Written by Patiwat Saraiyaem
Translated by Peera Songkünnatham
May is our month of memory. Beginning with International Workers’ Day, it marches past several anniversaries—the gunning down of Jit Phumisak on the 5th, the Rajprasong crackdown on Red Shirt protesters in mid-May, the 2014 coup on the 22th—only to end with the anniversary of the execution of schoolteacher-turned-politician Krong Chandavong in 1961 on the orders of Field Marshal Sarit Thanarat.
In May 2018, the Krong Chandavong Learning Center was opened to the public. The following anniversary (May 2019), Patiwat “Molam Bank” Saraiyaem, who had recently served two years for a lese-majeste violation as an actor, was invited to perform along with Mokhaen Buatongnoi Rotdet, and Molam Puwanart Maisaendee. Patiwat wrote a lam long, a traditional ode characterized by slow chanting and a relatively free-flowing structure, for the occasion. Having two molam performers chant a single lam long is uncharacteristic; this was a nod to the fact that another man, Tongpan Sutthimat, was also executed that day.
Below are the lyrics of the first ten minutes of the 13-minute performance, translated from a mix of Lao and Thai, also known as Isan language. Left untranslated is the up-tempo, danceable finale, where the story is tied up in a call to action, with the important addition of the name Tiang Sirikhanth, another slain socialist politician from the northeastern province of Sakon Nakhon.
In Remembrance of Kru Krong Chandavong
Lam long
–
Sky
The sky goes bang
Around Sawang Daen Din
On this side of Sakon Nakhon
The Free Thai hero of Mount Paan
We hear his name resound
Kru Krong, the unforgettable man
Kru Krong, the legend world-renowned…
These days
The age where rocks float on water
Fish swallow stars, bark falls off pillars
Girls leave sweethearts for the capital
Old folks grumble in their absence
Parliament is ripped apart
Intimidated by gun-toting pests
The economy gets stuck in a ditch
People leave behind their homes
To roam as hungry Little Ghosts
Democracy becomes a catchy word
Dictators use as camouflage
The power of the people burgled
And wrecked beyond all recognition
Been years of crying in a circle
Of us folks sitting impotent
With the dictatorship’s M16s
Trained, ready to blow out our brains
In fear we have full body twitches
The country… it’s crickets
Nobody opens their mouth
Wherever you look seems about
To combust, raging as a bonfire
Think about it, people
Way back when Kru Krong was alive
Things were just like today
Back then, whoever joined a gathering
(motions to the audience)
Back then, whoever joins a gathering
Hangs out in a gang, a group
Will be touched by disaster
Any corner of Thai lands you look
Lurks the threat of dictatorship
It destroys in one fell swoop
By the devil’s despotic decree
It points a finger: you’re a threat
To the country, then by the neck
Drags you to jail, throwing away
The keys—forget about release
Or at times it abducts
And burns the body in a tire
Our country in shatters throughout
It covers up the ears and eyes
While mouths can only silently mouth
It gets that bad. Back then,
Power was in the hands of Grandpa Sarit
His coup d’état was the coup de grâce
To people’s power: the state put down
Regular folk by barbaric force
People were scar(r)ed; he who refused
To bow became a shooting target
Kru Krong was unafraid, and single-minded
He roused people to fight, to stand tall
Barbaric power, barbarously
Closed off escape and grabbed his nape
To execute by law
Throttle with Adharma
This, people, is dictatorship
Barbaric power by Article 17
That ordered killings, that imprisoned
That executed Kru Krong
Taking from him his wife and kids
And all his reputation, his son
Witit was also in prison then
Heavy-hearted was he who heard
His father passed, silent tears shed
With dictatorship hounding…
Sadhu der, sadhu der, sadhu der
In any future lifetime
May I never cross paths
With the ghoulish Mara
This airfield of Sawang Daen Din
Is a realm free from worry
Is a place of pride to spite
The rage against dictatorship…
The scaffold stood tall, front and centered;
Sawang Daen Din beheld in grief.
’Twas midday: into the crowd entered
Kru Krong, chained by the tyrant-in-chief.
Next to him was Nai Tongpan, slated
To suffer too the blows of wrath;
Waving farewell to all, he stated
“Let me take leave from Mara’s path.”
In awe, the crowd saw Kru Krong smile,
Walk up the scaffold, undeterred
By the death sentence from their trial,
And shake the sky with his final word:
“May dictatorship be wrecked. May democracy rise.”
Onto the execution platform, the heart undaunted by the dictatorship. Resolute in the stand against Adharma, Adharma wicked and cruel. Thirteen past twelve the trigger pulled, the bullets pierced the body of Kru Krong, extinguishing him. The only sound heard was the sky’s, the words reverberating in the skies: May dictatorship be wrecked! May democracy rise! May dictatorship be wrecked! May democracy rise! May dictatorship be wrecked! May democracy rise!
Shed tears of rage. Refuse to give.
Unite to fight the dictatorship.
Descendants listen. Never forget.
