Located at the northern tip of Thailand, Chiang Mai borders Myanmar on the north and Laos on the east. As early as the 15th century, the city was an important trade center in northern Thailand. Today, tradition and modernity coexist in the ancient city as the Thai government endeavors to develop northern Thailand, with Chiang Mai as its base, into a new tourist paradise. Just like this red

The beautiful city of Chiang Mai, at the northern tip of Thailand, has a rich history that dates back more than 700 years. Founded and designed in accordance with the laws of feng shui, it has an interesting origin. In the late 13th century, northern Thailand was controlled by King Mangrai of the Lan Na kingdom. The Lan Na people believed that cities, like human beings, must live in harmony with the motion of the universe in order to enjoy peace and prosperity. So when King Mangrai was deciding on a spot for his new capital, he followed an auspicious omen (which one legend refers to as the sighting of two fearless deer driving off a pack of hunting dogs) and settled in a fertile valley area near the upper Ping River. He named his new capital Chiang Mai, or "new city."

To ensure continuing prosperity for his kingdom, the king asked the most prestigious astrologers in northern Thailand to tell Chiang Mai's fortune. "According to the astrologers, Chiang Mai was 'born' at four in the morning of the eighth day of the first lunar month (based on the Buddhist calendar)," observed Professor Somchok Ongsakul of the Department of History at Chiang Mai University. Based on his studies, that year happened to be the Year of the Monkey, and that was why the astrologers concluded that north was the most auspicious direction for the city [according to the art of feng shui, metal, water, north, and monkeys are all associated]. Thus, after the construction of the city was completed, King Mangrai appointed the north city gate as the place where the enthroning ceremony of his descendents should be held.

The astrologers also said that Suthep Mountain to the west of Chiang Mai symbolized learning, the Ping River to the east signified wealth, and that the south, in contrast to the north, was associated with chaos and death. "If we take a look at the development of Chiang Mai," Ongsakul stated, "we find that the predictions of the astrologers turned out to be quite correct."

Indeed, a look at today's Chiang Mai does confirm what the astrologers said. Chiang Mai University, the most famous university in northern Thailand, lies in the west of the city. To the east, between the Tha Phae Gate and the Ping River, are the main business and shopping areas. The night bazaar and ancient historic monuments continue to attract tourists from all over the world, whose money helps to support the local economy.

Such being the case, it comes as no surprise that not only ordinary Thai people have deep faith in feng shui--even intellectuals like Ongsakul believe in it too. As a historian, Ongsakul does not regard astrology as superstition; instead, he considers it a tradition that should be cherished generation after generation.

King Mangrai was a powerful and successful ruler, and the Lan Na kingdom prospered under his rule. However, despite all the precautions he took to ensure longevity for his kingdom (within the grounds of Wat Chedi Luang, in the center of Chiang Mai, he even erected a City Pillar to symbolize eternal life), the power of his country declined in the 16th century as a result of lavish religious expenditures. In 1556, the Lan Na kingdom was conquered by the Burmese.

For over two centuries Chiang Mai remained under Burmese control. Then, in 1775, Thai King Taksin moved in from the south to drive the Burmese out of Chiang Mai. Chiang Mai was then integrated into Thailand and gradually developed into the country's second largest city, after Bangkok.

Love of Chiang Mai

Today in Thailand, while the residents of Bangkok proudly advise tourists to travel north to Chiang Mai, the people of Chiang Mai often profess their disdain for Bangkok.

"The air is dirty, the traffic is a mess, and the pace of life too frenetic," said Nikon, who runs a homestay in Chiang Mai. He used to work in Bangkok when he was young, and his impression of the capital was far from favorable. In his opinion, Chiang Mai is a much more lovely place. Although the forces of nature, such as earthquakes, have reduced the once magnificent ancient city into ruins and piles of crumbled walls, Chiang Mai has a fascinating beauty that only the magic hands of time can create. Every old tree, every ancient temple, every cobblestone-paved lane, as well as the city moats with their quietly flowing water, are expressive embodiments of that beauty.

