Slightly Pixelated

Thailand's Hollow Elections

2011-07-02T08:50:00.000-07:00

By Yvan Cohen

As Thais prepare to go to the polls, political observers are fretting over what the outcome may be and, perhaps more importantly, what the result will mean for the future of this nation.

Making sense of the complex, ever shifting and sometimes downright bizarre forces of Thai politics is an unenviable task.

In all probability, Thailand’s next Prime Minister will be Yingluck Shinawatra, the youngest sister of Thaksin Shinawatra, the populist telecoms tycoon who won two consecutive mandates but was ousted by a military coup in 2006 and subsequently found guilty of corruption.

Just 44 years old, with youthful energy, a telegenic smile and a CV that includes precisely no political experience, Yingluck’s most convincing political argument is that she will serve as the dutiful ‘clone’ of her elder brother.

Yingluck’s nemesis is incumbent Prime Minister Aphisit Vejajiva, 46, who leads the Democrat party. Smooth-faced, smooth-talking and Oxford-educated Aphisit also has a telegenic smile but unlike Yingluck he is a career politician who, on paper at least, should make mincemeat of such a seemingly lightweight opponent.

At times the campaign has veered close to farce. One candidate, Chuwit Kamolvisit, had himself photographed clutching a baby while declaring that politics is like diapers: the more changes the better! Chuwit, a kind of super pimp-turned-politician who built his fortune running massage parlours, created his own party called Love Thailand. His political aspirations have undoubtedly been funded by a lot of ‘loving’.

Neither in their speeches nor on the thousands of party placards that line streets throughout the country has any politician spoken of his or her vision for the nation.

There have been promises of tax cuts, of higher economic growth, of new roads and even a high-speed train. And there has been much finger pointing as the Democrats in particular heap blame on Pheua Thai, Thaksin and the Red Shirt movement he spawned for the violence that saw Bangkok and other parts of the country descend into deadly anarchy in April and May last year.

Somewhat incredibly, and with tears in their eyes, Democrat leaders claimed that government troops didn’t kill any of the 91 people who perished in the fighting last year. Arguments that will do little to foster the reconciliation the Democrat party says the country so desperately needs.

With so much recent bloodshed and such deep polarization within the country, the stakes at this election seem particularly high. The future form of Thailand’s democratic landscape may depend on the actions and respective visions of the politicians standing for office.

Yet not a single politician has explained how they hope to restore the institutions – an independent judiciary, a free press and a neutral bureaucracy - that should serve as the pillars of Thailand’s democracy but which have been all but demolished in the past decade.

The demolition work began in earnest in 2001 when Thaksin Shinawatra became Prime Minister after being cleared of a charge he had illegally concealed assets. That ruling, despite convincing evidence of Thaksin’s guilt, was seen by many as a political decision, reflecting establishment support for Thaksin’s unprecedented popular mandate.

It was a first and crucial blow to the credibility of Thailand’s judiciary.

In the ensuing years, the judiciary has been used repeatedly, more or less blatantly, as a political tool, with the only significant difference being that since 2006 when the establishment turned against Thaksin, none of the judiciary’s rulings have been in his favour.

In May 2007, Thaksin’s Thai Rak Thai (Thais Love Thais) party was found guilty by a Constitutional Tribunal of electoral fraud and disbanded. The Democrat party, by contrast, was cleared of all charges. A total of 110 Thai Rak Thai politicians were banned from politics for 5 years.

In December of that year, the People’s Power Party (PPP), which was sponsored by Thaksin, won a convincing victory at the polls. Samak Sundaravej became Prime Minister but was considered a nominee for his political master, Thaksin.

Less than a year after coming to power, however, in September 2008, the judiciary struck again; bringing charges against Samak that he was in a conflict of interest because he received money for appearing in a televised cooking show. Samak was found guilty and forced to resign.

Political bias within the judiciary became even more evident in the wake of the October riots by yellow shirt supporters of the People’s Alliance for Democracy (PAD) and their subsequent occupation and closure of both Thailand’s main airports in December 2008.

Despite the violence and flagrant violation of multiple laws, none of the PAD’s leaders have been brought to justice or imprisoned. Indeed, one of their supporters who got up to address the crowds at the airport, Kasit Piromya, went on to become Foreign Minister in Aphisit’s government.

By contrast, in the wake of the Red Shirt demonstrations and their violent suppression hundreds of Red Shirt sympathisers and their leaders have been imprisoned - a policy that has poured oil on the fire of Red Shirt claims of ‘double standards’.

Disregard for basic democratic institutions seems almost to have become an item of faith across the entire political spectrum in Thailand.

During his time in office, Thaksin famously used his popular mandate to establish what has been described as an illiberal democracy. The press was muzzled, opposition was quietly suppressed and the independence of key institutions was undermined.

Thaksin’s mandate though blessed by the support of a democratic majority became an opportunity to dismantle many of the safeguards put in place by a reformist constitution promulgated in 1997.

It is ironic that, ostensibly in defense of democracy, the erosion of Thailand’s democratic institutions was accelerated by the military with the drafting of a new, more conservative, constitution a year after the coup of 2006.

Today, the very factions who evicted Thaksin from office, charging he had become a virtual dictator, are wielding State power to suppress dissent, manipulate judicial decisions and stifle the media.

In this context to assume the colour, vibrancy and diversity of Thai politics is the expression of a true democratic system would be a fundamental mistake.

In the preceding decade Thailand’s political elite have hollowed out this nation’s democracy leaving the shell of democratic process – elections – but none of democracy’s flesh and blood – a system of independent checks, balances and ethics - that give the empty form credible life.

The sad reality is that whoever wins Thailand’s elections will garner an affirmation of support that is more an expression of the deep rifts within Thai society than a transition towards a more mature, more honest, more ethical and more reliable democracy. Instead, we are left with the anxiety of trying to guess what elite shenanigans will be triggered by a popular mandate.

America's Love Affair with the Gun Feeds its Fear

2011-01-14T20:49:00.000-08:00

The debate over America’s gun laws chimes like a recurring refrain.

The aftermath of yet another shooting spree has become the grisly closing act of an all-too-familiar drama.

Same story different people.

We know the plot too well. An individual who should never have been able to purchase a gun opens fire on unsuspecting innocent people. The killing seems random. Children often lie among the dead.

America and the world is shocked. There are outpourings of grief. Opinion columns are penned. Candles are lit. Tears roll down the cheeks of uncomprehending mourners. The politicians don black and wear appropriately somber expressions.

How could this have happened?

And, like a familiar chorus, the old debate is trotted out. Should Americans be as free as they are to purchase and carry guns?

A few timid intellectuals proffer sensible arguments explaining that if people are allowed to carry guns then other people are likely to end up getting shot.

Cause and effect.

Across the philosophical aisle voluble, power-wielding gun lobbyists point to the Second Amendment, which enshrines an individual’s right to keep and bear arms.

Little matter the second amendment was drawn up in 1751 when America was surely (one would hope) a far less sophisticated, far less modern, far less crowded society than it is today.

Little matter that in nations where guns are strictly controlled such tragedies are few and far between. Little matter it stands to simple reason that a nation without guns is likely to see far less shootings (even if violent crime remains).

Looking in from the outside, America often seems like a bizarre and confusing place, a place of stark paradox living in direct contradiction of its own ideals.

In the post 9-11 era America has been at war with Terror. It has been on a mission to bring freedom to those who don’t have it; an obligatory ‘gift’ handed over at gunpoint.

America’s war against Terror has taken its troops into battle in Iraq and Afghanistan: wars being fought, ostensibly, to protect America’s national security, to make Americans feel safer at home.

Yet Americans seem to feel less and less safe, its enemies are multiplying and victory, however it may be defined, seems as elusive as ever.

In the years since 9-11 Americans have learned that fighting Terror means being alert. It means living in fear of an armed enemy, foreign and most probably Muslim, who may strike at any time.

Yet, as America has also learned, more often than not Terror doesn’t come from a dusty village in Iraq or Afghanistan. It lives next door. He or she carries a gun concealed in a glove compartment or snuggled under their jacket, loaded and within easy reach.

Terror lives at home and is very likely American.

As Michael J Moore so poignantly illustrated in his documentary ‘Bowling for Columbine,’ America’s is a society built on fear, a society whose very momentum, fuelled by the media, is driven by fear. Fear and Terror live side by side.

The statistics speak for themselves.

In 2009 more than 9,000 Americans were murdered in crimes involving firearms. Extrapolate that number out over the past ten years and we can estimate that close to 100,000 Americans may have been murdered with a gun. Even if the exact number were 50% of this figure, the magnitude of gun related violence in such a modern nation is astounding and shocking.

There are those who would argue that for all its guns America is still far from being the most violent nation on the planet. El Salvador and Mexico are way ahead in the homicide charts. But for a nation of such wealth, with such ambition and whose politics are often infused with such moral fervour, America’s sea of firearms and its dramatic homicide statistics can only be a source of shame.

In the end, what separates the gun toting American from the gun toting Afghan? Law? Wealth? Morality? Religion?

While the positive language of freedom, progress and democracy is the brand America would sell to the world, the reality is that its own society has proved unable to move beyond an amendment drawn up in 1751.

For all America’s sophistication, for all its laws, for all its political rhetoric, for all the safety norms that are imposed in every facet of American life, you can still be shot tomorrow on the street, or in your school, by a guy with a gun.

And no it’s not about freedom, its not about principles or rights as gun advocates claim. It’s not about feeling comfortable and safe with a gun on your hip.

Peel away those spurious claims and you are left with the raw reality that guns are designed to kill and maim. To carry a gun is to empower yourself with the immediate click-of-a-trigger power to destroy life.

Almost exactly 100 years before the Second Amendment was penned, it was the English political philosopher Thomas Hobbes who pointed out the need for individuals to yield up a part of their freedom to the State without which society would return to what he called ‘a state of nature’ which in turn would lead to a ‘war of all against all’.

His ideas formed the based of the social contract whereby civil society is based on the rule of law.

His point, an obvious one today, was that freedom in and of itself is not a good thing. There needs to be balance and there needs to be some areas where the individual agrees to yield up a part of his or her freedom to the State and the rule of law.

The right to bear arms in America is a clear example of excessive freedom, the bloody side effects of which are there for all to see. Without controls on gun ownership, America slides towards Hobbes’ ‘state of nature’, cloaking its society in fear.

The Freedom America so loves cannot exist in a nation condemned to live in fear.

If Americans believe in their own State, if they wish to build a truly civil society as an example to the rest of the world then they must impose laws curtailing gun ownership.

In Remembrance of My Father

2010-10-16T02:53:00.000-07:00

The man on the horse is my father. He is seen riding across a snowy landscape in Lesotho, Southern Africa. This image epitomizes how I would like to remember him: laughing as he gallops forwards, full of energy as he leans into the wind; keen for adventure, thirsty for the thrill of life, a little bit wild.

An only child, Nicholas’s story began in Cape Town, South Africa, where he was born on April 9th 1938. It was fate, and some rather bad holiday planning, that brought him to England. In 1939 his parents found themselves trapped in London at the outbreak of World War II. Apparently unaware of the impending conflict, they had arrived in the UK just two days before Churchill’s declaration of war.

Nicholas’s father, Solomon, worked as a surgeon in London’s hospitals, patching up the maimed and wounded while the family took up residence in a hotel. Nicholas’s earliest memories were of room service and of German bombs raining down on the British capital.

After a traditional English education at Westminster School and Trinity College Cambridge, where he obtained a First in Medicine and developed a love for literature, Nicholas seemed set to follow in his father’s footsteps and enter the lucrative world of private medicine.
The Cambridge Graduate in the late 1950s

He had other plans.

After brief spells at Guys Hospital in London, which he described as an “endless soap opera of pretty nurses and paunchy consultants with fob watches and gold chains”, and the American Hospital in Paris, where he nurtured his early love for France, Nicholas began to move further afield.

He was keen to escape the life his parents wanted for him. And he was about to begin a lifelong journey, one that saw him traveling the globe, forever seeking a place where he might belong, that he might call home.

Perhaps his was the curse of the exile? His ancestors had fled Lithuania. His parents, perhaps still traumatized by their past, sought stability, comfort and status. Nicholas on the other hand was looking for something more. He wanted to give his life a deeper meaning.

Though he became the doctor his father wanted him to be, and though he never abandoned his Jewish roots, he seemed always in flight. Always caught in the paradox of being proud of his status and yet always wanting to transcend the banality of social labels. He resisted being defined. He wanted to be a doctor and a scientist and an artist and a bohemian too. He wanted it all.

His life choices seem, with hindsight, like a series of mini rebellions. Statements that said, I am not my parents, nor my ancestors. His love affairs and his marriages were always with non-Jews – to the chagrin of his parents and especially his mother who committed suicide while he was on his honeymoon (with my mother) in 1967.

Nicholas never wanted to be seen as English nor, god forbid, as South African. And he was, in truth, neither of those. In many ways, his was a restless, searching soul - a spirit that belonged fully to no nation.

Behind his grey-green eyes, which sometimes resembled glacial pools and sometimes glowed with such warmth, there were, I sensed, always the shadows of solitude and doubt; legacies, perhaps, of the many contradictions in his life. At times these shadows would eclipse his sparking spirit, plunging him into periods of torment and darkness.

But in 1968, with a golden future to play for, with good looks, intelligence and a first class education to thrust him forwards, the opportunities must have seemed endless.

It was in that year that a three-line advert in the Lancet caught Nicholas’s eye. A 35-bed hospital in Lesotho needed a doctor.

Thus, shortly after I was born, and just a few years after his marriage to my mother, Nicholas left England (without my mother or myself) to begin a life of travel and adventure. It was at this point that he effectively exited my life until I was 18 years old.
Nicholas outside the hospital in Lesotho

For the next two years, a missionary group called the United Society for the Propagation of the Gospel employed Nicholas. He lived in a remote place called Mantsonyane and was the only doctor in a tiny rural hospital.

When the missionary priest was absent, the youthful Jewish physician extended his duties into the realm of the spiritual, conducting church services for the local Christian congregation.

Living rough in stone huts with thatched roofs and traveling to see patients over rugged mountains on horseback, he discovered the realities and hardships of life in the Third World.

Nicholas outside his hut in Lesotho

In his own words he “learned what it means to live on one meal of maize flour a day, what it feels like to go barefoot, clothed only in a blanket in the freezing winter days, and how many children die of diseases that elsewhere are entirely preventable.”

He began to ponder how improved nutrition and health could be delivered in places where resources were desperately scarce, resolving under an African sky to use his life “to improve health and survival for poorer communities in Africa and Asia”.

This was the purpose he had been searching for.

Nicholas found himself pulling teeth, dressing wounds resulting from alcohol-fuelled violence and even performing cesarean sections - with the help of a few textbooks and some advice from his father. Payment for his services was often in the form of live chickens.

When he ventured into South Africa proper, he made a point of displaying his opposition to apartheid, carrying bags for black African women and using his camera to document the regime’s injustices. He was eventually banned from South Africa, a status he wore as a badge of honour.

By 1970 Nicholas had met Therese Blanchet, with whom he was to share his life for next twenty or so years. In that same year, during a freak snowstorm in the highlands of Lesotho, their first child, Natasha, was born. She was also given an African name, Melehoa or “Mother of Snow”.

A year later Nicholas moved back to England where he read Epidemiology and Medical Statistics at the London School of Hygiene. He then traveled north to Nottingham University to work alongside Professor Maurice Backett at the recently founded Department of Community Health.

Ever the traveler and always determined to spend as much time as possible in the field, in 1976 Nicholas was on the road again, this time as part of the World Health Organisation’s (WHO) smallpox eradication campaign.

Crisscrossing the remote and beautiful landscapes of Ethiopia in a yellow helicopter, Nicholas enjoyed the thrill of being on the frontline of medicine. His numerous photographs of that era depict a rustic society living in a manner that had changed little in centuries.

Nicholas in Ethiopia

A talented writer, Nicholas’s Ethiopian adventures are best and most evocatively described in his own words:

“We tracked smallpox from the green fertile slopes of Arussi, across the sand scarred start of the great African Rift valley at Awash, along the vertiginous eastern escarpment of Shoa and north west with the Afar towards the Danakil desert. Wilfried Thesiger trained his men on the same terrain before his crossing of the Empty Quarter in Saudi Arabia, recounted in Arabian Sands.

Waking at night in village huts, schools or tents, I could sometimes hear the hoarse coughing of lions. The yellow WHO helicopter flew me over random herds of zebra, frightened ostrich, baboon on the move, nomads carrying Italian 1930s rifles and families of hippo bathing in the crocodile infested Awash river. On the high plateau, bright red circles of spicy pepper could be seen drying beside every village. The beauty, the quality of the light, the mix of so many peoples – Amhara, Agober, Afar, Issa, Oromo, Yemeni, Arabic – made the backdrop of the landscape quite majestic. I felt that somehow we were at the centre of the Universe. I have not known sights and days like that before or after.”

Having returned to the gray skies of the British midlands and just a year after the birth of his second son, Alexis, in 1978 Nicholas was again packing his bags this time to move to Bangladesh where he lived for over a decade, working first with the Save the Children Fund and then with Helen Keller International, for whom he became Country Director.

With Natasha and Alexis in Bangladesh

His interests had by now almost completely shifted from conventional medical practice to the realm of public health and epidemiology. The challenge, as he saw it, was to formulate and implement policies that would improve the health and well being of entire populations.

In Bangladesh Nicholas had chosen one of the poorest nations on the planet. The problems were gargantuan. Typically, he sought to understand his adopted home from the inside out. He learned to read and write Bengali and immersed himself in the cultural life of the country.

With his full ginger beard and traditional Bengali attire, Nicholas cut a striking figure. He became a popular, well-known and sometimes controversial personality in the Bangladeshi capital of Dhaka. A Jew living in a predominantly Muslim society he would sometimes explain that the letters M.D. after his name actually stood for Mohammed!

With Alexis on a trip to Calcutta

Determined to put his medical knowledge to good use, Nicholas also spent months at a time volunteering at Mother Teresa’s hospice for the dying at Khalighat in Calcutta, India. This was the beginning of a lifelong love affair with Calcutta, a city to which he returned to live briefly later in life and of which he always talked and dreamed.

Much of Nicholas’s most important work for Helen Keller International in Bangladesh focused on Vitamin A deficiency and its role in causing blindness among the most vulnerable and malnourished sections of the population, especially children.

His colleagues remember him as a brilliant and daring thinker. His suggestion, for example, that stopping Bengali fathers from smoking might have a positive impact on child nutrition was originally met with skepticism, though it was later proved that economic resources diverted away from tobacco were often used to purchase healthier food. Stopping smoking wasn’t just better for people’s lungs it could also lead to a better diet.

In 1988 Nicholas celebrated the birth of his third son, Louis Felix, and moved back to Europe to take up a position at the World Health Organisation in Geneva where he worked as a consultant for seven years. Although he did not take easily to the bureaucracy of the UN, he nevertheless battled to get his ideas accepted.

Rare sighting in a suit

One co-worker at WHO described Nicholas as a “genuine pioneer” in his quest to see Vitamin A widely administered to children at risk in developing countries. A policy, wrote his colleague, that “has saved the lives of countless infants and the sight of even more.”

It was while working for WHO in Geneva that Nicholas met Nancy Jamieson, an American public health consultant he was to marry in 1997.

Nancy shared Nicholas’ fondness for the quirky side of life, his thirst for adventure and his love of Asia. In Nancy Nicholas found a kindred spirit, a global citizen who had led almost as many lives as he – working on trawlers in the wild seas off the Alaskan coast and bringing relief to communities on Pakistan’s wild northwestern frontier - a woman who had committed the latter part of her career to educating communities about the risks of AIDS.

Wedding day to Nancy

Nicholas and Nancy spent a number of happy years living in Delhi, Calcutta and Jakarta. Both worked as consultants traveling in the region. They spent many long days ferreting out the most interesting corners of the cities they lived in.

But by the mid 90’s, Nicholas was already beginning to show clear symptoms of the Parkinson’s disease that was to afflict him during the latter part of his life. Nancy, whose own father had suffered from the disease, knew what the future would hold.

Nicholas confronted his illness with courage and good humour, refusing steadfastly to be defined by it. Even as Parkinsons gradually stole from him the ability to travel and move around freely, he remained as dignified, as fun loving, as curious and as determined to savour the poetry of life as ever.

In 2000, Nicholas moved to Victoria in British Columbia, Canada. After years spent in France – a country he loved – and after the colour, intensity and vibrancy of life in Asia, Nicholas initially found life in North America dull.

But if British Columbia’s seduction was not immediate, he grew to love his life in Victoria. It was among the immigrants of Canada, and most especially amongst Victoria’s cosmopolitan Jewish community, that Nicholas felt most at home.

With Nancy’s help he found an apartment with a spectacular view across the straits of Juan de Fuca, looking towards the majestic Olympic Mountains on the American coast. His daughter Natasha, her husband Mutang and his two grandchildren Noeli and Agan lived close by and became a source of vital support and a focus for his love.

Despite his declining health, Nicholas remained a man whose zest for knowledge and love of life never diminished. He read widely and embraced new technologies, using Skype and Facebook to communicate with friends around the globe. He studied Thai, Russian and Italian in addition to the Bengali, Hebrew and French he already spoke fluently. And despite his handicaps he was always planning trips, always ready for a new adventure.

In December 2009, Nicholas returned to the UK, bringing his life full circle. He entered a nursing home in the town of Thames Ditton, close by my mother, where he noted that the cosmopolitan staff seemed a perfect reflection of his globalised past. Characteristically it was not long before he cut a familiar figure among local librarians and café owners.
A couple of hours after arriving in the UK. "Let's go to the pub!"

In September 2010 Nicholas fell ill with pneumonia. When doctors at a local hospital examined him more closely they found extensive cancerous tumours and informed him that he had but a few days to live.

He faced death with the same courage and dignity with which he had lived his entire life. He called those he loved to his bedside and waited patiently and peacefully for the end to come, smiling on his family and reciting prayers in Hebrew.

Looking back on my father's life, one can only feel sorrow. Sorrow that such a wealth of talent, that such depth of knowledge and culture should be lost. Such loss is akin, I feel, to an amputation. A part of one's life is forever gone and one must learn to adapt to a new, seemingly incomplete, world.
With me in London earlier this year

Looking beyond the immediate sorrow of mourning, looking beyond Nicholas's achievements and his talents, it is his extraordinary charisma that defines him most.

He was a man blessed with that invisible spiritual electricity that lights people up. He could arrive anywhere and instantly turn heads and before long he would be making new friends.

It was this charisma, combined with his rich life experience that made him a mentor for so many young people. For if his body deteriorated over time, the energy of his soul was ageless.

It is this ageless energy and charisma, mixed with many beautiful memories and the enduring warmth of his love, which remains.

The Rough Road to Reconciliation

2010-06-20T23:42:00.000-07:00

Credit: Kerek Wongsa/Reuteurs

The protesters have returned home and the streets have been scrubbed clean. The malls bustle anew and the traffic is jammed again.

It’s business as usual.

As painful memories of the blood spilled on Bangkok’s streets begin to ebb, Thailand’s suave Prime Minister, Abhisit Vejajiva, looks calm and confident. After two miserable months, the tide seems finally to have turned in his favour.

