

But several academics have deemed the MoSo campaign patronizing and dismissive of the class resentment that sparks mass protests.

Anti-establishment protesters known as “red shirts” draw heavily from the poor northeast. And few imagine this demographic will relate to Moso’s urban flair — or its backing by Bangkok-centric military leadership, especially after the army was called in to quell their April riots in parts of Bangkok.

“I don’t think this kind of campaign is going to work,” said Pasuk Phongpaichit, author and economics professor at Bangkok’s Chulalongkorn University. “The campaign doesn’t tell the people who are agitating, who are feeling unhappy, what they’re going to get out of these campaigns. To love Thailand and so what? Are we going to get a better deal from loving Thailand? Are we going to get a better deal from being moderate or MoSo?”

Though MoSo ads started appearing months ago, few teenagers lolling about one of Bangkok’s after-school haunts said they felt inspired by the campaign.

“I think people my age all have their own ideas already,” said Petch Bornbracis, an 18-year-old college student. “My generation? We know what’s going on. People have already picked their side.”

Two other college students confessed they’d never even heard of MoSo. Aside from parents nagging them to stay indoors when protests grow too intense, they admitted they were mostly happy to ignore Thailand’s political strife and focus on their studies.

“A campaign like that might work if they reinforced it more,” said Atima Yasadatt, 18, clutching textbooks under her arm. “I don’t know. Like, maybe if they made a song for it or something?”

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