Sometimes, it's good to come out of a well and take a global look around you..
QUOTE
What Thailand's embattled prime minister has in common with Silvio Berlusconi and Tony Blair
By Matt Steinglass | March 26, 2006
THREE WEEKS AGO, when an ad hoc coalition called the People's Alliance for Democracy began rallying in Bangkok's Sanam Luang Park, across from the golden stupas of the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, to force Thailand's billionaire Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra to resign, its chances didn't look good. Thaksin's Thai Rak Thai Party had won 61 percent of the vote just a year earlier. He had called snap elections for April 2, and, since the opposition parties had decided to boycott them, it appeared he could count on a thumping victory.
But the PAD took inspiration from Thai history. In 1973 and again in 1992, demonstrations led to the abrupt fall of seemingly invincible military regimes. Thaksin had gradually alienated Bangkok's professional classes through repressive policies and favoritism towards his own businesses, and he faced public outrage over the $1.9 billion sale of his family's telecommunications company to a Singaporean conglomerate in January. As the demonstrations gathered force, union leaders and businessmen defected to the opposition's side; there were hints that Thailand's king, who wields enormous sentimental power, might prefer that Thaksin go. If Thaksin is forced to step down, he could be seen as the latest victim of Thailand's version of people power.
Some political observers, however, don't feel Thai history is a reliable guide to the current situation. Thai politics has never seen anything like Thaksin Shinawatra before. A political barnstormer who scarcely resembles earlier, weaker Thai prime ministers, his Thai Rak Thai (''Thais Love Thailand") party is the first ever to win a single-handed majority in the House of Representatives. ''In the past, we've always had unwieldy coalitions," says political scientist Thitinan Pongsudhirak, of the Institute for Southeast Asian Studies. In contrast, he says, Thaksin controls both his party and the government ''with an iron fist."
In fact, a number of political scientists feel that to understand the Thaksin phenomenon, you have to look at how politics are changing not just in Thailand, but around the world. Pasuk Phongpaichit of Bangkok's Chulalongkorn University writes of a ''worldwide model, to which Thaksin's politics belong," comparing him to Turkey's Recep Erdogan, Ukraine's Yuliya Tymoshenko, Peru's Alberto Fujimori, and others. And Thaksin's Thai Rak Thai party bears suggestive similarities to political parties in other countries, such as Silvio Berlusconi's Forza Italia, Vladimir Putin's United Russia, the short-lived Lijst Pim Fortuyn in the Netherlands-even Tony Blair's New Labor.
All of these parties are fronted by charismatic leaders and promote simple platforms built around a few clear, media-friendly selling points. They have powerful public relations operations and often sponsor populist redistributive policies. Their ideologies are hard to pin down, mixing left-wing and right-wing elements. They pay little attention to cultivating a membership base. And they tend to have close ties to business, providing access to fantastic quantities of money. Seen in this context, the rise of Thai Rak Thai, regardless of Thaksin's fate in the current crisis, may be more than just a Thai story.
One scholar who views Thaksin in a global context is Duncan McCargo, a professor of political science at the University of Leeds. Last year, McCargo and Ukrist Pathmanand of Chulalongkorn University coauthored ''The Thaksinization of Thailand," which argues, among other things, that Thai Rak Thai resembles a model known as the ''professional electoral party."
Traditionally, McCargo and Ukrist write, Thai politics has been characterized by cliques, or ''phuak," of politicians and businessmen who share regional, family, or patron-client relationships. These phuak might decide to switch parties at any time, based on opportunities for power or corruption. ''The net result," McCargo and Ukrist write, ''was that parties themselves were essentially irrelevant."
Thai reformers have long argued that the country needed Western-style parties, with rooted ideologies and stable membership bases, to become a mature democracy. And, in 1997, they seemed to get their wish. In the wake of the collapse of the Thai baht and the Asian financial crisis it precipitated, a democratic reform movement pushed through a new constitution that made party-switching harder. With the advent of Thai Rak Thai in the 2001 elections, many declared the era of real political parties to be at hand.