His Ministers are telling the world that the situation in Thailand has been restored to ‘normal’. His coalition government is busily setting about the task of post conflict reconciliation.

As if reconciliation were merely a navigational challenge, the government has revealed a road map. Reconciliation in five easy steps, says Prime Minister Abhisit; making a gargantuan challenge sound as easy as a drive in the country.

But has Thailand returned to ‘normal’? Will reconciliation really be that simple?

Or are we mistaking calm for normalcy, a lack of fighting for real peace, the appearances of an open democracy led by an urbane Eton-educated technocrat for the reality of a military-backed regime that is riding roughshod over basic freedoms; chasing down its opponents and muzzling its critics in the media?

While 20 or so provinces remain under emergency rule and while the government continues to be shadowed by the all-powerful Committee for the Resolution for Emergency Situation (CRES), it requires a considerable stretch of the imagination to believe that Thailand has returned to ‘normal’.

In the aftermath of the worst civil unrest in Thailand’s modern history, which saw 99 killed and 1,900 injured, the battle for Thailand’s future has, for the moment, shifted from the street and into the realm of media.

Information and spin constitute the new front line.

Having berated international correspondents for inaccurate reporting and failing to grasp the complexities of Thailand’s crisis, the Thai government is now driving home its own conveniently simplified storyline.

It goes like this.

The Thai nation is under threat from a ruthless former dictator, Thaksin Shinawatra, and must be protected. The Red Shirts have morphed from protesters with legitimate grievances into terrorists and anti-monarchists who must be stopped before they transform Thailand into a republic.

Many thousands of good folk, the ‘poo burisut’ or ‘pure people’ as the government calls them, have been subverted by unscrupulous power-hungry elites who are using the media to mobilize the masses, inciting hatred and social divisions.

The ‘pure people’, who face real problems in the countryside, may have gone home but the dangers are still there. The government must be vigilant – hence the continued State of Emergency in many areas.

Elections will be held, but not until the situation has returned to normal, whatever ‘normal’ is and whenever that may be.

As the government seeks to reconcile and reassure with one hand, it is repressing with the other.

In the north and northeast of the country, Red Shirt strongholds, police and military units are reportedly hunting down and arresting suspected Red Shirts.

Several Red Shirt guards have been mysteriously assassinated, raising concerns that extrajudicial killings now may be part of a shadowy unofficial campaign to stymie the movement.

Media and free speech have taken a hit too.

Thailand’s democracy is starting to resemble Indonesia under Suharto, when citizens were told to exercise their democratic freedoms ‘with responsibility’, a veiled warning that criticism of the government would not be tolerated.

The screws seem to tighten with each passing week.

Citing draconian lese majeste laws officials have already shut down tens of thousands of websites and silenced scores of pro Red Shirt community radio stations.

More than 100 prominent people have been publicly blacklisted for supporting the Red Shirts and their assets have been frozen. 417 people have been detained under emergency laws, which allow for imprisonment without evidence or a fair trial. Human rights organisations say as many as 50 people are still missing in the aftermath of the crackdown.

While the government’s tough line may play well to some sections of the population, it is profoundly antagonistic to others; most notably among those already sympathetic to the Red Shirt cause.

In an already polarized, partially traumatized, society such policies are hardly a recipe for advancing the cause of reconciliation. Instead of including its foes in the reconciliation process, the government seems bent not only on excluding them but on silencing and arresting them too.

In using the State to suppress and repress it is creating a climate not of trust, the only ground from which reconciliation can grow, but of fear and resentment. If the government continues down this path, the very divisions it seeks to heal will likely widen.

Reconciliation must be more than a public relations campaign. It must reach down to the roots of Thai society, to those areas where a sense of exclusion and discrimination have fostered deep anger and frustration. It must involve sacrifices and concessions that will be politically counter intuitive for a government that was, in May, literally at war with the Red Shirts.

Most important of all, the government must apply the law with justice and impartiality.

To do so would be evidence of courage and an significant step towards dealing with one of the most powerful issues fueling recent unrest - that of double standards.

To do so Abhisit's government must bring to justice those responsible for occupying Government House and the country’s two international airports in 2008, actions no less worthy of the label ‘terrorism’ than the Red Shirt protests in Bangkok’s commercial district of Rajaprasong.

Unless it acts against lawbreakers on both sides of the political divide, the government will be unable to generate the trust and moral authority it needs to transform sensible talk of reconciliation into a process capable of healing the still deepening rifts that threaten the peace and stability of Thailand.

Imagining Thailand's Future Without the T Words

2010-05-26T01:21:00.000-07:00

REUTERS/Jerry Lampen

The T words, Thaksin and terrorism, have come to dominate political dialogue and analysis here. Their use has become so widespread as to mask the deeper structural causes of Thailand's crisis.

Lets start with terrorism.

For some time now the Thai government has been referring to elements within the Red Shirt movement as terrorists. Yesterday the government issued an arrest warrant for former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra on charges of terrorism.

In classifying Red Shirts as terrorists, the government clearly wishes to delegitimise the movement, both locally and internationally.

While this may seem a logical step to some, in the wake of the destruction and violence witnessed in Bangkok in recent weeks, to many Red Shirt sympathisers it only emphasises feelings of exclusion and injustice.

Treating Red Shirts as terrorists adds weight to claims that the government is applying double standards, one of the key gripes among rank and file Red Shirt supporters.

To many Red Shirts it is a glaring injustice, symptomic of a system that discriminates against them, that yellow shirt leaders responsible for occupying Government House and for closing down the country's two international airports remain unpunished.

And then there's Thaksin Shinawatra, the biggest T word of all.

Thailand's obsession with the exiled former Prime Minister is such that he has become the spectre that haunts every political debate, the seeming be all and end all of Thailand's current woes.

A recent op-ed by prominent Thai journalist Karuna Buakamsri published in the International Herald Tribune described Thaksin as "the fault line that has fractured our country."

Ironically in placing Thaksin at the heart of the crisis, many analsysts and the government itself have become unwitting victims of Thaksin's spin. It is as if the government and intelligentsia were themselves being manipulated by the man they have often accused of manipulating Thailand's 'gullible', 'poorly educated' underclass.

For in emphasising Thakin's role and importance, in peppering every analysis and official announcement with his name, Thaksin's visibility is increased while the space he occupies in the nation's political psyche expands, and this even as he languishes in distant exile.

There are those, thankfully, who see beyond the T words.

Anand Panyarachun, a former Prime Minister and one of the architects behind the reform orientated constitution of 1997, outlined Thailand's challenges in an article entitled 'A Shared Future' without once referring to either Thaksin or terrorism. (click here to read full article: http://www.nationmultimedia.com/home/2010/05/24/opinion/A-Shared-Future-30130056.html)

In today's Thailand it was a laudable feat, evidence perhaps that Khun Anand is one of the few Thai leaders with sufficient neutrality, wisdom and moral authority to guide Thailand out of its current predicament.

In his article Khun Anand speaks of the dangers of "harbouring hatred", of the need to close "the deep and widening social divide", of Thailand experiencing a "political awakening" which has put the nation at "a point of no return."

Thailand's true challenge is not to rid the nation of so-called terrorists nor of the threat posed by former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra. It is, as Khun Anand writes, "to engage in a process of dialogue, which recognizes and respects the differences, interests and values of all concerned parties."

The government of Abhisit Vejajiva would do well to listen to Khun Anand's advice.

It should shift its focus away from chasing terrorists, suppressing dissentng voices and bemoaning the evil influence of former Prime Minsiter Thaksin.

Instead, as Khun Anand points out, it should "see the empowerment of the rural and impoverished sectors of our electorate as a critical and necessary step for the development of Thailand's democratic system."

Thaksin surely has much to answer for but, as Khun Anand so wisely leads us to understand, he should not be seen as the essence of Thailand's problems, even if he was the catalyst that brought them to the surface.

Thailand's current situation should not be seen as a conflict to be won or lost. Instead, as Khun Anand points out, it should be seen as an opporunity to be seized.

Scrubbing Away Memories and Covering The Fires

2010-05-24T07:05:00.000-07:00

Photo by Paula Bronstein/Getty Images

For 'curfew' the French say 'couvre feu'. Literally it means to cover the fire.

The Thai government's curfew feels very much like the French version of the term: an attempt to cover the fire, or perhaps hide it.

It reflects a fear that while the government may have succeeded in snuffing out the Red Shirt protest at Rajprasong, the order it has imposed may be as fragile as it is combustible.

Many Bangkokians would rather wash the memories of these past two months away and move on.

It would be comforting to believe that Prime Minister Abhisit Vejajiva, ever the unruffled, ever the reassuring, has dealt with the 'problem' and life will now return to normal - whatever normal may be in this city of mysterious yet charming madness.

On Rajadamri Avenue yesterday, where days earlier soldiers and protesters had fought, where bloodied corpses had lain, a different kind of army was at work.

Platoons of cheerful volunteers, wielding brooms and brushes, could be seen scrubbing frantically at streets and sidewalks, desperately trying to remove any last trace of the Red Shirt protest. It was as much about purging the city of dark and violent memories as it was about a literal clean-up.

Like a dazed boxer gathering himself from the floor, dusting himself down and preparing to fight another round, Bangkok is already regaining its old momentum. The city's inimitable energy has begun to flow again.

Familiar traffic jams have resumed their slow, jolting procession through valleys of skyscrapers. The sidewalk vendors are trundling back to their allotted spots. Most important of all the shoppers have begun, gingerly, to reclaim their malls.

Apart from a few visible scars, where fires set by retreating Red Shirts still smoulder, Bangkok has begun to look just as it always has. One could even detect a smile, here and there.

But the kind of trauma caused by the intense street violence which roiled through this city in recent weeks can't be erased with a broom and some disinfectant. Thais can put on a brave face - something they're famous for. They can tell the world it's OK now, that the 'terrorists' are being rounded up, that pretty soon it will be business as usual in the Land of Smiles.

It would be tempting to do that - to pretend. To do so, however, would be to mistake order for peace, to mistake the government's victory at Rajprasong for the reality that the Red Shirts' losses and their brusque eviction may well have lit even fiercer fires among their ranks.

The danger now would be to apply the literal meaning of the French term for curfew and to simply cover the fires which are still burning.

In moves to imprison and stifle the Red Shirt movement, there are ominous signs that this government intends not to engage the Red Shirts but to suppress them, not to extinguish the fires of discontent through compromise and reconciliation but merely to hide those flames from view.

Tranforming Order into Peace

2010-05-21T18:40:00.000-07:00

REUTERS/Kerek Wongsa

Just over two months after the Red Shirts of the United Front for Democracy Against Dictatorship (UDD) began a protest calling for the dissolution of parliament and fresh elections, the Thai government has at last succeeded in restoring order.

It came at a price.

More than 80 people were killed and over 1,300 injured during clashes between government security forces and protesters.

Swathes of Bangkok, one of the world's most popular tourist destinations and the bustling epicenter of Thailand's high-octane economy, were transformed into battlefields.

Tonight Bangkok is under curfew. Heavily armed soldiers still patrol in 'sensitive' areas. Key public transport networks remain closed.

Around the city blackened buildings, pocked with the scars of gunfire, still smoulder after angry demonstrators rampaged Wednesday, looting shops and torching whatever they could. Department stores, cinemas, banks and even a TV station were attacked. In all more than 30 fires were lit.

If the mood isn't celebratory, one senses relief among Bangkokians that the darkest, wildest days of violence are now behind them. Public transport will resume limited services on Sunday when the curfew is also due to be lifted. Most people in Bangkok should return to work normally on Monday.

The barricades which served as frontlines in pitched battles between troops and protesters, and were vivid symbols of the divisions behind this crisis, have been dismantled. And the Red Shirt protesters, who had camped out in one of the capital's swishest commercial districts, have now either gone gone home or been arrested.

As Thailand begins to count the cost of its worst civil unrest in modern history, thoughts are beginning to turn to the future.

Though the fires have been extinguished and the protests quelled, there is concern that the anger and frustration which pushed Bangkok to near anarchy continue to burn.

In a televised speech a day after the violence, Abhisit vowed his government would seek reconciliation. "We will help each other rebuild our nation for the happiness of all," he declared.

He will need to be very serious about that challenge if he is to transform the order he has imposed into lasting peace.

Though their leaders have surrendered, many Red Shirts have said they are determined to fight on. At this point it is still unclear what form their struggle will take, but there are fears of more violence in the weeks and months ahead.

The spectre of an armed conflict, and the crippling instability it implies, is a real possibility. Although most of the Red Shirt protesters were expressing legitimate opposition to the government, the movement's most extreme elements are known to be armed.

The immediate challenge for Abhisit's government, amidst the bitterness and fury generated by so many deaths and injuries, is to build trust, credibility and a semblance of neutrality. The Prime Minister must demonstrate that he has the strength to step away from narrow political interests and govern for the good of the entire nation.

Caught in powerful political cross currents as he navigates between coalition partners and his military backers (to whom he owes his political survival), Abhisit will need to show that his government intends to quickly address gaping economic inequalities.

His Finance Minister, Korn Chatikavanij, revealed yesterday that Thailand has "consistent current account surpluses, record foreign exchange reserves and good fiscal space." It is imperative the government now use these resources to implement policies that will alleviate the effects of falling rice prices and a drought in parts of the Northeast, factors that have fanned discontent in disadvantaged rural areas from where the Red Shirt movement draws much of its support.

Abhisit must also show a willingness to tolerate political opposition that operates within the law and that he is prepared, as soon as possible, to announce a firm election date and subject his government to the scrutiny of the ballot box.

Ironically, Abhisit's best chance of building popular support lie in policies that will antagonise some of his closest allies.

The Prime Minister needs, for example, to take legal action against leaders of the Yellow Shirt movement (also known as the People's Alliance for Democracy or PAD) responsible, in 2008, for a three-month-long occupation of Government House and for shutting down the nation's international airports.

In doing so he would send a clear signal of personal courage and political neutrality.

Such a move would also expose him to dangerous political cross-fire, especially when one considers that his current Foreign Minister was a prominent figure among the Yellow shirts and supported their occupation of the airports.

By arresting Yellow Shirt leaders guilty of crimes no less serious than their Red Shirt counterparts, Abhisit would be showing a willingness to apply the law with equality and would undermine one of the Red Shirts' key criticisms of him: that in arresting its leaders while ignoring those of the Yellow shirts his government is guilty of double standards.

While Prime Minister Abhisit may be eloquent and well meaning, and though his government may have the material resources to impose order, the future stability of Thailand, and perhaps ultimately any hope for peace here, reposes on his government's desire to restore its moral, as opposed to physical, authority and legitimacy.

If in putting an end to the Red Shirt protests the government intends merely to affirm its power then it has simply won one battle in what could turn out to be a long and bitter war.

The Beast Let Loose

2010-05-19T01:49:00.000-07:00

Photo by Paula Bronstein /Getty Images

The sun shines on Bangkok this morning. Yet the 'beast' ranges free. Mobs looting, burning, fighting, killing. The frightening force of hatred, frustration and revenge let loose.

Though we are bathed in beautiful light, our city is cloaked in the darkness of violence. We are witnessing Thailand's blackest hours.

At dawn armoured personnel carriers rumbled towards the red barricades - a tangle of bamboo, razor wire and tires laid along the edge of Rama IV road, in the heart of Bangkok.

Columns of troops huddled nervously behind the hulking, clumsy vehicles as the army began its long anticipated, and much feared, crackdown.

Photo by Paula Bronstein /Getty Images

Soon the air was crackling with the sound of gunfire and explosions. Within minutes reports of the first victims came in. Limp bodies, eyes staring blankly into eternity, began appearing on our screens. Thais killing Thais.

Against a backdrop of spiraling violence government spokesmen, surly and expressionless, almost apologetic-sounding, told an apprehensive nation - without the slightest hint of irony - that they were bringing the situation under control.

They sat before a blank white backdrop strangely unadorned of the Thai flag or the habitual emblems of royal authority. That blank backdrop seemed ominous; hinting at an empty-seeming future.

Shortly after, leaders of the Red Shirt protest, jittery and grim, announced they were surrendering. They asked their supporters, who had stood with them for over 60 days, to go home. Their original demand - for the government to dissolve parliament and hold fresh elections - went unmentioned. They surely understood, as did all those who watched them, that Thailand was beyond talk of politics.

Was this a victory for the government? I suppose it was, of sorts. The Red leaders had been arrested. The protest at Rajprasong had been dispersed. Mission accomplished.

As the Red Shirt protesters fled Rajprasong and their leaders were hustled into the nearby Police headquarters, the words of a journalist friend came back to me. "If they end it with an attack on the protesters at Rajprasong," he said, "it will be just the beginning."

And now Thailand burns. Mobs have attacked and set fire to municipal buildings in the northeastern provinces of Khon Kaen, Ubol Ratchathani, Mukdaharn, Nakorn Ratchasima and Udon Thani. In the northern capital of Chiang Mai there are reports that soldiers have fired live rounds at red shirt demonstrators.

In the capital the air is thick with the acrid black smoke of burning tires. It hangs like the dark clouds of a gathering storm. The scenes are apocalyptic. Many of Bangkok's glitzy malls, temples of the joyful consumerism that became a hallmark of life in this city, are aflame. Banks are being torched. The media itself is under attack.

Athit Perawongmetha/Getty Images

How is it that so many Thais should yield to such wanton destruction of their own capital, once a gleaming emblem of this nation's success?

Perhaps those burning the banks have little need for them. They are among the legions who live in debt. Perhaps those destroying Bangkok's swanky department stores do so because they never had the means to shop there. Those venting their fury against various symbols of State authority feel, perhaps, that successive governments have paid only passing attention to their needs.

While it would be reassuring to believe that the Red Shirts were merely a rent-a-mob acting at the behest of former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra and his cronies, the roots of this crisis reach beyond the elite benefactors of the Red Shirts' protests.

In order to build a political constituency, Thaksin and his proxies shone a spotlight on huge economic disparities, stoking latent frustrations among a majority of Thais who have enjoyed only a tiny share of the spectacular wealth created here in recent decades. They peeled away a thin veneer of national unity to reveal gaping inequalities that have now divided the Thai nation in two.

As darkness falls on this tragic day, the fires that have been lit will burn and multiply through the night. Tomorrow we will awake to a new dawn. The sun will shine again but I have a feeling that Thailand and its capital will never be the same.

Photo by Paula Bronstein /Getty Images

ALL PHOTOS VIA PICAPP: http://www.picapp.com/

The Parallel Dimension

2010-05-15T04:38:00.000-07:00

Athit Perawongmetha/Getty Images

REUTERS/Adrees Latif

Perhaps this is the reality of civil war.

Life in Bangkok has entered a parallel dimension. It's like looking at one's reflection in a crooked mirror: everything is there but suddenly it looks strange and different.

We wake up in the morning to the usual blazing sunshine, to the habitual heat and to reports of last night's death toll. Time is measured out in news updates informing us of the latest skirmish, the latest wounded, the latest hot spots.

Our screens are filled with images of soldiers, guns, black smoke, protesters and the glum, expressionless faces of government spokesmen who punctuate our days with monotone assurances that they are bringing the situation under control, that they are just doing their jobs. "Not to worry," they chant, "we don't mean for anybody to get hurt."

How quickly the shocking has become familiar and our senses anesthetized to the tragedy represented by each death and injury. Forty lives lost and over one thousand people injured. As I write news breaks on twitter that a 10 year old boy has been killed by gunfire. Minutes later a grenade lands in a police station. Human disasters soon to be lost in the statistics.

In today's Bangkok the difference between normalcy and life threatening violence can be a few hundred meters up or down a street...or a wrong turn. The city is breaking into pieces. Suddenly you find yourself thinking about the safest route to take. There are zones: red zones, no go zones, safe zones, live fire zones.

The future used to be something one planned for with confidence. Nobody saw these dark days in their crystal balls. Coups yes. Sporadic political turbulence for sure. But a meltdown that could degenerate into civil war?

Witness the deadly lure of power, the politician's ultimate high. Unbound by rules or arbiters, Thailand's leaders will go to any length to obtain or retain it. It's an "I win you lose" game with no middle ground.

There was a time when power struggles were played out in parliamentary debates, in shady corridors of influence and through elections. I remember those days fondly now. If there weren't quite rules there were at least agreed upon limits. And there was at least one ultimate arbiter to whom the nation could turn when the power brokers got out of control.

Today those self-set boundaries have evaporated, the facades of civility have fallen and we are left with the brutal law of force. Bangkok, erstwhile icon of Asia's progress, now looks more and more like the jungle from which it rose.

Photo by Thibault Camus/ABACAPRESS.COM Photo via Newscom

ALL PHOTOS VIA PICAPP: http://www.picapp.com/

Of Barricades and Madness

2010-05-14T05:19:00.000-07:00

From a distance the barricades, bristling with bamboo pikes, resemble tousled oversized porcupines ambling across a street.

Close up they look more like urban art installations: chaotic yet carefully arranged sculptures assembled from rags, bamboo, razor wire and old rubber tires. A revolutionary art project of sorts and a direct, almost poetic, expression of the differences splitting Thailand down the middle.

In reality, of course, the barricades are more than poetry. They are battle lines, frontiers even, separating ‘Red Bangkok’ from the rest of the city. The rags and tires aren’t there for art; they are to be burned. The ‘porcupine’ barricades will then become a wall of fire.

“You go Iraq?” joke Bangkok taxi drivers if you give a destination near the barricades - where soldiers are now entrenched behind sandbags. The drivers, like me, have never actually been to Iraq. But they’ve seen the pictures on TV and can’t help but make the comparison.

Like Iraq there are bombs. Seventy attacks, mainly with M-79 grenades, have been reported in or around the city this year. In April alone 27 people were killed as a result of political violence and more than 900 were injured.

Unlike Iraq Bangkok’s camouflaged combat troops, clad in heavy flak jackets, full metal helmets and laden with weapons, patrol in opulent, skyscraper-lined business districts. They share their war zone with polite-looking office workers in white shirts and with elegant women mincing along in thigh hugging miniskirts.

It’s more surreal than real.

On Patpong, one of Bangkok’s red light districts, a squad of soldiers, surly and bored, stands guard. A few meters away a bar offers S and M. Girls touting for custom hover at the entrance. They smack passers-by with bamboo rods, enticingly. Two different kinds of menace side-by-side: one playful, the other less so.

Scenes as twisted and as quirky as the barricades themselves; barricades that seem to grow more and more tangled by the day, reflecting the growing chaos as this crisis deepens.

One senses a loss of innocence in this city once defined by its smiles, its sense of fun and its penchant for a party.

In spite of the traffic jams, the hassles, the corruption and the pollution Bangkok, for all its less-than-innocent naughtiness, retained a certain ‘lightness’, a refusal to be serious. A French friend and longtime resident compares Bangkok to a ‘jardin des enfants’. He is right. There has always been a youthful playfulness.

In the shadow of violent street battles now raging in the city, however, the glint in Bangkok’s eye has dulled. The city no longer sparkles. It is the dark side that shines now.

Has Bangkok gone mad? Or was the madness always there, waiting to burst free?

Photo by Athit Perawongmetha/Getty Images

Behind the calm smiles, the well-ordered queues, the gleaming shopping malls, amidst the chaos one has long sensed a lurking, sometimes menacing, schizophrenia - a duality fed by the many contradictions which, till now, passed for normal.

