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Nat Doesn’t Care Who You Are

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Not every question deserves a straight answer. When the self-important demand recognition, an indirect reply suggesting what they are rather than who may suffice.

Have you ever been asked The Question? I place editorial emphasis with the use of capital letters because, nowadays, there is one big Question and it is asked more and more often: ‘Do you know who I am?’ The fact that some people feel a need to ask it is the outcome of some sweeping social changes taking place in Thai society. The problem, supposedly, is that no one knows his place any more. Or, more precisely, specific people don’t know who their betters are and need to be reminded.

I’ve been hearing The Question asked more and more often, characterised by a healthy dose of righteous indignation. It helps if the person asking wears clothes that look expensive and carries a designer bag (this applies to both men and women). In order to make ‘Do you know who I am?’ especially effective, a servant should be carrying said bag and standing a few paces behind to emphasise the power and importance of the person asking.

The Question is often posed to salesmen, waiters, hotel doormen and other menial staff. Occasionally, it is also aimed at minor bureaucrats, uniformed security, lower-ranked policemen and, of course, journalists, meaning the question has been posed to me.

I was once at a department store exhibition area where a new collection of designer shoes was to be launched. Some friends and I were privy to a particularly vehement asking of The Question. The shoe show hadn’t opened yet and a plastic tape barrier barred the entrance. A young woman with the requisite expensive wardrobe and accessories was having a fit with the security guard who wouldn’t let her in. The young woman’s anger and indignation were characterised by a series of insults that no well brought-up lady would ever utter and, of course, it culminated in her asking, ‘Do you know who I am?’

‘Who is that woman?’ asked my friend Linda. ‘Is she important? Are we supposed to know her?’

Of course we were. Whenever anyone asks The Question, the inference is that we should know the person who is asking it, if not by actual acquaintance, then at least by reputation. And, of course, not only should we know who these people are, we should be giving them the deference they feel they deserve. In short, we should let them do, have or get away with anything they want, from sneaking early into a designer shoe show to inflicting grievous bodily harm.

But no one knew who this woman was. That’s why she had to ask The Question — she felt entitled to special treatment and wasn’t getting it. And because no one knew who this rude young woman, er VIP, was, she was obliged to provide her own answer. ‘I am,’ she declared, ‘the daughter of (some businessman) and I am a friend of the owner of this shoe shop!’

The guard let her in.

And there you are. People ask The Question because it works. Sometimes it is so effective that the person asking doesn’t even need to answer it for us. Anyone who feels important enough to ask feels entitled to special treatment and gets it. The Question is the way the rest of us are reminded that we are but peons who need to give way just like that security guard at the shoe show gave way.

There was a time when no one needed to ask The Question because everyone did, indeed, know everyone else. Thai society was small and very few people were in a position of privilege and power. If the average person didn’t know who his betters were, he should have been able to tell from the way his betters were dressed or from the way they behaved which, in those days, was politely.

Nowadays, there are more people who can afford nice clothes and expensive toys and plenty of these people feel that such trappings make them entitled to special privileges. At the very least, they are entitled to humiliating others. I think the fact that people are asking The Question more and more is an indication of social mobility, which is actually a good development. More people are joining the middle class and therefore feel they are entitled to privileges that leaders of old enjoyed. The problem is that entitled VIPs nowadays seem to forget that they are subject to rules of human decency, which dictate that people be polite and treat others kindly.

Don’t get me wrong. This is not a tirade about how the riff-raff can now afford designer shoes and there goes the neighbourhood. It is, rather, a tirade about how some people in positions of economic or social privilege seem to feel they are entitled to do whatever the hell they want.

The problem is that a large number of people in Thailand have been brought up never having been told the word ‘no’. I mean everyone understands that there are rules and laws, but some people seem to think they don’t have to abide by such restrictions because they are more important by virtue of who they are or, more specifically, what they have. And in many cases, this is true. Money equates to an ability to pay bribes and so rules don’t apply to those who can afford not to pay attention to them. And if there is any doubt that these people can get away with anything, they ask The Question to remind us that we need to let them have their way.

When I first started my career as a journalist, I worked for a society magazine. It was my business to know who people were, whether they were in positions of privilege or not. I had to learn who the up-and-coming businessmen were and who the established socialites were. And I found that people in positions of real power invariably were polite. They didn’t need to throw their weight around nor did they ever need to ask if I knew who they were. They were so important that they knew and were secure in their place and could be forgiving of someone who didn’t.

There is a famous story about the late Police General Pow Sarasin. When he was still the Director of the Police Department, General Pow would often dismiss his chauffeur and drive himself at the end of the day. Because it was easier to drive a little Toyota instead of a limousine, he would often show up at a casual dinner in his compact car. Once he was told by a car park attendant that he couldn’t park in a certain spot because it was reserved for VIPs. He didn’t feel compelled to ask The Question. He took pity on the attendant and drove on to another spot. When the attendant later found out his mistake, he tried to apologise and was graciously waved off by General Pow.

In contrast, I was subject to a dressing-down by a disgruntled socialite who was unhappy with the coverage I gave her. I had written about how this woman’s dress was inappropriately gaudy for an event she attended. Anyone who had my job or a similar one also knew about this woman and how she had allegedly made her fortune dishonestly. After about an hour — I’m not kidding — of being put in my place, she pulled out the big guns and asked The Question. ‘Do you know who I am?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I know exactly who you are.’


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