Tuesday, May 25, 2010
This essay was first published in the Bangkok Post on May 24, 2010 as "The pain and sorrow of two cities in crisis"
September 11, 2001 might well have been the worst day ever in the history of New York, but it was pretty much just another day in Bangkok.
I was riding in a taxi from Soi Aree to Sukhumvit when I first got news that my hometown had been struck by some kind of shocking attack. The Thai driver, who had his radio on, was upset. Then he told me, in a kind and commiserating way, that a plane had hit New York's World Trade Center. I understood every word he said, but somehow it didn't add up. I tried to convince myself that I had misheard, so shocking was the news.
A short time later I was with a group of mostly American friends, watching TV in horror as the second tower came down. We found what scant comfort could be had at a time of a great human tragedy by obsessively searching for information on TV and online, commiserating quietly.
The next day I had to teach even though my mind was numb, still in mourning for my hometown, the news full of apocalyptic images. I took the skytrain from Soi Aree to Siam and walked to the faculty of communication arts at Chulalongkorn University. Before class, I heard some students chatting to one another in the hallway.
"Did you hear about the World Trade?"
"No. What happened?"
"A plane crashed into it."
"Taay leao! Right there in Ratchaprasong?"
"No, silly, World Trade Center in New York."
"Oh, you had me worried for a minute."
I said nothing, but the ignorance and apathy of the second speaker left me feeling sick. I went to the dark, air-conditioned faculty meeting room, where a group of students was gathered, watching TV. Finally I thought, someone who will understand. But they were watching a badminton match broadcast from Malaysia and were reluctant to change channels. Again, I felt a silent pain I couldn't express.
On my way back to my office, I saw a fellow ajarn in the hallway, choked up, with tears in his eyes. He said how sorry he was to hear the news from New York. He didn't say much, he didn't have to; he understood.
I felt reconnected with the human condition.
In the days that followed, I carried a sense of inner pain that wasn't easily translated. I was offended by what was and wasn't on Thai TV, at once not enough news, but too much sensationalism. But what really riled me was seeing a televised report of a hair styling contest in which one of the Thai contestants had her hair done up in a double beehive, representing two towers, complete with a toy plane crashing into one of them.
I stopped watching TV. But the newspapers by then were all reporting the callous words of then prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra, who, when asked about the terror attacks on America, replied thus.
"Mai pen rai," said the prime minister, "rao pen klang." (We are neutral).
He said Thailand was neutral so it was no matter of concern.
Neutral between what two sides? Killing and being killed? Terrorists and victims of terror? What was there to be neutral about?
And even if Thailand didn't happen to be a close ally of the United States, wouldn't a word or two of sympathy be in order, just on humanitarian grounds?
Now Bangkok has been struck with a huge tragedy and in an odd parallel to 9/11, Bangkok's "World Trade Center", now renamed CentralWorld, has been hit so bad by arsonists it looks like the Pentagon after a jet crashed into it.
If my own feelings about New York, and my adopted home of Bangkok are any guide, it's not just a hole in a building, but a hole in the heart of the city. And the photo of a tattered Thai flag and wide-eyed modernist statue backed by the gutted building will no doubt become an icon of the shock and pain for many.
What has happened in Bangkok in recent weeks has created an open, gaping wound that will take years to repair.
For many Thais, foreign news coverage of domestic turmoil rubs salt in an open wound, especially when it is rife with error, lacks balance, makes sensational claims and tries to fit Thailand's tragedy into simplistic narrative frames in between frequent commercials. CNN, which seems to work on the assumption that anti-government forces are always right, even during riots (except in the US), gives undue airtime to overly made-up, puffy-haired announcers with fancy graphics tools who make ignorant comments about Thailand.
No better are the surprisingly insensitive comments about the torching of Bangkok made by famous academics, such as "All of this is justified", or "The farmers of Thailand have stood up!"
Just what farmers would that be in reference to?
Much of the academic comment to date reeks more of intramural red versus yellow intrigue akin to a heated sports match than a heartfelt concern for people on the ground.
As I came to understand after 9/11, even trivial comments hurt people when they are down.
There was a sense then, and now, of disbelief. If only it were a dream, or if one could turn back the hands of time, but you wake up each day and the hard truth is still there.
But time does heal, and facing the truth squarely does help. New Yorkers were distraught, at times riven with rage and riled up by callous comments made by cavalier commentators who chose to see 9/11 as just desserts or as someone else's problem.
US President Barack Obama has been prudently silent, despite the efforts of Thaksin's lawyer/PR flack who is angling to extract a trumped up "human rights" condemnation of Thailand at a time when the country that offered to come to Lincoln's help with a supply of elephants during the US Civil War requires the understanding of an old friend.
After 9/11, New Yorkers got back to their lives and eventually the tragedy was put into perspective and taken in stride.
Best of all, New Yorkers emerged from the political crisis as open and big-hearted, tolerant and as cosmopolitan as ever.
New Yorkers discovered that terror ceases to intimidate and divide when hatred and fear are let go of and people instead come to grips with the problem in a way that allows them to fortify their spirit while getting on with their lives.
At a time in the life of my country when I required quiet commiseration and understanding, many individuals in Thailand, including a taxi driver, my students and my colleagues at Chula, reached out with quiet understanding.
I wish to share the same sentiment with the good citizens of Bangkok and the provinces who have been hurt by recent events and are still reeling with shock, sadness and disbelief.
