We Are the Fighters

From time to time I'll hear a few words, or even as much as a sentence, delivered in just the right way, or perhaps at just the right moment, so that they seem to echo with a profundity that would otherwise not be implied by the arrangement of the words themselves. Today I was thinking about the first time that this happened to me in Thailand. It was my first week in the camp, and no doubt I was a little extra-susceptible to wonder, due to a combination of culture shock and a lot of well-trained punches to the head. I was perched uncomfortably on a bar stool at the Tiger Grill, wings folded, head down, trying to ignore the pervasive agony in my muscles, when a man named Will came by. I still know very little about him, other than that he is a young man, a general manager here, and was born somewhere near Boston, but he introduced himself to me almost immediately upon my arrival, and checks up on me from time to time.

As he passed, he clapped me on the shoulder, saying, "How you feeling, man?"
I feigned indifference to the protests of my entrails. "Ah, I'm alright. Just recovering."
Will chuckled, presumably seeing through my façade. "Alright, good to hear."
Then, just before continuing on his way, he paused for a moment which, in my memory, always plays like a close-up just before a scene change.

"The pain happens, man. Don't worry about it; there's only the fighters here."

It's been a little less than a month since he said that to me, but it's taken less time than that to realize that he was right. There is certainly a solidarity amongst everyone here at Tiger Muay Thai, trainer and student alike, but I don't actually think that it is hugely different than that achieved, for example, at Conway Mixed Martial Arts, my gym back in Arkansas. I don't know that every martial arts training ground has a similar community aspect, but due to the quality of my previous instruction, I'm no stranger to it, so I can't say that I really expected anything less. In fact, what has provided a much greater subject of interest to me is the habits and lifestyles of the people here, and though they perhaps do not reflect the feelings of similarity encouraged by shared hardship, the elusive commonality which persists.

As an aside, I remember quite well that in every school at which I've trained, and indeed in every community of which I have been a part, there are those who either resist, ignore or betray the feelings of solidarity extended to them. Certainly, that has already been the case more than once in my limited experience here, but for the purposes of this discussion, I'll be limiting myself to the large majority of students, all of whom seem to share an understanding with, and mild affection for, their trainers and classmates.

The really remarkable thing about the community here is that so many people seem to have so little in common with one another. For example, just this afternoon, I went to the office to buy a few of the necessities sold there, such as soap, disinfectant, and an extra pair of handwraps. While my purchases were being calculated, I stood next to an Irishman with a chest full of tattooed proper nouns, a slurred voice that seemed to have few worthwhile uses, and half-lidded eyes that might otherwise be keen, but had the air of having lost their edge after long being beaten against poor choices. He was very drunk (as it was then a little after 2PM), and mentioned that he was on the business end of several tablets of Vallium. He explained to me that he deserved this day of stuporous rest as he had just lost 50,000 baht (about $1,500 USD) last weekend to the classic alliance of a prostitute and too much alcohol.

By contrast, on the trip to Bangkok mentioned last time, I shared a bus with a man named Berneung (corrected spelling). Berneung is Thai, and a man of few words and fewer facial expressions. He is not grim or prickly, but simply impassive, though his eyebrows are permanently fixed in a slightly peaked position of imposing analysis. He followed the rest of the TMT crew to the bars each night, but I didn't hear him speak a single word to any women who didn't train with us, and he only quietly shook his head each time he was offered a drink. He doesn't say much to anyone from what I understand, and showed very little response even after his quick and decisive victories in the ring that weekend. On a side note, I'm told that though his personal demeanor has been consistent in recent memory, he has actually demonstrated a bit more flair for the dramatic, as in this picture taken of him a few months ago which has since been made into a poster for sale around Phuket (Berneung is on the right).



These two men clearly have very little in common. What is of course striking about the comparison is that as far as anyone can tell, they have a perfect understanding. Between these two specifically, I cannot vouch for anything other than that once Berneung held pads for the Irishman whose name I've forgotten, but it is implicit among the social group here that each would help the other if there was need. What's more, I know that there are many here who are as different from me as these two are from each other, but when I've been outside the camp, I know instinctively that I'm with them, and they're with me.

I want to emphasize here that this isn't even something based on foreignness. I can remember a similar feeling of camaraderie springing up quickly with people I met in France, if only because people who are outside of their comfort zones tend to band together quickly, and generally part with equal swiftness when the need is over. Here, however, I have observed and experienced this bond between Thais and foreigners, between the travelers and the xenophobes, and even more impressive, I've noticed that it endures.

All of this is admittedly rather nebulous, though I've forgiven myself somewhat due to the fact that don't particularly think that I'm describing anything really momentous or outside the experience of most. The reason I go into it, however, is that it is the most concrete symptom of a phenomenon that I have found which directly relates to my study here. It strikes me that ours is a completely imagined community here at the camp; we have no specific personal bond, and indeed many of us have never met. Other than the fact of one's training here, the personal criteria for our acceptance of another, then, are functionally nonexistent.

This idea immediately reminded me of an earlier post in which I asked some vague questions about the differences between soldiers and martial artists, and in which I mentioned a book from which I have just borrowed a phrase, Imagined Communities, by Benedict Anderson. I sorely wish that I had been able to read more of that book before my departure, but one thing that I took from it which has stayed with me is that nations are, in fact, what I have just described. Here we are certainly absent the comparatively recent inventions of Western-imposed categorization and strict border recognition, but according to Anderson and Dr. King of the Howard University Anthropology Department (with whom I had a very illuminating conversation before I left), the fighters here have the basic genesis of a cultural identity. In short, the fighters of Tiger Muay Thai are certainly individual and separate, "but in the minds of all exists the image of [our] communion" (Anderson). I'll be trying to get access to more of this, as I think that it's fascinating.

Finally, I should clarify that I do not believe that membership in one imagined community excludes one from membership in others. I was warned by Will (from the beginning of the post) that the Thais may be somewhat offended if I tried to vent to them about my vexing run-in with the famous merchants of Bangkok mentioned in the last post. While many Thais would respond the same way emotionally, Will explained that it was quite possible that they would be a bit resistant to commentary on their social problems from a foreigner of the same brand who supports the problem. Even the trainers, that is to say, would not necessarily accept me as part of their community in this sense, despite whatever other camaraderie we share.

In short, the identity that we here have all adapted as Muay Thai fighters does not subsume all other identities, though it does somehow rank among them. I can say that I feel a certain kinship toward the fighters and trainers here that I do not for Americans in general, though that wouldn't make me indifferent if I met someone else from Kansas City. It is particularly relevant to me as well that this identity as Muay Thai fighters has rules to it, and traditions, and it behooves us all to follow them. The martial art has demonstrably incorporated us into an imagined community in which we follow its ethics. We don't kick for the groin, we don't follow our opponents to the ground; we show respect for our trainers and for our ancestors before a fight, and we use Thai words to describe certain features of the training or ceremony. This is, in fact, what I came here to study. We are not all Thai, but neither are we the same as we were before we were immersed into this Thai art, which has carried with it the old rules and traditions that are now becoming our own. And so, almost as if we said, "We are Americans," or "We are Christians," or "We are Buddhists," we know that we are Muay Thai fighters, as little or as much as that means.

For the sake of levity, I submit the following picture of one of my friends here for general approval, as a brilliantly telling allegory for my own presence here in the camp.