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.

Thailand's Perilous Road to Reform

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what next?

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

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

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

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

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

Between Rage and Reason

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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