Today the schizophrenia no longer lurks. It rages wild. The contradictions, once tamed by tolerance, have broken off their uneasy marriage and are fighting openly in the streets.

The stifling heat might have something to do with the madness. For those sleeping at the protest sites ‘cool’ is a distant concept. Boiling is the reality – both emotionally and physically.

In the air conditioned towers of logic, Western analysts who dare to enter the maze of Thai politics soon find themselves disorientated by endless blind alleys. Understanding is the mirage. Just when it starts to make sense, just when you think you’ve pinned it down something strange happens and it slips away from you, again.

Hidden beneath so many layers of propaganda, with so much deception and shadow play it is hard to filter fact from fiction. Tragedy, betrayal, suspense, murder and even farce are the ingredients of this ever twisting drama.

While one senses a desire on all sides to reach for something better, a desire to see the country somehow survive the terrible shock of the King’s eventual passing, an unseemly and bloody power struggle is poisoning what should be a great opportunity: to usher in a new era of reform.

The most worrying barricades I now see around me are those being erected in people’s hearts. We are witnessing the dark side of Thailand’s mysterious, captivating, sometimes terrifying, passion.

Where Did All The Good Times Go?

2010-04-29T18:13:00.001-07:00

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

After all Thailand was a lauded Asian 'tiger' - an economic powerhouse poised to leap confidently towards a prosperous future.

Its democracy stood like an island of freedom amidst neighbouring nations where a combination of poverty, totalitarianism and intolerance had stifled political development.

Thailand, with its picture postcard beaches, smiling locals and carefully nurtured exotism was the global Shangri-la for tourism; a place where the mysterious East could be discovered in comfort and safety.

On the surface, Thailand looked golden.

It was dynamic, diverse and modern. And despite obvious inequalities its society, underpinned by a cultural acceptance of hierarchy, looked impressively stable. The world marveled at how patient, how tolerant and how good-natured Thais were.

Today we marvel at how a nation endowed with such a modern State, inhabited by such genteel and easy-going people, could unravel so fast. The tolerant Thailand of yore now stands divided, daggers drawn, teetering on the brink of deadly, and possibly widespread, civil unrest.

What went wrong? Was it all an illusion?

Part of the answer lies in Thailand's 'live for the present' mentality. When other Asian nations, perhaps less fun-loving and perhaps less free, were diligently planning for the future, investing heavily in education for example, Thailand was partying.

In the 1990s when its economy was growing at dizzying rates, Thailand was producing fewer doctors and engineers per capita than fellow 'tiger' economies such as Malaysia, Taiwan, South Korea or Singapore. This education gap was to cost Thailand its competitive edge as cheaper labour in countries like Vietnam and China began to attract investors.

In this nation of historic abundance, where there has always been rice in the fields, fruit in the trees and fish in the rivers, few worried about what the future might hold. Indeed part of Thailand's unique genius has been its ability, through charm, patience and guile, to always muddle through.

So it was that while the economy boomed the good times rolled. Growth was driven by investors seeking a cheap and amenable labour force, by millions of Thais awaking to the 'joys' of consumerism and by tourists pouring their hard-earned holiday dollars into the economy.

The mantra was spend, spend, spend - although admittedly most of the spending was done by a relatively small urban-based elite.

At one point Thailand was Mercedes Benz' largest market outside of Germany. University students in Bangkok could be seen pulling up to classes in BMWs. Shopping malls, high class hotels and gleaming office towers mushroomed throughout the capital.

The Asian economic crash of 1997, which began in Thailand, was a rude awakening. For a moment the country paused to catch its breath. There was a talk of a need for more emaphasis on spiritual values, concern that society had become too materialist. Many Thais returned to the temples to rediscover Buddhism, nominally the religion of 90% of the population.

There was also a realisation that the appearances of a modern democracy had perhaps been an illusion. That the euphoria of economic success and the inebriation of materialism had masked serious systemic problems.

Where a legal system should have stood, the Thais found widespread corruption. Where democracy should have stood, the Thais found widespread vote-buying. Where the independent regulatory controls needed to reign in a fast growing and complex modern polity should have been there was nepotism and self-interest.

In September 1997, in an optimistic moment of sobriety after the excesses of gravity-defying growth, Thailand voted on a new constitution. It had been drawn up as a result of broad popular consultation and was intended to encourage the neutral institutions needed to stabilise its fragile democracy. It was to have been the cornerstone of a new democratic era that would carry Thailand into the future.

Demonstrating the patience and good nature for which it had become famous, Thailand moved quickly beyond the crisis of 1997, accepting its consequences with astounding stoicism and equanimity. Despite the hardships prompted by the crash, Thailand's fabled social stability held firm.

Enter Thaksin Shinawatra. A businessman who built a fortune on the back of the mobile telecommunications boom, Thaksin sought to parlay his business success into a political career. Despite fumbling beginnings, he quickly emerged as a popular figure, playing the system but casting himself in the role of a modern politician - so rich that he didn't need to be corrupt.

A self-made billionaire whose lavish lifestyle embodied what many Thais aspired to, much of Thaksin's appeal lay in what he represented. He was living evidence of what could be achieved. In contrast to the dowdy bureaucrats, corrupt politicians and out-dated generals who had hitherto held sway in Thailand, Thaksin offered new dynamism, new hope - an embodiment of what modern Thailand should be.

Thaksin swept to power in 2001 with a landslide victory at the polls. Like no other politician before him, he had modernised the political game using spin and sophisticated communications to 'market' his policies to prospective voters.

He had garnered widespread support from Thailand's middle class who saw themselves reflected in Thaksin's CEO style and his Sino-Thai features. Most importantly, however, Thaksin won massive support from the countryside to whom he promised a million baht for each village, debt forgiveness and a 30-baht healthcare scheme.

Crucially, and unlike his predecessors, Thaksin's campaign had reached out directly to the rural poor, partially short-circuiting local patrons who had traditionally been power brokers for national level leaders based in Bangkok.

Thaksin understood that in the post 1997 era, where talk was of a new democratic dawn and where bill boards warned people that to sell their votes was to sell the nation, he needed to win the hearts and minds of the majority.

Thaksin did so by shining a spotlight on issues that had long been sources of frustration in the countryside, prompting a historic social awakening that has had seismic consequences for Thai politics.

In speaking to rural Thailand as a united constituency and in casting himself in the role of their saviour, Thaksin single handedly upended the social equilibrium which had allowed Thailand's economy to boom while the gap between rich and the poor grew wider.

The social shift he provoked is echoed today through the 'class warfare' rhetoric of the United Front for Democracy Against Dictatorship (UDD), known as the Red Shirts, who currently occupy one of the most prestigious commercial quarters of the capital and are defiant in the face of establishment power.

But if Thaksin galvanised Thailand's rural majority, he also polarised the nation as a whole.

Once in power Thaksin used his vast majority to exploit the nascent institutional checks and balances provided for in the 1997 constitution. He became increasingly intolerant and increasingly corrupt, often blatantly blurring the lines between the use of State power and his own business interests.

Disillusioned by his ostentatious corruption, irked by his growing intolerance of dissent and concerned by his populism, the urban middle class, whose core resides in Bangkok, became critical of their erstwhile hero.

Thaksin's seemingly limitless ego was even perceived as a challenge to Thailand's revered monarchy, sparking concerns that he harboured a thinly veiled ambition to turn Thailand into a republic.

Thaksin's evasion of tax payments on the sale of his Shin Corp to Singapore's Temasek Group in January 2006 was the last straw. Spurred on by media tycoon Sondhi Limthongkul and a coterie of academics, trade unionists and politicians, small groups of protesters began to gather regularly and in increasing numbers in Bangkok's Lumpini Park. Underscoring their allegiance to the monarchy, the protesters chose to wear royal yellow.

This was the beginning of the yellow shirt movement (which later became the People's Alliance for Democracy or PAD), and of Thailand's much documented colour coded politics.

It was also the beginning of a concerted movement to remove Thaksin from political power: a campaign which saw tens of thousands of yellow shirt protesters in the streets of Bangkok. These demonstrations culminated, in September 2006, in a military coup that toppled Thaksin's government while he was on a trip to New York.

Proponents of the 2006 coup claim that Thaksin's hold on State power had become a parliamentary dictatorship. They no longer felt the judicial system could be relied on to act against him. The huge anti-Thaksin demonstrations in the weeks leading up to the coup seemed evidence enough that his removal, by whatever means, was legitimate.

Critics counter that by stepping into the fray the military triggered a cycle of conflict that has pushed Thailand outside the framework of normal democratic process and to the brink of civil war. By choosing to act outside the law in removing Thaksin, the military de-legitimised the establishment they were acting to defend and rewound Thailand's political development by decades.

In the aftermath of the coup, and under the aegis of a military junta, a new constitution was drawn up and approved in a half-hearted referendum in 2007. The charter included measures to appoint half the nation's Senators and an amnesty for those behind the coup. Unlike the 1997 constitution, which had encouraged public participation, criticism of the new charter was banned.

The 2007 constitution aimed to limit executive political power and strengthen the judiaciary. But it was too little too late for Thailand's already moribund and fragmented system.

Far from being neutral, the judiciary was already viewed as a tool through which the establishment could exercise political power. In September 2008, for example, the constitutional court forced elected Prime Minister Samak Sundaravej, widely viewed as a proxy for Thaksin, to step down because he had appeared in a cooking show - a minor misdemeanour that was seen as a political pretext for his removal.

In the past four years, littered with court cases, protests and counter protests, there has been much talk of right and wrong as both sides argue for the moral high ground.

Thaksin's supporters legitimise his abuses of power by pointing to his putative democratic mandate and to the double-standards they see in Thailand's judicial system. Claiming corruption to be a systemic reality in Thai politics, they also argue that Thaksin's transgressions were little different from those of his predecessors or his opponents.

Herein lies the crux of Thailand's current woes. On both sides of the divide there is little or no faith in the neutrality of the political system. Corruption is a given, impartiality a vague chimera.

On both sides there are genuine concerns and grievances. On both sides there are good folk who want the best for the country. And on both sides there are ruthless thugs, who are armed and dangerous.

In the pre-Thaksin era Thailand's democracy was dominated by only one powerful constituency; namely the urban middle class. The system could function because power was being contested for by a single, if fractious and corrupt, group.

Violent disputes when they occasionally erupted were adjudicated by King Bhumipol, the only person with enough authority and legitimacy to restore order when political tensions boiled over.

In awakening the rural constituency, and by framing his claim to power in purely democratic terms, Thaksin destabilised this imperfect equilibrium, a situation that has been further exercabated by the fact that Thailand's King is now in failing health and apparently no longer able to fulfill his traditional role of arbiter.

In the absence of rules and of any independent body to call opposing sides to reason, Thailand's democracy has been reduced to a raw and increasingly violent tussle for control of State power.

Unbound by law and without a neutral leader to guide them through this crisis, the Thais, now faced by the spectre of bloody civil conflict, must find the solution within themselves.

For if this is crisis has been a rude awakening, if it has thrown into view the darker sides of this nation, it should also now be seen as an opportunity for the Thais to prove to the world that the charm, generosity, patience, tolerance and even compassion for which this nation has become renowned were not an illusion.

Sliding Towards Disaster

2010-04-27T20:18:00.000-07:00

Like a boat drifting towards a precipice, Thailand is sliding inexorably towards disaster.

The veneer of democratic politics has fallen away to reveal a bitter and violent struggle for State power.

The Land of Smiles, once famed for its generous and tolerant people, has become a land divided. Where tourists once walked, soldiers now patrol. And with each passing day Thailand’s once highflying economy plummets.

At the Rajprasong intersection the gleaming malls, normally crammed with eager shoppers, stand empty; closed down by thousands of Red Shirt protesters camped out in the avenues around them.

Bangkok, better known for its easy-going if chaotic mood, is now a city cloaked in tension and fear.

The Red Shirts of the United Front for Democracy Against Dictatorship or UDD, entrenched behind makeshift barricades of barbed wire, tires and bamboo pikes, say they want the Prime Minister to dissolve parliament immediately and for fresh elections to be held.

The government, ensconced in an army base, argues that to step down in the face of lawless demonstrators would be to set an unhealthy precedent. Elections there will be, it says, but not in response to threats and not until the government has had a chance to disburse its budget and implement core policies.

At first glance, and as confusing as it is, Thailand’s crisis looks like the kind of political turbulence that might easily characterize the growing pains of a young democracy: a storm that will pass.

But the current crisis has already surpassed the normal framework of democratic politics.

Political opponents have become mortal enemies. Politicians have begun to accuse each other of being murderers and traitors. The struggle is increasingly being portrayed not as one that will determine the next government of Thailand but as an existential battle that may permanently re-shape the political landscape here.

In a worrying shift, government spokespeople and pro-government commentators now refer to the Red Shirts not as protesters but as terrorists and thugs. The UDD movement is no longer a political opposition movement but a threat to national security.

Pro-government supporters are growing more vocal and more insistent in their calls for the military to act and ‘uphold the law’.

In a further sign that Thailand is moving away from any hope of compromise, the propaganda machines on both sides of the divide are preparing their supporters for battle.

Throughout the sprawling Red Shirt protest site the sound of screams and gunfire can be heard as videos replay images of deadly clashes between protesters and government forces last April 10th.

Designed to shock and enrage, the clips emphasise graphic images of bloodied protesters lying dead or wounded. Twenty-four people, including four soldiers, were killed in the riots of April 10th and over eight hundred were injured.

The government, meanwhile, has intensified its information war. Last night, its NBT channel aired harrowing footage of the April 10th clashes. The edited clips, set to dramatic music, focused almost exclusively on wounded soldiers being dragged from the front lines of the riot. The troops were shown soaked in blood, lifeless, screaming in pain. There could be little doubt in viewers’ minds who was to blame.

Interviewed directly afterwards, guest commentators spoke of the need for the military to act decisively. They were echoing mounting criticism of Army Chief Anupong Paochinda who has so far resisted calls for a crackdown on the thousands of protesters, many of whom are elderly, women and children, gathered at Rajprasong.

More worrying, however, are the government’s allegations that the Red Shirts are seeking to overthrow Thailand’s monarchy, an institution that inspires near-religious reverence among many here.

If the current conflict is successfully re-framed as a battle between those for and against the monarchy, the risk of serious violent confrontation and loss of life will rise considerably.

If the Red Shirts are enemies of the monarchy, terrorists and thugs then a legitimate justification, in the eyes of the government and its supporters, has been made for their repression.

Beyond these arguments, however, lie far grimmer realities. If Thailand’s military does use force to clear the Red Shirts from their Rajprasong protest site, it will almost inevitably result in a massive and tragic loss of life.

Lest those who would implement such a crackdown forget, when it is over and the dead are counted they will all be Thais.

Notes from the Silom 'War Zone'

2010-04-24T02:25:00.000-07:00

The Silom area of Bangkok resembled a war zone last week as troops, clad in full combat gear and toting a daunting array of weapons, patrolled along pavements in front of shops, banks and go-go bars in one of the city's busiest commercial districts.

In surreal scenes, tourists, journalists, office workers, hawkers and hookers took turns to squeeze past coils of razor wire and pose for pictures with smiling soldiers.

Streams of sympathisers handed food and drink to embarrassed-looking troops who at times seemed equally laden with guns and riot gear as with shopping bags brimming with gifts. Some concerned office workers at a nearby hotel provided support in the form of fresh underwear for security forces, many of whom were sleeping rough in car parks and side streets.

The move to position troops on Silom road is an indication of the escalating levels of tension here and of the Thai government's desperation as it struggles to maintain a semblance of control while seeking a solution to this deepening crisis.

The other side of a busy intersection at the top end of Silom, opposite a MacDonalds and a five star hotel, Red Shirt anti-government protesters dug themselves in - creating a de-facto front line just meters from government troops. Clusters of onlookers, often snatching pictures for posterity, watched as the protesters erected a barricade of barbed wire, tires and sharpened bamboo poles.

The Red Shirts, who have been protesting in Bangkok for over a month now, were again thumbing their noses at government power; making it clear they would not be dispersed without a fight.

As military helicopters wheeled overhead and as rumours of an imminent crackdown came and went throughout the week, protesters could be seen diligently sharpening hundreds of bamboo spears apparently in preparation for battle. Local newspapers reported that the red shirts had stockpiled war weapons and were making bombs filled with concentrated acid.

With each passing day, like a bizarre urban art installation, the Red Shirts' makeshift barricade became more elaborate, more permanent and more impenetrable.

Red Shirt guards, dressed in black uniforms and often wearing caps emblazoned with red stars, patrolled the outer perimeter of the barricade while protesters clambered atop the ramshackle construction to shout slogans, wave flags, pose for photos, hurl insults and occasionally engage in skirmishes with pro-government supporters.

With each passing day the mood grew darker. Angry mobs took to the streets on Silom, venting their fury on anyone suspected of being a Red Shirt. Soldiers intervened to save several hapless individuals from being lynched. Scuffles broke out. Bottles, rocks and bolts were hurled across the front lines.

On Thursday the situation took a dramatic turn for the worse. The mounting tensions of previous days culminated in a brutal grenade attack that saw five explosions rip into crowds of pro-government protesters and innocent by-standers during the evening rush hour at the upper end of Silom. Three people were killed and eighty seven injured.

The attack, the origins of which are still unclear, was a watershed moment. It was clear that if neither side stood down the situation could quickly escalate into something more serious and possibly more widespread.

Two days earlier reports that a group of Red Shirts in the northeastern province of Khon Kaen had brazenly seized a train carrying seventy soldiers and military equipment served as a reminder that the Red Shirts are capable of extending their struggle beyond the capital.

Since Thursday's attack, the situation has entered a phase of relative calm, with both sides apparently pausing to consider their strategies. After a tense stand off, the Red Shirts agreed to pull their supporters 100 meters back from their barricades, while the police ensured that pro-government supporters were not allowed to gather close to Red Shirt positions.

As I write, Thailand is holding its breath, relieved at the hiatus in the street fighting but fearful for what the future may hold. The battle lines are clearly drawn. We are waiting to see if Thailand's leaders will choose the course of compromise or conflict.

The Guessing Game

2010-04-17T18:59:00.001-07:00

Thailand's political drama veered towards farce last Friday morning as police commandos played out a comedy of errors in a botched attempt to ensnare key leaders of the red shirt movement at the SC Park Hotel in Bangkok.

The police operation took a wrong turn when overly polite officers, apparently keen to avoid damaging any doors, asked hotel staff for a master key. Red shirt sympathisers raised the alarm and supporters soon began gathering at the hotel.

By the time the police were ready to pounce, a paunchy looking Arisman Pongruangrong, one of the red shirts' more militant leaders, was already enacting a dramatic, if rather clumsy, James Bond-style exit; lowering himself down a rope from his hotel balcony in full view of the media and a cheering throng of red shirt supporters.

For their grand finale the red shirts succeeded in capturing several policemen, including a colonel and major general, who were whisked to their protest site at Rajprasong where they were paraded on stage before being released.

The fumbled sting operation, while amusing, was yet another curious episode in this ongoing political drama.

How did police commandos manage to make so many errors and then allow their prey to slip between their fingers in full view of the public? Were they really trying?

And how did Thailand's military with all the modern equipment, training and resources at its disposition fail to dislodge a motivated but relatively poorly armed band of protesters - leaving us with the tragedy of April 10th that cost 24 lives and left more than 800 injured.

True Abhisit's government is on the back foot. True he's facing an intransigent, broad and well funded opposition. True Thailand's army and police are perhaps not the best trained in the world. But even so many events of recent days and weeks just don't compute.

Ask almost any observer here, from cab drivers up to political anaylysts, how the current crisis might play out and you will be met with a political diatribe, a blizzard of vague theories or, most likely, a shrug of the shoulders and an honest "I've got no idea."

Though many here view the future with foreboding, nobody knows where this crisis is headed.

The government is determined to cling to power, one might surmise, because it fears stepping down now would be a prelude to defeat in elections. It seem likely too that with the Prime Minister ensconced in a military base, he has army firmly behind him. Or is the reverse true? The Prime Minister is a hostage to the military, a mere puppet?

Does the army have its own agenda? Is a coup in the offing? Do the elites, discreetly funding the protests while scripting its storyline, know how they would like this battle for power to end?

Amidst the farce, the rumours and the speculation, however, there are some constants that help us navigate through the confusion.

We know, for example, real and bitter divisions in Thai society exist; born out of inequalities exacerbated by and largely ignored during Thailand's economic miracle.

We know too that, for all his faults and failures, Thaksin shone a spotlight on the woes of Thailand's underclass and succeeded in winning deep affection and support among many of them. He is a potent force behind the red shirt movement: its patron and perhaps its master strategist.

It is also clear that, while there is broad consensus that Thailand's political system needs reform, opinion is split over what shape the reform should take.

Most important of all are the very real passions that surround the question of Thailand's much revered monarchy. Many here, who have grown up to view King Bhumipol, 82, as a guiding light and stabilizing force,fear the vaccuum his passing will leave.

The red shirt movement, which has shunned images of the King, is increasingly being seen as a threat to the monarchy; a challenge that could be met with a violent and angry backlash from pro-royalists.

The economic cost of the crisis is also beyond debate. With each passing day the wounds to Thailand's once ebullient economy multiply.

For the moment, each side is holding its ground, staring their opponents down, planning their strategies and maneuvering their forces. Thailand is at a crossroads: will the opposing factions pull back from the brink and negotiate a compromise? or will they go on the offensive, deepening the conflict and raising the spectre of a civil war?

At this point, your guess is as good as mine.

Red Monday

2010-04-12T09:43:00.000-07:00

If Saturday was black, Monday was red.

Two days after the worst civil unrest here since the riots of May 1992, thousands of red shirts, some on motorcycles others crammed into pick-ups and trucks, paraded through the Thai capital forming an impromptu, sometimes chaotic, river of red that stretched for over 10 kilometers.

At times the procession took on the air of a victory parade with supporters lining the streets cheering and waving red flags. Some women watched with tears streaming down their faces as the protesters passed by, evidence of the deep emotions that have been unleashed by this crisis.

Coffins containing several of those killed in Saturday’s clashes were draped in Thai flags before being blessed by monks and hoisted onto the backs of open vehicles to serve as reminders of the cost of the red shirts’ defiance. A move calculated to inflame and harden sentiment among the red shirts whose mood was a volatile mix of euphoria and fury.

For the red shirts the good news just kept rolling in. Late in the afternoon they were bolstered by an announcement that the Electoral Commission had found the Democrat Party guilty of accepting an illegal donation of 258 million baht.

If the Constitutional Court, which must rule in such cases, confirms the commission’s findings, the Democrat Party will face dissolution and its leaders, including Prime Minister Aphisit, will be banned from politics for five years.

The Democrat Party would be the third to be dissolved in as many years, leaving Thailand’s political landscape, already in disarray, deprived of many of its principal players.

Probably the visible tip of behind-the-scenes political maneuvering, the Electoral Commission’s announcement dealt a fresh blow to the Prime Minister and his beleaguered coalition, which is running short of options as it struggles to put an end to the protests. The red shirts principal demands are that Parliament be dissolved and fresh elections called.

