Persepolis

In some respect, Thailand is the modern-day Asian equivalent of Persepolis. With the successes of import-substitution and special economic zones, Thailand prospered in the late 80s and early 90s. New elite condominiums and glassy office buildings took over the skyline as khlongs were cemented over to make room for the new classy cars which zipped through the city. Thailand was on the way to becoming a majestic example of modernity, where political instability existed but yet the system favoured foreign investment – creating the modern-day “Gate of All Nations”: the regional hub for intern-governmental organisations, multi-national companies and popular media. Just as Alexander the Great looted the treasury of the Persian Persepolis, Thailand’s downfall was also economic. In rapid succession, the world witnessed the fall of Southeast Asia. The promise of industrialization that so benefitted Taiwan and South Korea proved to be a highly flawed development theory that cannot function as a template for all developing countries. Having just read Marjane Satrapi’s gorgeous graphic novel, Persepolis, it becomes apparent that the story is timeless and universal. If the memory of Persepolis can be invoked during the Iran-Iraq war and the Iranian revolution in the 80s, it can also be applied to the current invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq. In my view, it applies in the contemporary Asian context too.

More personally, I saw parallels between myself as a teenager and the protagonist in the novel, Marjane. I had never seen war, it’s true. But what I had lived through was a recession which started at home, in Thailand, and spread like a contagious disease, hence the nickname “Asian Flu”. What resonated most with me was that, just like Marjane’s parents, I had a set of progressive parents who raised me to be a reader who questioned everything, to prioritise learning before all else and to always cease opportunity. Like Marjane’s parents, I was sent to study abroad as they viewed it as an escape from all things stifling and restrictive, believing that I would only truly flourish if I were Not Here. Like Marjane’s parents, mine said to me “I don’t care what you do, but whatever you do make sure you’re the best at it.” Like Marjane’s dad, the last thing my father said to me before boarding the 26 hour flight to Toronto from Bangkok was “don’t forget where you’ve come from.” And just as Marjane had lived in the deepest guilt over her lifestyle in Europe, I had spent each day in Toronto believing I had failed my parents because I was drowning in average-ness and consistently compromising the morals I had been raised to embrace. Meanwhile, I battled the freezing cold with my tiny financial allowance, adopted a diet of pasta and toast and cursed this new independence in favour of home.

I also moved back “home” partially to be in touch with "struggle", because one forgets struggle when living in a city with fully-stocked grocery stores. Just like the post-war Iran described by Marjane, post-recession Bangkok is also filled with apathy, to the point at which the same mistakes are being repeated. Brand new elite condominiums are blocking the views of the old ones, filling the last vestiges of open space the city has. But what we have now is no Persepolis, it’s an imitation of more glorious days and a disregard for the fact that everyone’s food in their fridge, petrol in their cars and bed that they sleep on are all on credit and, in fact, we are all on borrowed time.