Slash and Burn

have reached a stalemate.
    As they were unable to travel and had no permission to investigate MIA claims, the US embassy in Bangkok invited Lao citizens to bring evidence of downed aircraft and/or remains of airmen to their Vientiane consulate where officials would check their veracity. There were rumors, none confirmed, that they were offering cash rewards for genuine finds. They could never have envisaged what a stampede this would produce. The queues extended around the block. Citizens had gone to great lengths to secure laissez-passers to travel to the capital to present their souvenirs. Others sent packages through the unreliable post with details of where to forward the checks. One clerk from the Central Identification Laboratory in Bangkok was responsible for sifting through a mountain of bones—most of them from pigs—and teeth: some from elderly relatives who hadn’t quite finished with them. There were dog tags fashioned out of beer bottle tops and photographs of Uncle Dtoom who was albino but from the right angle looked just like an American airman. One hopeful claimant sent the front fender of an old Ford which he swore had fallen from the sky whilst he was working in his paddy.
    Despite their obvious inauthenticity, all of the claims had to be labeled and documented. The site of a supposed discovery was marked on a map and after six months there were more crosses on that map than were military personnel active in the US armed forces. It was as if every village in Laos had its own downed airman. Yet, in all that time, not one positive identification was made and the program was abandoned. The Washington lobby was not amused so the US embassy in Bangkok moved on to its Plan B, to arrange for joint US/Lao teams to go off into the countryside to investigate claims in a professional manner.
    All these recommendations were read out in painful detail during that long morning in Minister Bounchu’s meeting room. Each guest had his or her own bottle of syrupy green Fanta for refreshment, and bottomless cups of lukewarm tea were available. The Americans, unaccustomed as they were to Lao all-day meetings, drank thirstily. The Lao barely touched their drinks. After an hour and a half it became apparent why. There was a good deal of seat-shifting and leg-crossing from the American contingent and it was obvious that they were in need of a toilet break. Yet the seriousness of the day’s affairs called for strict adherence to protocol. Nobody wanted a gaffe of etiquette to stymie the talks. Being the first to go to the toilet could be seen as a sign of weakness. So they held it in. The cadre reading the reports had not yet reached March 1978. There were still four months of communications to go and faint smiles on the faces of the Lao delegation.
    But after another half an hour Congresswoman Scribner had apparently reached her limit. She cleared her throat, nodded politely, and sighed before beginning a serious conversation with the interpreter, Peach. The Lao, unused to interruptions during official gatherings, looked at her in astonishment. Peach, well aware of the infringement, apologized several times before passing on the Congresswoman’s message.
    “Congresswoman Scribner would like to point out that both sets of delegates already have copies of the various communications between the two sides,” she said, nervously. “She humbly suggests that, without further ado, we get to the point at hand.
    The Americans wish to know whether the recommendation has been accepted. She….”
    At this point, Peach blushed and everyone on the Lao side could tell they were due for another hiccup of protocol.
    “Go on. Say it,” Siri urged her. “It can’t get any worse.”
    All heads turned to Siri who smiled and shrugged. Peach continued.
    “The congresswoman would like to remind the minister that the US consulate currently has a request for aid in the form of cash for the procurement of rice to stave off the effects of last year’s harvest failure. It was signed by both the prime minister and the president. The congresswoman would … would not like to think that such an important decision might be stalled by the lack of agreement over a small MIA request.”
    The Lao present broke into a flurry of smiles but only Siri’s was genuine. Apart from reading his address, the minister had found little to do at this meeting but his moment had come.
    “Little sister,” he said to Peach in a low, husky voice, “please