The army’s failure to dislodge the demonstrators on Saturday and the resulting loss of life make it difficult for Aphisit to send government troops back into the streets. Thai Army Chief General Anupong Paochinda seemed to underscore this when he announced, “the situation requires that the problem be solved by politics.”

But despite intense pressure, Aphisit has remained combative. In an afternoon press conference he reaffirmed his government’s unity and issued an ominous warning that terrorists seeking to bring about a ‘great change’ in Thailand had infiltrated the red shirt protest movement.

This was a coded nod to widespread rumours that the red shirts’ ultimate objective is to overthrow Thailand’s monarchy. The red shirt demonstrations have indeed been unique for the total absence of images of the King and Queen who are generally revered and have traditionally been used as icons to legitimize any form of popular protest.

Aphisit’s warning would seem to be an attempt to rally pro-royalist sentiment as a counterbalance to the momentum and popularity of the red shirts.

If the Prime Minister is seeking to characterize the current conflict as one between royalists and the enemies of Thailand’s much revered monarchy, it would also signal the opening of a dangerous new front in Thailand’s deepening crisis.

A perceived threat to the monarchy would almost certainly be met by an aggressive and probably violent response from royalists – most likely led by the ‘yellow shirts’ of the People’s Alliance for Democracy (PAD).

Many observers fear that the longer the crisis drags on there is a mounting risk that there could be a street-level backlash by supporters of the PAD, who led the movement that culminated in Thaksin Shinawatra’s ouster in 2006 and whose mainly privileged urban middle/upper class support base represents the opposite end of the political spectrum from the populist red shirts.

With the government looking cornered and with support for the red shirts running high in rural areas, the Democrat led coalition knows that if it dissolves parliament and holds fresh elections now its chances of being returned to power by a popular vote are slim.

By stirring divisive fears over the future of Thailand's monarchy, however, the government risks worsening the current conflict; creating a situation that could lead to more of the violence and instability that has already wrought considerable damage to Thailand's once gleaming economy.

Black Saturday Puts Thailand at a Crossroads

2010-04-11T09:44:00.000-07:00

It’s already being called “Black Saturday”.

In a night of chaos and violence, red shirt protesters fought running battles with government security forces, transforming popular tourist areas into virtual war zones.

Clouds of tear gas engulfed troops and protesters as they descended into savagery - using guns, sticks, rocks, grenades, petrol bombs and just about anything that came to hand to shoot, batter and bludgeon their opponents.

Sirens wailed late into the night as over eight hundred injured, some unconscious and soaked in blood, were ferried to nearby hospitals.

When the fighting was done, twenty-one people had lost their lives. And Thailand had finally lost the balance of relative peace it had been struggling for weeks to maintain.

Black Saturday was a tipping point many had predicted and feared.

It was the culmination of rising tensions, of endless streams of propaganda, of cynical manipulation by political leaders and of deep frustrations born out of the inequalities that have become one of the sad hallmarks of Thailand’s boom.

Strangely, however, as Thailand awoke to count the dead and survey the damage, the violence did not seem to have provided the cathartic shock that should have jolted the protagonists to the negotiating table.

In the wake of the worst political unrest for almost two decades, there appeared to be no realization that a repeat of such violence must be avoided at all cost. The mood, sadly, is not yet one of reconciliation.

Instead, the red shirts remained defiantly in control of their protest sites, crowing over their victory, recovering their strength and whipping up their supporters to greater depths of hatred and extremism by parading their dead before angry crowds.

Across the political divide, a procession of government officials took it in turns to explain why their troops, clad in full body armor and equipped with a formidable array of modern weaponry, were unable to quell the red shirts or to clear their protest sites. Bizarrely, their best excuse seemed to be that they were faced with an unruly mob who were breaking the law and had ‘unfairly’ used lethal weapons.

Instead of rushing to avert a repeat of Black Saturday, both sides simply dug-in, trading accusations and re-grouping, perhaps for the next round.

A sense of uncertainty now hangs over the capital. There has, as yet, been no intervention or statement from the Palace. Worryingly, there is no other neutral body or inspirational political leader to whom the Thais can now turn for guidance.

Thailand’s political development appears to have reached a crossroads – with Black Saturday signaling its entry into dangerous and uncharted territory.

Though the rhetoric of democracy is well rooted here, the structures needed to maintain democracy’s imperfect and fragile balance are all but absent.

The State's legitimacy has been eroded, there is no independent judiciary and there are no unbiased sources of information. Thailand’s democracy is being defined by a raw, passionate and increasingly violent struggle for power.

At this crucial juncture there is a danger that if unreasonable hatred is allowed to prevail and if social and economic divisions continue to be exploited for political ends then Thailand, a nation best known for its welcoming smiles, might lurch towards a broader and more damaging civil conflict.

Information a New 'Front' in Thai Politics

2010-04-09T19:24:00.000-07:00

It can't buy you love but it might just get you a term or two in office.

With a healthy enough bank balance you can buy an audience for your speeches, a mob for your rallies, some star political players for your party and even some valuable votes at election time.

In the armoury of the successful Thai politician a plentiful supply of cash has long been one of the surest routes to power. So it surprised few when one of Thailand's richest men, Thaksin Shinawatra, converted his corporate clout into political power.

But as Thai politics has evolved and as Thailand's elites continue to tussle for preeminence in this country's increasingly chaotic democracy, a new political weapon of choice has emerged: information.

Radio stations and satellite TV channels have sprouted like 'virtual' weeds, clogging the airwaves with endless streams of what at best might be called partisan analysis and at worst slander and propaganda.

Demonstrations are broadcast around the clock, transforming politics into a reality TV show, where viewers are kept entertained with a titillating mish-mash of irreverent jibes, passionate diatribe, drama, invective, violence and a flood of unverified affirmations passed off as facts.

If cash is the blunt cudgel, effective but unrefined, information is a much more subtle weapon: it contains a message, carries meaning and can inspire.

Television, perhaps the most powerful tool of all, has become so ubiquitous that news spreads nationwide in seconds. Information shared, as social networking has proved, creates bonds and builds constituencies.

Thailand's information wars began in earnest even before Thaksin's ouster in 2006. In the weeks preceding the September coup d'etat, Thaksin staged TV appearances in rural villages where he would act out the role of the earnest, genuinely concerned patriarch reaching down to the grass roots.

These images, of Thaksin meeting and greeting in the countryside, sent a powerful message: they said "I care", "I am willing to respect you by moving from the ivory towers of the capital to the reality of the countryside."

They also marked a departure from the plot that Thailand's usually predictable political dramas had hitherto followed - illustrating for the first time that rural voters, long seen as passive even disinterested political actors, were ready to play a more central role.

Such images, combined with populist demagoguery and, yes, plenty of cash opened a new front in the battle for power and eventually delivered to Thaksin the kind of heartfelt support that would probably still win him a majority today.

If money can't buy a politician love perhaps a few salesman-like speeches and some televised glad handing can. Many of Thaksin's most loyal supporters say they genuinely 'love' him, and are willing to lend him the kind of support that goes beyond paid attendance at rallies.

Subtly, but in a way that was not lost on many Thais, Thaksin even began to use imagery and symbolism normally reserved for the monarchy - sending confusing and threatening (to the establishment) signals; while cleverly planting subliminal perceptions of a caring, humble leader in the public consciousness.

Technology has of course played a vital role in opening up the information front. Thaksin was responsible for launching the satellites that have become an epicenter in the current crisis. Red shirt demonstrators have focused some of their most forceful protests on the Lat Lum Kaew Thaicom earth station in an effort to ensure that their People's TV channel (PTV) continues to broadcast.

The government, aware that their ability to stem support for the red shirts depends partly on shutting down the flow of information, made closing PTV its most significant move after declaring a State of Emergency.

Yet despite having a young and telegenic leader in Prime Minister Aphisit Vejajiva, the government still seems to have understood little about the power of information and even less about projecting a positive image.

Government broadcasts contrast sharply with those of the red shirts - whose leaders appear passionate and dress in traditional, informal garb.

Grim-faced, dressed in a black suit and seated against a bland expanse of cheap brown ply-wood, Aphisit addresses the nation in the stern, clipped tones of a discontented teacher as he admonishes his opponents and re-affirms the power of the State.

The Prime Minister's televised speeches look more like a broadcast from a communist regime of 1980s than those of a modern state appealing to its people in a time of crisis in 2010.

If the current government and its military backers have understood the importance of information it would seem that they have not yet mastered the subtler art of deploying the tools of modern communications to win the hearts and minds of Thailand's majority.

Thailand's Unique Equilibrium

2010-04-04T19:48:00.000-07:00

Thailand is a land of paradox, where contradictory truths appear to live comfortably side-by-side.

It is a land where 90% of the population is nominally Buddhist, a religion that promotes detachment from worldly desires, yet where materialism runs wild and shopping malls sometimes seem almost as sacred as temples.

It is a land where traditional values discourage public displays of affection and promote demure, often formal, interaction between individuals. Yet is it also the land known internationally for its anything-goes red light districts and raunchy sex industry.

It is a land where, more often than not, you can leave your helmet on your motorcycle or forget your bag in a restaurant and return to find your belongings untouched. Yet it is also renowned as one of world’s most corrupt nations.

It is a land of great wealth, where there has been spectacular economic development; yet where much of the country continues to live in relative poverty.

To the interested observer, these paradoxes, and there are many more, make Thailand fascinating, elusive, mysterious. They also make Thailand hard to explain.

For how do you explain that Thailand’s rural (read poor) Northeasterners have chosen a corrupt and less than democratic tycoon as their champion? How do you explain that in many ways Thailand is a very modern nation, when its democratic institutions seem so weakly rooted?

Beyond the fact that in any situation where humans are the principal actors we cannot expect to find clean and logical explanations, there has been in Thailand, till now, what one might describe as an intuitive understanding of balance.

The genius of Thai culture, I believe, and the key to its stability to date, has been its ability to embrace contradictory truths. This is partly expressed in the Thais’ legendary tolerance. For in order to live with a contradictory truth, like great wealth and great poverty, you have to accept it.

This gift for living with paradox and for acceptance traces its ancestry to Buddhism. For if few Thais delve into the deeper spiritual meanings of Buddhism, Thai culture is nevertheless infused with its tenets.

Thais’ ability to smile in the face of material adversity, to appear cool in the chaotic city and to shun (for the most part) extreme displays of emotion echo Buddhist teachings.

Perhaps this is the meaning of Buddhism’s legendary ‘middle path’: the ability to navigate between contradictions and opposing extremes. Perhaps it is this innate understanding, call it wisdom even, that has hitherto given Thailand the ability to find compromise where other nations might have descended into bitter conflict.

This is not to say that Thai society is perfect by any means. Nor would I want to over romanticize its qualities. There is a dark side to every human and this is reflected in society as a whole.

Thailand’s equilibrium is inherently fragile, relying as it does on mutual acceptance.

In the demonstrations taking place today, in the relentless angry cries of the ‘reds’, indeed on both sides of the political divide, we are seeing less and less tolerance, less willingness to accept the contradictions that have long been a part of Thailand’s identity and even its culture. What might once have been considered karmic destiny is increasingly being called ‘injustice’.

In its simplest form, the Western logic of democracy argues that all are equal, that the majority wins. But, like Thai culture, democracy contains its own contradictions. For how can the majority really rule when we vote once and subjugate ourselves to a leader for years to follow? Most importantly, how can a democracy, designed to favour the majority, still protect the interests of the minority.

In the oldest most successful democratic nations these contradictions are tempered by independent institutions who watch over the system as a whole; ensuring that it finds a path between the paradoxes: the middle path if you like. Imperfect but balanced.

If Thailand’s social balance tips, if the Thais are no longer willing to accept the contradictions of a democracy where the wealthy few rule the less fortunate majority, then Thailand will enter a new paradigm.

Now more than ever Thailand needs the structural restraints of an established democracy - an independent judiciary, electoral watchdogs, a non-partisan press - to ensure that while the majority may rule, the minority can know that it is protected. There are few signs, however, that such restraints are in place, leaving Thailand unbalanced and adrift in uncharted and potentially perilous waters.

Thailand's Perilous Road to Reform

2010-03-27T01:36:00.000-07:00

With thousands of protesters still gathered on Bangkok's streets, with talk of elections, amidst an ocean of news and commentary one might be forgiven for thinking that Thailand was exhibiting all the symptoms of a healthy democracy.

Indeed, in a region better known for its repressive regimes, Thailand has often been held up as an example. As a nation where diversity of opinion is tolerated, where the press is unmuzzled and where vocal, though sometimes violent, debate have become established components of the political culture.

On the face of it Thailand looks, feels and even operates like a fully-fledged, if turbulent, democracy.

References to majority rule, equal rights, justice, one-man-one-vote and freedom of speech are the standard currency of political dialogue. The judiciary is nominally independent as is the media and the watchdog bodies whose declared role it is to reign in the natural tendency of elected politicians to politicise.

But what 'seems' isn't. Thailand's democracy, like a shimmering mirage, is bright and shiny from afar but looks disturbingly hollow close up.

The institutions of State that should stand above and beyond the reach of politics lack the independence, credibility and moral authority they need to function.

Many Thais no longer trust their institutions of government. Most are grudgingly resigned to a status quo where widespread corruption has become the norm.

The judiciary, neither independent nor separate from the State, is but a political weapon to be deployed against perceived enemies of the establishment. Even the press, democracy's 'fourth estate', has become entirely partisan, making it impossible for the public to turn to the media for a rational, non-biased analysis of the current situation.

Interestingly, however, and despite their bitter differences, both sides of Thailand's colour-coded divide are unified in their desire for change and reform. They just can't agree on how.

Tolerance for political corruption is wearing thin while disillusionment at the failure of Thailand's core institutions of government to rise above narrow political interest is growing.

Lurking beneath these trends, and feeding the intense emotions that electrify the ongoing street protests, lies a thread of fear: that with the passing of Thailand's much loved monarch, who alone stands above the political fray and carries the ultimate authority to temper its excesses, the remnants of this country's fragile democracy may fall apart.

It may already be too late. For even if, as the red shirts demand, fresh elections were to be held, it is hard to see how this would resolve the impasse. When the problem is systemic, one can no longer turn to the system for a solution.

So what next?

Worryingly, amidst the invective and theatrics that have come to dominate the political dialogue, it is hard to find any constructive proposals for reform.

Indeed, it seems as if beyond exchanging one leader for another and vague railings against corruption, neither side is proposing a serious road map for rebuilding Thailand's democratic institutions, which require deeper repair than merely rewriting a new constitution. Nor does there appear to be a political figure capable of offering a unifying vision that transcends partisan differences.

Viewed in this light, Thailand's polity seems helplessly and dangerously adrift. It is with foreboding that one watches waves of red shirted protesters ebb and flow through Bangkok's streets, brushing up against rows of troops drafted to maintain order.

With neither side able or willing to compromise, with no leader capable of rising above the current divide, with no practical agenda for the future, the potential for chaos and violence remains high.

Is Thailand in search of a cathartic and perhaps terrible 'release', therefore, that will jolt the nation into a realisation that unified efforts at reform and reconciliation can be the only way forward? Or will the military step in, freezing the political process yet again and perhaps deferring the reform needed to bring Thailand's promising democracy back in line with successes of its economy and the aspirations of its restless majority.

Between Rage and Reason

2010-03-18T13:29:00.000-07:00

Thai Prime Minister Aphisit Vejajiva - Oxford-educated, soft-spoken, well meaning - is a reasonable man.

"Elections must be held under common rules and genuine calm. We have to listen to other people's voices, not just the protesters’," he announced, politely, as tens of thousands of protesters clamoured for his ouster.

Reasonable words in unreasonable times. Further evidence, perhaps, of Aphisit's apparent inability to connect with Thailand's majority.

Passion, anger, frustration and, at the fringes, simmering hatred is the fuel driving the red shirt protesters currently thronging Bangkok’s streets.

In a macabre publicity stunt, the ‘reds’ drew blood from thousands of supporters only to spill it symbolically onto the street in front of Government House and Aphisit’s residence. If nothing else, the gesture was a measure of the depth of emotion behind the current unrest

Amused, bemused, confused and perhaps a little repulsed by all of this, we are left to wonder what this latest episode in Thailand’s political saga really means and how it fits into the broader picture of this nation's development.

We struggle to untangle the knotted and multiple roots of the current crisis. On the one hand there is clearly growing unease in the twilight of King Bhumipol’s reign. On the other there is an evident power struggle between the country’s elites, already jockeying for position in a post Bhumipol era.

As one ponders the significance of the various color-coded factions and as one tries to unravel the motives of protesters across the political spectrum, it is easy to lose sight of a more fundamental reality: that of the glaring social and economic disparity separating Thailand’s urban middle-class from the rest of the population.

The current conflict and the various rounds of unrest it has generated are not isolated blips in the otherwise hum drum routine of a stable and established democracy. They are mounting evidence of a profound shift in Thailand’s political landscape, of seismic social rumblings that may herald the transformation of that very landscape.

For decades Thai politics defied the logic that democracy is designed to promote: that the majority should elect those it believes will serve its interests.

Thailand’s rural majority were like sheep to be herded in this direction or that by wealthy urban-based politicians. A few well-placed roads, a well paid local ally and, typically, a bundle of bank notes was the magic recipe for a politician in pursuit of rural votes.

During Thailand's export-led boom in the nineties, the already marked divide between the cities and the countryside grew - to a point where Bangkok seemed so far removed from the rest of Thailand that it felt like another country.

Flush with the vast wealth accumulated as a result of Thailand’s economic ‘miracle’, Thailand’s leaders could have shared the spoils and poured cash into the development of the countryside, especially in qualitative areas like education.

To do so, however, the elite needed to see the countryside as more than just a pool of votes or a source of cheap labour and rice. Opportunities for broad, ‘deep’ development were largely ignored. The rich grew richer and better educated while the poor, despite seeing some benefits trickle down, remained vastly less fortunate.

The basic infrastructure of a modern state was nevertheless installed. Schools were built, roads were laid, health centers were opened and literacy rates were raised to close to 100%.

An efficient and accessible communications network was established, allowing information to pass freely. By the beginning of the millennium it seemed as though almost every home had a television, a fridge, a motorcycle and a phone.

Parliamentary debates were televised and almost everyone could read a newspaper. Government information campaigns taught rural folk about democratic values and exhorted them not to sell their votes. Even the poorest Thais seemed politically engaged. A more authentic democratic culture was beginning to take root.

It is at this point that Thaksin Shinawatra’s political star began to rise. A fabulously successful telecoms magnate, he quickly became a poster boy for the turbo-charged growth of the nineties and an icon of modernity for the materialist aspirations of most Thais.

He was smart, he was technologically savvy, he was Sino-Thai and he knew how to communicate. The middle classes saw him as their man. The rural masses found in him an inspiring example and a leader who showed an interest in their concerns like none before him.

Ever the businessman, Thaksin realized that there was a ‘market’ to be grabbed: that of the now educated, well-informed rural voters who had stood on the sidelines of Thailand’s boom; mere pawns in the power games being played out in Bangkok. Thaksin understood that these voters were in search of a voice and that they could carry him to power.

In reaching out to the poor, particularly in the rural north and northeast, and in directly addressing their concerns, Thaksin emerged as a consummate populist. He found himself riding a wave of support which swept him into office in 2001.

The rest, as they say, is history. It quickly became clear that Thaksin, instead of furthering the cause of democracy, intended to use his majority as a powerbase to actually dismantle the democratic institutions put in place by the 1997 constitution. He became an 'illiberal' democrat and a textbook example of how democracy can go awry when the institutions designed to protect it are weak enough to be subverted.

But if Thaksin sought to bring the rural majority into the political arena by speaking to them directly from the center of power, he did not perhaps envisage the threat that this political shift would represent to the traditional establishment. Nor how they would ultimately react.

In 2006, on the cusp of angry mass demonstrations sparked by Thaksin’s evasion of tax payments on his sale of the Shinawatra Corporation to Singapore’s Temasek group, the military stepped in - pushing Thaksin into exile and throwing their support firmly behind the royalist 'yellows' of the People Alliance for Democracy (PAD).

For a while it seemed as if order had been restored and that business as usual could continue.

But the ground had already shifted. The genie of populist politics was out of the bottle. The polarisation of Thai politics had begun. Thaksin, for his part, had woken the ‘sleeping’ masses; giving them a figurehead leader of almost cult-like status, a benefactor and newfound confidence.

He had delivered the realization that, in democratic terms, the rural majority could now exercise power by electing national level leaders prepared to tip the balance of opportunity back in their favour.

While Thaksin may have sought rural support for his own political ends, once the ‘train’ of populism had left the station he had little choice but to ride on it. By his regular injections of funds and inflammatory speeches delivered via video-link from exile, Thaksin ensured that the ‘red’ movement maintained its momentum.

It is surely one of darkest ironies of Thai politics, however, that an illiberal businessman who accumulated millions through near monopolistic domination of the mobile telecoms market should become a hero for the rural masses from whom he is so far removed.

Thaksin did not create the polarisation which characterises Thailand's political landscape today, but he did, perhaps inadvertantly, shine a spotlight on Thailand's divide and in so doing lit the fires of discontent which wrack the country today.

Though it is often portrayed as hollow vehicle for political posturing manipulated by and for Thaksin Shinawatra, the red movement, whose chosen colour poignantly echoes historic communist movements in the region, has roots that go much deeper. It represents a strong and persistent political wind that will only blow harder for as long as those who have traditionally held power continue to shelter behind military might while expressing their evident disdain for the rural masses.

For even if the reds do fade back into the countryside, Aphisit and his mainly urban middle class supporters should not imagine that their problems are over. Thailand will remain divided and the reds will return again and again until they see changes that begin to address their concerns.

The most conciliatory gesture Aphisit could make would be to hold free and fair elections -the principal demand of the red shirts today. This would be eminently reasonable since Aphisit did not face the ballot box before taking office and is widely perceived as a front-man for the army and traditional establishment interests.

But herein lies the conundrum which leaves Thai politics on such unstable ground and which makes it almost impossible to see a clear path out of the current impasse.

For Thailand to change and for new openness to permeate the political system, the country needs new leaders infused with a fresh vision and sufficient legitimacy to impose change. Thailand needs leadership capable of overcoming the middle classes’ fear of the rural majority, leadership capable of ushering in a new political dawn rooted in an ideology of broad national development, inclusion and genuine equality.

Given the cast of characters currently dominating Thailand’s political scene, it is hard to see where such a leader might be found.

With no clear indication as to which turn the drama will take next, one can only hope that the Thais’ rare genius for compromise and their penchant for comfort over strife will guide them, between rage and reason, towards a peaceful solution to the current conflict. One that will create the conditions whereby acceptable levels of political, social and economic opportunity can be enjoyed by all.

Disentangling Ourselves from the Infinity of The Web

2009-08-18T08:35:00.000-07:00

The internet, that ubiquitous funnel which feeds our digital addiction, has the power to transform our relationship to reality and shape our vision of the world.

Viewed through the screens of our computers, reality has been rendered abstract, two-dimensional, pixelated.

When I awake in the morning before brushing my teeth, almost before wiping the sleep from my eyes, I connect.

The gesture, from one who grew up with a telephone that had a dial on it and wrote with an ink pen that smudged, is already a reflex. I now type faster than I can write. I have become, as have we all, homo-interneticus.