"Because the beauty of Chiang Mai is invaluable," observed Nikon, "the city government passed a law in 1991 to protect the old city. The law forbids the construction of high-rise buildings within 93 meters (305 ft) of a temple, city wall, or city moat. If duly implemented, this conservation measure will greatly help to preserve the city's skyline--wherever you are in Chiang Mai, nothing can obstruct your view of Suthep Mountain.”

Nikon's love for his hometown is obvious. It can easily be seen from how well he knows the city and from the efforts he has taken to help protect it. He himself has never moved a single plant or tree in his homestay since the 1980s.

"This oak tree is older than me," said Nikon, pointing to a tree nestling against a stone table and chairs. "For years, the number of rooms in my homestay has remained the same. I refuse to enlarge or extend my homestay just to make more money. People may be afraid of getting old, but not cities. The older a city gets, the more fascinating it becomes."

Nikon is not alone in his thinking. Many of his fellow townsmen share his view. They express their love for Chiang Mai through action. Some of them donate their old houses to have them listed as historic sites, some trim old trees in their neighborhoods to keep them neat and beautiful, and some, like Professor Ongsakul, serve as volunteer tour guides for people visiting ancient temples or other places of historic interest.

In light of these people's efforts, it is easy to understand why they are worried about the recent development of Chiang Mai. They are afraid that the city will become another Bangkok because the Thai government has vowed to develop northern Thailand, with Chiang Mai as its base, into a tourist paradise to boost tourism.

Uthaiwan Kanchanakamol is a retired medical doctor who owns a radio station called Voice of the Community in Chiang Mai. He is a long-time observer of the environmental protection issues in his country. He said that he and other local people do not oppose the government's policy of developing Chiang Mai; after all, the old city must keep up with the times in order not to become obsolete. But he also knows that it is just as important to protect and preserve the city's most important asset, its historic value. "If the old city is well preserved, wouldn't it be more likely to attract more tourists?"

Kanchanakamol's worries about improper development in Chiang Mai are not without basis. Despite the conservation measures implemented by the government to protect the city, a giant multi-story hotel still opened within illegitimate proximity to both a city moat and a historic temple. Obviously, Chiang Mai is experiencing the throes of urbanization. The city is getting more and more crowded with the large number of immigrants from other parts of northern Thailand. Even the number of cars has seemed to explode overnight. According to city residents, Suthep Mountain used to be all green and lush no matter what direction one looked at it. But now, except after a rainstorm, a dark haze tends to collect over the mountain.

"I figure that in a few short years, we'll have to wear masks when we go out," Kanchanakamol said with a wry smile. "I heard that a famous Taiwanese singer called Teresa Teng used to love Chiang Mai because she enjoyed the peaceful, beautiful environment here. Fortunately she passed away several years ago; otherwise she would be really sad if she saw how dirty the air in Chiang Mai has become."

Cultural diversity

Teresa Teng, a popular singer in Chinese societies worldwide, has been dead for 10 years. There is no way we can find out whether she would weep over the changes in Chiang Mai, also known as the Rose of the North. But one thing is certain: the Mae Ping Hotel where Teng liked to stay when she visited Chiang Mai has been mapped out as an important scenic spot by local travel agencies. It appears that Chiang Mai is using every available resource to promote tourism.

It cannot be denied that Chiang Mai does have the potential to become an important tourist destination. Compared with other ancient cities around the world, it has well-preserved city moats, and historic temples that are over 100 years old can be seen everywhere. Furthermore, since ancient times Chiang Mai has been an important gateway to northern Thailand, through which commercial travelers from different places and minority groups that live in the border areas come in and out of Thailand. Thus, it has also developed into a multiethnic city with a high tolerance for cultural differences. All these factors add to the charm and appeal of Chiang Mai.

