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William Case

Democracy’s Quality and Breakdown: New Lessons from Thailand

Working Paper Series No. 83

January 2007

The Southeast Asia Research Centre (SEARC) of the City University of Hong Kong publishes SEARC Working Papers Series electronically ©Copyright is held by the author or authors each Working Paper. SEARC Working Papers cannot be republished, reprinted, or reproduced in any format without the permission of the papers author or authors. Note: The views expressed in each paper are those of the author or authors of the paper. They do not represent the views of the Southeast Asia Research Centre, its Management Committee, or the City University of Hong Kong. Southeast Asia Research Centre Management Committee Professor William Case, Director Professor Martin Painter Dr Vivienne Wee, Associate Director Dr Graeme Lang Dr Zang Xiaowei Southeast Asia Research Centre The City University of Hong Kong 83 Tat Chee Avenue Kowloon Tong, Hong Kong SAR Tel: (852 3442 6106 Fax: (852) 3442 0103 http://www.cityu.edu.hk/searc

Southeast Asia Research Centre Working Paper Series, No. 83, 2007 1

Democracy’s Quality and Breakdown: New Lessons from Thailand

William Case Professor, Department of Asian and International Studies

Director, Southeast Asia Research Centre City University of Hong Kong

[email protected]

Abstract In what may amount to a next phase in the study of democratization,

assessments of democracy’s quality have grown common. This paper tries to

assess democracy’s quality in Thailand under the recent Thai Rak Thai

government. It begins by enumerating some of the conceptual difficulties that

bedevil these measuring exercises. But in forging ahead, it makes use of a

‘sequenced’ framework involving electoral mandates, policy responsiveness,

and accountability. Analysis reveals a ‘mixed’ record under Thai Rak Thai, one

in which the government’s strong mandates and high levels of responsiveness

were counterpoised by executive abuses, corrupt practices, limits on civil

liberties, and gross violations of human rights, behaviours in which many elites

and mass-level constituents acquiesced. It shows also, however, that when

these elites and constituents sought later to impose accountability, they

resorted to direct action, further eroding the quality of democracy. Thus, this

paper demonstrates too that democracy’s quality can be diminished in ways

that far from placating rival elites so inflame tensions that it can finally break

down.

Key words: democracy, elections, responsiveness, accountability, military coup


The major aims of this paper are two-fold. First, it tries to assess

democracy’s quality under the Thai Rak Thai government in Thailand, an

analytically important case that poses some conceptual puzzles. Second, it

tries to show that contrary to arguments about new democracies persisting,

even ‘consolidating’ because their quality is low, in Thailand low quality

contributed to democracy’s breakdown.

This paper begins by outlining a framework with which to gauge the

quality of democracy, though notes also some of the conundrums that afflict

such attempts at measurement. Next, it briefly enumerates some historical,

structural, and attitudinal features that appear to brighten democracy’s

prospects in Thailand. It then demonstrates too how under the Thai Rak Thai

government, the quality of democracy was raised in terms of electoral

mandates and policy responsiveness. At the same time, though, the paper

shows how the government eroded democracy’s quality through executive

abuses, corrupt practices, curbs on civil liberties, and severe human rights

violations, behaviours in which many elites and constituents were long

acquiescent. The quality of democracy was only further diminished, however,

when some of these elites and constituents sought later to impose

accountability through street blockades and electoral boycott. In turn, this led

to crippling political deadlock, monarchical interventions, and a military coup.

Hence, this paper concludes that where executive abuses and corrupt

practices advantage elites without alienating mass-level constituencies, the

low quality of democracy that results may enable democracy to persist. But

where these actions exclude some elites and constituents, prompting them to

respond by diminishing quality further, democracy may be strained to the

breaking point.

Assessing democracy’s quality In the study of democratization’s last phase, analysis has extended from

questions over transitional pathways and institutional design to conceptual

issues of quality. To be sure, the vast majority of the new democracies that

have emerged over the past several decades formally endure. But most have

failed to deliver the full cornucopia of anticipated political and socioeconomic

benefits. Rather, elites have found ways of evading or distorting many of


democracy’s institutions and procedures, enabling them to perpetuate their

standings and prerogatives.