Philip J Cunningham is a freelance writer and political commentator
Sunday, May 23, 2010
by philip j cunningham
In retrospect, red shirt calls for free speech and unfettered television access were as deceptive as the big red banner behind their stage at Ratchaprasong, which proclaimed in English for all the world to see:
That unforgettable banner, background to a vitriolic karaoke show and some unforgettable hate-laden banter held in the middle of a barricaded intersection, points to an image problem that was never really resolved. Were the reds peaceful and democratic at heart, betrayed by a militant fringe, or was violence and intimidation part of the overall red program from the start?
Not entirely surprising for a movement that enjoyed funding and policy guidance from a media-savvy-Machiavellian-ex-prime minister in exile, the reds used modern communications and advertising technique to create a compelling but ultimately deceptive brand image.
Having a banner proclaim peace in English, while spewing out militant thoughts in Thai is just one example, a kind of niche marketing. Having your touts, front men and impresarios wearing shirts with subtle, if not subliminal, non-verbal messaging is another. Ditto for singing songs with harsh words and haunting, uplifting melodies, such as "nak su thuli din," which was the high point of a memorial service to the slain militant Seh Daeng. The mood was always shifting, almost dizzyingly so, and song selection could jump from bouncy paeans to Thaksin to time-honored ballads commemorating past democracy struggles in rapid succession.
The Mahatma Gandhi shirt worn by rebel leader Jatuporn Promphan raised a few eyebrows, but what about other days, and other leaders? There was radical chic (Che T-shirt) at a defiant moment but also mellow image mending on the day when UDD strategy switched to seeking foreign intervention (jacket with American flag) and so on. Some of the clothing choices were no doubt random, but there also appears to have been a coordinated, if at times contradictory, effort to control word and wardrobe for the select few allowed to face the camera’s eye.
Red shirt speakers at one point stopped to explain to their listeners that peaceful protests played better in the foreign press than violence, so the crowd was urged to remain peaceful, admirably enough. But by now who in the "core" could have failed to notice the militant boasts of Seh Daeng and the taciturn black-shirted guards guarding the perimeter?
If the rank and file protesters were fooled about the allegedly peaceful nature of the movement when violent thoughts were openly expressed on stage, (taunts ranged from suggesting the Prime Minister should be strung up to inviting the army to bring it on and fight to the death) it is because they weren't listening carefully or had started to tune out the high decibel announcements. And if the rank and file failed to observe the black-shirted guards who enjoyed freedom of movement on the perimeter of the red zone, it was in part because they didn't want to see, one eye open, the other eye closed.
A red shirt spokesman tellingly denied knowledge of who the black shirts were but indicated that the reds were appreciative of their support. While he later claimed that the red shirts at Ratchaprasong had no weapons but the bamboo used for defense, he then qualified it with a semi-truth, saying there were “no visible weapons.” The weapons only became visible towards the end, hidden along the periphery in places like Lumpini Park among other places.
Other reports, detailing the forceful confiscation of ID cards and rude behavior of roughneck guards, suggest the peaceful wing of the movement was somewhat less than appreciative, and rather more in awe of, if not afraid of, their mysterious protectors.
While there’s room to debate whether the rank and file reds, said to be mostly middle-aged women, were rural innocents, callously placed on the streets of Bangkok to dignify a basically indecent political campaign aimed at restoring Thaksin to his wealth and power, or willing participants in the same, the result was the same. They were a captive, if not captivated, audience for the stage show of a sham democracy movement crafted to bring a corrupt, lying autocrat back to power.
Cloaking the largely clandestine militant wing of an openly hateful and resentment-fueled movement under incessant bromides and platitudes about democracy, Gandhian non-violence and equality might have served to fool some observers. It also helped to reduce cognitive dissonance on the part of wavering supporters, who at times appeared as drugged out and lacking in individual agency as members of a malevolent cult, but it is surprising to see how many in the foreign media and halls of academe also fell for the same sleight of hand. But then again, there were academics who cheered for the Cultural Revolution, and even the Khmer Rouge, not to mention the legions of Stalinists in an earlier era.
Still, the prevalence of red shirt fever in the academy is disconcerting. What is it about audacious hate and violence hitched to the fortune of a billionaire that certain Doctors of Philosophy find so find attractive?
A detailed media analysis of foreign coverage is a topic for another day, but it is not too soon to make a few preliminary observations.
Most foreign reporters cannot read or speak Thai which meant that the often charming non-verbal aspects of the rally at Ratchaprasong got better coverage than the acidic vitriol that was spoken from the stage in rapid-fire Thai.
Not surprisingly, the TV coverage was generally more superficial and misleading than print coverage. Al Jazeera was much better than CNN however, while the New York Times and the American wire service AP proved wiser and more sober in their coverage than the more sensationalist reports from newspapers based in the UK and Australia.
Suffice to say, a handful of reporters, Thai and foreign, and a number of extraordinary photographers were on the front line covering the story in a truly heroic manner. They showed us the human side of pro-government and anti-government forces alike, unflinching when either side engaged in violence. Their hard-earned record, --a Japanese photographer and an Italian photographer tragically paid with their lives-- not only recorded history in the making but contribute to the exposure of hidden hands and deeper appreciation of the complexity of the conflict.