On Moon Muang road, just inside the Tha Pae Gate, pictures of different ethnic groups, including the Akha, Lisu, Lahu, and Baiyi, are posted in travel agencies and car rental shops to attract foreign travelers. At the night bazaar, which stretches for several blocks, people from Myanmar sell wooden sculptures and jade handicrafts. In traditional markets that are open only during the day, the gold market is monopolized by ethnic Chinese whose ancestors came from Chaozhou, southern China, over a century ago.

Between the night bazaar and the Ping River, there is a mosque on which Chinese characters are written. The mosque is located on the famous "Yunnan Street." Every Friday morning, a group of peddlers who originally came from Yunnan Province, southwest China, sell Yunnan-style pickled vegetables in front of the mosque. Their main clientele consists of other Yunnanese who live in Chiang Mai.

"Those Yunnan people [the peddlers] are a different kind from us," said our tour guide Yu, who is also from Yunnan. "Their ancestors were traders who made routine trips between Yunnan and northern Thailand to do business. They settled down in northern Thailand in 1949 when China fell into the hands of the Chinese communist forces. Our ancestors, instead, are war veterans."

Chinese veterans in northern Thailand

The war veterans Yu talked about are the Chinese Nationalist troops generally known as the "the isolated army." In 1949, when the Nationalist government led by Chiang Kai-shek retreated to Taiwan after losing China to the Chinese Communist forces, the 93rd Division of the Nationalist army stationed in Yunnan moved south into Burma (now called Myanmar) and continued to fight against the Communist rule in China. To force the Nationalist troops to leave their country, the Burmese government lodged a complaint with the United Nations, asking the world body to take action against the Nationalist incursion into Burma. The Chinese troops prepared to evacuate to Taiwan.

However, believing in the strategic value of northern Thailand and nearby areas, Chiang Kai-shek, leader of the Nationalist army, commanded some of the troops--the Third and Fifth Armies--to stay. For more than a decade after that, the troops that stayed behind fought guerrilla battles with the Burmese. Eventually, they retreated to a mountainous region in northern Thailand and settled there. After some time, the troops' prolonged illegal stay in Thailand aroused the suspicion of the Thai government. In order to obtain legal refugee status, the Nationalist troops negotiated a settlement deal with the Thai government to help fight communist insurgents on the northern Thai border. They succeeded in pacifying the border for the Thai government and were finally allowed to stay as legal refugees in northern Thailand.

The Nationalist soldiers and their families settled in more than 60 refugee villages such as Mae Salong, Hin Taek, and Amphur Fang. When they first came to northern Thailand in about 1954, they thought they would be able to return home in a few short years when the Nationalists retook China. However, things did not go as they had expected. With the passing of time, they gradually realized that they were stranded in this foreign land with no one coming to their aid. Most of the soldiers had lost their identity papers in the various battles and relocations. They became citizens of neither the PRC (China) nor the ROC (Taiwan), and they did not have Thai citizenship either. As individuals with nothing to prove their identity, they were forced to spend the rest of their lives in the refugee villages.

Now, half a century has passed, and most of the soldiers have died; those who have survived to this day are all over 70 years old. Most of their offspring have obtained Thai citizenship. Unlike their fathers or grandfathers who only had refugee status and were not allowed to freely enter or exit from the mountain region that they inhabited, the younger generations face a better future as they gradually blend into Thai society. Some of the refugee villages, such as Mae Salong, have even developed into tourist destinations as part of the Thai government's efforts to promote tourism in northern Thailand. The tragedy of the veterans seems to be fading into history as their descendants begin their new lives in Thailand.

Mae Salong

Mae Salong, located near Chiang Rai, is about five to six hours' drive from Chiang Mai. In recent years, it has become a must-visit place for Taiwanese tourists visiting northern Thailand. The plight of the old soldiers in that village became well-known to the Taiwanese some 20 years ago when a fund-raising campaign for the Chinese veterans stranded in Thailand was launched in Taiwan.

