The central figure in the confrontation between new power and old is Thaksin himself, a charismatic business tycoon whose election as prime minister in 2001 marked the first stage of the Thai conflict. Thaksin was a dynamic and even visionary figure. He revolutionized Thai politics, creating a new majority among previously ignored and disenfranchised rural people in the north and northeast. He had a chance to go down in Thai history as the man who led his country into a new, more prosperous democratic era. But Thaksin also had a very Thai tendency to use his office for personal enrichment, and he was persuasively accused of RESORTING to dictatorial methods, for example, appointing relatives and cronies to key positions, thereby undermining the independence of important regulatory agencies. This gave his rivals a good reason (or, in the view of his many loyal supporters, a flimsy pretext) for resorting to a kind of mob action to get rid of him.
A second feature of Thai politics is its apparently ineradicable tradition of interference by the army, a powerful and often admired institution in the country, which has a history of tense relations with some of its neighbors. There have been literally dozens of coup attempts, at least twelve of them successful, since 1932, when Thailand became a constitutional monarchy. Other times, when the army has not taken control directly, it has used its power behind the scenes to select a civilian leader to rule in its place. It did that at least once during the current crisis, in 2008, when it pressured some parliamentarians from one party to defect to another, so that the army’s choice of a new prime minister could take office without a popular election.
Finally, there is Thailand’s monarchy, with its king, Bhumibol Adulyadej, who has been on the throne for nearly seventy years and is regarded as a kind of bodhisattva, an embodiment of wisdom, a living saint. His semidivine image is deemed by those seeking power to be of crucial, legitimating importance, an essential ingredient of national unity. King Bhumibol has always come across as modest, unpretentious, and under the control of the super-elite group of counselors who surround him. He is popular and respected—and protected from criticism or even any deep questioning by the strictest lèse-majesté laws in existence in the world. It is criminal to question his legitimacy. But he is reported to be in poor health, nearing death, and the expectation of his demise has added to the stakes in the Thai struggle.
Thaksin, who now lives in Dubai but exercises a powerful influence over the Red Shirts, is a threat to the establishment, not merely because he wins elections and is corrupt, but because he is the only nonroyal figure in Thailand whose prestige rivals that of the king. It is likely to be far greater than that of the king’s successor, his son Maha Vajiralongkorn, with whom Thaksin is reputed to have cultivated close relations. Thaksin, in other words, threatened to supplant the super-elite groups whose privileged status derives from their closeness to the current king. This explains why throughout the political crisis of the past eight years the gravest accusation made against Thaksin, whether accurate or not, is that he aimed to put the monarchy under his control. Conversely, the proudest boast of the Yellow Shirts and of the establishment figures who supported them is that they are defenders of the royal family, without whom, they are convinced, Thailand would fall into disarray.1
The central figure in the confrontation between new power and old is Thaksin himself, a charismatic business tycoon whose election as prime minister in 2001 marked the first stage of the Thai conflict. Thaksin was a dynamic and even visionary figure. He revolutionized Thai politics, creating a new majority among previously ignored and disenfranchised rural people in the north and northeast. He had a chance to go down in Thai history as the man who led his country into a new, more prosperous democratic era. But Thaksin also had a very Thai tendency to use his office for personal enrichment, and he was persuasively accused of RESORTING to dictatorial methods, for example, appointing relatives and cronies to key positions, thereby undermining the independence of important regulatory agencies. This gave his rivals a good reason (or, in the view of his many loyal supporters, a flimsy pretext) for resorting to a kind of mob action to get rid of him.
A second feature of Thai politics is its apparently ineradicable tradition of interference by the army, a powerful and often admired institution in the country, which has a history of tense relations with some of its neighbors. There have been literally dozens of coup attempts, at least twelve of them successful, since 1932, when Thailand became a constitutional monarchy. Other times, when the army has not taken control directly, it has used its power behind the scenes to select a civilian leader to rule in its place. It did that at least once during the current crisis, in 2008, when it pressured some parliamentarians from one party to defect to another, so that the army’s choice of a new prime minister could take office without a popular election.
Finally, there is Thailand’s monarchy, with its king, Bhumibol Adulyadej, who has been on the throne for nearly seventy years and is regarded as a kind of bodhisattva, an embodiment of wisdom, a living saint. His semidivine image is deemed by those seeking power to be of crucial, legitimating importance, an essential ingredient of national unity. King Bhumibol has always come across as modest, unpretentious, and under the control of the super-elite group of counselors who surround him. He is popular and respected—and protected from criticism or even any deep questioning by the strictest lèse-majesté laws in existence in the world. It is criminal to question his legitimacy. But he is reported to be in poor health, nearing death, and the expectation of his demise has added to the stakes in the Thai struggle.
Thaksin, who now lives in Dubai but exercises a powerful influence over the Red Shirts, is a threat to the establishment, not merely because he wins elections and is corrupt, but because he is the only nonroyal figure in Thailand whose prestige rivals that of the king. It is likely to be far greater than that of the king’s successor, his son Maha Vajiralongkorn, with whom Thaksin is reputed to have cultivated close relations. Thaksin, in other words, threatened to supplant the super-elite groups whose privileged status derives from their closeness to the current king. This explains why throughout the political crisis of the past eight years the gravest accusation made against Thaksin, whether accurate or not, is that he aimed to put the monarchy under his control. Conversely, the proudest boast of the Yellow Shirts and of the establishment figures who supported them is that they are defenders of the royal family, without whom, they are convinced, Thailand would fall into disarray.1
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