As soon as I was outside I realized the chances of my getting those books out of the compound without anyone stopping me were slim at best. What on earth was I doing? My little pink researcher badge would not save me from an irate bureaucrat, policeman, or worse - soldier who thought I was trying to steal the nation's heritage. I decided it would be best to carry the books in front of me, displaying them as ostentatiously as possible. At least then, when I was lying face down on the pavement with my hands behind my head and a rifle in my back, I could claim with some degree of plausability that I thought I was following normal procedure.
One of the great unspoken truths of life is this: when you find yourself in an unnerving situation, if you act like you know exactly what you're doing, people will almost always assume that you do. Once when I was a missionary in Thailand we once found the street to an investigator's house blocked by a police barricade. They allowed no one in or out. I rode as fast as I could on my bike towards the policeman at the checkpoint, took off my black name tag, and flashed it in his face. Seeing that we were both white, dressed in shirts and ties, and seemingly in an incredible hurry (which is always a sign of someone very important) the policeman had to make a quick decision. He had no way of knowing who we were, and I made sure not to allow him time to actually read the nametag. If he stopped us, he would have to explain why and risk the displeasure of someone who was possibly powerful or had powerful friends. So he made the easy choice...he waved us on through.
This experience was proving no different. As I walked swiftly down the sidewalks carrying my precious goods, I attracted little attention. I passed secretaries, Members of Parliament, custodians, drivers waiting near their vans, none of them paid them me any mind. Why should they? I'm sure they were all worried about their own affairs. Why concern themselves with a tall (ruggedly handsome) farang carrying a few meaningless books? The closer I moved towards the gates the more I felt like I probably would get away with it. It was like staging my own little prison break.
But I was still at a loss as to how to explain myself when I was stopped. I ran through a few explanations in my mind, constructing different sentences in Thai, so that I would sound like someone of importance. I did not want get stopped by a soldier and lapse into teen-speak.
"Dude, the lady inside...she said I could like, take these and...copy them, you know...at that store....that makes copies."
But as I walked closer to freedom I became increasingly irritated, almost angry. How could these librarians be so irresponsible as to let me walk out of the premises with such valuable records? They didn't ask for my passport number, accepting my university identification instead (which I could easily get along without). I suppose they could exert some pressure on me through the University of Wisconsin if the transcripts were not returned on time, but what good would that do if I lost or damaged them? They would have no recourse. The next researcher requesting these books would be told a sad story of neglect and informed the documents no longer existed. Did these curators have no concern for their own history? It seemed that I as a researcher cared more about these documents than the people charged with their preservation.
These thoughts caused me to feel a strange combination of fear and relief when I heard someone yelling at me from behind just before I passed the gate.
Turning around I saw a soldier striding towards me with a stern look on his face. I said nothing and waited as he approached. I tried to remain calm, knowing that I could probably explain the situation, and that I was not headed to Parliament jail. But still...this was a Southeast Asian country under dictatorship. As a foreigner, you want to do whatever possible to avoid any type of 'misunderstanding'.
Upon reaching me, the soldier asked if I was leaving the premises. When I acknowledged that I was, he sternly remarked:
"You can't just walk out of here with that. It has to be returned before you leave."
Then he grabbed the plastic research badge off my lapel and began walking back to his post. After standing there completely dumbfounded for several seconds, I turned around and slowly walked out the gates, still carrying the only copies of four irreplaceable books.
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