Mae Salong is filled with verdant, luxuriant tea plantations; it is primarily due to these tea plantations that the former refugee village could succeed in becoming a tourist destination. Years ago, the veterans who settled down in the area, which lies in the infamous Golden Triangle, used to rely on the opium trade to make a living. Years of vagrant, war-torn existence had made them susceptible to illness, and they grew accustomed to taking opium themselves to alleviate their pain. In order to redress the situation, the Thai government began to crack down on drugs. To help the refugees who could no longer make money through opium sales to earn a living, the royal family of Thailand initiated a plan to teach them to cultivate tea, corn, and fruit trees. Taiwan's Chinese Association for Relief and Ensuing Services also sent agricultural experts from Taiwan to northern Thailand to introduce tea-cultivation techniques to the refugee villages. Gradually, fields of red opium poppies were transformed into lush green tea bushes.

Zhan Jun-ru used to live in the refugee village in Mae Salong, but she then moved to Taiwan with her husband and settled down there. I met her when she was visiting her relatives in Mae Salong. She still remembered what a desolate place Mae Salong was when she was small. "When night came, it was so dark you couldn't even see your own fingers. The only light came from the stars in the sky. There was no running water, no electricity, no radio, no television. We had next to nothing." She said that the refugees' only form of entertainment was watching movies. Every Wednesday and Saturday, itinerant movie players from below the mountains would come to Mae Salong, along with horses loaded with heavy movie-playing equipment.

Listening to Zhan talk about the past, Kuo, her old schoolmate, would occasionally put a word in while he made tea for the customers patronizing his teahouse. He said teasingly that Zhan used to love watching movies so much that she ignored her schoolwork and often had to depend on him to help her pass an exam. Unlike Zhan, Kuo has never left Mae Salong and so, like other refugees, he has led a harder life. But today he has his own tea plantation in the village and a teahouse just outside the newly opened Chinese Veterans' Museum. Life has certainly improved for him.

Tea and tourism

The Chinese Veterans' Museum houses more than 1,000 memorial tablets commemorating the Nationalist soldiers who lost their lives in the various battles fought on the border of Yunnan and Burma. A few enlarged old photographs and news clippings are posted on the walls or placed in glass cabinets for visitors to see. The museum was significantly empty compared with the shops outside, which, though rented for as much as US$3,030 per month, were completely leased out.

"It's the low season for tourism, so there aren't many tourists," said Kuo. "But once a tour bus arrives, customers will pour in, bringing in money for the shops in the area."

Today, the streets in Mae Salong are lined with one teahouse after another. The scene is prosperous. Most of the tea dealers in the region are descendents of the Nationalist veterans. Years ago, they still picked tea leaves themselves. But today they focus their attention on growing and selling tea, and the manual labor of picking tea leaves has been relegated to women of other minority races in the area.

"The pay for picking tea leaves is low, about 10 baht (US$0.20) per catty (1.3 pounds)," said a teahouse proprietor. Because of the low wages, tea plantations have been able to spend more money on cultivating finer varieties of tea, thus producing high-quality tea that has become popular in Bangkok and Europe.

Tea has stimulated the development of Mae Salong. In recent years, in addition to teahouses, homestays, restaurants, and grocery stores have sprung up one after another in the village. The desolate, backward Mae Salong of early years has disappeared. The village is experiencing dramatic changes as its economy grows.

As the former refugee village metamorphoses into a tourist town, there is one thing that makes the older residents especially happy: the younger generations are now allowed to receive a proper Chinese education and openly study Chinese again. In the early years, when Xinghua School, founded by General Duan Xi-wen, commander of the Fifth Army of the Nationalist troops, first opened in the village, most students were too poor to afford the tuition and supplies were so scarce that teachers had to use hand-copied textbooks. Later, as part of its struggle against communist insurgents, the government forbade the teaching of Chinese in Thai schools, and the school was required to teach classes in the Thai language. Students had to hide within their homes or in chicken coops to study Chinese.