Lifting the screen of my notebook in the morning is a metaphor for opening a virtual window onto the world. If I look out of my analogue window I see a slice of sky, a bird chirping on a branch, the chaos of green in my garden. From my digital window I view the planet, a fragmented and bewildering tangle of information beamed at me from the four corners of the globe.

With my connection, wireless of course, comes information and knowledge. I have the potential to know anything and everything. "Seek and ye shall find", beckons the internet, oracle of the modern age.

But when we step back from the glow of our screens, close our digital windows and re-focus ourselves on more immediate three-dimensional reality, there is a nagging sense that the web may be be exactly what its name suggests - a tool of entrapment in which we have already become hopelessly entangled.

Or worse still, if we are not caught in the Web then we have ourselves, like nodes in a matrix, become a part of it: feeding it with ever more information and consuming blindly the infinite stream of data it serves up to our screens.

People of a certain age - meaning those who remember what life was like before computers - harbour a suspicion that we were perhaps better off, in some ways, without them. They remember an era when life was slower and more contemplative. When our minds were better able to focus and concentrate.

But before email, sms, Facebook and now Twitter how could we have communicated or read as much from so many diverse sources as we do today? Isn't the internet enriching us; creating more opportunities to exchange ideas, to learn, to gain access to the ideas of others, to be aware?

There is the nagging concern, however, that though we may communicate more and even read more, the quality of our communication and of the information we consume has deteriorated. A few lines, stripped of their grammar and in some cases of their correct spellings are all it takes to create a ripple in cyberspace that says "I'm thinking of you" or "I'm here, where r u."

In an era where 'site traffic' not kiosk sales are becoming the benchmarks which determine the power, and revenue streams, of today's news providers, is it not the lowest common denominator of information, the most titillating, scintillating facts with the greatest mass appeal, that will dominate our online diet of news?

But while older folks may grumble that younger folks read less books and find it hard to concentrate, can they deny that young folks are at least reading. In this internet age the truth is that we are reading from morning to night. In our professional lives we are reading and composing written messages each waking hour of the day. Never has so much been read or written, by so many, so quickly.

Though we may read more, the vortex of communication in which we are gripped often leaves us with little time to read books - of the three-dimensional, paper kind. Suddenly books and the printed page, once the epicenter of their own 'illuminating' revolution, seem dated and dusty. Engulfed in our daily tsunami of emails, videos, Facebook updates and news bulletins how many of us have still much time for a good old fashioned book?

I know that when the day has run its course, the gentle pleasure of opening a book and devouring a few pages lit only by the lamp beside me is a delight that sets my synapses dancing. I know, too, that this is partly because I am of a certain age (not old mind you) so that books still hold for me a certain romantic charm. The book is still an object of some reverence to be thumbed, browsed and weighed in the hand.

Where book information differs crucially from the words pouring forth from the web is that books are finite. You can hold them and perceive them in their finite entirety - like a painting, or a photograph, or almost any work of art. This is why reading books, as opposed to reading on the internet, is so different.

The internet, by contrast, is infinity. It is the ocean which fills the horizon. We can navigate it, we can swim in it but we cannot hope to hold it in our hands, nor can we ever really hope to comprehend its enormity. In this sense, the internet is inhuman - because it surpasses the human scale. The book, however, that can be held and read from cover to cover remains an object of distinctly human proportions.

Now I am sounding nostalgic, which helps nobody. The internet is the future, I would be a fool to deny it. Electronic books are perhaps the future too. What I hope is that somehow we will be able to find ways to tame the Web, to learn how to disconnect, and to stem or at least filter the flood of information in which we are today literally drowning.

For while the internet brings us many things, its virtual reality and the infinity of its possibilities should complement rather then replace the analogue creations which have the power, in a more simple, perhaps more human, way to excite us through their finite simplicity and their ability to ignite our imaginations to the infinite possibilities of creativity.

Imagining the Suicide Bomber

2009-07-18T03:52:00.000-07:00

On a Thursday night in Jakarta two men watched day slide into night.

One slept fitfully in his hotel room, if he slept at all. I do not know his name and have not seen his face.

For this man, a devout Muslim I imagine, the darkness was heavy with foreboding. His night echoed with feverish prayers, with accumulated regrets, with the natural fear of his imminent death.

For the other, Evert Mokodompis his name, the night was beautiful.

Sleep came upon him gently, reassuringly. As he drifted from consciousness he was abuzz with plans, his mind's eye crammed with images of his newborn child, not yet a day old.

The fates of these two men, unknown to each other, sharing the same night, the same air, in the same city, were entwined.

One man, the Suicide Bomber, whose head was blown clean away, goaded his body through those sleepless hours, commanding his reluctant limbs to follow plans he had learned by rote, plodding methodically, perhaps joyfully, towards his macabre finale.

The other, Evert, arrived at work the next morning distracted and happy; enveloped by the love he felt for his child and its mother. The promise of the future stretched out invitingly before him.

The bomb erased six lives that Friday morning with Evert and the faceless, nameless, Suicide Bomber among them.

Their blood spilled, spilled ink, illuminated screens, opened a channel, momentarily, into the public's consciousness - that vast amorphous place where so many seek to exist.

It was through not existing, then, through their destruction, their definitive violent erasure that Evert and the Suicide Bomber engraved themselves in my mind, prompting me to write about two men of whom the only details I know relate to their interconnected destinies and the tragic waste of their lives.

As I imagine Indonesian officials picking through the debris in which Evert and the Suicide Bomber lay, amidst dust, tangled metal and the awful stains of bodies slaughtered, I am assailed by words: terror, collateral damage, hatred, extremism and cowardice. The words rush at me as if eager to take a front seat in my understanding of this now commonplace event.

It's tempting to let the habitual reactions take their habitual seats. I want to resist that though and imagine some more.

Who was the faceless, nameless being who stumbled out of obscurity to punch a hole in the morning calm?

A warrior in the war of terror that we have come to accept as a reality? A terrorist, to give him the label his actions have naturally earned him?

But what kind of warrior does not confront his enemies, does not take aim or look his victims in the eye? And what kind of terror can this be when a bomb explodes at breakfast time in a fancy hotel?

We, the public, the presumed target of the bombs, can neither see our attackers nor can we know where they will strike. We can neither retaliate nor can we find focus for our terror.

Disparate hatred is what might rise from the debris. President Bush would have had it so. Indeed hatred was doubtless the fatal infection our Suicide Bomber hoped to pass on.

The dust barely settled, however, the victims barely interred and we have moved on, scurrying forwards purposefully, inevitably forgetting the terror that should be our lot. The gift intended for us.

Evert's child will not remember this event. He will be told what happened when he is old enough to understand. His mother will foster sorrow and hatred perhaps, but Evert's child will struggle to imagine the moment his father was taken. Perhaps one day, out of despair at his sorry life (if sorry it becomes), he too will become a Suicide Bomber; what tragic irony that would be.

I try to grasp the courage of the suicide bomber; his daring. But I can't help but see desperation, an ocean of desperation. Or was it cowardice to avoid confrontation, to deny his prey the right to defend themselves? Was it cowardice, even, to choose such an easy, instant death? Call it touch-of-a-button terrorism. Instant annihilation for an instant age.

In his moment of madness, his climactic gesture of passion, faith, frustration, hatred what does the suicide bomber hope to create?

There is twisted victory in such loss: the promise of martyrdom and release from a life defined, perhaps, by poverty and want. And in his wake the Suicide Bomber does sow seeds of fear, leaves behind scarred memories, breeds grief and decimates hope.

Except we know that while you can kill and kill again, butchering flesh and blood, there is an intangible, indefatigable force, call it the human spirit, that fills the void and refuses to die.

When one considers the collective force of our capacity for love, determination and hope, one can only feel sorry for the Suicide Bomber who yielded his life and sold his spirit in an attempt to defeat what cannot be defeated.

Sri Lanka's Opportunity

2009-05-21T07:11:00.000-07:00

Trapped. Hidden from the world. Brandished as human shields then decimated in a storm of military fury.

For the thousands of civilians trapped on a tiny stretch of beach in eastern Sri Lanka the thunder of artillery and the cries of the wounded were a gruesome prelude to 'peace'.

These unfortunate civilians, families, women, children, were the collateral cost, we are told, of bringing Sri Lanka's 25 year civil war, pitting ethnic Tamil rebels against a Sinhalese-dominated government army, to a close.

When one considers the horror endured by those who lived through this grim finale, and the suffering of some 250,000 Tamils displaced by recent fighting, it is hard to imagine that such violence could be the germ for peace.

Indeed, while Sri Lanka's President Rajapaksa preens and struts in the glow of his government's victory, while jubilant Sri Lankans honk their horns and wave flags in the capital Colombo, the only peace many Tamils now know is the silencing of the guns and an end to the killing. Thousands are still detained in government internment camps surrounded by armed guards and barbed wire.

Many among the Tamil minority, who account for around 15% of Sri Lanka's 20 million population, are left to contemplate how the government's military victory will translate into the autonomy and rights which they have long been demanding.

In truth, it is not peace that comes as the logical fruit of such a bitter conflict. Peace can only be achieved when the causes of conflict have been erased, a process which often continues long after the guns have fallen silent. At the end of the Second World War, creating peace meant a re-drawing of borders, a purging of the political and social causes of conflict, a drive to reconcile and rebuild.

As Sri Lanka enjoys this moment of relative calm, its government must now seize the opportunity to demonstrate to the ethnic Tamil community, from which the Tamil Tigers and other rebels movements were born, that the causes of the conflict will be erased and that the government will re-build and re-draw the lines of this divided nation so that there is opportunity for both communities to prosper equally.

To be sure the Tamil Tigers were a ruthless movement; pioneers of the suicide bomb, fanatics who drove women and children into battle. Much of the movement's dynamism and momentum came from its mysterious and brutal leader Vellupillai Prabakharan. His apparent death is perhaps the most convincing indicator that the Tamil Tigers as a fighting force are finally spent.

For the moment President Rajapaksa is ringing reassuring notes of reconciliation. Last Thursday he declared that it was "the duty of all to ensure that all differences that hitherto divided our people are subsumed in the great and momentous joy that is shared by us all.

"The celebration of this victory, as deep as it is felt, should be expressed with magnanimity and friendship towards all," he said.

If Mr. Rajapaksa's words are sincere then he is right to foster harmony among former foes.

History has taught us that it is supremely difficult to defeat the spirit of a people fighting for its basic rights or for its survival. For many Tamils, the civil war was a struggle for self-determination in the face of a chauvinistic Sinhalese majority for its part still smarting from Tamil dominance promoted by the British during their colonial rule.

Guns can suppress, they can eradicate, they can terrorize into silence but they rarely defeat a rebellious spirit and are often better at sowing hatred than breeding peace.

Generosity, magnanimity and reconciliation will prove the most powerful weapons the government of Mr. Rajapaksa can now deploy amidst Sri Lanka's Tamils. It is only through mutual respect and in allowing the Tamils to return to rebuild their lives as equal citizens alongside their Sinhalese compatriots that Sri Lanka can hope to truly achieve peace and ensure that a new generation of Tamils do not take up arms and find a replacement for Mr. Prabakharan.

The Passion of Thailand

2009-05-10T03:39:00.000-07:00

There isn't a single word for 'passion' in Thai. "To like alot" (chob mak), "angry" (krort), "strong feelings" (kwam ruseuk khem) are some of the approximations that the Thai language uses to explain the concept of passion.

In some ways that Thai doesn't have a single word to match the palette of intense emotions summed up by the word 'passion' isn't surprising. Thailand is better known for its placidity and serenity; characteristics nourished by the teachings of Buddhism which warns its practitioners away from desire and anger - the very seeds of passion.

I remember arriving in Thailand for the first time in the mid 1980s. I had travelled from India and was immediately struck by the contrast between the chaos, noise and incessant movement of Bangkok and the calm equanimity of its inhabitants.

Where in India crowded buses had been seething, cacophonic anthills of sweaty humanity, in Thailand the same number of passengers crammed into non-air conditioned buses while seeming, almost, not to touch each other, with barely a voice raised and only the occasional bead of sweat as testimony to the stifling humidity.

Amidst the madness and intensity of Bangkok, where was the passion, I asked myself.

This is not to say, of course, that because the Thais don't have a specific word for passion or because in their daily lives manifestations of passion appear few and far between that the Thais lack passion. Far from it.

Passion is one of the fundamental ingredients of life anywhere. It is the emotional turbo charge that allows us to push beyond the boundaries of mediocrity. It is the psychological fuel that can propel us to excellence, to summits of devotion or to depths of destruction.

Though artfully hidden from view, one quickly becomes aware of the currents of passion flowing powerfully, sometimes frighteningly, beneath the beguiling tranquility of Thailand's 'mai pen rai' (never mind) exterior. Passion lurks here. The one truly un-tameable emotion that demands to be let loose is, for the most part, kept rigidly chained up.

And so when passion does break free the consequences are often terrible.

Last Sunday I attended the funeral of Nong Fai. Just twenty six, an only child and the love of her mother, Nong Fai threw herself in front of a speeding car. Her moment of mortal madness was spurred, friends told us, by an argument with her lover. In flash of irrational passion Nong Fai cast her young life into the oblivion.

Nong Fai's suicide was an extreme and violent gesture which appeared jarringly incongruous amidst the smooth, unruffled charm of Thai culture. Yet her brand of destructive passion is not uncommon here. It is too often echoed in stories recounted in the Thai press. Stories of jealous lovers driven to mutilation, murder and suicide.

Indeed, who could use any other word but 'passionate' to describe the intensity of the political movements which have been venting their fury in the streets of the capital these past weeks and months.

It is as though passion expressed, as it is so colourfully in Latin cultures, can be an almost poetic channel for love and desire, while passion repressed boils and churns like an explosive potion being reduced to one of it most fundamental elements: violence.

If only more Thais were allowed to set their passion free, this powerful emotional energy, today hidden and unnamed, could perhaps transform itself into ideas, into creativity and inventiveness.

As it is, battened down under layers of Buddhist propriety, Thailand's passion has but too few avenues of expression. It is a sad truth that when passion does eventually break loose here, its face is often dark and violent.

Harnessing the Forces of Change

2009-04-24T22:35:00.000-07:00

Political systems are dynamic. They are the sum of an ever-evolving, continually interactive relationship between social, political, cultural and historic forces.

In Thailand, the tensions that recently flared into violence on the streets of Bangkok are the symptoms of a political system experiencing the torque of a wrenching transition.

The genesis of modern Thai politics can be traced to 1932 when a military-civilian coup replaced absolute monarchy with the nominal structures of constitutional democracy.

In the ensuing decades Thailand's democracy has been tested by 17 coup d'etats, breakneck economic growth, a jarring economic meltdown and several violent uprisings.

Yet Thailand has often been held up by Western observers as a model: citing its impressive growth and the durability of its democratic institutions; which have continued to function in the benevolent shadow of the nation's much-revered monarchy.

Meanwhile Thai society has undergone massive change. Strained by the alienation of urban-industrial development, traditional relationships have been transformed. Values and expectations have shifted. One of the hallmarks of Thailand's development has been the huge inequality it spawned - between the urban middle class and the rural population.

These socio-cultural changes and the economic inequality engendered by the boom of the nineties lie at the heart of the nation’s current political malaise.

While power may have nominally passed from palace to parliament in 1932, the legitimacy and prestige of Thailand's traditional centers of power did not, and naturally could not, dissolve overnight.

Indeed, the legitimacy and power of Thailand’s monarch, King Bhumipol Adulyadej , has grown significantly in the six decades of his reign; largely as a result of his active commitment to development and his intervention during times of crisis.

Traditional power has, till now, co-existed with the modern infrastructure of democracy. And this despite obvious contradictions between the Western ethos of democracy, which places theoretic emphasis on the equality of all, and Thailand's traditional power structures which revolve around centralised and hierarchic authority.

The simplest expression of traditional political power in Thailand is the relationship between patron and client. Patrons distribute patronage in exchange for the loyalty, and during elections the votes, of their clients.

In Western democratic terms, patron client relationships are 'corrupt'. They do not abide by the encoded rules of an impartial system. They are, instead, determined by the arbitrary ability of a patron to purchase the loyalty of his 'clients' through the distribution of favours, privilege and largess.

In the context of Thai democracy this ‘corrupt’, or more precisely 'traditional', form of politics can function as long as patronage flows from one unchallenged source and for as long as such patronage is able to satisfy the aspirations and expectations of its recipient 'clients'. Like any successful political system it relies on a degree of stability and acquiescence.

In recent years, however, a number of factors have emerged to challenge the stability of Thailand's 'traditional' democracy.

The first could be described as the growing competition between the traditional bureaucratic, aristocratic and military elite and the emergent power of Thailand's nouveau riche 'business class' who have sought to transform wealth and prestige acquired during the boom of the 1990s into political capital. Telecom tycoon, Thaksin Shinawatra, who cast himself in the role of a CEO Prime Minister, is the most obvious example of this phenomenon and the most visible challenger to traditional power.

The tension surrounding this struggle for control of the 'centre' of Thailand's political system has been further heightened by an awareness that the nation's much loved monarch is nearing the end of his reign.

The King has been a vital anchor of continuity and stability for Thailand. Many naturally fear that without his stabilising presence and without the legitimacy he lends to the traditional bases of power, Thailand's democracy could melt into an all-out political conflict with elite interest groups battling for control of the State.

While there is a pervasive sense of unease about a future without King Bhumipol and with conflict already visible among Thailand's elites, the current crisis also comprises a broader social component.

Rather like the businessmen who sought to transform their wealth into political capital, Thailand's rural majority also now seek to convert their numerical weight into political power.

This dynamic is being driven by a change in what ordinary people expect of the State, by a heightened understanding of constitutional and democratic rights and by a sense of disillusionment with successive governments that have paid scant attention to the needs of Thailand’s rural majority.

Through his populism, Thaksin Shinawatra took the first step towards allying the central power of the State with the interests of the rural majority. On the face of it, this looked like a positive democratic development.

The reality, however, was that Thaksin did not represent the advent of a more democratic regime but rather the cementing of an alliance of convenience between a rural majority seeking greater influence over central government and a business elite seeking the means to wrest control from what it has labelled as the traditional ‘bureaucratic polity’.

Thakin used his popular mandate to impose a decidedly illiberal style of democratic rule which aimed to stifle debate, neutralise opposition and consolidate control of the independent institutions designed to provide checks and balances to executive power. These excesses were often overlooked or ignored by a majority who saw Thaksin as their 'champion'. At last a leader who was prepared to share some of the State's wealth with the rural poor.

Today, Thailand's political crisis remains in suspended animation. The currents of conflict continue to churn beneath the surface.

To ensure stability, the political establishment needs to recognise the huge socio-cultural and economic changes that have taken place in recent decades and accommodate them in a corresponding adjustment in the balance of power.

Political change can be wrought through upheaval on the streets or through constructive dialogue between players on both sides of the divide. The imperative now is to recognise that change is inevitable and that it is in the interests of all to ensure that the energy and passion being expressed in the political arena today can be channelled into a process that moves the nation forward peacefully and inclusively into the future.

Frustrations Erupt. Bangkok Burns.

2009-04-13T20:14:00.000-07:00

After months of seismic activity, political tensions erupted in Bangkok Sunday with red shirt protesters of the Democratic Alliance Against Dictatorship (DAAD) engaged in running battles with troops.

Public buses were set on fire. Enraged gangs hurled Molotov cocktails at soldiers who responded with teargas and gunfire. Skirmishes were also reported between rival civilian groups in several areas of the Bangkok; evidence of the dangerously deep social and political rifts which are driving the current unrest. Ninety four people were reported injured of which twenty three seriously.

The storm clouds of this conflict have been gathering for months, years even; the culmination of a tussle for political power that could determine the landscape of Thai politics for the foreseeable future.

On one side are unruly protesters who threaten the fabric of public order, on the other soldiers and police acting on behalf of the State to restore calm.

In Thailand today, however, there are no neutral institutions capable of acting on behalf of a benign State.

The entire system has become politicized and polarized. There are no government institutions that are perceived as independent. The troops on the streets of Bangkok are part of the political process and are seen as agents of partisan interest. This politicisation of the State means that the machinery of democracy, with its necessary checks and balances, cannot function.

The violence that has eroded Thailand’s hard won image as a tranquil haven for global travelers is a symptom of deep disunity in the country; a clash of interests between the minority forces of the traditional elite and the aspirations of Thailand’s majority, most of who live in countryside.

In this sense the unrest we are witnessing today is substantially different from other memorable political upheavals of Thailand’s recent past.

In 1992, when a ‘mobile phone mob’ confronted military dictator Suchinda Kraprayoon, the demonstrations were limited to Bangkok and were aimed at maintaining a status quo that protected the economic and political interests of the upper and middle class.

In 1973 and 1976, two other significant moments in modern Thai history, the conflict was between right and left wing forces. But in the 1970s, despite a communist sponsored insurgency in the north and northeast, political engagement and leadership, particularly on the left, was essentially limited to Thailand's educated elite. Thus left-wing protests during this period were led by students and were limited to Bangkok.

The nature of the unrest we are seeing today is different in that it mobilises a much broader group of actors. The divisions are a nationwide phenomenon. Where earlier political conflicts were limited challenges that took place within the arena of middle class and urban society, today’s conflagration has drawn in supporters from throughout the social spectrum from both urban and rural sectors

If this sounds like the setting for a revolution, one must also remember that there is precious little ideology on either side of Thailand's divide. For the leaders on both sides, the struggle is for raw power, for control over the levers of State and the bounty that such control can deliver.

More fundamentally, Thailand is facing a challenge of inclusiveness and equality. Its society and politics have traditionally been based on hierarchy. In recent years, however, the concept of democratic rights and participation, propagated by State sponsored awareness campaigns, have become increasingly rooted in popular thinking, challenging the inherent inequality that a hierarchical society requires.

As Thailand reaped the rewards of economic growth in 1990s, this inequality in society escalated. Yet while the elites have become richer and perhaps by extension more detached from their less fortunate counterparts, the poor have also become more educated and by extension more aware of their rights.

If Thailand is to find a way forward and if it is to find a resolution to the conflicts being played out on the streets of the capital today, it must find a way to include and appease the aspirations of its less fortunate majority.

One option is repression. The forces of the traditional elite, through the State, certainly have the tools to repress. But this would surely be a temporary solution serving only to perpetuate the frustrations of many millions of Thais. Unity through inclusion and reconciliation can be the only way forward. Such unity can only be reached through enlightened leadership which seeks to rise above partisan interests, to reconcile differences and to address with sincerity and honesty the concerns of all parties. Until such leadership emerges the current instability and conflict will continue.

Thailand Teeters on the Edge

2009-04-07T08:42:00.000-07:00

Thailand's democracy, creaking and groaning under the weight of popular frustration, gnawed at by the self-interest and greed of its political masters, is again hovering dangerously close to the abyss.

This evening tens of thousands of red shirted protesters throng the streets which surround government house in the capital Bangkok, the official seat of government in this Buddhist Kingdom.

Milling happily. Laughing and shouting. The protesters are euphoric, determined, pumped up with the thrill of their collective power. Whipped up by a parade of fiery speakers, they have the confidence of an unstoppable wave of humanity that will literally sweep the government of Abhisit Vejajiva from power.

