Disentangling Ourselves from the Infinity of The Web

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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.