Where Did All The Good Times Go?

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

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'

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

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

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

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

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

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.