Former prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra is in exile
Bangkok's airport has been overrun. Thailand's cabinet is playing hide-and-seek with protestors. Gunfire has been exchanged in the capital. The army is restless and bombs are being thrown. It sounds like mighty forces fighting for supremacy. But Thailand's real problem is actually a power vacuum. The army, opposition parties, royalists and cronies of billionaire former prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra are all competing for influence. Stuck like an elephant in a mud trap, the country is in crisis precisely because no single party seems able to take a grip of events.
On 2nd December a constitutional court stepped into the gap, dissolving three leading parties—the charge is cheating in elections, which all the parties do routinely—and banning over a third of the cabinet from politics. This "judicial coup" seems dramatic. But even this hasn't drawn out the poison from an increasingly ugly social and regional divide.
What is going on? Thai politics has always been exotic. Although the country was never colonised, a coup attempt every three-and-a-half years on average since the end of its absolute monarchy in 1932 isn't a record of stability. Nonetheless, the current ruckus feels different—and more dangerous.
At its heart is the debate still raging over the policies and personality of Thailand's telecoms tycoon-turned-prime minister, Thaksin Shinawatra, a dollar billionaire two times over before the authorities seized a great part of his wealth after the bloodless 2006 coup. Now, even in exile, Thaksin has sufficient gold and guile to cause enough mischief to give his supporters reason to think he can return to power.
But "Square Face"—as Thaksin is known—is loathed by much of the Thai elite and middle class. In a country whose politics are founded on reverence for the monarch, he is also not popular in palace circles. (Thai Queen Sirikit made a powerful gesture by attending a protestor's funeral in November.) This combination means that politically Thaksin may now finally be finished, even if, like an Asian El Cid, his corpse still rides a muscular stallion.
It is the Peoples Alliance for Democracy (PAD), a Bangkok mob led by egotists with a self-appointed mission to save the country, who seem most determined to remove Thaksin's influence. The PAD are well organised, but not popular enough to bring down the current government. Seen this way, their decision to take over Suvarnabhumi airport smacked of desperation after months of protests which were noticeably starting to bore Bangkok.
The cabinet, meanwhile, was made up of mostly C-list politicians, acting as proxies for Thaksin and his banned colleagues. An unimpressive bunch, they have spent most of November hiding from protestors, and ignoring real issues like the global economic crisis. The judicial ban removed some of them from power, but the rest will reform to represent Thaksin under a new party label.
There have been widespread rumours of another military coup. Seeking to avoid this, the powerful head of the army advised Thaksin's cronies to stand aside, presumably so fresh elections can take place. The generals aren't keen to take over again, having learned from the crisis in 2006 the problems of running a slowing economy in a political quagmire.
Complicating the picture further, the opposition Democrat party have an electoral lock on much of Bangkok and Thailand's southern panhandle—where Thaksin's disastrous handling of the bitter Muslim insurgency and his murderous nationwide anti-drug war are keenly felt. But the party's wooden politicians seem unable to make headway in the clannish, populous and electorally pivotal north and northeast. This means that Thaksin—or whoever his next proxy will be—is still probably unbeatable in a popular vote. Despite exile, disgrace and numerous corruption verdicts, a Thaksin-backed party has trounced its opponents in every election so far this century.
Thaksin might be loathed. But his critics simply can't match the mix of grandiose talk about "a better, bigger future for the suffering villager" and populist policies like village grants, loans to small businesses and cheap healthcare that cemented his appeal among poorer Thais.
The occupation of the airport (and the supine official response) showed that many among the Bangkok elite would rather risk sacrificing the economy and millions of jobs than a modicum of their power.
The late Kukrit Pramoj, former prime minister of Thailand, once said: "The Swiss do not talk about democracy or politics at all, but they have democracy. The Thais on the other hand talk about democracy and their own politics non-stop, but they haven't got democracy just the same." Until Thailand's various oppositions find a way to counter Thaksin's appeal, Kukrit's words are unlikely to ring false any time soon.