And then there were the bobbleheads on CNN in studios in Hong Kong and Atlanta who took greater care to get their make-up, hair-gel and informal banter in good order rather than the facts; a triumph of snazzy media graphics, studio lighting and precisely-timed commercial breaks over the raw truth, on touchy topics such as political bloodshed and monarchical intervention.
Even though banned from England and banned from talking to the press in France, it is not hard to hear the tin-eared Thaksin proclaiming his innocence very, very loudly, either in his own shrill voice or through the nasal voice of his newly hired Canadian publicist. That he can keep himself in the news every day is a deft accomplishment. He is at once famous and infamous, outrageous and repentant, and highly contradictory, but it doesn't really matter if everlasting fame is the goal. His aggressive media strategy deliberately muddies the waters, effectively making the media outlets who swallow his rough, off-the-cuff comments and smoothly crafted corporate PR releases hook, line and sinker an extension of his red media machine.
Still, it is troubling the way some print media who ought to know better uncritically absorbed and repeated, often without attribution, the paper storm of professionally crafted PR, op-eds and press releases released by hired flacks, Canadian lawyer/publicist Robert Amsterdam being a case in point.
Melbourne’s Herald Sun ran a piece called “Thaksin calls for both sides to step back from abyss,” on May 17, 2010, making use of ghost-written quotes provided by Amsterdam's office, all the more devious because unattributed.
“Red Shirts had good reason to protest” was published in The Australian on May 20, 2010, when Bangkok was still choked with smoke. The timing was awful, but at least it was attributed to Thaksin’s hired alter-ego Amsterdam.
Arrested red shirt leader Veera Musikapong, who indicated displeasure with the armed wing of the reds and was keen on negotiating until negotiations were reportedly nixed by Thaksin, was correct in saying that anger does not produce democracy. Ditto for propaganda, advertising and crafty press releases disseminated by PR flacks.
As Veera and some of the more sensible red shirt leaders have acknowledged, a time-out is called for, but not at the expense of truth and transparency.
Vigilance is needed to guard against the audaciously mendacious.
It’s one thing to use TV, magazines and the internet to spread propaganda, quite another to incite violence. The red shirts have proven themselves eloquent, and almost touching in terms of crowd rapport at times, and a number of them sing reasonably well, though even the songs were lies in the sense that some good traditional melodies were hijacked and stuffed with pro-Thaksin lyrics.
But for every good entertainer or engaging speaker there was another speaker who spewed vile, ad hominem attacks, or racist jokes or hate speech as a matter of course. And then there were the snipers, arson specialists and bombers lurking murkily in the shadows.
Human rights groups and media freedom groups take note: UDD and other Red Shirt channels and websites do not uphold the responsibility inherent to freedom of the press if they purvey hate speech, use the medium to transmit coded militant commands or in plain speech tell people to go out and burn and kill.
No serious free speech advocate upholds the right to scream “fire” in a movie theatre.
Yet the red core leaders, including Arisman Pongruangrong and Nattawut Saikua, have been caught on tape saying things along the lines of, “If we don’t get our way, it’s burn, baby, burn.”
The red stage and its broadcast arm was a key nerve center for followers outside of the protest zone, some hundreds of miles away. In order not to alert listeners who were not supporters, some important communications were undoubtedly conveyed in code words, much as US fundamentalists do with right-wing talk radio and militant Islamists do on the internet.
But near the end, even the pretense of code was stripped away. When the self-styled DJ Om, who sounded like an overeager Red Guard on a bad day, took to the stage to face the UDD camera during the last hours of the Ratchaprasong protest, she spoke in terms that needed little decoding for followers around the country.
“Brothers and sisters! Get revenge! Do what you have to do!” she screamed in blood-curdling tones. “Go to the provincial government halls! Go now! Get revenge!”
Shortly after that, there was a “spontaneous” decision of red shirt sympathizers (downtrodden farmers?) in Ubol, Udon, Khonkaen, and Mukdahan to torch their own local government offices. A number of beautiful and historic buildings were burned and innocent rural folk intimidated, but fortunately the “sparks” didn’t light a “prairie fire.”
In fact, the key leaders of the so-called “core” including Nattawut and Jatuporn achieved a soft landing of sorts, just as tensions were building to a crescendo in the crowd, by turning themselves in to police as the army moved slowly north. The army may have hoped to lessen confrontation by moving at a snail's pace, but they also had to contend with M79 hand grenades intermittent sniper fire on the part of rebels, before closing in on Ratchaprasong intersection. Most of the brief, bloody skirmishes on May 19, 2010 were near or around Lumpini Park.
The red leaders got off light, spared both the anger of the army and the fury of the abandoned crowd, and not long after that, Bangkok was hit hard with a shockwave of concerted violence. Since talk of “burning the city” was a documented feature of red rhetoric in earlier rallies, the periodic volleys of incendiary rhetoric launched from the stage at Ratchaprasong raises troubling questions about the ethics of the UDD leadership and the sincerity of their followers.
The word terrorist is a problematic, over-used term in contemporary political discourse, and it is almost invariably used to describe what the other side does. It is a such a loaded term it is probably better not used, but oddly enough, the red shirts used "phu kor kan rai," the Thai term for terrorist, incessantly, often in mocking self-reference, which begs the question whether or not there was a kernel of contradictory truth in their loud, adamant denials. Where the peaceful protesters covering up, diverting attention from, or obscuring something less savory below?