In the West itself, however, a new kind of political party was emerging that little resembled the ones Thai reformers wanted to emulate. ''Professional electoral parties," a concept McCargo draws from Italian political scientist Angelo Panebianco, who developed it in the mid-1980s, deemphasized ideology and membership bases. Built around telegenic leaders, they employed professional media teams to develop programs on the basis of focus groups.
Panebianco's analysis seemed vindicated when Silvio Berlusconi's Forza Italia burst onto the scene in December 1993, winning the Italian elections just four months later. Forza Italia's politicians range from ex-Communists to ex-Christian Democrats, and while its policies are generally center-right, its platform carries a string of caveats (''a liberal party although not an elitist one...a Catholic party although not a confessional one"). Berlusconi, the richest man in Italy, is a media magnate who owns three national television channels. The party is intensely top-down, with little input from membership; its control over the country's media has been the mainstay of its success, drawing criticism from organizations like Reporters Without Borders.
The ''New" Labor Party under Tony Blair also fits the model, if somewhat differently. ''Blair, ironically, won three elections while Labor's membership went into free fall, and its ideology became indistinguishable from the Conservative Party," McCargo says. Under Blair, New Labor jettisoned its socialist heritage in favor of a ''Third Way." Pollster Philip Gould and communications specialist Alastair Campbell became influential figures, bypassing the party's fractious membership to develop platforms with broader public appeal, and keeping the leadership relentlessly ''on message."
Thaksin's approach has combined New Labor's professional media management with Berlusconi's direct ownership of media outlets. His initial run for the premiership, in 2000, employed a public relations offensive drawn up by media entrepreneur Sondhi Limthongkul's Manager Media group. Thaksin brilliantly combined his nonideological, pro-business CEO image with nationalist resentment of the International Monetary Fund and with populist programs for the rural poor, including debt forgiveness, village development grants, and a national health insurance plan costing just 30 baht (75 cents) per year.
At the same time, Thaksin's family company, Shincorp, bought a controlling share in Thailand's only independent broadcaster, ITV. Just before the 2001 elections, journalists at ITV complained that Thaksin was interfering in their coverage. Twenty-three were fired. Thaksin's wealth and business holdings, like Berlusconi's, can be a political liability: Both men have been dogged by charges of illegal business deals since their political careers began. But they have fueled Thai Rak Thai's growth into a professional electoral behemoth, with a 14-story headquarters in Bangkok and, since November, a national help line-1212-which constituents can call to get the proverbial pothole fixed.
For Chulalongkorn University's Pasuk Phongpaichit, what's global about Thai Rak Thai is not so much its emphasis on media strategies as its fusion of pro-business policies and programs for the poor-a combination she calls ''neoliberal populism." Business elites around the developing world, particularly in Latin America and formerly Communist Eastern Europe and Central Asia, want governments to defend their interests-by pursuing integration into the World Trade Organization, for example, or showing favoritism toward their companies.
But to govern, the elites must also gain the allegiance of poor rural majorities, so neoliberal populists introduce programs such as Thaksin's 30-baht health plan-or, as Pasuk notes in one of her papers, the public housing plans sponsored by Peru's Alberto Fujimori a decade ago, or Turkey's Recep Erdogan today.
Not everyone agrees that the global context is the key to understanding the Thaksin phenomenon. Thitinan Pongsudhirak emphasizes several strictly Thai developments that have enabled Thai Rak Thai to avoid devolving into factions. The 1997 constitution has made it much harder for politicians to switch parties. And while Thai politics used to revolve more around local pork-barrel projects, Thaksin's national populist programs, which funnel money directly to his supporters in the countryside, mean that local politicians have less of an independent power base.
Then, obviously, there is Thaksin's money. ''He pays the MPs an extra salary each month, through his wife," Thitinan says. ''In return, he has very strong loyalty."
All politics is local, and it's hard to imagine Tony Blair topping off his MPs' salaries out of Cherie's pocketbook. One shouldn't read too much global significance into Thaksin's case; but one shouldn't treat him as just another Third World leader facing corruption charges, either. Whatever happens, it would not be surprising if Thailand's next dominant party features a telegenic leader, an ideology that blends left and right, a few popular national programs with catchy names, and lots and lots of money.