But the situation has taken an about-face. Since Thaksin Shinawatra, who was elected Thailand's prime minister in 2001, began to cultivate friendly ties with China, the Chinese language has once again gained importance. Those who can speak both Chinese and Thai are much sought after, and they can easily land a job in tourism or in companies owned by Taiwanese businessmen. The students at Xinghua School no longer have to worry about not being able to find a job when they graduate.

All the signs indicate that Mae Salong is really experiencing a change of fortune. But if one looks closer, one finds that behind the facade of prosperity is another world that is struggling under the heavy burden of grim reality.

Prosperity and despair

If you walk to the end of Mae Salong, you will see a sign, "Veterans' Home." The home is very secluded, and its residents barely communicate with the outside world.

"My leg is crippled, so it's difficult for me to move about," said Wang Li-ren (an alias), a resident of the home. He lost his right leg in a battle in 1970 when he stepped on a landmine. His father was also a victim of war who died in a battle between the Nationalist army and the Chinese Communist forces.

Originally we thought the tragedy of the Nationalist soldiers was becoming a memory, but the Veterans' Home brought it all back. Almost all of the residents here are victims of war. They are among the unlucky ones who have never been able to obtain refugee permits. After pacifying the northern Thai border for the Thai government, these unfortunate individuals were away doing odd jobs in other towns when the permits were being distributed, and so they missed the opportunity.

Although the home is located in Mae Salong, its residents live a vastly different life from those mentioned above in this article. They are still struggling to survive on the margin of society, even as their fellow villagers are leading better lives and being incorporated into mainstream society. Among all the refugee villages in northern Thailand, Mae Salong is the most prosperous. But even in such a prosperous place, poor, suffering people like those in the home can still be found. It is not hard to imagine the backward conditions in the other refugee villages.

Wang said that he has a relative who lives in an isolated, unfrequented refugee village where the land is barren and the people are poverty-stricken. Once he asked a priest to visit his relative to see how he was doing. The priest found Wang's relative seriously ill--his face was darkened, and a terrible cough racked his thin frame. When the priest asked the relative if he had consulted a doctor, the relative shook his head, his eyes full of despair.

After the priest came out of the relative's house, a neighbor said to him with a sigh, "His lungs should have been treated a long time ago. He's been sick for many, many years. But he has no money. Besides, there's no hospital in the area. If he wants to see a doctor, he has to go to another village nearly 30 kilometers (18.6 miles) away. Such a trip would be too tough for him."

Compared with the money the local government has spent in building up Chiang Mai and Mae Salong, the funding allotted for the construction of medical facilities in the refugee villages is disturbingly insufficient.

Fortunately, the plight of the refugees in northern Thailand has not been entirely neglected. Several religious charity organizations have rendered temporary assistance. The Taiwanese chapter of Caritas, an international Catholic charity organization, has been caring for residents for 25 years, since 1979.

NGOs in northern Thailand

"Father Peter Mertens told us that when he first came to Mae Salong, the refugees had barely enough to eat. But when he asked them what he could do to help them, all they said was they needed a school," stated Ms. Zhang, who works for Caritas. According to her, Father Mertens had originally come to northern Thailand to install water and electricity for the refugees to improve their living conditions. But the refugees explained that their greatest need was a proper education for their children, since only a good education would help them climb out of poverty, and that they would prefer this even if it meant that they themselves would have to starve. Father Mertens was greatly touched, and he decided to do his best to help with the education in the area. Since then, Caritas has been training at least 350 teachers per year for the schools in northern Thailand. Aside from that, the organization also provides financial assistance to the schools and their students.