Sort of like a banner that puts two irreconcilable ideas in uncomfortable proximity;
Monday, May 17, 2010
RED SHIRT PROTEST LEADER JATUPORN PROMPHAN ON THE STAGE AT RATCHAPRASONG INTERSECTION IN BANGKOK
(published in the Asia-Pacific Journal on May 17, 2010 as "The Long Winding Red Road to Ratchaprasong and Thailand’s Future")
PHILIP J. CUNNINGHAM
The sniper shooting of Seh Daeng, Maj. Gen. Khattiya Sawasdipol, on May 13, 2010 by an unknown assailant while chatting with foreign reporters has brought to rupture the standoff between Reds and Yellows in the heart of Bangkok and signals a new stage in the movement and its repression. Seh Daeng, whose nickname means “red commander”, was the reddest of the red shirts. His daughter, who sat at his bedside in the hospital until he succumbed to his grievous wounds on May 17, 2010, has been a staunch supporter of the yellow shirts, illustrative of the convoluted politics of the era. To better put in context the convoluted color-coded politics of the present day, and to identify some of the key heroes and villains and historic reference points being talked about on both sides of the barricades in Bangkok, a brief review of Thai political activism over the years will follow.
The road to the red-shirt takeover of the Ratchaprasong intersection in the heart of Bangkok’s busiest shopping district is a long and winding one. Political activists are not unlike historians in that they frequently point to events in the past to understand what is happening in the present. Key milestones on Thailand’s winding, bloody road to democracy are introduced to illuminate the democratic and revolutionary claims and historic pretensions of the red and yellow shirted activists today.
The bloodless coup of 1932 marked the end of absolute monarchy and is regarded as the birthdate of Thai democracy. Pridi Panomyong, later forced into exile to China by co-conspirator Pibun Songkhram, remains a hero wronged by history to Thai leftists, while Pibun, who yielded top-down authoritarian power for much of the 1940’s and 1950’s is viewed as a bulwark of establishment power.
Bhumibol Adulyadej, the present king, was coronated while Pibun was prime minister, but given Pibun’s republican leanings and history of participation in the 1932 coup, he was not particularly supportive of the monarchy.
Thanks in part to the US-stoked hysteria of the Cold War, the chameleon-like Pibun, who welcomed the Japanese with open arms in World War II, and then welcomed the US with open arms in 1945, was not perceived as anti-communist enough and was replaced in a 1957 coup by the self-styled “royalist” strongman Sarit Thanarat.
Sarit, ruthless, authoritarian and exceedingly rich, was succeeded by his close associate Thanom Kittakachorn, another staunch anti-communist who likewise enjoyed generous US support.
The 1960’s saw Thailand grow under authoritarian rule, with a concomitant rise in the countryside of the Thai communist party, especially in the Isan region, which ironically was the homeland of Sarit.
One of Thailand’s brightest thinkers, an independent scholar named Jit Phumisak, who was hired by the US embassy in Bangkok to translate the Communist Manifesto, but more importantly was the author of numerous tracts on Thai feudalism and lyricist/composer of songs that are still sung by protesters today, was threatened, jailed and hounded by the Sarit regime until he joined the newly formed Thai communist guerilla movement in the mountains of northeastern Thailand in the province of Sakol Nakorn.
Jit was shot to death in the ricefields of a contested area on the side of a dirt road on May 5, 1966, an event memorialized in the haunting and melancholy song, Jit Phumisak, sung by the folk rock group Caravan. Simply put, Jit Phumisak is the Che Guevera of Thailand.
On October 14, 1973 student demonstrations erupted over corruption and the constitution, leading to the fall of the hated Thanom government which inaugurated a three-year freewheeling hiatus in which US troops were asked to leave and a home-grown democracy was tested and attempted but failed to sink deep roots.
In the case of 1973 the King intervened on the side of the students, but when the military staged a coup three years later in the face of Thammasat University student demonstrations protesting the return of Thanom from exile, the monarch sided with the military.
After the brutal crackdown of October 1976, many students went into exile or joined guerillas in the Communist Party of Thailand in the “jungle.” Typical of this generation, Caravan lead singer Surachai Chantimatorn and his fellow band members who started out as bards of the 1970’s protests, then radicalized and went into exile in China and Laos where they joined the United Front of the Thai Communist Party after the October 6, 1976 military crackdown. Things had gotten so bad in Bangkok that for Caravan, and hundreds of other “Ocotober people,” the hardship of life in the jungle seemed a reasonable choice.
Chamlong Srimuang and Samak Sundaravej, both of whom later served respective terms as mayor of Bangkok, and eventually became bitter archrivals during the Thaksin years, were on the wrong side of history, the military side, in 1976.
General Prem Tinsulanonda, who ruled Thailand with a steady hand for much of the 1980’s after replacing military factions directly responsible for the 1976 coup, bought peace and a measure of prosperity through a successful amnesty deal that brought the activist youth of the 1970’s back into the fold of society. Since then, Prem has come to represent the pinnacle of a supple establishment, serving as an elder statesman and a leading member of the Privy Council serving the monarchy.
Seventies activists dropped the revolution as the CPT withered as a result of the Sino-Soviet split within the fledgling movement and amnesty offers from General Prem. Theirs is a lost generation, characterized by wild extremes. Many willingly gave up the armed struggle, which did not suit Bangkok’s best and brightest student leaders anyway, but they had nowhere to go. Some gave up hope and idled in drugs or drink, others reinvented themselves and became academics, poets and writers. Others still, with input from the 1976 class student leaders such as Sutham Saengpratum, who were imprisoned until amnesty was offered by Prime Minister Kriangsak Chomanon under the urging of Jimmy Carter, became politicians in their own right.