Matt Steinglass lives in Hanoi, where he writes for the Globe and other publications.
By Matt Steinglass | March 26, 2006
THREE WEEKS AGO, when an ad hoc coalition called the People's Alliance for Democracy began rallying in Bangkok's Sanam Luang Park, across from the golden stupas of the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, to force Thailand's billionaire Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra to resign, its chances didn't look good. Thaksin's Thai Rak Thai Party had won 61 percent of the vote just a year earlier. He had called snap elections for April 2, and, since the opposition parties had decided to boycott them, it appeared he could count on a thumping victory.
But the PAD took inspiration from Thai history. In 1973 and again in 1992, demonstrations led to the abrupt fall of seemingly invincible military regimes. Thaksin had gradually alienated Bangkok's professional classes through repressive policies and favoritism towards his own businesses, and he faced public outrage over the $1.9 billion sale of his family's telecommunications company to a Singaporean conglomerate in January. As the demonstrations gathered force, union leaders and businessmen defected to the opposition's side; there were hints that Thailand's king, who wields enormous sentimental power, might prefer that Thaksin go. If Thaksin is forced to step down, he could be seen as the latest victim of Thailand's version of people power.
Some political observers, however, don't feel Thai history is a reliable guide to the current situation. Thai politics has never seen anything like Thaksin Shinawatra before. A political barnstormer who scarcely resembles earlier, weaker Thai prime ministers, his Thai Rak Thai (''Thais Love Thailand") party is the first ever to win a single-handed majority in the House of Representatives. ''In the past, we've always had unwieldy coalitions," says political scientist Thitinan Pongsudhirak, of the Institute for Southeast Asian Studies. In contrast, he says, Thaksin controls both his party and the government ''with an iron fist."
In fact, a number of political scientists feel that to understand the Thaksin phenomenon, you have to look at how politics are changing not just in Thailand, but around the world. Pasuk Phongpaichit of Bangkok's Chulalongkorn University writes of a ''worldwide model, to which Thaksin's politics belong," comparing him to Turkey's Recep Erdogan, Ukraine's Yuliya Tymoshenko, Peru's Alberto Fujimori, and others. And Thaksin's Thai Rak Thai party bears suggestive similarities to political parties in other countries, such as Silvio Berlusconi's Forza Italia, Vladimir Putin's United Russia, the short-lived Lijst Pim Fortuyn in the Netherlands-even Tony Blair's New Labor.
All of these parties are fronted by charismatic leaders and promote simple platforms built around a few clear, media-friendly selling points. They have powerful public relations operations and often sponsor populist redistributive policies. Their ideologies are hard to pin down, mixing left-wing and right-wing elements. They pay little attention to cultivating a membership base. And they tend to have close ties to business, providing access to fantastic quantities of money. Seen in this context, the rise of Thai Rak Thai, regardless of Thaksin's fate in the current crisis, may be more than just a Thai story.
One scholar who views Thaksin in a global context is Duncan McCargo, a professor of political science at the University of Leeds. Last year, McCargo and Ukrist Pathmanand of Chulalongkorn University coauthored ''The Thaksinization of Thailand," which argues, among other things, that Thai Rak Thai resembles a model known as the ''professional electoral party."
Traditionally, McCargo and Ukrist write, Thai politics has been characterized by cliques, or ''phuak," of politicians and businessmen who share regional, family, or patron-client relationships. These phuak might decide to switch parties at any time, based on opportunities for power or corruption. ''The net result," McCargo and Ukrist write, ''was that parties themselves were essentially irrelevant."
Thai reformers have long argued that the country needed Western-style parties, with rooted ideologies and stable membership bases, to become a mature democracy. And, in 1997, they seemed to get their wish. In the wake of the collapse of the Thai baht and the Asian financial crisis it precipitated, a democratic reform movement pushed through a new constitution that made party-switching harder. With the advent of Thai Rak Thai in the 2001 elections, many declared the era of real political parties to be at hand.
In the West itself, however, a new kind of political party was emerging that little resembled the ones Thai reformers wanted to emulate. ''Professional electoral parties," a concept McCargo draws from Italian political scientist Angelo Panebianco, who developed it in the mid-1980s, deemphasized ideology and membership bases. Built around telegenic leaders, they employed professional media teams to develop programs on the basis of focus groups.
