The Brutal Business Of Child Boxing In Thailand

Chai in the red corner, moments before the start of his fight.

Photos by Morgan Hartley

Fight Night – 10:40PM

Under the bright florescent lights of the boxing ring, the boy could barely see out beyond the elastic ropes that surrounded the fighting stage; the crowd and the festival that pressed in around him were shadowy outlines. But the boy could hear them.

He could hear the fight’s announcer, saying “Chai Lorlam. Nine years old. Twenty-two point nine kilograms.” He could hear his trainer, shouting last-minute reminders about the basics of technique. He could the hear excited laughter of other kids his age, who had squeezed their way to the front of the spectators after ditching carnival rides, and balloon dart-throwing games, and fried rice-cake stands to watch his fight. And he could hear the gamblers — the gamblers who shouted “Two to one – blue!” “Three to one – red!” They were betting on the odds he’d win the fight.

Chai knew he had to win the fight.

There was the reputation of his gym to uphold, and all the fighters and trainers who had become like family to him. There was the pride of his community to defend, many of whom he knew to be in the crowd. But more than anything, there was money involved. Muay Thai is a tradition kept alive because it is a business. The child boxers are there to bring prize money back to their families.  And Chai’s village and trainers, yelling advice and pushing up against the barricades of the ring, did not come just to cheer for him.  They came to bet on him.

The tradition of child boxing has brought Thailand the ire of tourists and human rights activists, who see the practice as dangerous for the children.  But in Isaan, the North Eastern and poorest region of Thailand, child boxing is a community business.  It provides income to families that would otherwise have to rely on their rice paddies, and a way out of poverty for some children with few options. Child boxers can earn as much in a night as their parents can farming rice in a year. And there is always the chance of being discovered by promoters, and achieving fortune in Bangkok. Successful fighters are celebrities in Thailand, and most of them come from Isaan.

The noises around the ring multiplied in mounting anticipation. A profusion of drums, symbols, and windpipes started to play. The music was his cue; Chai began walking serenely along the outer edge of the ring, sliding his left hand along the top of the ropes, which his head barely reached. He paused to bow in each of the ring’s four corners. The pre-fight dance is one of the important traditions of Muay Thai boxing in Thailand. Alternatively known as the “art of eight limbs” for a distinct style that uses the knees, elbows, fists, and feet as striking points, Muay Thai has been practiced as an art form and fighting technique in Thailand since the 12^th century, dating back to the Khmer Empire’s war with the Burmese.

The music and the dance ended. Chai bowed obediently towards his trainer, and turned towards his opponent. They already knew each other. It was the third time the nine year olds had met in the ring, and the last time Chai had lost. This match was the tie-breaker, and his trainer had bet big that he would win. Chai had been training for it for weeks.

Fellow fighters in the training ring of Chai's gym.

Two Days Before — 4:30 AM

It’s kilometer number eight of ten on his morning run, and Chai is struggling to keep up with the pace of the older fighters. He sees the dark outlines of Phetsiam, his older cousin, and Taro, the owner’s son, pull away from him down the side of the highway. Being only half their height, Chai has to take two strides to every one of theirs.  The three have been training in Muay Thai fighting long enough that the early morning 10K runs are second nature. Not that they have a choice, really. They are compelled forward by the headlights of a silver Toyota pickup truck following behind them.

Driving is Chan, the owner of the gym that the boys train at in Ban Ka village, about 25 kilometers outside the city of Surin. Chan had been an amateur fighter himself in the 1970’s, competing in over 45 fights a year around Thailand until he retired at the age of twenty four. Since 1998, he’s been running a training camp out of a converted space in his family’s farmhouse. He treats the twelve boys who train there like they’re his family.  He keeps none of their winnings, but always bets on his own fighters.  Mostly, he trains them so they can provide for their own families.

Taro leads the sprint going into the last kilometer of the run. Dawn has just begun, revealing pancake flat plains that extend to the horizon line in every direction. There is nothing to interrupt the monotonous flatness except for the occasional clump of trees and buildings of scattered villages.  The world seems an endless expanse of rice paddies.

The business of rice is all some villagers near Ban Ka know. It is humble work, and for a long time agriculture was the only work available in Isaan.  That was a time when many saw boxing as the only way out. But as the Thai economy has boomed, more opportunity has come; much has changed since Chan was boxing in the rings of the village temple festivals thirty years ago. More kids are going to universities, or moving to Bangkok, or getting grants to go abroad, or starting regional businesses in medicine and education. It is a different world from the one Chan grew up in. From his pickup, the trainer watched as Chai passed the tenth and final kilometer marker on the run.