Ahead of them lies a path of uncertainty that could well be stained with the blood of Thai pitted against Thai. Perhaps it will involve ordinary Thais battling each other in the streets. Or will it end crushed under the heel of a military boot? In a hail of gunfire? Only one outcome seems all but inevitable: the current government will fall, triggering new elections and more instability.

That Thailand's political process, once held up as a paragon of democratic success in the region, should be reduced to such a pitiful charade is a tragic and, of course, unnecessary reality. It is in large part the product of a narrow elite power struggle that may determine the course of this nation for years, perhaps decades, to come.

Thailand's intense political drama has now come full circle. The yellow shirts, aligned with Thailand's traditional elite, who once occupied these same streets, whose leaders railed against the incumbent leader with the same fury, have been replaced by their red shirted opponents. Only the costumes have changed. The fury, the indignation, the absolute conviction of the reds is a mirror image of their yellow counterparts.

Another emotion shared equally by both sides is that of hatred. It is hard to find a precedent in this 'land of smiles' for the vicious invective that has poured from the microphones of the leaders of the protest movements on both sides of the divide.

It all began innocently enough. Thaksin Shinawatra, the telecoms billionaire who won a landslide in 2001, promised a new kind of politics. He was a symbol of hope in post-crisis Thailand that seemed to embody the can-do savvy and dynamism of the business class who had become the heroes of the economic boom that propelled Thailand into the ranks of the developed world.

While Thaksin's CEO style originally resonated comfortably with the traditional elite, his populist political tactics soon began to rankle. Unlike any politician before him, Thaksin played the demographic card, turning his attention to the political constituency of the countryside who naturally constituted the majority. He had come up with a simple formula for democratic success: offer attractive policies to the rural majority and then deliver.

Thaksin quickly transformed his political capital into raw power. He initiated a war on drugs that saw more than 2,000 alleged suspects gunned down without any due process. He began to muzzle a hitherto relatively free press and began loading the independent institutions designed to balance his power with his own supporters.

Despite these excesses and some fairly convincing evidence of corruption, it was Thaksin's popularity at the ballot box that ultimately triggered his ouster and the current crisis. Thaksin had become a threat to the established order.

Thaksin, like no-one before him, opened the Pandora's box of a democratic Thailand where the majority might actually freely choose their leaders; as opposed to selling their votes in the venal political dance that had hitherto become the embarassing reality of Thailand's electoral process.

Today, Thaksin, who was ousted in by a military coup in September 2006 and is currently living in exile, has become an emblem for the divisions which are tearing this nation. To his red shirted supporters, typically rural folk, Thaksin has become a hero and a martyr; who was sacrificed to protect the interests of a minority elite. To his enemies, the yellows, Thaksin is challenging the very fabric of Thailand's social and political order, threatening to upend a system that has always been unquestioningly controlled from the top down.

The reality, sadly, is that on both sides of Thailand's political boxing ring are leaders whose objectives go no further than victory for their respective clique's interests. On neither side is there a leader who offers to go beyond the deep divisions that are the fruit of Thailand's long-standing social, political and economic inequality.

Without a leader able to rise above partisan interests, to envision and communicate a realistic platform for reform that balances the forces of inequality, Thailand will continue to be buffeted by instability, living under the shadow of a significant break down of civil order.

In the time it has taken to write this short piece, the numbers of red shirted protesters has already swelled by many thousands. Forecasts suggest that more than 100,000 could march tomorrow. It promises to be a long, hot summer in Bangkok.

Obama Symbol of Hope

2009-01-21T11:27:00.000-08:00

If fear was the currency of Bush's presidency, then hope will be that of Obama's.

On a clear, cold day in Washington, looking at times stern and Presidential, at others smiling, relaxed and fatherly, Obama ushered in a new spirit of inspiration, energy and change in America.

His inauguration, a blend of glitz, glamour and nervous ritual, was watched by a jubilant and relieved planet; keen to herald in Obama and perhaps even keener to bid farewell to the destructive rhetoric and policies of the Bush era, which will likely go down in history as one of the darkest chapters of American history.

Where once the word terror peppered the ragged oratory of Bush, Obama, silver-tongued, his voice booming across the Capitol, spoke eloquently of America's fist being at last unclenched, of a new America committed to rebuilding itself in accord with the morally charged vision of its founding fathers.

Embarrassed and deflated by its failures on the battlefield in Iraq and Afghanistan, dishonoured by its arrogant abandonment of once-cherished judicial values and shamed by the excesses and dishonesty which have so completely infected its financial system, America today is a shadow of the superpower that once proudly cast itself as the policeman of the planet; the only superpower willing to use its might in the name of right.

Obama, his breath forming tiny white clouds in the chill air of Washington, declared boldly to the millions listening that he would restore America's pride and honour. He promised to realign his nation's policies with the norms of justice that were once the pillars of its system and to move away from the politics of vengeance that characterised the government of George W. Bush.

To many, especially the descendants of America's slaves, the scene must have seemed surreal. Many sobbed tears of joy as they watched Obama. A black man taking his oath as the 44th President in a city where, as Obama noted, just 60 years ago his father would not even have been served in a restaurant. What more powerful an image of change could there have been than a black man taking over the Presidency from a white Texan and scion of America's political elite?This was truly, as Obama's election slogan so aptly put it, 'change we can believe in'.

As we watched the military helicopter carry Bush into a sombre corner of our memory, one could not help but feel the freshness, optimism, intelligence and humanity that Obama brings to America's highest office. His family looking on adoringly, glowed with pride. Their love and intimacy, captured live on our screens, looks authentic, unforced, genuine.

Finally, one cannot help but believe, or hope at least, that a man whose roots combine oppression, globalism and struggle, a man who has overcome the bitterness of his past and the obstacles that discrimination undoubtedly placed in his way will be better able to understand the needs, fears and aspirations of the many millions of lives his future decisions may affect.

Radio Waves Deepen Thailand's Divide

2009-01-07T07:53:00.000-08:00

On the surface, life is normal in Bangkok.

This morning I sat in a traffic jam in a taxi as I have done on so many mornings in this city.

Motorcycles zipped past inches from my window. Neat lines of cars, trundling to work, shimmered in the morning heat haze.

Just as my mind was beginning to grapple with the boredom of my predicament, I became aware of a voice, calm and even in its tone, crackling over the radio. "Aphisit Vejajiva is not a person," said the voice. "The supporters of the democrats are animals."

I can't remember all of the exact words that drifted from the taxi's cheap radio speakers, but I do remember that they were loaded with hatred and menace.

"What radio station is this," I asked my imperturbable driver who seemed as impervious to the invective pouring from his speakers as he was to the mayhem on the streets around him. "Oh this is the taxi radio station," he explained, deadpan. "It's the red shirts' station."

My Thai is good enough now that I feel the weight of words. Phrases emerging from a taxi's radio snag easily in my mind.

I remember thinking how the menace in the words I was hearing reminded me of a scene in Hotel Rwanda, a film set during that country's horrific genocide.

Early on in the film, when the majority Hutus are goading their supporters into killing members of the Tutsi tribe, a voice is heard over a car radio: "“Why do we hate the Tutsis? They are cockroaches…," it says.

Those words were apparently repeated word for word from an actual broadcast on national radio in Rwanda at that time. The ensuing bloodbath and genocide of the Tutsi is one of the great tragedies of modern history.

I was struck by how similar, in essence, the Rwandan broadcast was to what I was hearing on the taxi's radio in Bangkok. The comparison is chilling indeed.

I'm not suggesting that Thailand is about to descend into bloody anarchy on the scale of Rwanda, but the use of radio and television is one of the most powerful means of reaching directly into people's hearts and minds.

Dehumanisation is also one of the best ways of preparing fighters for battle. The subtext behind the broadcast I heard this morning could easily be: The man you are about to hurt or kill is not like you. He is not human. He's just a 'cockroach' or an 'animal'.

Dehumanisation is a tool of war and a justification for cruelty. It was used by the Nazis, who viewed their Jewish victims as sub human. It was even used by a famous Thai monk, called Phra Kittivuttho, who argued in 1976 that it was right for Buddhists to kill leftists because they were enemies of the nation, religion and the monarchy.

"Such killings are not the killing of persons," he claimed. "Because whoever destroys the nation, religion and monarchy are not a whole person, but, evil. Our intention must be not to kill people but to kill the Devil. It is the duty of all Thai... It is like when we kill a fish to make curry to place in the alms bowl for a monk. There is certainly demerit in killing the fish, but when we place it in the alms bowl of a monk we gain much greater merit."

The apparent banality of a radio show blaring in a taxi cab in a traffic jam contrasts starkly with the violence of the ideas and thoughts being propagated over the airwaves.

We are again witnessing the same cycle of incitement and rabble rousing that characterised the People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD), which became famous for its use of satellite TV and radio broadcasts.

The relentlessness of the broadcast I heard as I sat in the traffic was hypnotic, chant-like. It was as if you listened to it long enough, like one of those catchy tunes that gets aired incessantly, it would lodge in your brain. It was like a sermon teaching its listeners how to hate.

If one ignores the substance of the arguments on both sides of Thailand's political divide, there should be real concern that the country is continuing along a path of divisiveness in which the opposing groups are using propaganda techniques designed to prepare their supporters for eventual combat.

I can only hope that the Thais will invoke their miraculous ability to pull back from the brink of disaster and thereby avoid the violence which seems to be one of the logical conclusions to the current situation.

The Roots of Thailand's Turmoil

2009-01-02T03:33:00.000-08:00

Even with Abhisit Vejajiva at the helm of government, few believe that Thailand's youngest ever Prime Minister, Eton educated and Oxford graduated as he may be, can calm the political turbulence that continues to batter Thailand's democracy.

With his boyish looks and impeccable pedigree, Abhisit was clearly born to lead. Yet while his polish, breeding and academic credentials may make him a seemingly ideal Premier - a man cut from finer cloth than most of his roguish political contemporaries - Abhisit is far from being the unifying figure Thailand needs to navigate through the current crisis.

An almost flawless embodiment of Thailand's privileged, paternalistic and often foreign educated 'high society'; Abhisit's formative experiences are a universe removed from the majority of people he will rule. Though he may have the allure of a Thai-style Obama, Abhisit, youthful and eloquent as he is, remains an icon of elite power.

His accession to the premiership, the result of political horsetrading in the aftermath of the collapse of the previous government, shines a spotlight on the mounting tensions between the concentrated power of privilege in Thailand and the increasingly urgent pressure for popular participation from below.

Such tensions, which are now challenging the stage-managed appearances of democracy, are arguably the most significant underlying factors behind Thailand's ongoing crisis.

In its coverage of recent street demonstrations, the Western media has focused on the most visible and immediate manifestations of Thailand's malaise.

A litany of articles have portrayed the yellow-clad supporters of the People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD) as the centurions of a self-serving, conservative and undemocratic elite; a simplistic explanation of a movement that has a surprisingly diverse support base and which is also driven by a sincere desire to see a clean-up of corruption in government.

The PAD says Thailand's problems are developmental, even cultural. Thailand is not suited to a one-man-one-vote system its leaders argue. The PAD spews nationalistic and royalist rhetoric while characterising the rural majority it seeks to disenfranchise as uneducated, hopelessly venal and by conclusion unfit to vote.

The Economist magazine scandalously pointed an accusing finger at Thailand's revered monarchy: blaming it for deliberately holding back Thailand's democratic development. Again though one cannot deny the relevance of the monarchy to any discussion of Thailand's political future, this argument was misleadingly narrow.

Viewed from a broader perspective, today's political storm is better explained as a fundamental conflict between tradition and modernity, between the reality of privilege and the rhetoric of democratic equality.

Tradition has provided a vital historical and cultural continuum, allowing this relatively young nation state to define its roots by pointing to ancient rituals and cultural traits that can be claimed to be shared by all. The State has promoted tradition by propagating the concept of Thai-ness (kwam pen Thai), a largely artificial cultural construct, as a unifying reference for all of its citizens.

Historically and traditionally, the monarchy has always been the focus of political power in Thailand; a reality that remains partly true to this day. Traditionally, however, the monarch's power was not defined by physical borders but by the fluctuating reach of his aura.

Though Thailand was never colonised, its recent leaders, both monarchs and politicians, have sought to redefine the Thai Kingdom within the framework of a Western style, modern nation-state; complete with the associated apparatus of government and the legitimising clothes of democracy.

Since 1932, when absolute monarchy was abolished in Thailand, the political establishment has tried to balance the need for historical and traditional continuity with their desire to transform Thailand into a modern democratic nation. During this period, punctuated by coups and counter coups, successive governments have see-sawed between liberal and authoritarian forms of democracy.

Unlike their Western counterparts, however, many of whom took centuries to establish stable democratic systems, Thailand has attempted to build a Western-style democratic culture in a matter of decades.

In many ways, there have been astounding successes. The Thai State has succeeded in creating a very palpable sense of nationhood among its citizens, asking its population to rally around the triumvirate of nation, religion and monarchy. Meanwhile it has implanted the machinery of government throughout the land and inculcated the population with a strong notional sense of individual rights and democratic duty.

One of the Thailand's enduring charms is its apparent ability to combine tradition, its religious reverence for its 'god king', colourful Buddhism and Hindu-style rituals, with the trappings of a modern nation complete with skyscrapers and skytrains.

The "Land of Smiles", as it has become known is place where Western tourists can sample the flavour of traditional Asia while never being far from all the familiar comforts of modernity.

Despite Thailand's successes, the country's recent turmoil suggests that the inherent contradiction between the reality of elite privilege and a State sponsored ideology of democratic equality are finally beginning play out on the streets.

The stakes are high on both sides of the divide. On the one hand, the established elites must find a justifiable argument or the physical means for perpetuating their control of government. On the other, Thailand's majority must now decide if it is to stand by and accept a social contract which will cede considerable power to the political elite or if they are willing to stand and fight (with all that entails) for a more open and equitable democratic system.

Thai Constitutional Court Forces a Timely Interlude

2008-12-03T16:58:00.000-08:00

In the latest act of this bizarre political drama, Thailand's constitutional court ruled Tuesday to disband three of the country's governing political parties for electoral fraud.

The verdict forced the dissolution of Prime Minister Somchai Wongsawat's Palang Prachachon Party (PPP) or People's Power Party. Somchai, brother in law of ousted Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra, and 59 other MPs have been banned from politics for five years.

The decision was heralded as a 'victory' by the People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD). On hearing the news, many of yellow-clad demonstrators occupying Suvarnabhumi International Airport broke down in tears.

In a surreal example of the disconnect between the PAD's single-minded commitment to its goals and the massive economic damage inflicted by its airport shutdowns, one of its leaders climbed onto stage and asked demonstrators to "please make sure you don't damage the airport facilities." And this while the nation's economy lay in smoking ruins all around.

As images of the PAD dismantling their barricades flashed across the nation's television screens millions of Thais breathed a sigh of relief.

If many are relieved to have a break from the relentless haranguing of the PAD, few doubt that this is little more than an interlude.

The timing of the courts' decision, just three days before the King's birthday, left almost no space for pro-government supporters to vent their frustration at a verdict many see as highly politicised.

Members of the disbanded parties have been busy forming new parties with new names. If they can muster enough seats, which is not yet clear, the current ruling coalition has every intention of forming a new government and naming a new Prime Minister from its ranks. A parliamentary session to vote on the appointment of a new Prime Minister could take place as early as next week.

If a new Prime Minister is appointed from the ranks of the existing ruling coalition, complete with its renamed parties, few doubt that the the PAD will object and that its yellow-clad army will once again be marching in the streets of Bangkok.

In this scenario the country will remain unstable. The dynamics of the crisis, and the polarisation it has engendered, will remain unaltered.

Pro government supporters now often referred to as the 'red shirts' have, till now, stayed clear of direct confrontation with the 'yellow shirts' of the PAD (barring one violent incident in September). But with public anger at the economic damage wrought by the PAD's airport occupations running high, the potential for violent clashes between these two groups is very real.

At a time when Thais are bereft of a unifying leader able to navigate through this crisis, a great deal of attention will be paid to the King's birthday speech tomorrow in which he traditionally delivers advice to the nation's leaders. His stature and the respect he inspires appears to be the only force capable of, temporarily at least, putting the lid on the explosive tensions threatening this nation's future.

Tragic Comedy

2008-12-01T17:13:00.000-08:00

It's hard to know if one should laugh or cry. Thailand's crisis has taken on the air of a black comedy.

Two days ago police officers sat down with the leaders of the People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD) a minority movement that has for months occupied Government House and for the past 7 days the nation's two main airports.

The purpose of their meeting?

To discuss improved security for the demonstrators who have been the target of repeated grenade attacks resulting in scores of injuries, some serious.

Press pause. Improved security for the demonstrators?

Yes Thailand's police force is now sitting down with the leaders of a movement that illegally controls some of the nation's most essential infrastructure.

Instead of arresting the PAD's leaders and clearing the airports of protesters, Thailand's police force is discussing ways to improve security for PAD protesters.

Yesterday PAD supporters were allowed to leave the protest site at Government house and move to the airports occupied by their fellow demonstrators. The police and security forces did nothing to stem this migration which will greatly swell the numbers holding the airports, rendering the task of dislodging them even more problematic.

Meanwhile, electricity continues to flow to the airports. Air conditioners continue to cool the main terminal building at Suvarnabhumi International Airport; lest the protesters holed up there suffer any discomfort. Suvarnabhumi has become a roomy dormitory for PAD protesters who show absolutely no sign of moving out.

By contrast, approximately 250,000 international travelers must endure the chaos of U Tapao the military airport, designed for some 400 passengers per day, that is now the scene of tumult as tens of thousands of frustrated and anxious travelers, innocent victims of this black comedy, cram into its facilities. Others must travel up to 10 hours by bus to reach Phuket airport in the south, another alternative exit point.

How can one make sense of a protest movement that in its attempts to overthrow an elected government and install a new political process, is prepared to scuttle the very ship in which its supporters, and all Thais, must sail in the months and years to come?

For the actions of the PAD, however honorable their motives may be, are scuttling Thailand's once healthy economy. Investors are fleeing. Exports are literally rotting. Tourists are canceling holidays as fast as they can. The lifeblood of this economy is draining away.

Adding to the absurdity, and adding more dark news to the crisis, the UK's daily Telegraph this week announced that Thailand's was the 7th most dangerous place on earth. Little matter that it is surely more dangerous to walk the streets of London late on a Friday night. The damage has been done. It will take Thailand many, many months, if not years, to recover from the economic wounds inflicted by the current impasse.

The government, for its part, must share the blame for this disaster. It has had numerous opportunities to put a stop to the protests. Yet the PAD, strangely, has been allowed to expand its activities virtually unchallenged. The government, underscoring its own weakness, continues to hide, fearful and cowed, in the northern capital of Chiang Mai; unwilling to confront head-on a crisis which it bears the responsibility of resolving.

Such behaviour is stretching the very definition of government. At present, Thailand does not appear to be governed in any 'normal' sense of the word. Clearly, powerful forces are at work but among these the elected government does not, apparently, wield sufficient influence to deploy such basic tools of state as the police and army.

Which brings us to the role of the judiciary. Here again, Thailand's crisis is illustrating that traditional frames of reference no longer fit. The judiciary, theoretically a neutral force, has become a political football.

In 2001, the constitutional court controversially ruled in favour of Thaksin, then accused of illegal hiding assets. Few doubted his culpability but at that time Thaksin was heralded as the Nation's saviour and the ruled paved the way for him to become Prime Minister. Many believed the courts had yielded to the political current of that time.

Today, the currents are flowing in a different direction. Having already convicted Thaksin and his wife on separate counts, the judiciary will today announce its verdict in electoral fraud cases against three political parties who are members of the current ruling (misnomer?) coalition - including the main coalition party the Palang Prachachon Party (PPP).

Most observers believe the decision will be against the defendants and that these three parties will be dissolved, effectively making it impossible for the PPP and its Prime Minister, Somchai Wongsawat, to remain in power.

Observers suggest that the judiciary through its apparent determination to marginalise, by indictment, Thaksin and the tools through which he continues to influence political life here (namely the PPP party) are implementing a kind of 'judicial coup' using what remains of the courts' legitimacy to open the way for a new government; one that would likely be more to the liking of the PAD and its supporters.

In some ways, even if the balance of power is shifted through a 'judicial coup', this will be just another act in this tragic comedy. For the dynamics that are the ingredients of this dark and increasingly absurd drama will remain as present and as powerful as ever. Only vision and leadership, compromise and conciliation, can now dampen the passion that is burning of both sides of Thailand's political divide.

But wait...There is perhaps one other force that might make a difference. What if the 400,000 passengers now stranded in Thailand were to simply turn up at Suvarnabhumi airport? It is hard to imagine that such a tidal wave of stressed, tired and frustrated passengers could not dislodge the demonstrators. It could be the first instance of 'Passenger Power' altering the political course of nation. It would be a turn no less bizarre than any other in this incomprehensible drama.

Thailand's Incomprehensible Tangle

2008-11-29T18:46:00.000-08:00

It is almost impossible to understand the folly into which Thailand, Buddhist kingdom of tolerance and smiles, has descended.

The country's two main airports have been closed for the past 5 days affecting over 100,000 international travellers and inflicting incalculable damage on this nation's once effervescent economy.

The People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD) flaunts the law and taunts the government with impunity. It's control of vital infrastructure smacks more of insurrection than mere 'protest'.

The Nation newspaper reported today that PAD guards had arrested a plainclothes policewomen who narrowly escaped being lynched by angry demonstrators at Don Muang airport. It is a strange reversal of roles when the security apparatus of a protest movement starts arresting police officers.

Earlier in the day police retreated when confronted by PAD security guards at checkpoints on the road to Suvarnabhumi international airport.

Both these events underline the impunity with which the PAD can now act; publicly undermining the credibility and authority of the police and government while adding to a growing sense that the country has slipped beyond the effective control of the state.

Since its emergence in 2006, the PAD has moved a long way beyond its original mission to remove former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra (ousted in a military coup in September 2006) and his cronies towards something more akin to a conservative revolution.

The PAD's inappropriately named New Politics proposal outlines a system where only 30% of government would be directly elected by the people. This would shift Thailand away from its existing 'one man one vote' system throwing the nation's democratic evolution into reverse.

It is hard to comprehend how the PAD, a movement that currently mobilises perhaps 30-40,000 supporters in Bangkok, has managed to take Thailand's economy and political system hostage.

The protesters occupying Suvarnabhumi airport number 3-4,000 people (at the lowest points), composed mainly of ordinary middle class folk, many of whom are women. Security is provided by a thin crust of highly motivated PAD guards who are referred to as 'Sivichai fighters' ('Nak Rop Sivichai' in Thai).

The PAD has a seemingly inexhaustible supply of funds and appears to benefit from some very highly placed support, creating a sort of force field of judicial immunity. The movement's legitimacy was given a major boost when Queen Sirikit attended the funeral of a PAD protester killed in the riots outside Parliament on October 7th.

Holed up in the northern capital of Chiang Mai, an hour's flight from Bangkok, the government of Somchai Wongsawat, though defiant, appears weak and indecisive. Somchai's reluctance to return to Bangkok, the epicenter of political life, reinforces the image of a regime that is literally losing its grip on the levers of power.