Perhaps to atone for this historic misjudgment, Chamlong studied Buddhism, lived an ascetic lifestyle and became a key activist in the anti- coup and anti General Suchinda Kraprayong demonstrations of 1992, which culminated in the Ratchadamnern street killings of “Black May.”
Again the monarchy intervened, reprimanding both parties. Chamlong and Suchinda crouched for the cameras at the King’s feet, then withdrew from the struggle. A royalist interim PM was appointed, and eventually elections were held, effectively neutralizing Suchinda’s military faction, which, after all, had been entirely responsible for massacre of the demonstrators. Neutralized, perhaps, but not accounted for. The disgraced General Suchinda took a profitable sinecure position in the telecoms industry.
The interim PM, Anand Panyarachun, helped restore normalcy, especially to jittery markets, and willingly stepped down as soon as elections were scheduled. But the democratic period that followed has been full of fits and starts, resulting in a series of short-lived coalition governments, the most accomplished of which was led by Chuan Leekpai of the Democrat Party, where the young Abhisit was being groomed for a future leadership role.
During the Chuan years, and then the Thaksin years, there were scattered protests, most of them peaceful and some involving sustained camp-outs in public places. Many leftists of the October generation (1970’s activists) and the veteran activists of Black May (1992) were supportive of such street activism regardless of who was premier. Caravan, in particular, has a decades-old tradition of supporting demonstrations, especially on behalf of the poor, and they have played tirelessly at student commemorations of democratic milestones and at countless street gatherings, including mass demonstrations of the Assembly of the Poor, held in front of Government House, which created the template for long-term protests at public intersections, complete with food service, stage and security. The predominantly rural demonstrators adapted quickly to life in the open, and created vital tent cities of the kind that yellow shirts and red shirts have since emulated.
To say the red-yellow divide represents a class struggle is fundamentally inaccurate, a willful interpretation that plays into the hands of a divisive populism, though accusations of class bias do indeed resonate in Thailand’s deeply unequal, hierarchical society which keeps alive, through music and memory and a free press, the dream of equality and justice.
Many grassroots members of the red shirts happen to be Northeasterners from Isan, but that is not to say that Isan people are red-shirts. It has long been the poorest part of the country, but some poor people turn out to be extremely conservative politically, dictator Sarit was from Isan and popular in the way that fascists sometimes are, but for the most part the people of Isan have been pragmatic and tend to show support for the status quo just to keep their heads above water.
The Northeast today might better be described as a mosaic, with huge yellowshirt strongholds, such as Ubon city, though right across the river on the rural side of the bridge, one can find a red hotbed. Similar complexities can be found in most of the provinces rimming Cambodia, including Buriram, a pro-government “blue shirt” stronghold who finds its patron in Thaksin-turncoat Newin Chitchob, while the more northerly Isan towns such as Udon and Khonkhaen in the north can be more fairly described as redshirt strongholds.
There is ample evidence of vote-buying and rent-a-mob activity, but there is also compelling evidence of poor people getting sick and tired of the status quo and joining the fray, which in recent years means putting on a color coded shirt and joining a demonstration.
Isan has a rebel tradition which goes back at least to the 1950’s, when its politicians, at the risk of their careers and very life, opposed the Bangkok dictators, a pattern repeated in the 1960’s with Jit Phumisak’s generation of guerilla activists (he was born in what is now Cambodia but most of the guerillas were from Isan) and in the 1970’s with the students who went into the jungle along with the Caravan generation. Not surprisingly, Caravan’s lead singer is from Khorat province in Isan, and the lyrics for Jit Phumisak were penned with the help of Khamsing Srinawk, a writer from Isan who focused on the poor and disenfranchised of the region.
Folk-rockers Caravan, and a band influenced by Caravan known as Carabao, whose lead singer was educated in the Philippines but served briefly as a messenger for the CPT, have produced dozens of songs about social injustice and the plight of the poor, setting the stage for the mix of politics and music today.
Prominent, pro-Isan leftists such as Therdphum Jaidee, and Kraisak Chunhawan, son of the elected prime minister deposed by General Suchinda in the events leading up to Bloody May, are outright anti-Thaksin, if not yellow shirt supporters, and many of the rank and file led by the socially prominent newspaperman Sondhi and the ascetic Chamlong were drawn from both former activists and Bangkok’s poor and middle classes.
Thus October people can be found on both sides of the red/yellow divide, as can poor people from Bangkok and Isan people. This is not surprising, as divisive color-coded politics have divided many a family right down the middle.
As noted earlier Seh Daeng, was the reddest of the red shirts, while his daughter, who kept vigil at his side in the hospital following the attempt on his life, is considered a yellow shirt. Seh Daeng died on May 17, 2010 just as this article was being posted.
Another example of shifting alliances is the founder of the yellow shirts himself. Sondhi Limthongkul was a business associate and political ally of Thaksin before turning against him and organizing the potent yellow shirt demonstrations. Sondhi, who survived a still-unsolved assassination attempt that took place just after red shirt demonstrations of April 2009 were quashed, has come out of political silence to express sympathy for the more grievously injured Seh Daeng, briefly bridging, through shared tragedy, a sharp political divide.
