Thailand has long had the image of a benign, stable country, which is a chief reason it has long been seen, at least by Americans, as a great hope for the future in Southeast Asia. It is relatively prosperous, growing not quite as fast as nearby China but at impressive rates of up to 7 percent a year. It is the world’s second-largest exporter of rice and the leading exporter of computer hard drives. Its troubling Muslim insurgency in the south is mainly restricted to a small part of the country. Thailand is ethnically largely homogeneous, overwhelmingly Buddhist, and ruled by a revered, exceedingly long-serving king. It is a beautiful country, with verdant mountains, a gorgeous seacoast, and rich alluvial, if flood-prone, plains. Millions of visitors have been drawn to Thailand for its cosmopolitan atmosphere and its physical charm, not to mention its reputation as a sex-tourism destination, for those who can pay for it.
But for the past eight years, Thailand has been in the grip of an extraordinary political crisis, pitting two intransigent mass movements, known as Red Shirts and Yellow Shirts, against one another, each ready to take to the streets whenever it feels that the other has gained the upper hand. More than one hundred people have been killed in political violence as the crisis has unfolded and many more have been injured. Four elected governments have been removed from power, two of them by military coups d’état, the second of them on May 22 this year, when the army commander in chief, General Prayuth Chan-ocha, took control of the country after several months of disorder.
Between November last year and the time of the coup, twenty-eight people were reported killed in political violence. The two sides were reported to be arming themselves and preparing for battle. Many people in Thailand feel that the coup was unjustified, that different measures could have been taken to restore order, but many others welcomed the army’s takeover, convinced that if Prayuth had not stepped in, the country would have descended into civil war.
What is it about Thailand, America’s chief ally in Southeast Asia, that has led to so fierce and intractable a struggle for power? The standard explanation is that a new, politically aroused, and determined rural majority—largely current or former rice farmers—has emerged, and it threatens to take power from the entrenched establishment—what is called the Bangkok elite. This elite has lost every election held in Thailand for the last thirteen years. Beaten at the polls, it has kept itself in power through police and military and judicial intervention. In one instance, a prime minister opposed by the elite and its supporters was dismissed by the Constitutional Court because his appearances on a television cooking show violated the rule against working for private companies. The latest elected leader to be ousted is Yingluck Shinawatra, youngest sister of Thaksin Shinawatra, the populist billionaire who was elected in 2001 and ousted in 2006, notwithstanding his support from the Red Shirts. Weeks before the latest coup, Yingluck was removed from office by the courts, which acted as thousands of Yellow Shirt protesters paralyzed the day-to-day functioning of the government. They wanted to do away with democratic elections altogether.
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 slogan of the new military junta that took power last spring from Thaksin’s sister is “Returning Happiness to the People,” which, it says, it will achieve in part by promoting reconciliation between the two contending sides. General Prayuth, the commander in chief of the Royal Thai Army at the time of the coup, and a career officer with a plainspoken and confident manner, might try to appease the Red Shirts by continuing some of the populist programs of rural investment that were invented by Thaksin and by suppressing any flare-ups of protest.
But the Thai political divide may be too wide and bitter, with too much accumulated enmity and too many incompatible interests at stake, for it to go away because an army commander orders it to do so. The junta may present itself as politically neutral and striving for reconciliation between what are called “the colors,” but its seizure of power is nonetheless and with good reason perceived to be a victory for the Yellow Shirts. If it tries to crush the power of the Red Shirts, then the calm that has prevailed in Thailand since the coup is very likely to give way to another round of furious confrontation. “The coup may have reduced chaos and violence…in the short term,” a study by a leading Washington think tank said a few weeks after the military takeover, “but it will not solve this crisis, nor Thailand’s core problems.”2
Thaksin is the scion of a wealthy Sino-Thai family from near the ancient capital of Chiang Mai in the Thai north. He made his fortune in the 1990s from a government-granted telecommunications monopoly. In 1998 he created a new party, called Thai Rak Thai (Thais Love Thais), that permanently transformed Thai politics.
Thaksin turned out to be an inventive and popular campaigner with new ideas; in the elections in 2001, his party won more seats in parliament than any party had ever won in a Thai election. He became prime minister, and he immediately began to fulfill his campaign promises. His underlying idea, inspired by the Peruvian economist Hernando de Soto, who came to Thailand for a visit, was to increase the number and kinds of assets that could be used in the countryside as collateral for low-interest loans. “Capitalism needs capital, without which there is no capitalism,” Thaksin said in a speech in 2003. “We need to push capital into the rural areas.” He created a stimulus program that included microcredits to farmers, cash infusions to Thai villages, low-interest education loans, and a new national medical plan by which anybody could get treatment for a flat fee of 30 Thai baht, about one American dollar.
His opponents accused him of overspending, but Thailand’s growth rate, which was low following the 1997 Asian financial crisis, quickly went up to about 7 percent. Thaksin’s program marked a shift in the amount of the national budget that went to Bangkok, with more now going to the provinces. The country’s debt-to-GDP ratio has over the years varied between 40 and 50 percent, moderate for a developing economy.
