Damned if they do

Were Somprat Buajoom still alive, he would have jumped with joy upon seeing the Pak Moon Dam. A vociferous protester, the young fisherman was always at the forefront in running campaigns against it, calling on the government to return him and thousands of other Isan villagers their age-old source of livelihood-to let the Moon River run freely and not bridled by the lifeless slabs of concrete called the Pak Moon Dam.

But on June 14, the day the dam's eight gates were lifted, allowing fish to return to the river, was also the day Somprat's friends learned of his death.

The 28-year-old thus could not witness how his village peers rushed to shake the dust from their fishing gear and relaunch long stranded boats. Nor could he hear the sound of the Moon River gurgling merrily, lapping against mossy rapids.

Were Somprat still around, he would instantly join a parade to pay respect to the Moon River. How the young man would dance to the tune of northeastern music, rejoicing in the twinkle of hope shining on every face!

"It is another pain we have to bear," Mayuree On-gata said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Some reckoned he died of overexposure to chemicals used in shrimp farms where he worked in the South. But Chief Moo (Somprat's nickname) was not the only one who wouldn't be coming back. There are those who grew up during the dam's construction who didn't learn any fishing skills from their elders, and headed to the city to find work instead.

"And others who did manage to return, have long sold their fishing gear and boats and are heavily in debt. But we try to help each other as much as we can, lending boats, money to buy the tools and food to get by.

"We just have to start from scratch again. Our lives have long been plagued by this thing called development. In fact, we are not asking for money but just the right to live along the river side, the forest, and not to have this blasted dam in the way."

Mayuree fears that the battle of the Pak Moon villagers has merely entered a new phase. The historic opening of the dam's sluice gates, in compliance with a resolution by the Thaksin Shinawatra cabinet on April 15, was only for a period of four months. The temporal grace was to enable a team of researchers, primarily from Ubon Ratchathani University, to conduct another evaluation of the project's viability.

This small victory was achieved only with much agitation. Almost two months hadlapsed since the resolution before the Electricity Generating Authority of Thailand (Egat) carried out the implementation. The state enterprise repeatedly gave various reasons for the delay, from the potential impact on the national power supply to a counter-protest by dam supporters.

Subsequent visits by the prime minister and the minister in charge of energy affairs only stirred up a modest response.

On June 2, Egat declared with much fanfare that the gates would be opened. Villagers who live next to the dam said, however, that the opening was only partial as the steel doors were barely above the surface.

Finally, after another round of tussles and long waits, the Pak Moon Dam was temporarily de-commissioned, so to speak. Depending on the outcome of the study by the Ubon Ratchathani University researchers, and commitments by the powers-that-be, June 14, 2001 could go down in history as heralding a new post-dam era of Thailand-or conversely, a reinforcement of the bitter status quo.

In an ironic twist, Egat in collaboration with the National Economic and Social Development Board-both were the project's key proponents-are in the process of hiring another team of researchers to look at the Pak Moon Dam.

Long abandoned fishing gear, and people's smiles, are starting to return to the Moon River. But will the next generation of Pak Moon villagers be able to learn these skills from their elders and carry on the tradition?

Ingenious ideas to improve the fish ladder still pending, for now the steep structure is being shunned by both the fish and the people. Since the gates were lifted, the two-million-baht fish ladder has become no more than a forlorn witness to the joyful reunion between fishermen and their sacred mother, the Moon River.

After more than a decade of protest, 55-year-old Chucheep Krongkaew suddenly feels young again. The veteran fisherman couldn't wait to get his nets and traps out to catch fish again. His connection to the river is clear when he talks of the different species of fish he knows, not only by sight but by particular and subtle sounds.

Although it is still two months before the high season (of fish migration) arrives, another villager, Lamduan Serathong said up to 50 species of fish have already been spotted and caught.

"When the water turns reddish in August, we will see far more fish swimming from the Mekong to spawn their eggs here," the 49-year-old mother of two said. "The colour of the river reflects the amount of food for the fish. But even now, we can get pla kod, pla yorn, and ee-tu in the market. And to think that I haven't been able to use my favourite mong (fishing gear), for eight whole years!"

Another feature returning to the Pak Moon communities was the fragrance of cooked fish. At a celebration held two days after the dam's gates were lifted, the villagers held a communal potluck party.

There, a variety of dishes, from fish fried with garlic to an Isan version of fish salad with different spices, were served, wafting up mouth watering aromas. The little ones, in particular, had a great time nibbling on tasty fish meat, served with soft, warm sticky rice and fresh bamboo shoots.

Mayuree recalled the dismal times when her husband couldn't catch any fish and she had to use credit for stale mackerel from a neighbourhood shop.

"The mackerel was evidently old and smelly, but I had no choice. Worse, I had no money, either. Every time the shopkeeper yelled at me to pay back the debt, I just had to keep quiet and swallow my pride for the sake of my child."

Imagine how Mayuree regained her confidence when during the celebration last week, she brought a few big fish to share with other villagers. Indeed, the cheerful exchanges among the northeastern peasants were reminiscent of the once busy fish markets along both banks of the Moon.

Here, elderly men chatted to one another as they wove strands of bamboo and turned them into fishing traps and baskets. There, young and middle-aged women weighed the catch, jotted down the statistics, and arranged the fish for public display, or took them to the communal kitchen.

At least on the day, the atmosphere was charged with joy and excitement. Thememories of walking hundreds of kilometres under the scorching sun to submit their petitions to government officers (eight regimes altogether) were distant for a while.

So were the scenes of villagers being beaten to the ground by police batons, bitten by the mob squad's dogs, or shoved into holding cells.

Now is the time, however short it may be, of celebration, of rekindling hope, and of looking forward to a brighter future.