While raising questions about the Thai sex industry is, in view of the AIDS pandemic, a matter of urgent research interest, much of the existing discourse has failed to place an understanding of masculinity on the agenda. This paper aims to rethink assumptions about masculinity and confront much wider assumptions about male – and therefore human – nature. Against this background Thai prostitution is conceptualised as an axis around which many discourses of ‘otherness’ turn, leading to questions about the forms prostitution takes, who the clients are and how their motivations are articulated.
An article in the Financial Times (1987) describing Bangkok remarks that ‘there are marvellous restaurants, good hotels, wonderful shopping… and of course there is the sex.’
The subject of prostitution in Thailand has seen a lot of coverage over the last few years from various sources. South East Asian women’s groups have brought the issue of women’s exploitation into the open. Speculation about AIDS has provoked a response to the sale of sex, both from government officials and non-governmental organisations, while Western journalists have rediscovered the fascinations of an old phenomenon.
In my opinion it is important to raise questions about the sex industry in Thailand, not necessarily from a moral viewpoint but in the context of the escalating AIDS pandemic. It is generally agreed that there is a need for more directed and appropriate action, which should be based on reliable and, above all, comprehensive information. My argument in this paper is that available studies fail to locate an understanding of masculinity as part of their agendas. The client is usually a shadowy figure, the assumption apparently being that prostitution is a universal phenomenon, and that men are a ubiquitous category.
One study states that ‘It is estimated that seventy-five percent of Thai men have had sex with a prostitute, and that forty-eight percent experienced their first sexual intercourse with a prostitute’ (Asia Watch 1993:16). Other studies have pitched the figures even higher. Yet how are these statistics to be understood? Is promiscuity the ultimate male ideal, realised in Thailand? Are Thai males restricted by convention and forced to express their sexuality in this way? Or are there cultural and historical factors which should be taken into account? Living for 18 months near a notorious Bangkok ‘red light district’ for locals, I became quickly aware of the sheer number of Thai males who frequent ‘cafés’, drinking places where alcohol is not the only refreshment. My paper is partly an attempt to reconceptualise and re-situate this particular aspect of ‘male culture’, which I see as something of a window into Thai male identity. Yet the task of problematising Thai masculinity also necessarily involves a confrontation with the wider context of ‘male nature’ and hence that of ‘human nature’, assumptions about which tend to hamper more comprehensive research into prostitution in Thailand.
The first part of the paper will examine some discourses dealing with prostitution. Then I will go on to rethink some of the assumptions using ethnographic material from Northern Thailand and Bangkok. Finally I will explore avenues for further research into Thai masculinity. Although I have been unable to carry out any of my own field research my hope is that this study raises issues which may contribute to debates both on Thai prostitution and on gender. Hence I have preferred to ask questions rather than proffer too many interpretations.
Practices involving the sale of sex have been reified as ‘Prostitution’ with a capital ‘P’, or ‘Sexploitation’ in some cases. Studies talk about ‘it’ as if ‘it’ is a self-evident, universal phenomenon. Said argues that ‘the Orient is not an inert fact of nature. It is not merely there’(1984:4). In the same sense Thai prostitution may only be ‘there’ by virtue of diverse representations which are usually part of much wider, often politically motivated discourses. Portrayed by some as the locus for deviant desires, by others as an indication of male biology, prostitution has become a rather over-burdened metaphor, a vehicle through which general comments about ‘Society’ and ‘Human Nature’ are often made. In particular the implication is that what prostitution is, who it serves and the ‘conditions of its existence’ revolve around the mysteries of the body and its urges and therefore stand outside any cultural or historical context. De Zalduondo, in a recent article, notes that ‘the inability or unwillingness to connect sexual behaviour with social structure suggests that sexual behaviour is essentially unexplainable and investigation in this topic is futile’ (1991:237) and that as a consequence of this omission ‘the demand side of prostitution is poorly understood’ (ibid:236). A few recent studies suggest that only concentrating on the directly sexual side of prostitution may overlook the other needs or expectations which may be brought to the relationship or social arena. What follows is an analysis of some dominant accounts of prostitution in Thailand. I will look at the ideas and theoretical assumptions and consider how the statements may have been motivated.
In an article headed ‘Police Chief links brothel ban with rise in sex crime’ published in the Bangkok Post (November 1992), a ‘Police Director General’ claimed that, deprived of massage parlours, ‘men in seaside provinces who make a living in the fishing industry and workers in provinces where industrial plants are located’, would have ‘a lot of pent up sexual aggression’ and would have to ‘relieve themselves every once in a while.’ He goes on to comment that ‘The rate of rapes and other sex-related crimes might skyrocket if these men find no place to satisfy their sexual desires.’ In a different article the ‘Deputy Government Spokesperson’ insisted that it would be ‘difficult for the government to solve prostitution in a short time because if there is no prostitution rape may increase’(Bangkok Post:1992). These statements define prostitution into existence as a class problem. It is working class men who lack bodily control and are compelled to relieve their urges. Secondly, the statements draw their authority from Western theories of biological determinism, which equate sex and aggression as peculiarly male proclivities. I would like to argue that these assumptions may be a distortion of the role of ‘café culture’ in the lives of many Thai males, and will go on to show how culturally situating certain forms of behaviour may open up some new avenues of enquiry.