Similarly, the government's inability or unwillingness to take action against PAD activists occupying strategic locations suggests either that it is simply too weak to act or that it believes there is some strategic political advantage to be gained from letting the PAD take control of such key facilities.

A measure of the government's insecurity was that it did not dare launch a police action without declaring a State of Emergency at the airports and gaining the explicit support of the courts. In any normal situation an incumbent government would be well within its rights to expel protesters from a strategic facility such as an international airport.

The role of the nation's armed forces also remains unclear. Despite calls by the PAD leadership, the army has refused to step into the fray. Its commanders are aware that military intervention would provide a temporary halt to hostilities but would not address the fundamental divisions fuelling the current crisis.

The government at one point announced that the navy and air force would be used to help disperse protesters at the two airports but they have so far taken no action.

The military is possibly waiting for a more significant deterioration of the situation that would enable its commanders to argue that the country is completely ungovernable, giving the military an excuse to assume a more permanent expanded role in Thai politics.

Meanwhile Thailand is in a state of suspended animation. The streets, though abuzz with coup rumours, bear testimony to a strange dislocation between the sporadic violence and growing intensity of Thailand's crisis and the banality of everyday life which continues virtually uninterrupted.

But if Thailand's streets remain clogged with traffic and its local markets continue to bustle, the nation's balance of international credibility is rapidly evaporating. The short and long term outlook for Thailand's economy, already buffeted by a global downturn, is grim. Much of Thailand's appeal as an investment location has resided in the relative reliability of its infrastructure, the convenience of its geographical location as a flight hub and its ability to insulate the economy from the shenanigans of its politicians.

The current situation bears little ideological analysis. Thailand's elites are engaged in a cynical battle of interests, the outcome of which will likely determine the nation's political future, most particularly in the period following the passing of Thailand's much revered monarch who has become the traditional arbiter in times of deep crisis.

Hell bent on advancing their own agenda's Thailand's political leaders seem so blinded by their ambition that they cannot, or prefer not, to see the huge damage they are inflicting on the country. The principal losers, sadly, will be the Thais themselves, whose genius for finding smiles amidst conflict has, till now, seen them through so many dark times.

Future Looks Bleak for Thailand

2008-11-25T17:23:00.000-08:00

The situation in Thailand continues to deteriorate with no sign of a solution to this nation's increasingly bitter political impasse.

Anti government protesters of the People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD) have now succeeded in shutting down Suvarnabhumi international airport, cutting the nation's principal transportation link to the rest of the world.

PAD protesters are preventing Ministers and Senators from attending meetings in Parliament and the government's temporary offices at Don Muang Airport to the north of the city are surrounded by yellow-clad supporters of the PAD.

Meanwhile thousands of PAD sympathisers continue to occupy the grounds of Government House. Sporadic clashes between rival political groups are taking place throughout the capital, Bangkok.

Faced by this situation the police, cowed by criticism of their violent response to protests outside parliament on October 7th, which resulted in several deaths and hundreds of injuries, have chosen to stand by and allow the PAD to pursue a strategy aimed at creating a situation where Thailand is ungovernable.

Under the magnifying glass of the media, which delivers images crammed with PAD protesters clad in yellow, it looks as though we are witnessing a popular revolution against an impotent and unpopular regime.

Yet the demographics of Thailand's political conflict actually favour the incumbents.

Few doubt that if the government were to be dissolved and new elections held, the People's Power Party (PPP), or any other anointed representative of ousted Premier Thaksin Shinawatra, would likely be returned to power.

On the surface, the PAD is a movement driven by a profound disillusionment with the state of Thai politics which, as society and the economy have modernised, have remained ossified in a state of 'Third World' corruption.

The PAD's support base is an unlikely alliance of hard-line conservatives, liberal intellectuals and members of the urban middle class. Its leaders' incessant tirades against the corruption of the political elite and its goal of delivering what it calls 'New Politics' (of which more below) resonates profoundly among these groups, who are hungry for an upgrade of the political system.

Among those who support the government there is, paradoxically, a deep felt resentment that the PAD is actually seeking to roll back Thailand's political development. That the PAD represents the forces of old rather than new politics.

Many of those who voted for Thaksin, of whom most live in rural areas particularly in the North and North East, see Thaksin and his PPP as their best chance for flexing their democratic muscle.

Exploiting the rural bias of Thailand's political demographics, Thaksin and the PPP have played the populist card, offering a policy platform tailored to the interests of the rural majority who have faithfully returned their champions to power.

Like the PAD, Thaksin built his support on a platform that promised political renewal. The slogan of his now-banned Thai Rak Thai, the vehicle which he rode to an electoral landslide in 2001, was Kit Mai Tham Mai which means New Thinking, New Methods.

Beneath the surface of these powerful political currents, however, is the reality that Thailand's traditional political establishment faces the challenge of a traumatic succession when the much-loved and revered King Bhumipol Adulydej, 81 and in poor health, passes from the scene.

The King has served as an ultimate incarnation of legitimate authority in Thailand and has, through his judicious intervention in times of crisis, been able to contain most destructive forces within Thai politics.

Aware of the impending vacuum and of the huge stakes at a national level, conflicting poles of power have already begun competing and it is their struggle that is today being played out on the streets of Bangkok by equally disillusioned segments of the population.

The PAD, which relies heavily on royal symbolism (yellow is the colour of the King) is seen as the political expression of the traditional conservative elite. The PAD's New Politics proposal outlines a political system which would do away with the current one man one vote democracy replacing it with a model that would see only 30% of government representative elected through popular suffrage. The remaining 70% would be appointees.

The pro-government movement, whose supporters wear red, is seen as an expression of the populist democratic energy unleashed by Thaksin.

Thaksin Shinawatra's 'success' in political terms was to have opened the pandora's box which is the dislocation between the interests of the rural majority, who were largely passed by during Thailand's boom years, and those of the growing urban middle class who benefitted massively from the nation's 'miracle' economic growth. It is ironic, and represents a cynical triumph of political marketing, that one of the nation's wealthiest tycoons should become a hero for the poor.

As Thailand's political opponents square off, as the nation's economy and government slide into paralysis, there is no obvious solution to the current impasse.

For while each interest group possesses powerful leadership there appears to be no unifying figure, beyond that of the King, that can offer the Thai people a vision of what could lie beyond this crisis.

The reality is that for a nation to be able to move into the future it must first of all have a clear vision of what that future might consist of. Until a leader emerges from the fog of Thailand's political turmoil, Thailand's future looks bleak indeed.

What a Difference US$ 685 Billion Could Have Made

2008-11-17T06:06:00.000-08:00

This morning I read in the IHT:

"In 2008 the Pentagon's spending on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan reached US$ 685 billion."

Normally a piece of information like that would snag in my mind for a few seconds before the next fact shunted it into the oblivion.

But let's stop for a moment and imagine what that US$ 685 billion represents. Let's pause to think about what these wars, which have cost America so dearly, are about.

Let's imagine, too, what might have been if such a fortune had not been poured into war.

US$ 685 billion spent more creatively might have saved countless lives, educated millions, fed millions, contributed to research into curing the diseases that afflict millions, been invested into solving one of the most pressing challenges the planet faces: that of developing sustainable energy technologies that are not dependent on the finite pollutants disrupting our fragile ecosystem.

How did such a huge sum of money come to be spent on wars that we all know are un-winnable, especially when the very definition of victory in these conflicts eludes us? Victory in Iraq and Afghanistan, our military tells us, now means not being defeated.

The story of our recent warlike folly, and America's decline, began on a clear September morning in 2001, when a group of Al Quaeda fanatics flew passenger jets into the World Trade Center in New York. Some 4,000 died as a result of that tragic gesture of hatred.

Like an enraged giant, goaded by a vengeful and insecure political elite, America lashed out. The attacks of 9-11 triggered a global War on Terror which has seen the Western world pour billions upon billions (many more billions globally than the US$ 685 billion America has spent in Iraq and Afghanistan) on fighting Terror.

Today the War on Terror is an integral part of our lives. Our leaders tell us that we must keep up the fight against Terror. Almost daily our troops lay down their lives doing battle against Terror.

But what a strange thing the War on Terror is. For Terror is not a State. It has no insignia. It has no borders. It's more like an emotion than an object you can lock your sights on and shoot down. Yet we have poured billions of dollars into the bombs, bullets and lives which are the price, we are told, of defeating Terror.

When coalition bombs resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of civilians in Iraq we did not call that Terror. We politely called that 'collateral damage'. For how can one fight against Terror if one is the perpetrator of Terror oneself.

The reality, of course, is that the Terror we are being told we are fighting against is our own Terror. It is the West's Terror of the intense and incomprehensible fury of the Islamic world, of an enemy that is so full of hate that its foot soldiers are ready to detonate themselves as living bombs to further their cause.

In February 2003, Colin Powell, a man of honour we believed, stood before the UN Security Council, and an incredulous planet, to tell us that Iraq, contrary to the reports of UN inspectors, did indeed have weapons of mass destruction. Our Presidents and Prime Ministers, grim faced and solemn in their tone, looked us in the eye and told us that Iraq was a threat, that we had to act.

That these declarations, that Powell's earnest expose of Iraq's menace, were pure lies are facts that have already become blurred in our minds. Our governments have pummeled our consciousness with the message that Terror is still out there, that the war must continue, that victory is in sight.

When we sit down with friends over a drink and talk, we all know that none of this makes sense.

How is it that America has spent US$ 685 billion on a war that was justified with a lie - a sum almost as vast as that recently mobilised to bail out America's financial institutions?

How is it that the more we fight against Terror, the more afraid we are that Terror will come and get us; on a plane, in the subway, on holiday in some far off land? The more we fight for our security the less secure we feel.

The real battle is not one which sees us pitted against our fellow men. The war the West must win, I believe, is that which would allow us to vanquish our own fear of our enemies (for enemies there are) allowing us to view our planet, with all its beauty, in a new spirit of creativity and optimism.

After such dark years, it is tempting to see America's new President elect in a messianic light. Just a year and a half ago, the thought of Obama becoming President seemed about as likely as a meteorite striking Earth.

But now that the meteorite has struck, there is a glimmer of hope that America and its 'coalition of the willing' may now invest their energy in more constructive pursuits than the folly of war.

Thaksin: The Man Who Refuses to Go Quietly

2008-11-08T14:33:00.000-08:00

Thaksin Shinawatra is the man who refuses to go quietly.

A coup d'etat in September 2006 removed him from power but left his popularity, at least in large swathes of the countryside, largely undented.

By 2007 Thaksin's banned Thai Rak Thai party had mutated into the People's Power Party (PPP) which won elections trumpeted as Thailand's return to democracy. Despite being banned from politics, Thaksin was understood to be the dominant force behind the PPP and was widely perceived to be ruling the country by proxy when the party's nominal leader, Samak Sundaravej, became Prime Minister.

His opponents then turned to the courts. Widely publicised corruption trials resulted in jail sentences for Thakasin and his wife, Khunying Pojamarn. To escape the ignominy of a prison cell Thaksin and his family fled to London.

A coup, conviction and exile should have been enough to marginalise Thaksin for good. Yet he still refuses to yield, retaining unprecedented levels of popularity and casting a shadow over the entire political landscape.

How is it, then, that this former policeman-turned-tycoon-turned-politician managed to achieve such notoriety and influence? To become the man who will perhaps one day be credited with (or blamed for) re-shaping Thai politics and upending the nation's social equilibrium.

A glance back in time reveals that Thaksin's political star was not always so bright.

In 1996 as a Deputy Prime Minister in the government of Banharn Silpa Archa, he famously, and foolishly, promised to solve Bangkok's notorious traffic problems in six months.

His initial involvement with the Palang Dharma Party (PDP) at this time, into which he was inducted by Chamlong Srimuang (now one of the leaders of the PAD and a sworn enemy), also ended in failure and the dissolution of the PDP.

Just three years later, however, Thaksin had miraculously reinvented himself and was already being cast in the role of the nation's saviour in waiting.

Marking his return to the political limelight in July 1998, beaming proudly before a battery of jostling photographers, Thaksin inaugurated the Thai Rak Thai (Thais love Thais) party, the political vehicle he rode to a landslide victory in January 2001.

He did so in the shadow of an unprecedented economic slump. A year earlier, in July 1997, Thailand's central bank had devalued the Thai baht sparking a crisis that snowballed into an Asia-wide economic crash that temporarily de-clawed the region's so-called 'tigers'.

In the aftermath of the crash, which marked the end of a decade of double digit growth, Thaksin rose like a phoenix from the ashes. His telecom business AIS (Advanced Info Services), which had boomed on the back of government concessions and an insatiable local appetite for mobile phones, emerged largely unscathed.

With his fortune still in tact and his reputation burnished, it was not hard for Thaksin to garner, and where necessary purchase, the backing he needed to give new momentum to his political ambitions.

Meanwhile Thailand found itself in a rare period of reflection and self-analysis.

After a decade of breakneck economic growth in the 1990s, the pace of life had visibly slowed. New emphasis was given to self-sufficiency, to Buddhist moderation and to improving the quality of Thailand's democracy.

In September of 1997, after intensive public consultation and a hotly contested referendum (pitting traditional conservatives against reformers), a new constitution was promulgated. It promised improved checks and balances to counter the corruption which had become synonymous with Thai politics. The new constitution stipulated that the Prime Minister must be an elected MP and replaced an appointed senate with elected representatives.

The 1997 constitution was just one symptom of the change which had taken place in Thailand's political culture.

Reflecting society's growing obsession with wealth and materialism, the nation's political icons were now no longer drawn solely from the traditional military and bureaucratic elites.

Thailand's new heroes were the businessmen and women (mostly sino-thai) who had amassed huge and ostentatious wealth during the boom years. In the eyes of many Thais these business 'heroes' had helped Thailand become 'charoen' or modern. Compared with the glitter of businessmen like Thaksin, the traditional military and bureaucratic elite, once proud defenders of the nation against communism, appeared increasingly dull and out of touch.

In this political and economic context, Thaksin naturally embodied the material aspirations of millions of Thais. The implicit message was that he would work the same magic which had proved so succesful in business in the world of politics.

Thaksin's brilliance, if it can be called as much, was his ability to spot a gap in the political market and capitalise on the opportunity he saw. He understood, perhaps more clearly than any other politician, that the Thai public was hungry for a new kind of politics.

Thaksin used his marketing savvy to promote his Thai Rak Thai party under the slogan of 'Kit Mai Tham Mai' (new thinking, new ways of doing things'); a slogan which bears an uncanny resemblance to the 'karn muang mai' (New Politics) chant of his opponents in the People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD).

The combination of modern communications and marketing techniques took Thaksin's policy platform further and deeper into the hearts and minds of the electorate than any politician before him. His message, dripping with nationalism and populism, appealed both to the urban middle class and, most importantly, to voters in rural areas, particularly in the North and Northeast of the country.

Though he has been accused of merely amplifying money politics and buying his way into power, the resilience of Thaksin's popularity is evidence that he has gone further than his predecessors in appealing directly to the aspirations of the electorate.

His political campaign and later his government went beyond the usual charade of empty promises by proposing a detailed platform of significant change; including easy credit for debt laden farmers, cheap healthcare, bureaucratic reform and CEO-style governance.

As a leader Thaksin disappointed, demonstrating ultimately that beneath the veneer of slick marketing he was, in fact, little different from the corrupt politicians he had replaced.
Indeed, the scale of his wealth and the power he wielded in office as a result enabled Thaksin to scale new heights of corruption and nepotism.

When this reality became evident, primarily as a result of his evasion of taxes on the sale of AIS to Singapore's Temasek group, his support among the middle class collapsed fueling support for the PAD-led protest movement that culminated his ouster.

Despite widespread disenchantment among the middle class, however, Thaksin has remained popular in rural areas mainly because his marketing efforts and a number of his policy initiatives were directly aimed at the rural majority. Indeed, there is much irony in the fact that a billionaire populist's most fervent advocates should be drawn from among the poorest segments of society.

The inability of Thaksin's opponents to unseat him in the hearts of his supporters partly reflects the PAD's own failings. As it struggles to rid Thailand of what it calls the "Thaksin System", the PAD plays on fears that the monarchy is under threat from Thaksin and his cronies and warns that only a change in the system can limit corruption.

The PAD's answer is new system whereby 70% of representatives would be nominated 'good people' while only 30% of the government would be elected through popular suffrage. Such a proposal naturally has little appeal to the rural majority who would be effectively disenfranchised.

Thus the PAD has been more successful in creating a rural-urban political divide than in unseating Thaksin.

Unless his opponents can tune into the genuine aspirations of the majority, Thaksin, the man who refuses to go quietly, is likely to be with us for many years to come.

The Dream is Sweet Reality

2008-11-05T06:44:00.001-08:00

What a sweet, sweet moment.

Barack Obama is to be President of the United States.

He will be the first African American to achieve such high office - scaling a mountain that many must have believed unconquerable.

What a sweet, sweet victory for the descendants of America's slaves; for those so recently segregated, discriminated against and abused.

It is incredible to think that in 1963 Martin Luther King pronounced his 'I have a dream' speech.
And that today his dream, whatever shade of black you consider Obama to be, is a reality.

Millions of Americans have chosen to transcend race, setting an example for other parts of the world where politics and life are too often defined by ethnic discrimination.

Obama's victory is a victory for America; over its fears and its prejudices. It is, without doubt, a cry for change and a recognition of the miserable failure of his predecessor (and for that matter his opponent).

In electing Barack Obama, the United States can restore some dignity to its battered reputation, tarnished by unnecessary war, unbridled greed and unparalleled arrogance in the international arena.

This was also a victory of optimism in the face of the negative, fear driven, politics of the Bush era.

Americans have dared to hope that with a new leader they can repair some of the destruction of these past years.

Meanwhile, the rest of the planet is breathing a sigh of relief. For Obama, unlike Bush, is a man of the world...literally.

With his roots in spanning from Kenya to Kansas and his formative years spent in Indonesia, Obama cannot help but bring a new world view to the office of President. And for this the planet cheers, knowing, or hoping at least, that under Obama America may, once again, balance its might with justice and reason.

The challenges facing the new President are simply colossal. One man alone, even with the momentum of support Obama has generated, cannot quickly change the course of the most powerful nation on earth. Like a vast Titanic unable to swerve, the US will surely have to live through a severe crisis in the months, and perhaps years, ahead.

Obama must now temper the euphoria and explain to his constituents that the road ahead, even with a man of his quality at the wheel, will be difficult and perilous.

But now is not the time to wax serious, nor to douse the joy with realism. Now is the time to party, to celebrate a great and historic moment - a victory for hope. The hope that Obama will be the man he has portrayed himself as and that his successes will be as dramatic as George W. Bush's failures.

Picture Credits:

Top Photo: A building adorned with a vote Obama sign in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. By Jesper Haynes

Second Photo: Obama Supporters Celebrate in NYC. By Jesper Haynes

Thailand's Democratic Red Herring

2008-10-20T07:13:00.000-07:00

Everybody loves it. Everybody wants it.

The Greeks thought it up and gave us the etymology. The Europeans adopted and exported it. The Americans fell in love with it and might well drop a bomb on you to bring you it.

Democracy has become the 'holy grail' of modern politics.

Throughout the planet, politicians and political parties vie to be 'more democratic than thou'. Even the occasional dictator or well-meaning totalitarian regime will claim the mantle of democracy: Pol Pot's 'Democratic Kampuchea' being a particularly chilling example.

So it is no surprise that in Thailand's hair-trigger stand-off both groups, though diametrically opposed, are fighting on the side of democracy.

In one corner, sporting royal yellow, is the People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD). In the other, sporting red (like the bull?), is the United Front for Democracy Against Dictatorship (UDD).

The beauty of democracy, like religion, is all you have to do is believe in it. You can explain it any way you like. Dress it up in the clothes you fancy. Stand it on its head and make it dance a Russian jig. Just say it's 'for the people'. Or at least that's what the politicians hope.

But there will always be those standing on the sidelines watching your political dance, the irksome analysts, who will claim haughtily that it's not orthodox, not democratic, even, horrors, anti-democratic (which is the modern equivalent of political heresy).

The PAD has been a popular target for the democratic doubters.

And there is easy grist for their mills.

The PAD's 'new politics' proposal outlines a system that would see only a minority of representatives (30%) elected directly by a majority of 'the people' while the other 70% would be chosen or 'nominated' by another group of 'people' drawn from an unspecified 'superior grade' of anonymous voters selected, presumably, from the trusted inner circles of power.

Government of the people, by the people and for the people is what your standard democratic government claims to be about. But which group of people are they really talking about? Is it fair to label a movement like the PAD anti-democratic just because they advocate a system where the majority would have the right to choose only a minority of the government's elected representatives?

The answer, of course, is that democracy comes in about as many shades, shapes and forms as the imagination has room for. So, no, the PAD is not strictly anti-democratic. It is, as its leaders claim, simply proposing a different form of democracy which in principle shouldn't make it any less valid in the global democratic beauty pageant - alongside Pol Pot's Democratic Kampuchea, the UK, the US and the Democratic People's Republic of Korea - than any other.

The argument over 'democratic or not democratic' is irrelevant.

In Thailand there is plenty of debate about the relevance of democracy. It's a western idea claim many members (and leaders) of the PAD (who all the while claim to be democratic) and as such is not appropriate for Thailand which needs its own indigenous political model. The suggestion is that Thailand, like some of its Asian neighbours, will concoct its own form of 'Asian' democracy.

Such arguments are also irrelevant; smokescreens designed to leave us wandering down ideological blind alleys.

Theories that pit Western democracy against Asian democracy are the convenient rallying calls of the xenophobes and nationalists. For democracy is so diffuse an idea as to make it adoptable by just about anyone for any political purpose, as history has shown.

In reality (obviously in fact), what the PAD and the UDD, and all the other political players on this planet, are struggling for, most fundamentally, is power and the right to exercise it on behalf of the 'people' they represent - whether the majority or not.

And here's the rub. There is a global consensus, driven powerfully by Western thinking, that the best form of democracy is one where power is exercised not just on behalf of 'the people' (all leaders claim this) but that the majority of people on whose behalf such power is being exercised should be given the right to choose their leaders.

The PADs new politics proposals are unpopular (most notably in Western circles) because they do not respect this convention, arguing instead that the interests of the majority are not best served by allowing the majority, with all its defects of poor education, poor information and susceptibility to corruption, to choose its leaders. China doesn't subscribe to the majority system and wealth is expanding there at breakneck speed (with some notable negative side-effects). Singapore too, where many Western businesses see fit to make their base, is far from the Western democratic ideal.

Perhaps the strongest argument against the proposals of the PAD, however, are not that they are undemocratic but that they do not define how 'new politics' would guarantee that those empowered to choose Thailand's new leaders would in fact be 'good people' or 'khon dee' - thereby preventing a slide toward the 'illiberal democracy' of the Thaksin era.

The most deeply held political aspiration of Thais today, I believe, is not the removal of the majority vote in favour of an enlightened ruling minority but a removal of the endemic corruption that has afflicted Thai politics for decades.

It is ultimately more important, therefore, that Thailand establish mechanisms for producing good leaders (khon dee) and a framework for effectively policing corruption, rather than arguing over which interest group (the PAD or the UDD) should have the right to exercise power on whose behalf.

For as we all know power has a tendency to corrupt.