Thus, in famously critiquing the notion of ‘consolidation’ as an analytical

tool, Guillermo O’Donnell observed that new democracies persist, but their

quality remains stunted (O’Donnell 1994, 1996). Indeed, it may be precisely

because of the limits on quality which, in ceding rich opportunities for executive

abuses and corrupt practices, dissuade elites from overturning the

democracies whose arrival they may initially have resisted. On this score,

Richard Robison and Vedi Hadiz, in focusing on Indonesia’s democratic

politics, have documented patterns by which old elites, in coalescing with new

ones thrown up by transitional dynamics, have effectively reconstituted their

‘oligarchical’ relations under democracy’s legitimating cover, lending the

regime much resilience (Robison and Hadiz 2004). Accordingly, in taking stock

of many such country cases, Thomas Carrothers has demarcated an end to

the ‘transitions paradigm’, writing of the ‘feckless pluralism’ into which many

new democracies seem comfortably to settle (Carothers 2002). Very few new

democracies that have appeared in the third wave have thus undergone

authoritarian reversal (Diamond 2003: 18-20).

But in rare cases, it may be that democracy’s quality is eroded in ways

that far from accommodating elites, profoundly alienate some of them. Put

simply, some elites may be excluded by the distributions of state power and

patronage that are articulated through particular sets of executive abuses and

corrupt practices. And they may respond with strategies, then, that by

inflaming elite-level tensions and constituent grievances so erode democracy’s

quality that this in itself fans discontents, hence contributing separately, if only

epiphenomenally, to breakdown. To test this thesis in the case of Thailand

under the Thai Rak Thai government, let us begin by briefly rehearsing the

indicators and thresholds by which analysts try to assess the quality of

democracy, while noting a few of the dilemmas that afflict this new research

agenda.

Gauging the quality of democracy, writes Leonardo Morlino, involves

‘various indicators [that] can be analysed on a case-by-case basis’ (Morlino

2004). A range of such indicators has recently been canvassed, including

political equality, participation, freedoms, competitiveness, representativeness,


rule of law, human rights, and policy effectiveness (Journal of Democracy 2004;

O’Donnell, Cullell, and Iazzetta 2004; Diamond and Morlino 2005). Seeking

greater conceptual order, Andrew Roberts suggests that most of these

indicators can be collated, even sequenced under a trio of broad headings,

namely, mandates (earned by a government through campaigning and

elections), responsiveness (displayed through fulfilling campaign pledges),

and accountability (afterward imposed through iterated electoral contests)

(Roberts 2005).

The new criteria of quality posed by these indicators do not imply that old

debates over how democracy is best understood, whether in procedural or

substantive terms, should now be reopened. Scholarly consensus remains that

democracy is most fruitfully conceptualised in minimalist ways, anchored in

Robert Dahl’s twin axes of liberal participation and electoral contestation (Dahl

1971). As Wolfgang Merkel observes, a ‘welfare state, fair distribution of

economic goods, or even “social justice” may be desired policy results of the

democratic processes of decision making, but they are not [democracy’s]

defining elements’ (Merkel 2004: 36). Nonetheless, while democracy may be

sufficiently defined by civil liberties and elections, it may fail still to temper the

executive abuses and corrupt practices that negate the benign policy

outcomes that Merkel seeks. It is for this reason that theorists have turned to

issues of quality.

As mentioned above, Morlino contends that indicators by which to assess

democracy’s quality can be specified plainly. He claims too that they may be

hierarchically linked in positive ways. For example, the rule of law serves as ‘a

prerequisite for all other dimensions’, while responsiveness ‘is an important

precondition’ for accountability, hence ‘compos[ing] a sort of triangle’.

Moreover, accountability may be present on horizontal and vertical planes, with

‘each form thereby reinforcing the other’ (Morlino 2004: 15, 20, 23). Merkel

writes similarly of ‘interdependence’, with electoral competitiveness and

political rights necessarily ‘supplemented’ by civil rights, yielding finally what he

labels as ‘embedded democracy’. Conversely, ‘defects’ or ‘damage’ along one

dimension may weigh heavily upon others, ‘leading to a creeping

autocratisation’ (Merkel 2004: 36, 39, 53). Like O’Donnell, though, Merkel

argues that this need not spiral irretrievably downward into hard


authoritarianism. Rather, equilibrium may be reached in various guises of

‘defective democracy’. But wherever political change comes to rest, Merkel

also asserts the hierarchically-linked and co-varying relationships between

indicators of democratic quality.