In recent years, some well-known October people and former jungle fighters have become Thaksin supporters and MPs under his tutelage.
Although many of the red shirts like to draw a direct line between 1973 and 1976 and 1992 with the red cause, and there is some continuity of personnel, the same could be said for the yellow cause which was also influenced by earlier waves of social activism.
Furthermore, some very prominent democracy activists will have no truck with either camp. Just to mention two, October 14 heroes Seksan Prasertkul and Thirayut Boonmee, both respected academics, have been conspicuous by their absence from activities both red and yellow.
But more surprising is the absence of the new generation of students. Where are the young people today? The red crowd is distinctly middle aged, if not middle class, and students are few and far between.
The presence of older demonstrators, especially from rural areas, on the streets of Bangkok is hailed in some quarters as a new kind of political consciousness, but there is also opportunism at play.
This year, as last, the red shirt rallies were crucially timed for the March-April-May period which coincides with the dry season. Soaring temperatures alone make this choice seem odd, until one considers the labor pool. This is the one time of the year the countryside becomes truly idle, and rural folk have some time on their hands due to the temporary halt in agricultural activity. This year, as in other years, all sorts of rural people descended on Bangkok in March, for all sorts of reasons. Many were seeking to supplement their meager incomes, which for some means work as day laborers or driving a tuk-tuk or taxi. For a few thousand others, there’s been the novel opportunity of joining a demonstration that says the peasants and poor are the heroes of the nation. For many, this means an all expense paid song and food gala at Ratchaprasong intersection, where the only price of admission is to sit and listen to speeches until the crackdown comes.
Then there are red leaders, and Puea Thai party members who are loyalists to a billionaire in exile. They include core leaders Veera Musikapong, Nattawut Saikua, Jatuporn Promphan, along with others such as Chaturon Chaisaeng and Jaran Ditta-apichai, the latter two “October People,” former communist guerillas with close ties to Thaksin.
“Nak su, thuli din” a rousing anthem attributed to Jan Kamachon can be heard when red shirts die and their deaths are memorialized. When the death of Seh Daeng was announced on May 17, it immediately brought the militant crowd to its feet, and to tears.
“We are treated like dust on the ground,
but fortune will reverse itself...
Don’t give in to them, that’s all that matters...
We will die side by side…
Use blood to wipe away social decay…
Ahead of us, a future that is beautiful...
the fire has been lit, it will spread…”
The tragic visions of fire and blood ring all too true. And sadly, the hierarchical habit of treating other people like dirt and dust underfoot will persist long after the smoke finally clears at Ratchaprasong.
What has been happening in the streets of Bangkok will be an open wound for some time to come, but selected elements of the struggle will no doubt coalesce to become not just the stuff of legend, but different legends, for different camps, for different reasons.
It is almost certain that Bloody May 2010 at Ratchaprasong will remain divisive and controversial in a way that contrasts with the one-sided military massacres memorialized by earlier generations of peaceful activists. For all its claims to the moral high ground as peace-loving democratic movement, the red shirt program is in certain respects more akin to fascist populism, influenced by modern media technique and traditional barrel of the gun tactics of the Thai communist guerillas.
In April and May 2010 a significant number of red shirt demonstrators and sympathizers were armed and belligerent, and if their techniques were traditional and low tech—everything from slingshots to bamboo spears and Molotov cocktails—there also were armed agents in the shadows, standing on red-held ground, using handguns, rifles and hand grenades to create mayhem and new cycles of violence and rage. It should be stressed that the identity and provenance of the “black-shirt” provocateurs remains murky.
In any case, the “Seh Daengs” and the known militant wing of the red shirts have much to answer for, as do the moneymen and policy makers directing events from a distance.
There is so much blame to go around on both sides of the barricades. Army crackdowns in the name of law and order almost invariably take innocent life, deepening the tragedy. General Anupong Paochinda in particular, was outspoken in favor of a political solution and demonstrably reluctant to use force against the protesters.
Thai folklore, future history, future poetry and song, will no doubt be replete with new-arch villains, people’s heroes and unforgettable martyrs, as has been the pattern in the past.
Like the Taiping rebellion in the late years of the Qing Dynasty, the red shirt uprising may best be understood not just as a cause of a nation’s distress but as a symptom of suppressed rage, unrest and unease in a deeply divided society that is groping unsteadily towards the future.
Thailand will continue to examine its past, and attempt to put into historic perspective current troubles, in order to better map out a new kind of future.
Philip Cunningham is a professor of media studies who has taught at Chulalongkorn University and Doshisha University. He is the author of Tiananmen Moon: Inside the Chinese Student Uprising of 1989. A long-time student of Chinese and Thai affairs, his blogspot is here: http://jinpeili.blogspot.com/
He wrote this article for The Asia-Pacific Journal.
The Long Winding Red Road to Ratchaprasong and Thailand’s Future
on May 17, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
TRIUMPH OF THE SHRILL, THE RHETORIC OF THE REDS
by philip j cunningham
Thanks to internet technology and the media savvy of the money people backing Thailand’s combative red shirts, it is possible to take a virtual seat right in front of the rebel stage at Ratchaprasong and listen to speeches, live music and public service announcements morning, noon and night.
The camera focus is steady and tight, making it impossible for the virtual observer to judge the size, mood or makeup of the crowd, let alone sense the heat, chaos, confusion and odors of the gathering, but one gets a good sense of performer personality and talent, with varied gifts of gab and occasional leaps of inspiring rhetoric.
