The Old Boys

The embattled prime minister, Samak Sundaravej

St. Gabriel’s canceled the last period of school, and at 5:30 we were asked to be outside in our nicest uniform dress. The grounds of the college hummed with security guards, police, and men carrying cameras. Police stood or strut outside the gates, all dark glasses and radio squawks, blowing their whistles at passing cars with all the wild abandon of canine lunar howling. Middle aged and old men dressed in S.G. blue and white under black blazers mingled in the oppressive heat, to which they seemed aloof, like the southern men who still where full cream colored suits and hats during the unbearable summer months out of stubborn propriety. These men of blue and white are called “The Old Boys,” a network of alumnae who have kept close ties with the school, socially and financially. That evening St. Gabriel’s was holding one of the Old Boys’ annual get togethers. But the Old Boy of honor this time would be the Prime Minister of Thailand, and the administration wanted us, their foreign teachers, right up front for his arrival.

Honestly, I had little concept of what was going on when I wandered outside, my shirt wrinkled, and my eyes strained and bloodshot from watching an episode of “The Wire” in the dark. I saw all the hubub from my window, police and finely dressed people milling about on the puddled pavement, and begrudgingly concluded this would probably prevent me from going to the work out room. I decided to grab my tie from its unceremonious perch on the door handle and traipse outside to investigate.

The Prime Minister, Samak, was elected last January and has not had an easy term in office. Samak is the head of the “People’s Power Party,” a phoenix image of deposed PM Thaksin Shinawatra’s Thai Rak Thai Party which was dissolved after the coup d’etat of 2006. Samak’s victory in the polls slapped the generals who staged the coup squarely in the kisser. It effectively placed Thaksin’s cadre right back in the mantel power, a place from which nigh two years before they had been so swiftly punted. Subsequently, the political action group, People’s Alliance for Democracy (PAD), which staged large scale protests before the 2006 coup, have been dogging Samak with more protests of the same scale. They shut down traffic, stage huge rallies taunting “Ok Bai Samak,” meaning Get Out Samak (two years ago it was “Ok Bai Thaksin”) and recently they’ve gone so far as to peacefully surround the Government House, which the press was calling a “siege.” (Wolf Blitzer’s beard might have screamed, “War! War! War!” ) The Bangkok Post quoted the opposition Democratic party as saying that Samak’s government has six months left. Nappodon, Samak’s Foreign Minister (Secretary of State), resigned after being threatened with impeachment and corruption charges in the Senate.

The fact that the foreign teachers were being placed up front confused me. I thought the Thai teachers, at least some of them, should be the ones to meet the Prime Minister. He is, afterall, their elected official, and it seems already that we are getting too many perks for simply being from out of town. But there we were, milling about and sweating and maybe beginning to regret this new found benefit of ours, a little. Samak was due to arrive at 5:30, so by 6:45 and still no sign of him, the prospect of escaping to our air-conditioning became more attractive than meeting the leader of the country.

“How long would you wait for President Bush?” somebody asked.

“I don’t know. And Samak isn’t President of the United States,” I said.

“I would put them on the same level.”

“Neither of them are the brightest bulb in the room,” I heard somebody else comment, but I couldn’t make out who it was.

Despite the heat, the complaining, and the obvious misjustice of placing us in front, the fact that we were going to meet the Prime Minister was still very exciting. I imagined how I might tell my parents,relatives, and random Thais that I met the Prime Minister.

“Hi random Thai person! Sawadee Kap and all that jazz. Guess who I met today? Well of course you don’t understand what I’m saying, I’m screaming at the top of my lungs at you! Oh you’re leaving now? The Prime Minister! The PM! I met him. This is the hand I shook his hand with! Don’t worry I washed it. Here. Shake my hand and then you can shake other people’s hands and you can tell them that you shook the PM’s hand, too. No seriously go ahead. Just shake my hand!”

A silver Mercedes with tinted windows would roll through the gates of St. Gabriel’s and suddenly chatter would stop and we would get into our line, backs straight and hands folded in front of us. But to our disappointment it would only be a four star general or a chief of police or something equally as mundane. Whatever not-so-VIP VIP climbed out of the luxury vehicle would wai (a pressing of the hands together as if in prayer against your mouth and a slight bow of the head) the people around him and move on to the party inside. This happened three or four times, until finally a nondescript silver van cruised through the gates and everyone became very still. As per usual I was the last person to figure out what was going on, and then only when the person next to me smacked me in the back of the head and told me to turn around. The van rolled to a halt, and for a moment nothing happened. It was just a van, and everyone stood watching it.

Then, as if this it would be the defining moment of our lives, a school administrator said in an almost whisper of unequivocal reverence, “The Prime Minister of Thailand!”

And so it was, the door opened and out stepped Samak, a portly snout faced man of orange complexion, dressed in a blazer and a St. Gabriel’s polo. He waied in our general direction and we waied back as he rushed past our line to meet the director of the school, Brother Anusak, who stood to the left of us. Before anyone could get a proper look at the man a gaggle of video cameras surrounded him in a protective press wall, and sooner than we could drop our waiing hands he proceeded into the party and we were left looking at each other, unsure of what to do next.

The entire scenario was over in 52 seconds.

“I feel so used,” someone finally said.

“It was in your contract: ‘Will occasionally be used as lawn ornaments.’ We all signed it.”

“I don’t even like flamingos.”

“Can we leave now?” I asked.

“Well we can leave, but you have to stay here. That’s in the contract, too.”

“Ah, I see.”

And that’s how I met the Prime Minister.