There have been few attempts to enquire into the motivations of foreign tourists for seeking the charms of Patpong hostesses. The presence of ‘desire’ is usually considered a free-standing explanation in itself. I would argue that present arguments about the constructedness of desire make it impossible to continue presuming its ‘givenness’ (see esp. Henriques 1984). Desire is not ‘there’ as a given, free-floating biological instinct, nor is it always the same. In this respect more care should be taken to differentiate between foreign and local clients on the level of motivation and practices. The ‘object’ of desire is, I believe, learned, constructed and highly situated. Manderson’s study of ‘public sex performances’ in Patpong, Bangkok, illustrates the role of the imagination in commercial sex aimed at tourists and stresses that the erotic ‘sex performances’ are ‘a commentary on the presumed nature of Western and Japanese male desire’ (1992:457-58), with a deliberate emphasis on exoticism. From this perspective, sex is constructed as a commodity through carefully chosen imagery. The images ‘draw on cross-cultural metaphors’ which may be understood and combined differently, depending on who is watching (ibid:465). Hence, gendered boundaries are enhanced as part of the fantasy whilst ‘ideas’ of ‘maleness’ are self-consciously appealed to.
My intention is to identify some discourses through which Thai males may be constituted and by which they may identify themselves. I am attempting to trace a somewhat sketchy outline of what, following Carrigan et al. (1985), may be called ‘hegemonic masculinity’; that is, the normative discursive boundaries through which individuals may be constrained to locate their (sexual) identities, which ‘very large numbers of men (may be) complicit in sustaining’ even though they ‘may only refer to the actual characters of a small number of men’ (Carrigan, in Lindisfarne 1994:19). What follows is a critical analysis of Irvine’s material on the Thai-Yuan in Northern Thailand, as well as work by Andrew Turton. I realise that it is not possible to generalise from this material for the whole of Thailand. However, I would like to suggest that there are common themes which are carried through more widely-held notions of what it is to be a Thai man.
Central to discourses about the Thai Yuan person is the notion of the ‘mind-heart’ (jai). Irvine has noted that this illustrates a lack of conceptual boundaries between a physiological and a psychological state (117). It may thus be unrepresentative to divide the body into ‘visible surfaces’ (body); and ‘hidden dimensions’ (soul/mind), but to think of them as overlapping, interactive elements. Hence, if the ‘heart’ is strong, so is the ‘mind’, and physical signs may be interpreted as a manifestation of a much more fundamental condition.
Men are thought to have the capacity to develop a strong, stable ‘mind-heart’ whereas women, as I have suggested, are considered susceptible to strong emotions or mental and physical instability (ibid :206). I suggest that the indigenous concept of ‘mind-heart’ provides a more fruitful starting point for considering Thai male sexuality than a Cartesian approach which considers the body as a site of urges, detached from the cognitive functions of the mind. Attention to the concept may lead to alternative perspectives on constructions of Thai masculinity, social expectations of Thai males, and desire itself.
I would therefore like to suggest ways in which Thai boys may learn to experience their bodies and their potentialities in a certain way, and will explore the ways in which these culturally specific ideas are manifested through various discourses of Thai masculinity.
Irvine stresses the importance attached to male genitals amongst the Thai Yuan, and comments that ‘men’s experience of their own sexual organs as vulnerable is a common feature of male bodily perception’ (Irvine 1982:437). From an early age, boys are made very aware of their sexual potentiality, such that loss of control or any threat to the sexual organs may be thought to undermine their male integrity. An extreme example can perhaps be found in that of the ‘shrinking penis syndrome’, noted by Irvine, which followed an incident whereby food was suspected to have been contaminated near the Thai border, by Vietnamese soldiers. In one region numerous cases were reported of diminished genitals (Irvine 1982:442).
As well as revealing the centrality of sexual capacity to the formation of maleness, the pre-occupation with the possibility of impotence shows that Thai male sexuality is not necessarily experienced as a ‘given’ quality but as an aspect which can be diminished or enhanced, according to the strength of one’s jai in resisting external forces. This notion of flux and the need to constantly maintain the strength and balance of jai is also reflected in Thai discourses of power and leadership.