Panebianco's analysis seemed vindicated when Silvio Berlusconi's Forza Italia burst onto the scene in December 1993, winning the Italian elections just four months later. Forza Italia's politicians range from ex-Communists to ex-Christian Democrats, and while its policies are generally center-right, its platform carries a string of caveats (''a liberal party although not an elitist one...a Catholic party although not a confessional one"). Berlusconi, the richest man in Italy, is a media magnate who owns three national television channels. The party is intensely top-down, with little input from membership; its control over the country's media has been the mainstay of its success, drawing criticism from organizations like Reporters Without Borders.
The ''New" Labor Party under Tony Blair also fits the model, if somewhat differently. ''Blair, ironically, won three elections while Labor's membership went into free fall, and its ideology became indistinguishable from the Conservative Party," McCargo says. Under Blair, New Labor jettisoned its socialist heritage in favor of a ''Third Way." Pollster Philip Gould and communications specialist Alastair Campbell became influential figures, bypassing the party's fractious membership to develop platforms with broader public appeal, and keeping the leadership relentlessly ''on message."
Thaksin's approach has combined New Labor's professional media management with Berlusconi's direct ownership of media outlets. His initial run for the premiership, in 2000, employed a public relations offensive drawn up by media entrepreneur Sondhi Limthongkul's Manager Media group. Thaksin brilliantly combined his nonideological, pro-business CEO image with nationalist resentment of the International Monetary Fund and with populist programs for the rural poor, including debt forgiveness, village development grants, and a national health insurance plan costing just 30 baht (75 cents) per year.
At the same time, Thaksin's family company, Shincorp, bought a controlling share in Thailand's only independent broadcaster, ITV. Just before the 2001 elections, journalists at ITV complained that Thaksin was interfering in their coverage. Twenty-three were fired. Thaksin's wealth and business holdings, like Berlusconi's, can be a political liability: Both men have been dogged by charges of illegal business deals since their political careers began. But they have fueled Thai Rak Thai's growth into a professional electoral behemoth, with a 14-story headquarters in Bangkok and, since November, a national help line-1212-which constituents can call to get the proverbial pothole fixed.
For Chulalongkorn University's Pasuk Phongpaichit, what's global about Thai Rak Thai is not so much its emphasis on media strategies as its fusion of pro-business policies and programs for the poor-a combination she calls ''neoliberal populism." Business elites around the developing world, particularly in Latin America and formerly Communist Eastern Europe and Central Asia, want governments to defend their interests-by pursuing integration into the World Trade Organization, for example, or showing favoritism toward their companies.
But to govern, the elites must also gain the allegiance of poor rural majorities, so neoliberal populists introduce programs such as Thaksin's 30-baht health plan-or, as Pasuk notes in one of her papers, the public housing plans sponsored by Peru's Alberto Fujimori a decade ago, or Turkey's Recep Erdogan today.
Not everyone agrees that the global context is the key to understanding the Thaksin phenomenon. Thitinan Pongsudhirak emphasizes several strictly Thai developments that have enabled Thai Rak Thai to avoid devolving into factions. The 1997 constitution has made it much harder for politicians to switch parties. And while Thai politics used to revolve more around local pork-barrel projects, Thaksin's national populist programs, which funnel money directly to his supporters in the countryside, mean that local politicians have less of an independent power base.
Then, obviously, there is Thaksin's money. ''He pays the MPs an extra salary each month, through his wife," Thitinan says. ''In return, he has very strong loyalty."
All politics is local, and it's hard to imagine Tony Blair topping off his MPs' salaries out of Cherie's pocketbook. One shouldn't read too much global significance into Thaksin's case; but one shouldn't treat him as just another Third World leader facing corruption charges, either. Whatever happens, it would not be surprising if Thailand's next dominant party features a telegenic leader, an ideology that blends left and right, a few popular national programs with catchy names, and lots and lots of money.
Matt Steinglass lives in Hanoi, where he writes for the Globe and other publications.