The key speakers are mostly red celebrities whose fame as activists precedes them. Nattawut Saikua and Jatuporn Promphan and Wisa Khanthap are among best word-slingers and deservedly get the prime time slots.
Other orators drone on, often shrill and humorless, as they repeat the rote, but ever shifting, party line espoused by the "Core.” One day it might be a call to end martial law, another day an absurd complaint about Deputy Prime Minister Suthep Thaugsuban going to have a coffee with the police instead of putting himself under arrest.
The linguistically gifted Wisa Khanthap has a reassuring stage presence; relaxed, avuncular and easy on the ear. On recent evenings he has taken to reading news highlights from Thai Rath, Matichon and Daily News to a largely rural crowd, adopting a gentle, explanatory tone akin to a teacher reading aloud to his students.
But then there’s a hothead now and then who by some twisted conviction, or the desire to play to crowd prejudices, utters thoughts so intolerant, illogical and ill-considered that one wishes he or she would just shut-up. For example,
“Aphisit is a “Yuan” his family came from Vietnam, you know that, don’t you?”
“And what about Sondhi, “Lim the Chink” where did he run away to?”
“And the yellow shirt rallies, they pay Cambodians 500 baht a day to demonstrate, they can’t even speak Thai!”
Other red shirts have made homosexual jokes about leading government figures and routinely describe cowardly actions as “gay.”
Several of the singers are talented, and they convey something akin to transcendental love during the rapture of performing a song, but sadly turn strident, shrill and full of hate when they start to pontificate like politicians.
I rather liked the pluck of one singer, though, who urged fellow demonstrators to buy her CD as a souvenir to take home after the “victory,” until she, like the other “nak rong” wiped the smile off her face and started to parrot the party line. Second-tier speakers frequently fumble the slippery talking points cobbled together by the “Core,” who use a backstage container room as their congress hall.
Worst of all are the Thaksin clones, who like their chatty mentor, speak incessantly out of both sides of mouth, making the ill-mannered billionaire fugitive sound like Mahatma Gandhi, while portraying genuinely good-mannered and gentlemanly Abhisit as a demon foaming at the mouth with blood dripping from his fangs.
Nattawut gives good rhetoric, though as with many of the red speakers, sophistry, not logic is the strong card. In fact, his combative style is reminiscent of George W. Bush.
“Send in your army divisions, send in your police, bring in the tanks, grenades, the AK 47s and kill the people, there will blood everywhere,” he goads, “Or use two men and two guns to arrest one man, that’s it.”
“If you crackdown at three AM, by nine or ten in the morning red shirts will descend on Bangkok, the nation will rise up.”
“Bring it on! Come on, come on!”
“And now, for a song…O Democracy, brothers and sisters mowed down…O Democracy!”
Nattawut does for “democracy” what Bush did for “freedom.” It’s enough to make you hate a good word as it is warped to be synonymous with killing, conflict, and war.
The single most inspiring, and disconcerting performance I happened to catch online, however, came on Monday evening around nine as pressure for the reds to disperse was met head-on by a stubborn unwillingness to leave.
Red leader Jatuporn took to the stage and mesmerized the crowd with earthy incantations and rousing rhythms. He had all of Ratchaprasong in his hand for a timeless moment, making the warm-up speakers look like hack comedians on a bad night in a half empty club.
The heavy-set Jatuporn displays a rare élan on stage, and when he finds his groove it’s unexpectedly inspiring, sort of like seeing the serene poker face of an ancient bas-relief king come alive with the rousing jazzy voice of Louis Armstrong. Here, some excerpts:
“Struggle is only way to survive. Once you decide to fight, losing is nothing, winning is all.”
“How dare you bargain with us? We're not here for the living, we're here for the dead.”
“Ratchaprasong is haunted by the souls of the dead denied justice. We are men, we are human, we love our friends, when our friends die for us, we will stay on, fighting for the martyrs.”
Resounding in rhythm or not, red rhetoric is hot and full of spin, sometimes outright incendiary, but it is generally unmoored from the truth and any sense of fair play.
Seeing how belligerent and gleefully confrontational the Red Shirts have been for several weeks now, --what with slingshots, rocks, sharpened sticks, mass vigilante actions, along with a parallel but unattributed campaign of horrific violence from the shadows, the most recent media makeover making the reds out to be modern-day adherents of Hinduistic “ahimsa” rings hollow.
“We won't surrender,” says Nattawut. “To give in is death, struggle is survival. They died for us so we fight for them, nothing is higher than their sacrifice, we will not surrender, we will die, nothing is more beautiful than this struggle in the whole world.”
There is more than a nascent fascism lurking in the hearts of the hardliners, but there are also moderates who mean well. From the stage one hears a headache-inducing jumble of nihilistic populism, Thaksin hero worship, dated CPT propaganda and banal CEO platitudes.
Perhaps more telling, some of the tired, hoarse Core activists are running out of things to say.
The production values of the Ratchaprasong show are professional, with competent camera work, decent lighting, crack editing, theme-coordinated stage props and soaring, overhead crane shots. Big screens and a sound system on the site suggest a rock concert experience.
But the language of hate and divisiveness is at odds with the sound and light spectacle. This potent video mix of bad politics and good art brings to mind Leni Riefenstahl’s film classic, “Triumph of the Will.”