Differential access to power often marks conceptual gendered boundaries (see Errington 1990:41). However, it may be misleading to use the term ‘power’ since it has Western connotations of force relations. Errington talks about ‘potency’ (1990), while Turton (1991) refers to ‘invulnerability knowledge’, a translation of the Thai word kham, which reifies a number of concepts under one term. The knowledge appears to have several, often apparently contradictory manifestations. Being invulnerable means having the ability or power to resist penetration from debilitating forces, enemies or objects. It is an ideal which again revolves around the concept of boundedness and relies on an individual’s ability to be controlled and stable. It is being able to use power well which seems to be significant and, as it is not simply a ‘given’ quality, there may be constant social pressure to visibly reinforce and thereby illustrate one’s capacities. Errington’s view is that ‘potency is invisible. It cannot be known directly. It can only be known by its signs’ (1990:43). Risk-taking, in other words openly testing and hence proving ‘potency’ may be one example of this (see Errington 1990:42; Irvine 1984:220; Turton 1991:161). Visible wealth is also perceived as a sign of power and success, while it has been argued that the degree of respect is reflected in the number of followers an individual has. Again in Errington’s words: ‘tapping such powers and emerging as a leader with an entourage is a very visible South East Asian form of politics’(ibid:42).
How might recourse to these discourses of masculinity inform an understanding of the phenomenon of Thai male group visits to ‘cafés’? Firstly, placing the behaviour in a wider context of male social behaviour in Thailand may be useful in this endeavour since, as I have indicated, the discourses overlap within a shared framework and resonate on various levels. At the risk of generalising, I would argue that visiting bars and visibly being a well-known, respected and popular client may be a comprehensive metaphor operating at the level of self-identity, firstly as a commentary on sexual capacity and therefore bodily integrity, and secondly as a visible mark of personal charisma.
Being seen to be sexually potent and therefore in control may, as a public statement, also have the effect of strengthening potency. The idea of feeling and visibly being an object of desire might itself incite desire. However, my aim here is not really to provide answers but to raise questions, and to show the need for committed research in this area, which should include Thai males’ narratives as an integral element.
I would like to stress, along with Lyttleton (1994), that we should not be looking for a single explanation, which would bolster the idea of an objective male experience. Rather than fall into a constructionist trap, wherein ‘the body is a malleable vehicle of meaning’ (Errington 1990:36), there should be an attempt to represent the variety and multiplicity of experiences in terms of locale and practices. I suggest that the ‘café’ is one arena for the ‘successful performance of (male) self-hood’ (Hertzfeld 1985:10) and that the social messages played out there are part of a hegemonic ‘grammar’ or a ‘poetics’ of Thai masculinity. How and in what situations the grammar is manipulated is, I would suggest, contingent on the specific perceived conditions of interaction. I have tried to illustrate this point in an approach which suggested that subjectivities can be multiple, constructed through various, overlapping and even conflicting available discourses. From this perspective, anatomical males pass through discursive spaces and may be more or less aware of their sexual identities depending on the situation. Hence, the notion of an ‘abstract’ maleness becomes diffused and fragmented.
Some significant questions arise over how to deal with this fragmentation and, more specifically, how to locate and record actual sexual transactions. Any attempt to capture experience fails in the very act of registering and recording phenomena. In the case of relationships between prostitutes and clients, the experiences of ‘the other’ are doubly inaccessible. I agree with Lyttleton that it is necessary to listen to individual voices, but it is important not to overlook the fact that this is collecting reconstructions, not experience itself. While not rejecting the significance of agency, I feel that it is also very important to build an idea of the boundaries within which actors speak in any given situation. A study of clients’ discourses would provide an insight into conventional, though individualised rationalisations of actions. The challenge would be to examine the dialogical relationship between these narratives and the forms of knowledge contained within available overlapping ‘subject positions’. Further research might also look at the impact of exported Western masculine images on male self-identities in Thailand, an area which I have been unable to touch on within the space of this paper.
I have attempted not to take a moral stance in this paper. I am neither condemning nor condoning Thai male behaviour. My aim was to show how Thai prostitution has become an axis around which discourses of ‘otherness’ turn: women implicating men; Thais implicating tourists; Westerners confirming Orientalist notions, and that in order to approach a more accurate representation of the situation, some basic assumptions about male ‘nature’ need to be addressed. Questions of what forms prostitution takes, who the clients are and how complex their motivations might be are waiting to be asked. Such questions should have a particular urgency if AIDS education programmes are to have any kind of relevance in a country where, if we are to believe statistics, AIDS could become a huge problem.
Alyson Brody is carrying out fieldwork in Thailand on issues of social exclusion, with particular reference to northeastern Thai migrant women working in the Bangkok metropolis. Her interests include: the power of "grand narratives", perceptions of self-worth; and encounters with and within social spaces.