In addition to Caritas, another non-governmental organization that provides long-term aid to the refugee camps in northern Thailand is Taiwan's Chinese Association for Relief and Ensuing Services. The assistance provided by the association to northern Thailand covers emergency relief, construction of houses and roads, installation of water and electricity systems, and provision of medical care and agricultural expertise. Among all the charity organizations working in northern Thailand, this one has provided the most extensive and comprehensive care to the region. However, a few years ago the Taiwanese government stopped providing financial support, and because of an economic recession in Taiwan the organization encountered great difficulties in raising money. It was thus forced to lay off some of its staff and decrease its aid to northern Thailand.

Gong Cheng-ye, a staff member of the Chinese Association for Relief and Ensuing Services, was stationed in northern Thailand for a total of 12 years. He recalled that 12 years ago when his superior told him he was to be posted to northern Thailand, he was really reluctant to go there because he knew how backward the living conditions in the refugee villages were. Upon arriving in northern Thailand, he prayed that he could be sent back to Taiwan as soon as possible. But one evening, while he was driving back home from a refugee camp, he saw a little girl of six or seven years old staggering along a gravel path. The girl seemed to be hurrying home. She was carrying a large bundle of tree branches on her back, and a scythe tied to her waist kept dragging and clanging on the ground. The sight made Gong's eyes sting. He thought of his own children in Taiwan and the comfortable lives that they led. When they were the girl's age, they didn't have a care in the world. But this girl, Gong saw, was already struggling to survive on the bumpy road of life.

The episode had a profound effect on Gong, and he gave up the thought of returning to Taiwan. He decided to stay in northern Thailand and do whatever he could to help the refugees. Little did he know that one day, due to a change of circumstances, the organization he worked for would have to decrease its aid to northern Thailand and he would have to leave the land where he had devoted 12 years of his life.

Relay of love

When Tzu Chi learned of the plight of the refugee villages in northern Thailand, it decided to offer a helping hand. In 1994, John Chiang, who then chaired Taiwan's Overseas Chinese Affairs Commission, made a special trip to the Tzu Chi headquarters in Hualien to ask for the foundation's help in reconstructing the refugee villages in northern Thailand. After evaluation, Tzu Chi decided to launch a three-year assistance program that included construction of houses, provision of agricultural counseling, and care for the Nationalist veterans.

"We're really grateful to Tzu Chi," said Ai Xin-bai, head of Huihe village. He remembered that before the foundation built houses for them, they used to live in bare, run-down huts with roofs of leaves and walls of woven bamboo. "Now we have concrete houses to live in. They stay warm in winter and cool in summer--it's really comfortable to live in them."

After the villagers had solid houses to live in, they worked hard to cultivate tea and fruit trees to make a living. However, another problem arose. During the rainy season when the crops were being harvested, the rugged dirt roads in the mountains became slippery and virtually impassable. This made it difficult to get the crops to market and greatly decreased the residents' income.

"To improve the situation, Tzu Chi volunteers decided to raise funds to build a concrete road for us," said Ai, pointing to a road that stretches from a hillside to the village. "But they encountered a problem. No contractors were willing to undertake the construction because this mountainous area lacked a water source and transportation of construction materials was difficult. The volunteers were not daunted, however. Without any hesitation, they set out to build the concrete road themselves."

With the help of the residents of Huihe, Tzu Chi volunteers used bamboo pipes to bring water to the construction site from a water source several kilometers away. In order to complete the road before the rainy season, everyone worked in sweltering heat often as high as 41 degrees Celsius (106 F). The work was hard, but no one complained.

In addition to the construction in Huihe, Tzu Chi built more than 120 houses in the remote villages of Mangala, Changlong, and Misala, and established nursing homes in Mai Nongbour and Phatang. It also took over a local farm called Hualiang Farm and helped it to develop tea and fruit seedlings, which were then distributed to various refugee villages in northern Thailand. The foundation hoped that after the villagers learned to grow tea and fruit trees, they would be able to stand on their own and live better lives.