Throughout the countryside, peasants felt that for the first tim
Thailand has long had the image of a benign, stable country, which is a chief reason it has long been seen, at least by Americans, as a great hope for the future in Southeast Asia. It is relatively prosperous, growing not quite as fast as nearby China but at impressive rates of up to 7 percent a year. It is the world’s second-largest exporter of rice and the leading exporter of computer hard drives. Its troubling Muslim insurgency in the south is mainly restricted to a small part of the country. Thailand is ethnically largely homogeneous, overwhelmingly Buddhist, and ruled by a revered, exceedingly long-serving king. It is a beautiful country, with verdant mountains, a gorgeous seacoast, and rich alluvial, if flood-prone, plains. Millions of visitors have been drawn to Thailand for its cosmopolitan atmosphere and its physical charm, not to mention its reputation as a sex-tourism destination, for those who can pay for it.
But for the past eight years, Thailand has been in the grip of an extraordinary political crisis, pitting two intransigent mass movements, known as Red Shirts and Yellow Shirts, against one another, each ready to take to the streets whenever it feels that the other has gained the upper hand. More than one hundred people have been killed in political violence as the crisis has unfolded and many more have been injured. Four elected governments have been removed from power, two of them by military coups d’état, the second of them on May 22 this year, when the army commander in chief, General Prayuth Chan-ocha, took control of the country after several months of disorder.
Between November last year and the time of the coup, twenty-eight people were reported killed in political violence. The two sides were reported to be arming themselves and preparing for battle. Many people in Thailand feel that the coup was unjustified, that different measures could have been taken to restore order, but many others welcomed the army’s takeover, convinced that if Prayuth had not stepped in, the country would have descended into civil war.
What is it about Thailand, America’s chief ally in Southeast Asia, that has led to so fierce and intractable a struggle for power? The standard explanation is that a new, politically aroused, and determined rural majority—largely current or former rice farmers—has emerged, and it threatens to take power from the entrenched establishment—what is called the Bangkok elite. This elite has lost every election held in Thailand for the last thirteen years. Beaten at the polls, it has kept itself in power through police and military and judicial intervention. In one instance, a prime minister opposed by the elite and its supporters was dismissed by the Constitutional Court because his appearances on a television cooking show violated the rule against working for private companies. The latest elected leader to be ousted is Yingluck Shinawatra, youngest sister of Thaksin Shinawatra, the populist billionaire who was elected in 2001 and ousted in 2006, notwithstanding his support from the Red Shirts. Weeks before the latest coup, Yingluck was removed from office by the courts, which acted as thousands of Yellow Shirt protesters paralyzed the day-to-day functioning of the government. They wanted to do away with democratic elections altogether.
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 by Browser Shop" style="background-color: transparent !important; border: none !important; display: inline-block !important; text-indent: 0px !important; float: none !important; font-weight: bold !important; height: auto !important; margin: 0px !important; min-height: 0px !important; min-width: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important; text-transform: uppercase !important; text-decoration: underline !important; vertical-align: baseline !important; width: auto !important; background-position: initial initial !important; background-repeat: initial initial !important;">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 slogan of the new military junta that took power last spring from Thaksin’s sister is “Returning Happiness to the People,” which, it says, it will achieve in part by promoting reconciliation between the two contending sides. General Prayuth, the commander in chief of the Royal Thai Army at the time of the coup, and a career officer with a plainspoken and confident manner, might try to appease the Red Shirts by continuing some of the populist programs of rural investment that were invented by Thaksin and by suppressing any flare-ups of protest.
But the Thai political divide may be too wide and bitter, with too much accumulated enmity and too many incompatible interests at stake, for it to go away because an army commander orders it to do so. The junta may present itself as politically neutral and striving for reconciliation between what are called “the colors,” but its seizure of power is nonetheless and with good reason perceived to be a victory for the Yellow Shirts. If it tries to crush the power of the Red Shirts, then the calm that has prevailed in Thailand since the coup is very likely to give way to another round of furious confrontation. “The coup may have reduced chaos and violence…in the short term,” a study by a leading Washington think tank said a few weeks after the military takeover, “but it will not solve this crisis, nor Thailand’s core problems.”2
Thaksin is the scion of a wealthy Sino-Thai family from near the ancient capital of Chiang Mai in the Thai north. He made his fortune in the 1990s from a government-granted telecommunications monopoly. In 1998 he created a new party, called Thai Rak Thai (Thais Love Thais), that permanently transformed Thai politics.
Thaksin turned out to be an inventive and popular campaigner with new ideas; in the elections in 2001, his party won more seats in parliament than any party had ever won in a Thai election. He became prime minister, and he immediately began to fulfill his campaign promises. His underlying idea, inspired by the Peruvian economist Hernando de Soto, who came to Thailand for a visit, was to increase the number and kinds of assets that could be used in the countryside as collateral for low-interest loans. “Capitalism needs capital, without which there is no capitalism,” Thaksin said in a speech in 2003. “We need to push capital into the rural areas.” He created a stimulus program that included microcredits to farmers, cash infusions to Thai villages, low-interest education loans, and a new national medical plan by which anybody could get treatment for a flat fee of 30 Thai baht, about one American dollar.
His opponents accused him of overspending, but Thailand’s growth rate, which was low following the 1997 Asian financial crisis, quickly went up to about 7 percent. Thaksin’s program marked a shift in the amount of the national budget that went to Bangkok, with more now going to the provinces. The country’s debt-to-GDP ratio has over the years varied between 40 and 50 percent, moderate for a developing economy.
Throughout the countryside, peasants felt that for the first tim
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