Roberts finds additional order in this logic, gathering diverse indicators

under broad categories of mandate, responsiveness, and accountability, then

specifying clear sequences across them. In brief, where electoral mandates

are strong and the government that emerges fulfils its promises, it will gain

additional sanction through subsequent rounds of electoral accountability. But

where the government fails in its pledges, accountability will correctly be

imposed through electoral defeat. Thus, in cases where these progressions

hold, democracy’s quality is high. But where governments rule ‘without

reference to public opinion, [yet] escape electoral punishment…democracy is

not fulfilling its potential’ (Roberts 2005: 358). However, in deploying these indicators through which to evaluate the

quality of democracy in specific instances, obvious conceptual and practical

problems crop up. Most fundamentally, it is often unclear which indicator

should be used. When the government permits opposition parties to operate,

are the activities that result best examined in the light of representativeness,

competitiveness, or accountability? When political space is ceded to social

movements, is this better understood in terms of participation or freedoms?

This fuzziness in classification means that many behaviours must probably be

evaluated along multiple indicators, obviating analytical parsimony and clear

causal connections.

In addition, where these activities impact across indictors, they may do so

in contrary ways, neutralising the cumulative improvements envisaged by

Morlino and Merkel. A government may fulfil its campaign promises, earning

high marks for responsiveness and among citizens who support it. Yet it may

implement measures so faithfully that minorities are overrun, raising

well-known questions over tyranny of the majority. In more recently

collaborating with Larry Diamond, Morlino demonstrates awareness of this

dilemma, writing that while ‘improvement along one dimension (such as

participation) can have beneficial effects along others (such as equality and

accountability)…there can be trade-offs [making] it impossible to maximize all


of them at once’ (Diamond and Morlino 2004: 21). Moreover, even in cases wherein a democracy registers as high quality

across multiple indicators, this may result from false readings. For example, a

government may respect the political rights of opposition parties, though only

because these parties remain so weakened internally that they imbue

elections with little competitiveness. Similarly, a government may tolerate

vigorous parliamentary debates and no-confidence motions, though only so

long as it is certain of its own unshakeable majorities. This problem of false

readings can be acute for assessments of democracy’s quality. Readings are

only revealed as false when a government is finally challenged so effectively

that it reacts with abuses. But short of this, democracy’s quality may also be

eroded more quietly by opposition parties ‘pulling their punches’, trying

precisely to avoid abuses by under-contesting in electoral and parliamentary

arenas.

Also problematic, then, are the broad headings proposed by Roberts

through which to collate sundry indicators, as well as their robust sequencing

wherein mandates, responsiveness, and accountability are linked, yielding a

straightforward march toward re-election or a legible switchback that descends

rightfully to defeat. We will see that in Thailand, the Thai Rak Thai government

gained a large mandate, displayed much responsiveness, and was rewarded

as expected with easy re-election. Over time, however, some constituents

reassessed the government’s performance. What had been celebrated as

policy dynamism was denigrated now as executive abuses and corrupt

practices. Moreover, amid their new disaffection, some constituencies were

encouraged by elites to impose accountability in ways eroded democracy’s

quality further, resorting to street blockades and electoral boycott.

In this way, the sequencing from mandate and responsiveness to

accountability was unexpectedly broken, diminishing the usefulness of our

yardstick by which to measure democracy’s quality. As noted above, Roberts

contends that where governments are unresponsive, yet ‘escape electoral

punishment’, sequencing is halted in ways that reveal the low quality that

democracy possesses (Roberts 2005: 358). But it may follow that democracy

also lacks quality where responsive governments that deserve re-election are

fatally weakened by fitful constituents. In these cases, it is not the government,


but constituents that may test the ‘connection between citizens and their

elected representatives…the central concern of democratic quality’ (ibid).

Questions arise too when constituents eschew electoral and parliamentary

arenas for blockades and boycotts, popularly designated in Southeast Asia

today as ‘rally democracy’ and ‘people power II’ (See, e.g. Time [Asia] 29

January 2001). When governments are toppled in this way, it is doubtful that

citizens can be said to have struck a blow for rule of law. Yet existing

frameworks by which to measure democracy’s quality appear usually to

assume the benignity of mass-level and opposition activities. Scrutiny is

focused selectively instead on the behaviours of government.

Finally, Garry Rodan and Kanishka Jayasuriya have posed what may be

a still more damaging criticism of efforts to assess the quality of democracy.

Put bluntly, they dismiss such exercises as misguided, failing to penetrate

theoretically the underlying dynamics of capitalist industrialization and its

attendant ‘social conflicts’ that finally give rise to political regimes. They write,

‘it is not the quality of institutions per se that is important but rather the type of

conflicts that are privileged within various spaces of political participation’

(Rodan and Jayasuriya 2006: 3).

