Everything said that there would be a gathering at Three Kings monument at noon. One of my co-workers and I packed tuna fish sandwiches, red shirts, and at our lunch break piled lunch in my bicycle basket before both climbing on. We were a sight, wobbling, laughing and giggling in our bright red clothes as we took the back streets from work to Three Kings.
But when we arrived our jovial mood changed, and quickly became dismayed. There was not a red shirt in sight. Where were the people? We could see a few small groups of people in yellow shirts (to honor the King), and every once in awhile someone in red would show up, look around for a few minutes before drifting off. A delivery truck pulled up, and once side was made of plexi-glass and the set up for a band was inside. Something was going to happen, but what and when was to remain a mystery.
We returned to work and resolved to join the peace walk we had heard about scheduled for 4 PM later that afternoon. After work, we quickly changed back into our red shirts, and headed towards the temple the march was to start at. When we got to the intersection near the night bizarre, a large red crowd was coming towards us, with various signs about Peace in Burma.
I immediately saw people I knew from the Migrant Learning Center. As the crowd passed, we joined the end of line. Someone thrust stacks of papers at us, and we started passing them out. Ours were in English, but once we ran out of the English version, we started passing out the Thai one as well.
Many of the people who work in stalls at the night bizarre are Burmese, and they filled the gaps between the stalls, silently watching the march pass.
Around 5 PM we passed by several hotel construction sites. The workers at these sights were filling the sidewalks, buying food, getting on motorbikes, and climbing into the backs of pickup trucks. Most of the workers are Burmese, and we commented that it felt so strange to be marching for a cause that affected the people silently watching us.
We had an extra headband, and my friend was trying to give it to one of the workers, but no one would take it. Finally, one man tied it around his hard hat, and gave my friend an enormous smile and the thumbs up sign. She asked if she could take his picture and he proudly posed. It was very surreal as trucks filled with migrant workers passed us, staring and occasionally waving.
We were marching towards the dark sky, and commenting on how the day was not only getting cooler, but darker. We were joined by a Canadian woman, who was in Chiang Mai because her tour of Burma had been canceled, she was ecstatic to be able to be part of something.
The march then turned down a small road. The sky got darker, and rain began to lightly fall as we headed into a Muslim neighborhood. The group piled into the Changklan Mosque, monks sitting in the chairs, the rest of us squeezing under different awnings as it began to pour. It was raining so hard that it became impossible to hear what the speakers were saying.
My friends thought it was funny that about every five minutes, someone would say “teacher, teacher”, trying to get my attention. Many of the students from the Migrant Learning Center were there, and they all smiled and thanked me for coming.
The rain slowed to almost a drizzle, and we were on our way. We hadn’t realized until we had already joined the march, that this was an interfaith group. They planned to stop at a Muslim mosque, Catholic church, and a Buddhist temple for prayers. We were now headed towards Regina church.
It was quite odd to see the pews filled with the orange robes of the monks. Afterwards, the church provided some small snacks and water for everyone.
A quick photo opportunity and we were on our way to our final destination, Wat Chai Mankala (the victory temple).
After prayers, there was a candle lighting ceremony to end the march. We blew out our candles, and placed them in a box to be used for the next gathering.