Divided Nation

2008-10-17T19:58:00.001-07:00

Harmony is a word one uses easily to describe Thailand. Social cohesion and lack of conflict are among the most striking characteristics of the 'mysterious' kingdom. This is why the passion and anger of recent months has been so surprising, adding another layer of paradox to the puzzle of Thailand.

Just yesterday, while working on a story with Seth Mydans of the International Herald Tribune, we witnessed how the easy smiles and soft tones we are so accustomed to can evaporate when talk turns to politics.

Seeking access to a television so we could watch a government announcement, I asked a by-stander on the pavement opposite Lumpini Park if they could help. This being Thailand we were immediately ushered into somebody's home and proffered drinks and comfortable chairs. Nothing amiss - the generous and warm Thailand all tourists love.

Seth, seeing an opportunity for some comment and noting the exclamations from our hosts as they watched the political news on TV, ventured a few questions. A PAD rally had just passed in front of their house: "so what do you think of the PAD then," he asked our hosts. "I want to kill them," came the instantaneous reply. "They are sowing hatred and think they can do whatever they want," continued the 40-something woman wearing a tight leopard skin top. "I want to kill them all," she repeated. Within minutes, the tranquil Thai household had erupted into passionate argument. "Why are you saying such things in my house," responded one of the men. "Because it's the truth," responded the woman, who refused to give us her name saying they would come and kill her if she did.

When we finally took our apologetic leave, the peace of the household had been shattered and the woman who had spoken so forcefully was on the verge of tears.

In an international context such a scene might not seem so extraordinary. It would be commonplace in Italy or France, where passion oils the wheels of daily communication.
In Thailand, however, such expressions of passion are uncommon. A voice raised in anger is rare and usually cause for serious concern as it can be the preliminary to a violent outburst of cathartic rage.

The point here is that the current political deadlock in Thailand is unleashing passions that I have never seen (in the past 17 years). It is unveiling divisions that I have never heard so intensely expressed. Two years after Thaksin was ousted by the military, Thailand is riven as never before and passions are rising like an angry volcano before an eruption.

In this land of the Buddhist middle path, where compromise normally rules, few now seem ready to take the step backwards from their demands that is a pre-requisite for negotiation.
The Land of Smiles is locked in an alarming logic of conflict which can perhaps only be broken, if temporarily, by royal intervention.

The Disparate Threads of the PAD

2008-10-15T23:26:00.000-07:00

In many ways it's hard to like the People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD). Its leaders spew vitriolic nationalist and often xenophobic rhetoric. Its followers wear uniform-like outfits that echo European fascism and the Village Scout movement involved in the brutal repression of student demonstrations at Thamassat University in 1976. Its defenders are armed thugs ready to club any and all opposition into bloody submission.

Viewed from the outside, as a monolith, the PAD looks like a frightening fusion of the kinds of bitterness and passions that inevitably lead to violence. After all, as PAD leader Sondhi Limthongkul has often declared, this is their 'final war'.

Yet the PAD is no monolith. It is a motley alliance of very unlikely bed fellows: Sondhi Limthongkul, the media tycooon with a grudge against Thaksin, Somsak Kosaisuk the state enterprise union leader, Chamlong Srimuang, the former Bangkok mayor, politician and activist who styles himself as a kind of latter-day Thai Ghandi. Left wing Peua Chiwit (For Life) rock stars, respected academics, police and military generals, students...all have climbed onto the PAD stage at Government House and raged against the government, often using violent and abusive language of the kind rarely heard here.

What holds them together? Why is that Thai friends I would normally portray as being on the left of the political spectrum, are fervent supporters of a movement that would more easily be defined, at least in traditional Western terms, as being on the far right?

Part of the answer, I believe, lies in their profound disappointment with Thaksin and, by extension, the political system as a whole. For many, Thaksin was given a mandate to usher in an era of reform. 'Kit Mai Thai Mai" (New Thinking and New Ways of Doing Things) was his slogan and many Thais believed it.

When Thaksin proved to be as corrupt, if not more so, than the 'dinosaur' politicians he had supposedly replaced, his erstwhile supporters felt betrayed and angry. The PAD, led most publicly by a man (Sondhi Limthongkul) whose hatred of Thaksin was well known, provided an immediate and obvious forum for the expression of these frustrations. Thais of all political persuasions could agree easily on one thing: Thaksin had let them down and somehow they needed to find a way of reducing corruption among the ruling class.

Thus the PAD gained its initial momentum by tapping into a vein of sentiment that is almost universal among Thais: politicians are corrupt, the police is corrupt, the country needs change.
But like a ball of string rolling forwards, gathering different coloured threads as it goes, the PAD has moved a very long way from its initial objective of removing Thaksin from power and picked up a number of different coloured political 'threads' along the way.

It has moved from being an apparent spontaneous political expression of frustration to a movement that looks more and more as though it is being orchestrated by powerful, yet invisible, forces who wish to facilitate wide sweeping political change. One woman told me the other day, the frustration audible in her voice, that "the PAD are untouchable. They can do whatever they want." And indeed, since their seizure and continued occupation of Government House, the PAD has appeared to be all but immune to the law.

Many PAD supporters remain with the movement out of a sense of loyalty and a feeling of belonging. The paraphernalia associated with the PAD, such as the hand clappers, the yellow scarves and bandanas, are enablers of this sense of belonging. They re-inforce the collective identity.

Many of these 'legacy' PAD supporters are not concerned with the details of the political agenda being proposed by the movement's leaders. Fundamentally, they are motivated by a desire to bring change to Thailand's political system and by a deep seated frustration at the dislocation between the nation's ostensibly modern economy and its politicians who are often caricatures of 'Third World' corruption. Many are Sino-Thai Bangkokians from the ranks of the middle class and, interestingly, many (sometimes it looks like a majority) are women. When the PAD leaders characterise the police or other figures of authority as 'animals' the crowd roar with what, to me, looks like a cathartic laughter as if such words were the expression of their own anger at the establishment.

There is another thread of PAD supporters who, in a society where conformity and respect for authority are the norm, position themselves as 'activists'. This thread is composed of those who are always going to be in opposition to established power. These are the Peua Chiwit singers, the unionists and the students who are intuitively comfortable rallying around an opposition battle cry. Strangely, this activist group overlooks the fact that the PAD's leadership is proposing a system, dubbed 'New Politics', that would see the traditional establishment reinforced through a democratic process whereby only 30% of the government would be directly elected and the remaining 70% would be appointed representatives from various sectors of society.

Indeed, it is one of the strangest paradoxes of the PAD movement that for all its anti-establishment, 'Che Guevara' type, bravado it actually seems to be proposing a reinforcement of the traditional establishment. I say this partly because I have not yet heard measures proposed by the PAD aimed at fighting corruption. Rather the PAD appears to be focused on changing the electoral system which would usher in a new set of leaders without proposing concrete steps to tackle the deeply engrained relationship between political power and corruption - whoever's hand the power may be in.

In a country where corruption has become the norm among politicians, the PAD has attracted a multi-faceted support base in Bangkok and other urban centers simply by being an advocate of change - without looking too closely to see if such change would actually be for the better.

For those in the countryside, where support for the PAD is almost non-existent, the perspective is entirely different. Rural voters are also aware that the political class is corrupt. More pragmatic than the city folk, however, the rural constituency often seems to characterise such corruption as 'normal'; behaviour that they have come to expect of the Phu Yai (Big People) in power.

With corruption being a given what remains are the results. What did Thaksin do for me? asks the rural voter. Though in reality Thaksin did little to change the lives of Thailand's rural majority, he did make a lot of promises to them and formulated policies aimed at improving their lives as virtually no politician before him had ever done.

Colour Coded Politics

2008-10-15T04:42:00.000-07:00

In Thailand, yellow is OK. It is the colour most associated with the country's much loved King. To wear yellow is to express one's allegiance and love of the monarchy. In this Buddhist Kingdom yellow is about as safe as you can get.

Or at least it used to be.

Nowadays wearing yellow also means you might be a supporter of the People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD), the anti-government movement that has occupied Government House and is baying for the 'head' of its third Prime Minister; Somchai Wongsawat (brother in law of deposed former PM, Thaksin Shinawatra). This means that if you were to meet somebody wearing red, the color of the pro-government (pro-Thaksin) United Front for Democracy Against Dictatorship (UDD), you could be considered an enemy and vice versa.

And when I say 'enemy', I choose the word carefully. To the 'yellows' of the PAD, the 'reds' of the UDD are not just 'the opposition'; another political group exercising their democratic right to a difference of opinion. No. The UDD, the reds, are the enemy. They are enemies of the monarchy. And to make their point perfectly clear, the 'yellows' beat a 'red' to death in a street battle in central Bangkok on the 2nd of September.

In the politically polarised Thailand of today it has become a case of politics by colors and woe betide you if, by inadvertance, you should don the wrong color in the morning. "Put me on a pick-up and drive me down to Bangkok right now and I'll kill all those PAD people," exclaimed, casually, a farmer in a village close to Khon Kaen earlier this week. He was a 'red'.

It used to be that Thais would watch the soap opera of local politics from the sidelines; chuckling at the sometimes absurd antics of their corrupt political elite, occasionally groaning in dispair as they watched another opportunity fall prey to the greed of their voracious 'dinosaur' politicians. Like in most countries, politics between elections was largely a spectator sport.

Not any more.

Like the dye from cheap cloth that stains the rest of your wardrobe in the wash, the new colour codes of Thai politics have begun to seep into everyday life. The presence of Queen Sirikit at the funeral of the PAD riot victim Angkana Radappanyawoot recently introduced light blue, the Queen's official colour, into the gamut of colours sported by the PAD. And this alongside the black shirts already being worn by PAD members to commemorate the violence of October 7th, now known as Black October.

This leaves a section of the population, those that would rather not choose sides, wondering what to wear in the morning. White and gray are probably the safest bets, although pink (also a royal colour), green and dark blue should be just fine too. Meanwhile those supporters of the PAD who are Chinese in origin must now foreswear red, a colour the Chinese traditionally associate with prosperity and happiness.

Apart from limiting one's choice of shirts in the morning, colour coded politics has a decidedly sinister aspect. The reduction of the opposition to a simple colour conveniently obscures the nuances of political hue and tone that each of the movements actually harbour. Seeing your opponent as 'red' or 'yellow' is dehumanising. It is much easier to fight a 'red' or a 'yellow' than a fellow Thai.

Political Landscapes Change...

2008-10-13T20:25:00.000-07:00

Khun Prasart Pangsopa (depicted above) fits the role model. He is a quiet man with an easy, friendly smile. His skin is tanned a leathery brown from endless days under a tropical sun. He wears a colourful Isan-style krama scarf wrapped around his waist. Khun Prasart looks like the archetypal Northeastern Thai farmer whose life and center of interest is far removed from the drama of Thai politics.

He is, to many here, the 'silent farmer' whose vote is purchased and whose education barely goes beyond reading and writing. He is a political pawn to be purchased and manipulated in Thailand's democratic game.

There are many millions more like Prasart. Indeed, the overwhelming majority of Thailand's population are rural folk just like him, the kind we like to buy postcards of; living in wooden houses amidst lush green paddy fields and chewing on sticky rice.

The idyll of Thailand's passive rural folk is easy to believe. These are the villagers who sell their votes and rally behind the most generous local patron.

Thailand's political landscape has been dominated by two key features: the capital Bangkok, where an educated elite sets the country's course, and the countryside where farmers, like Khun Prasart, trade their votes for a few baht and hand victory to the politicians with the deepest pockets and the most extensive patronage network.

But political landscapes change. The most significant event to have changed the political landscape in Thailand was the advent of Thaksin Shinawatra, the billionaire telecoms tycoon who embodied the aspirations of Bangkok's business class and symbolised the economic pride of Thailand as it emerged from a decade of booming growth (which came to an abrupt end in the crash of 1997). He became the hero of a nation in which success had come to be measured by the size of one's bank account.

When Thaksin ascended to power on a wave of popular support in 2001, he inherited a country where decades of development meant that almost every house in every village had television and electricity. Using well-built roads and modern media, the State could now reach into every household. Campaigns were launched reminding people of their responsibility to vote, of the evils of vote buying. Most importantly, the politicians in Bangkok were now able, more efficiently than ever, to reach deep into the countryside to deliver their message.

Thaksin was a new-style politician who no longer sought to rely solely on local patrons to secure the majority vote in the countryside. Learning the lessons of his business success and applying modern communications techniques to his political campaigns, he set about marketing himself not just to the Bangkok elites but to the country as a whole. For the first time ever, a national politician spoke directly and pointedly to the needs of the rural constituency, while maintaining his image as a champion of the middle class. He promised a CEO approach to politics, restructuring the bureaucracy and at the same time mingled happily with the farmers promising them easy credit and a raft of policies aimed at alleviating poverty.

The result was a landslide victory and a euphoric rise to power.

What followed is well known history. The same instincts which drove Thaksin to accumulate huge wealth pushed him to accumulate ever greater political powers. He placed his cronies in the independent institutions which, under a constitution promulgated in 1997, were designed to maintain checks and balances on his power. Having won the hearts and minds of both the countryside and the city, he became a kind of democratic dictator whose rule, many thought (feared even) would likely remain unchallenged for years.

In accumulating such extensive powers and by garnering the adoration of the rural majority (ensuring his success in future elections), Thaksin also began to challenge the position of Thailand's traditional establishment. His perceived arrogance, and that of his closest collaborators even came, ultimately, to be seen as a marginal threat to Thailand's much revered monarchy.

When Thaksin blithely sold his business to Temasek of Singapore and used legal loopholes to avoid paying some half a billion dollars in taxes, he committed an error of arrogance that turned his urban constituency against him and gave the traditional establishment the opportunity to have him removed.

The coup of september 2006 was the culmination of a popular urban-based movement against Thaksin led by the People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD). Though the PAD's leaders were an unlikely ensemble of disgruntled right wing former business associates of Thaksin's (like Sondhi Limthongkul) and left wing labour union activists (like Somsak Kosaisuk), the movement had wide appeal, particularly among the middle class, because Thaksin's avoidance of tax and his increasing arrogance were seen as a betrayal of the trust which had been placed in him. His middle class supporters in Bangkok were furious - their passionate opposition to their one-time hero resembled, to me, the fury of a jilted lover, whose anger is in inverse proportion to his adoration.

The coup was an unimaginative return to old habits. It was like using an old tool to fix a new and different problem. The military succeeded, for a year, in putting Thailand's political tensions in the deep freeze while the traditional establishment worked on drawing up a new constitution (which was offered up in a referendum without any other alternatives, leaving people with little choice but to approve it) and on discrediting Thaksin in the hope that when new elections were held his allure (for the rural majority) would have evaporated and the Thai political landscape could return to its original form, with political power being dictated strictly from the center (read Bangkok).

Despite banning Thaksin's Thai Rak Thai party and 111 of its members from politics, the coup makers proved unable to inspire the support of the countryside nor to dismantle the aura that Thaksin had created for himself among Thailand's farmers.

Sure enough, using a nominee in the form of Samak Sundaravej, Thaksin's political establishment was returned to power in an election held in January 2008. Once again the rural vote spoke out in favor of Thaksin, flexing their democratic muscle in the face of obvious establishment disapproval. Predictably the PAD resumed its street protests, claiming (with justification) that Thaksin was ruling the country by proxy.

One might be forgiven for thinking that the situation had come full circle. Only this time the war cry of the PAD is not just for a removal of Thaksin-dominated politics but for the creation of whole new political system, one where 70% of the government would be appointed representatives of various sectors of society with the remaining 30% elected by direct suffrage. To many observers this seems strangely undemocratic for a movement that claims to advocate democracy.

The essence of the PAD's campaign is that the country's political future cannot not be left entirely to a democratic system where the majority rural constituency would always carry the day. Rural folk, many in the PAD claim, are poorly educated and simply sell their votes. It is not possible, the argument goes, to leave the country's future in their hands. The farmers will continued to be 'tricked' and 'bought' by corrupt politicians.

Meanwhile the PAD is vague about who the leaders of its 'new political system' will be and on what measures will be put in place to prevent the temptations of power resulting in further corruption.

More recently, their campaign has moved from advocating new politics to warning ominously that Thailand's monarchy is under threat from the present government's leaders and their supporters; a call to battle that resonates profoundly and dangerously in Thailand.

In years gone by it might have been easier to believe the PAD's argument that the rural vote is for sale to the highest bidder. But political landscapes change.

Thaksin Shinawatra opened the pandora's box of the rural Thai vote. Through populist policies, such as offering a million baht to every village and 30 baht healthcare, he spoke directly to the masses in the countryside, who after years of government education about their democratic rights and responsibilities, responded enthusiastically. Freshly enfranchised, and fully aware of their political power, Thailand's farmers are naturally reluctant to return to the passive idyll that made them such a malleable constituency in the past.

Thus while farmer Pengsopa may look like a typical Thai peasant, the two dimensional caricature of him is less valid than ever. "Sure people offer us money for our votes, but it's not like before," said Pengsopa in an interview I helped translate while photographing Pengsopa for the International Herald Tribune. "They used to offer us money for our votes. But last time round nobody even tried to buy our votes and even if they did I'd make my own decision. Nowadays we don't just look to the local headman, we look at the leader of the party at the national level and if we like their policies we vote for them. If they do well, we'll choose them again. If they don't we'll choose someone else."

Other farmers from the same village echoed Pengsopa's views. "It's insulting that the people in the towns look down on as ignorant," asserted one.

Gone are the days when Thailand's farmers could be counted on to simply sell their votes. Nowadays, like voters everywhere, they're looking at policy platforms and saying 'what's in it for me'.

Thailand's political landscape has been profoundly reshaped. Attempts to hammer it back into its old form through the PAD's proposed system of 'new politics' is likely to be wishful thinking.

In future Thai politicians will have to build their power base by reaching out directly to Thailand's rural majority by speaking the to the hearts and minds of men like Prasart Pengsopa.

If Friendship Be the Food of Life...Play On

2008-10-07T20:48:00.000-07:00

Friendship surely is the food of life.

And if it is, then a recent week we spent in Sweden was a rich feast indeed.

A group of dear friends materialised in the streets of Stockholm like time travellers beamed from the blue sky.

Jesper and Nok from New York, Jim from the World, Gerhard from Everywhere, Patrik and Nasim from Stockholm, Scott and Nym from Singapore and Bangkok and Paddy and Denise from Bangkok and many others from corners of the planet too numerous to name.

And there we were. Living, breathing evidence of the global village. A close-knit network of friends who had agreed to meet in Stockholm as others might have agreed to meet at the pub around the corner.

We had gathered to celebrate the opening of a wonderful new hotel called the Lydmar which occupies a grand but unpretentious building overlooking the water in central Stockholm. We were celebrating the opening of an exhibition of photographs at the Lydmar, entitled 'Offering', by James Nachtwey. And, of course, we were celebrating our friendship, our love of life and the great fortune that we all share in being able to live it so fully.

Stockholm provided a glorious backdrop. Bathed in crisp autumnal sunshine, the city ignited our imaginations, setting our conversations alight.

Stockholm is not one of those cities that comes pre-fabricated in the imagination; like Florence or Paris. And whatever vague pre-conceived visions I had, perhaps of a dark and cold place (like London?), Stockholm surpassed them. The God of autumn turned out to greet us and Stockhholm was as seductive as ever she could be. Her trees were on fire. Her buildings glowed. The cityscape, punctuated with medieval spires, seemed positively to shimmer with beauty.

The thing about modern travel is that it really does feel like entering another dimension. We arrived in Stockholm from Bangkok in thick fog, barely able to see the tip of the wing. Then, like blinking rabbits emerging from the magician's hat, we found ourselves hugging dear friends, meandering through historic streets and sharing Persian delicacies with an opera director and a dancer.

Which reminds me. I must say something about Patrik and Nasim, the incredible couple who invited us into their home for our first two nights in Stockholm.

Patrik (one of Jesper's oldest friends), is the perfect gentlemen: kind, reassuring and a paragon of modesty. He is a cool Swedish lake, whose calm surface belies the depth and wonders which lie beneath. A classical dancer by training, Patrik now teaches directors how to direct opera; when he is not directing one himself. And in his spare time, which cannot be many hours of the day, he builds websites working happily with indecipherable code.

Nasim, the fiery counterpoint to calm Patrik, is perfect in her petite beauty and effervescent hospitality. Persian, from Iran, Nasim is all movement, sound and life. Her large almond eyes drink in the world around her, dancing from face to face with impish delight.

To complement these great characters are their children, Tiam (9 months) and Keana (3 years), whose beauty mirrors that of their parents and whose glittering personalities, full of the innocent joy of childhood, held their inevitable audience spellbound.

Playing back the memories of Stockholm, I have the impression of an incredibly diverse mosaic of moments and emotions. It seems barely possible that so much life could have been squeezed into so few days.

It seems incredible, too, that so much Champagne (thanks to Pelle) could have been drunk in so few days too!

One experience flowed seamlessly into another. From standing listening to Jim opening his exhibition and blessing the Buddha which had been carried from Bangkok to preside over it, to jiggling in fits of laughter while belly dancing with Nasim, to the lazy strolls and the endless, endless food.

For me the trip to Stockholm was also something of a pilgrimage to the roots of a great friendship. Jesper has long talked of his family in Sweden, of summers in Stockholm and of his sister, Lisa, and brother-in-law Jonas's sauna boat.

We spent two unforgettable afternoons at Lisa and Jonas's 18th century farmhouse. Just 15 minutes drive from Stockholm, we found ourselves surrounded by forest, looking out over a lake. Another time warp: out of the cosmopolitan city and into a more traditional Swedish setting - with handpainted wall paper, burnished wooden floors and and an exquisitely harmonious and tasteful interior that conjured up a flavour of the past while retaining a hint of the contemporary.

What I will perhaps most remember, though, is the Sauna boat - if only for the bracing cold of the water that brands itself on the memory.

What a perfect concept. Row out to a floating pine cabin. Light the stove and row back to a warm kitchen. Sip wine, chat and laugh for 40 minutes then row back out again.

By this time the light was already failing and the temperature dropping. The lake was turning from shades of blue to black. The horizon was tinged with the purple of dusk, reaching slowly upwards like ink spreading from a blot.

On the last afternoon, seven of us clambered onto the sauna boat, stripped down in the dusk light and dashed into the steam of the sauna room. Then, one by one, screaming, laughing we plunged headlong, feet first, however we could into the icy waters, applauded by those brave enough to stand in the cold and watch and photographed for posterity, as everything must be.

It is in those moments of sheer thoughtless abandon, when your body penetrates the icy water and your lungs push out an involuntary scream, that you feel most definitely, most fundamentally, alive. We emerged dripping and giggling from the icy ordeal all understanding what it means to be truly refreshed. A wonderful, wonderful experience.

Finally, in writing this, and casting it into the blogosphere like a virtual message in a bottle, what I feel most I should say is thank you.

Thank you to Pelle Lydmar, the Ldymar's owner who gave us all the unique privilege of enjoying his incredible hospitality in the incredible context of his brand new hotel. Thank you to Thomas Nordanstad for germinating the idea of an exhibition which provided the catalyst for bringing us to Stockholm. Thank you to Jim for inspiring us through his intense, beautiful and moving imagery. Thank you to Jesper for inviting us into his Stockholm universe.

This, for me, is the food of life.