Rodan and Jayasuriya are surely correct that inter-elite and elite-mass

relations are logically and causally prior to the forms that political regimes take,

especially in the developing world. However deeply enshrined institutions may

be in a national charter, they amount to little if elites and constituents refuse to

observe them. But it is precisely these shortfalls that assessments of

democracy’s quality seek to spotlight. To be sure, in afterward proposing

remedies, analysts must remain mindful that while revising constitutions and

tinkering with institutions may alter the tactics of elites and constituents and

hence, even reshape constellations of power, this may do nothing to improve

motivations. Thus, assessments of democracy’s quality, in deploying

frameworks of what are recognized as indicators, rather than primary causal

factors, should be guided by an awareness that in trying to rectify

shortcomings, institutional reforms must be alloyed with deeper attitudinal

changes. As Diamond and Morlino argue with respect to rule of law, most

critical is ‘the diffusion of liberal and democratic values at both popular and

elite levels’ (Diamond and Molino 2004:23)


But in tracing back to the elite and mass-level attitudes and behaviours

that shape regimes, capitalist industrialization poses no more than a broad

context in which politics unfolds. A fuller explanation requires specific analyses

of leadership, managerial skills, strategic choices and constituent appeals,

organizational power, party systems, and multiple societal preferences,

particularly when abrupt shifts in politics take place. In the case of Thailand,

without reference to leadership style, how can we explain the dramatic rise,

then precipitate drop in popular support for Thaksin Shinawatra, the former

prime minister? And without the king’s interventions, restiveness in the military,

and poor policy choices in the southern Malay provinces, how can we

understand the swift reversal from democracy to authoritarian rule? These

sharp fluctuations were not presaged by marked changes in the capitalist

industrialization that Rodan and Jayasuriya assert as determinative. As one

journalist observed, ‘foreign investors were pouring money into the country

before, during, and after the military seized power’ (Crispin 2006e).

Moreover, as attitudes evolve and regimes take shape, the institutions of

which regimes are composed may acquire some life of their own, cumulating in

incentive structures that press back, even if lightly at first, to help separately in

ordering the behaviours of elites and constituents. Over time, regimes may

thus contribute to learning and habituation—although in ways that either favour

or erode the prospects for democracy’s quality and persistence. On this score,

we will see that in Thailand, while inter-elite and elite-mass dynamics eroded

democracy’s quality, so did low quality, in fostering scant regard for institutions,

lead finally to breakdown.

Accordingly, assessments of democracy’s quality are fruitfully undertaken,

diagnosing what ails political life as a first step toward improving it. These

assessments may suffer from the fuzzy classification, ambiguous impacts,

false readings, problematic sequences, and selective scrutiny enumerated

above. But forewarned of methodological pitfalls, we may still make analytical

headway.

Thailand’s democratic record

On a number of fronts, Thailand suffers deficits that weaken democracy’s

prospects. In brief, it possesses none of the firm party legacies, steeled in


nationalist resentments, that can sometimes be gained through colonial

experience. Bureaucratic and military elites have historically shown little

respect for the capacities of civilian politicians. There is little separation

between politics and business, leaving conflicts of interest to flourish. There

are few traditions of worker organization, owing to the country’s late

industrialization and dependence on foreign investment. There is little equality

across various social and spatial categories.

On the other side of ledger, though, Thailand possesses some distinctive

features, enumerated below, that augur well for democracy. Thus, it could

reasonably be intuited that on balance, a low-quality democracy should

emerge, navigated by elites who gain politically from its legitimating cover,

while finding deep anchor in historical, structural, and cultural bedrock. The

aim of this section, then, is to elaborate Thailand as a hard case in which to

falsify the thesis that a low-quality democracy should persist.

In Thailand, at least three key features favour democracy. First, the

country’s democratic record can, within the Southeast Asian setting, be

characterized as early, home-grown, and frequently bottom-up in its origins

and dynamics, evoking some social pressures and attitudinal preferences for

participatory politics. Some analysts start with Thailand’s repudiation of

absolutist monarchy during the early 1930s, then track democracy’s progress

through the formation of a party system during the 1950s, the coalescence of

student groups during the 1970s, and the emergence of middle-class activists

during the decades that followed (See e.g. Connors 2003). Thus, democracy

was brought about by citizens in pursuit of their own social interests, rather

than through the calculations of ‘tutelary’ colonial rulers or war-time occupiers.