"Ten years ago, when Tzu Chi volunteers first came to our village, I was about this tall, and the seedlings they provided us were about this small," remembered Zhang Kang-ming, who grew up on Hualiang Farm, as he indicated his height and the height of the seedlings with his hand. "But now, all the longan trees, plum trees, or peach trees are all taller than me. The fruit they have yielded have helped support many families in the village." Zhang said that he is amazed how beautiful the farm is in the flowering seasons when the peach flowers and plum flowers are in full bloom. It is such a splendid, impressive sight that anyone who sees it will never forget it.

Chiang Mai Tzu Chi School

In the process of providing assistance to the needy in northern Thailand, the Tzu Chi Foundation became aware of the importance of education. After all, to solve the problem of poverty at its roots, education is essential. Therefore, at the end of 1997, when the three-year assistance program concluded, the foundation embarked on a project to build a Tzu Chi school in Amphur Fang, Chiang Mai.

"The social and economic conditions in northern Thailand are undergoing tremendous change," observed Li Rui-hua, who is in charge of the Tzu Chi school. "A quadrangular economic zone will form in the area after a transportation network connecting northern Thailand, China's Yunnan Province, Myanmar, and Laos is completed. We have the responsibility to provide a good education for children in northern Thailand in order to prepare them for the future."

In May of this year, after numerous obstacles were overcome, including the acquisition of suitable land, the Chiang Mai Tzu Chi School was finally opened. On opening day, 59 students, seven Thai teachers, three Taiwanese teachers, and two administrators participated in a flag-raising ceremony. As the national flag of Thailand, the Buddhist flag, and the school flag were slowly hoisted to the top of the flagstaffs, tears of joy filled the eyes of many of the participants.

"This is a school built with love and care," said Pacharee Deejing, who used to teach at an elementary school in Bangkok before she joined the Tzu Chi school. "The school authorities have been reminding us all along how important education is for the people in northern Thailand. In order to offer the best possible education for the students, Tzu Chi even sent us to Taiwan to undergo a six-month training program before the school opened."

To recruit students for the school, Tzu Chi volunteers held tea parties to explain to the community residents the ideals espoused by the foundation in establishing a school in northern Thailand. "I decided to enroll my children in the Tzu Chi school after attending one of the tea parties," said Huang Hui-juan. Originally from Chaozhou, southern China, Huang married a Thai and settled down in Thailand. Before she went to the Tzu Chi tea party, she had already been greatly impressed by the charity work conducted by the foundation in northern Thailand. After attending the tea party and finding out how loving and caring all the teachers in the Tzu Chi school were, she was even more convinced that she should send her children there. Now, during holidays, if the school needs help, she invites other parents and community residents to clean up the school to create a better environment for the students.

A better future

"I have two daughters, one in fourth grade and the other in first grade," said He Zhi-chao, another parent. "I had enrolled them in another school when I learned that the Chiang Mai Tzu Chi School was recruiting students. However, in order to provide them with a better education, I decided to transfer them to the Tzu Chi school." Onsong, who is Thai, echoed He's sentiments: "At first, I had wanted to educate my children at home, because my religion--a branch of Theravada Buddhism--puts a lot of emphasis on the cultivation of character. But after I learned more about Tzu Chi's concepts of education, I changed my mind. I found that the school not only imparts knowledge but also teaches its students to become decent, caring people. I believe that at the Tzu Chi school, where the students come from many different backgrounds, my children will develop into broad-minded persons who embrace broad cultural outlooks and know how to show respect for others."

On the campus of the Chiang Mai Tzu Chi School, children of different races study, learn, and play together. Some of them are Thai, some are of Chinese ancestry, and some are members of minority groups such as Akha and Baiyi. Despite the racial differences between them, they get along well together. The scene inspires a tremendously moving sense of hope.

Obviously, the story of northern Thailand is being rewritten. In this new version, tourism, which plays an important part in Chiang Mai, and charity work, which has reshaped the life of northern Thailand, are due to play determining roles.

Love and education are changing the destiny of northern Thailand. As new sprouts grow, hope is taking root in the area.