Bangkok's airport has been overrun. Thailand's cabinet is playing hide-and-seek with protestors. Gunfire has been exchanged in the capital. The army is restless and bombs are being thrown. It sounds like mighty forces fighting for supremacy. But Thailand's real problem is actually a power vacuum. The army, opposition parties, royalists and cronies of billionaire former prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra are all competing for influence. Stuck like an elephant in a mud trap, the country is in crisis precisely because no single party seems able to take a grip of events.
On 2nd December a constitutional court stepped into the gap, dissolving three leading parties—the charge is cheating in elections, which all the parties do routinely—and banning over a third of the cabinet from politics. This "judicial coup" seems dramatic. But even this hasn't drawn out the poison from an increasingly ugly social and regional divide.
What is going on? Thai politics has always been exotic. Although the country was never colonised, a coup attempt every three-and-a-half years on average since the end of its absolute monarchy in 1932 isn't a record of stability. Nonetheless, the current ruckus feels different—and more dangerous.
At its heart is the debate still raging over the policies and personality of Thailand's telecoms tycoon-turned-prime minister, Thaksin Shinawatra, a dollar billionaire two times over before the authorities seized a great part of his wealth after the bloodless 2006 coup. Now, even in exile, Thaksin has sufficient gold and guile to cause enough mischief to give his supporters reason to think he can return to power.
But "Square Face"—as Thaksin is known—is loathed by much of the Thai elite and middle class. In a country whose politics are founded on reverence for the monarch, he is also not popular in palace circles. (Thai Queen Sirikit made a powerful gesture by attending a protestor's funeral in November.) This combination means that politically Thaksin may now finally be finished, even if, like an Asian El Cid, his corpse still rides a muscular stallion.
It is the Peoples Alliance for Democracy (PAD), a Bangkok mob led by egotists with a self-appointed mission to save the country, who seem most determined to remove Thaksin's influence. The PAD are well organised, but not popular enough to bring down the current government. Seen this way, their decision to take over Suvarnabhumi airport smacked of desperation after months of protests which were noticeably starting to bore Bangkok.
The cabinet, meanwhile, was made up of mostly C-list politicians, acting as proxies for Thaksin and his banned colleagues. An unimpressive bunch, they have spent most of November hiding from protestors, and ignoring real issues like the global economic crisis. The judicial ban removed some of them from power, but the rest will reform to represent Thaksin under a new party label.
There have been widespread rumours of another military coup. Seeking to avoid this, the powerful head of the army advised Thaksin's cronies to stand aside, presumably so fresh elections can take place. The generals aren't keen to take over again, having learned from the crisis in 2006 the problems of running a slowing economy in a political quagmire.
Complicating the picture further, the opposition Democrat party have an electoral lock on much of Bangkok and Thailand's southern panhandle—where Thaksin's disastrous handling of the bitter Muslim insurgency and his murderous nationwide anti-drug war are keenly felt. But the party's wooden politicians seem unable to make headway in the clannish, populous and electorally pivotal north and northeast. This means that Thaksin—or whoever his next proxy will be—is still probably unbeatable in a popular vote. Despite exile, disgrace and numerous corruption verdicts, a Thaksin-backed party has trounced its opponents in every election so far this century.
Thaksin might be loathed. But his critics simply can't match the mix of grandiose talk about "a better, bigger future for the suffering villager" and populist policies like village grants, loans to small businesses and cheap healthcare that cemented his appeal among poorer Thais.
The occupation of the airport (and the supine official response) showed that many among the Bangkok elite would rather risk sacrificing the economy and millions of jobs than a modicum of their power.
The late Kukrit Pramoj, former prime minister of Thailand, once said: "The Swiss do not talk about democracy or politics at all, but they have democracy. The Thais on the other hand talk about democracy and their own politics non-stop, but they haven't got democracy just the same." Until Thailand's various oppositions find a way to counter Thaksin's appeal, Kukrit's words are unlikely to ring false any time soon.