And where this record was punctuated by military coups, citizens sometimes

responded with epic resistance.

Second, democracy’s progress in Thailand has mostly been left

unimpeded by ethnic rivalries and demands. This can partly be attributed to

the absorption of Chinese ‘minorities’ into the country’s socio-cultural fabric

(Skinner 1960: 86-100), a rare configuration in Southeast Asia’s ‘plural

societies’. Accordingly, though the Chinese have established quite striking

patterns of dominance over government and business at both the national and

provincial levels, there have been few indigenous calls since the 1950s to


deploy state power and enforce differential statuses by which to discriminate

systematically against them. A greater challenge, then, has lain in the Malay

provinces of the country’s far south, chafing under perceptions of Buddhist rule.

But even here, though violent confrontation may prevail today, accommodation

had earlier been reached through pragmatic deal-making, leaving ‘opposition

to the Thai government…dormant for decades’ (Albritton 2005: 167; see also

McCargo 2005).

Finally, if the democracy that has emerged in Thailand has grown flecked

with executive abuses and corrupt practices, then urban middle class elements,

workers, and rural activists have sometimes responded with vigilance. As one

example, civil society organizations took aim at provincial strongmen who, in

securing control over local administrative structures and forging new political

machinery during the 1980s, worked to gain seats in the National Assembly for

themselves, their local proxies, or candidates based in Bangkok with whom

they affiliated (Ockey 1994; Pasuk and Baker 1995; Pasuk and Sungsidh 1996;

McVey 2000). In its everyday operation, then, nearly devoid of firm party

loyalties and programmatic appeals, Thailand’s democracy was characterised

during this period by transient governments and fragmented policy outputs.

During the 1990s, however, civil society organizations set explicitly to

uplifting democracy’s quality, negotiating with ‘new commercial classes’ and

state officials over the authorship of a ‘People’s Constitution’ (Connors 2002;

see also, Connors 2003: Chapter 7). In his account, Kasian Tejapira records a

complex roster of participants and aims associated with this reformism. But

crucially, in recognising the distinctive challenges that provincial strongmen

posed to democracy, as well as the pretext these figures created for the

military’s retaking power, the framers consulted exhaustively over ways

through which to strengthen executive powers and party discipline, but also to

foster accountability by numerous watchdog agencies. It may be that as some

analysts claim, the People’s Constitution was quietly salted with ‘elitist

elements’ (Kasian 2006: 22). But what stands out is that citizens in Thailand,

having aspired to democracy early and independently, while surmounting

ethnic impediments, demonstrated attentiveness, even if inconsistently, to

issues of quality.


Thus, one might reasonably anticipate that amid countervailing sets of

factors, democracy would emerge in Thailand, yet remain grounded in low

quality. Further, because low-quality democracy enables elites to find some

legitimating cover for the executive abuses and corrupt practices in which they

engage, one could also expect them to perpetuate it.

Democracy’s quality under Thai Rak Thai After ratification of the People’s Constitution, the Thai Rak Thai party

swept to power in the 2001 election. This party was led by Thaksin Shinwatra,

popularly identified as the country’s richest tycoon. And upon assuming the

prime ministership, Thaksin grew swiftly into the powerful executive that the

constitution’s framers had envisioned. The quality of democracy during his

tenure, however, was mixed. To evaluate this record and its impact on

democracy’s persistence, analysis is conducted by the terms of Roberts’s

sequential framework of mandates, responsiveness, and accountability.

Mandate: campaigns and elections

As Anek Laothamattas observes, because elections in advanced

industrial democracies are conducted by the terms of institutionalized regimes,

they are of little interest to comparativists scouring for systemic changes. But

in less developed settings, they can provide meaningful insights into a

regime’s shifting contours (Anek 1996: 201). Thus, Roberts adds, the ways in

which governments gain the mandate that brings them to power can offer early

indicators of democracy’s quality (Roberts 2005: 360-61).

Thaksin Shinawatra was one of the few metropolitan businesspersons in

Thailand who had weathered the Asian financial crisis of the late 1990s. The

origins and rapid expansion of his conglomerate, Shin Corp, through state

licensing and concessions have been documented extensively (see, eg.,

Pasuk and Baker 2004; and McCargo and Ukrist 2005). What is noteworthy

here is that in order to protect his stakes, especially in telecommunications and

property, Thaksin entered politics directly. This marked the first time that so

high-level a corporate figure had sought a personal presence in the National

Assembly (Hewison 2006: 99), more typically the bailiwick of provincial

strongmen trying to bolster their dealings.