Bangkok’s red rally is animated by the politics of rage, but it’s not the outgrowth of a grungy beer-hall putsch.
Call this show “Triumph of the Shrill,” a tinny, tropical gala with only the faintest echoes of the frighteningly photogenic Nuremberg mass rally.
If Thailand goes down the road to perdition, there’s no saying if the trains will run on time, but the road to social collapse, a glimpse of which we can get at Ratchaprasong today, will be almost certainly be graced with clever talk, tasty food and bouncy music.
(published in the Bangkok Post as "Triumph of the Shrill, the Rhetoric of the Reds")
Monday, May 3, 2010
(first published in the Bangkok Post, May 3, 2010)
I watch the unfolding of massive street protests in Bangkok from a geographic distance, but not without emotional identification as I work from a library, putting the finishing touches on a paperback version of a book about the Tiananmen student protests of 1989.
Flamboyant Maj-Gen Khattiya Sawasdipol has compared the red shirts to the students at Tiananmen, one of many careless comments that serves to obscure rather than illuminate what is really motivating the protesters.
Suffice to say the Beijing students, provocative though they were, relied entirely on peaceful expression and carried no weapons --not slingshots, not M79 grenades, not spears, not clubs-- and though agents provocateurs did appear as if from nowhere during the orgy of violence of the June 4 crackdown itself, there were no black-clad Ninja hiding behind civilian shields, aiming their guns and rifles at military targets.
It's a terrible challenge to understand what's happening on the streets of Bangkok, and there's scant comfort in noting that almost no observer, whether on the scene, in the academy, in the newsroom or barracks or halls of governance seems to have a clear grasp of what's going on either.
Impatience for a crackdown is palpable, though there is still a chance for patient, peaceful measures to work. A bloodbath cannot be entirely discounted, especially if the military acts peremptorily in reaction to perceived divisions within its ranks or simply by being goaded into a merciless show of force.
The only on-the-scene observers who profess to get the whole picture are the most prejudiced voices of all --the partisans who wear shirts of contrasting colour-- and while there may be some important truths in what each of the battling factions have to say, they deliberately leave gaps in their logic and holes in their reporting that are filled instead with hot air and hate speech.
One can spend all day and night looking at everything in English and Thai on the "red shirts" on the internet, and end up feeling one knows even less than before, and that may be by design.
The way the wayward reds daily douse the media with more than it can handle is reminiscent of the days when Thaksin Shinawatra as prime minister kept the media off-balance by constantly changing the topic, saying outrageous things and taking the initiative with bold schemes.
Given that hardly a day passes without some shocking new street action on the part of the reds, one begins to sense a continuity of propaganda, if not personnel, as if some of Thaksin's would-be Rasputins were among the arthritic revolutionaries advising the rebel reds.
The seductive paraphernalia of the yellows and the reds --the colour schemes, the slogans, the anthems, the songs of Caravan and Jit Phumisak, the headbands, the daredevil esprit de corps, the appealing folkways of street food and elemental living in the open-- all serve to invoke the ghosts of protests past, especially Oct 14, 1973, Oct 6, 1976 and Black May 1992.
And comparison with those events is not as easy to dismiss as the awkward comparison to Tiananmen, because they are part of Thai social history and inform actions in the present, both in terms of living memory and a received knowledge of, and nostalgia for fighting the good fight.
Though "not learning'" from history has its perils, fighting the last war or "learning" the wrong lesson is also fraught with risk.
The people on the wrong side of the barricades are not always on the right side of history, even if there is an appealing narrative that suggests it should be so.
This is especially true in fluid Thai society where individuals sometimes find themselves not only on opposite sides of the barricades from former classmates and comrades, but even on the opposite side from where they last stood themselves; and they may change sides yet again.
Such ironies abound.
We see men of "peace" calling for war and men of war reluctant to unleash the terrible power that society has entrusted to them. Gen Anupong Paojinda, at the time of this writing, is under criticism for being too calm, too cautious and too circumspect. His reluctance to kill is willfully misinterpreted to mean he is either utterly ineffective, or, worse yet, one of "them".
The yellow shirts, themselves veterans of prolonged streets protests and a startling and disruptive airport takeover, show no tolerance, let alone the recognition of a kindred spirit, for rival protesters blocking a street full of hotels and high-end shops.
While Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva is under pressure to act ruthlessly against his own better judgment, members of his party muddle the waters further and lower themselves to the level of the mob by making imprudent and insupportable accusations about the "loyalty'" of the reds.
It's a cheap shot, akin to the nasty red-baiting of US anti-communist demagogues in the 1950s, and not unlike the attitude that Arizona has more recently taken towards people who look like "immigrants''.
There is no place for a loyalty test, for who is to judge the mental state of others and by what impeccable criteria?
On the other hand there is a growing body of physical evidence for violent crimes committed, and violence should be prosecuted by law.
As someone who experienced the Tiananmen protests in Beijing in 1989, I can understand the power of defiance in the face of great odds, even the irrational desire to sacrifice comfort, common sense and safety in the name of a cause. There is a real, though transient and volatile, camaraderie on the street that creates a false sense of invulnerability.
But there are few causes worth sacrificing lives for, and none that come to mind in the current conflict. If there is a non-violent way out, every last effort should be made for a peaceful resolution.
Philip J Cunningham is a free-lance writer and political commentator.
About the author
Writer: Philip J Cunningham