Thus, in contesting Thailand’s election in 2001, Thaksin mobilized his

party, Thai Rak Thai. He then advanced a series of campaign promises which,

in the local setting, produced an unusually clear platform. Combining his

understandings of the need to revitalise big business in Bangkok, still

becalmed by the crisis, and his extensive use of market survey techniques

through which to discover the aspirations of mass-level constituencies,

Thaksin forged appeals that in their trans-class and distributive character have

been conceptualised by Pasuk and Baker as populist (Pasuk and Baker 2005:

67-68). Paralleling an asset management agency, then, designed to

recapitalise banks and restart major firms were new schemes for village

welfare and development. In this way, Thai Rak Thai seemed to gain more

cohesion than the unsteady party vehicles that more usually traversed the

country’s political terrain.

In seeking candidates, Thai Rak attracted some provincial strongmen,

drawn by the campaign finance that at this stage only Thaksin was able to

muster. But many other notables resisted, preferring to flex once again their

networks of canvassers and rural followings. Thus, to fill out its slate, Thai Rak

Thai recruited a new cohort of younger candidates (Montesano 2002: 91),

perhaps less exposed to traditional contours of patronage. Further, during

campaigning, while much vote-buying by both the ruling Democrats and Thai

Rak Thai candidates surely took place, the new Election Commission

responded vigorously, standing down large numbers of candidates and

ordering re-runs (McCargo 2002).

Thai Rak Thai defeated the Democrats handily in the 2001 election. To do

this, the party issued resonant campaign promises, advanced candidates who

appeared collectively less tainted by money politics than traditional party

line-ups, and demonstrated compliance with electoral procedures that was

probably no worse than in past contests. Meanwhile, most of the provincial

strongmen who had remained aloof from Thai Rak Thai were defeated in their

redoubts (Pasuk and Baker 2003: 63). And many of the parties that they had

operated, distorting parliament’s functioning and cabinet-level decision making,

were driven from the field, presaging a more disciplined two-party system and

greater policy effectiveness. Accordingly, the ways in which Thai Rak Thai

gained its mandate through the 2001 election can probably be understood as


enhancing democracy’s quality—along precisely the lines that had been

envisioned by the authors of the new constitution.

Responsiveness: fulfilling campaign promises Roberts observes that after governments gain their mandates, the

responsiveness that they display while in power has drawn ‘the lion’s share of

the attention in studies of democratic quality’ (Roberts 2005: 358). G. Bingham

Powell argues further that upon first glimmer, the quality associated with

responsiveness appears to be readily measurable by the extent to which the

‘democratic process induces the government to form and implement policies

that the citizens want’. But Powell then qualifies this notion, recalling that

citizens find it difficult to order their preferences (Powell 2004). In some cases,

then, even well-meaning governments may find it difficult to display

responsiveness, confounded by the unintelligibility of voters and the distorting

effects of their party perceptions and internal dynamics.

But in Thailand, Thaksin Shinawatra drew heavily upon his corporate

resources and knowledge of market survey techniques to discover the

preferences of citizens. It may be too that in a setting in which mass-level

constituents have historically received little attention from government at the

national level, and but meagre handouts from provincial strongmen, their rising

expectations were at this juncture straightforward and easily learned. Further,

while Thaksin may at base have possessed no nobler motivations than to gain

the state power through which to bolster the fortunes of Shin Corp and his new

big business allies, what stands out is that after discovering mass-level

aspirations, he articulated clear and suitably aligned campaign promises

through which to contest elections, then used the state power possessed by

the executive, vastly enhanced by constitutional reforms, to deliver on his

pledges. Even more remarkably, the programmatic outputs that resulted were

implemented with reasonable fiscal discipline (World Bank 2006: 16; see also

The Economist: 5 February 2005).

Much has been written about Thai Rak Thai’s sundry populist programs,

making it unnecessary to rehearse them here (see, eg., Jayasuriya and

Hewison 2004; Looney 2004; Pasuk and Baker 2005; Pasuk and Baker

[forthcoming]). It is enough to say that in meeting the preferences of citizens,


the government formed by this party amounts to a rare case where, in the

context of a new democracy, responsiveness can on some key dimensions be

adjudged as improved. In retreating from the austerity demanded by

multilateral agencies and foreign creditors, then fulfilling its campaign promises,

the government avoided the ‘mandate violations’ by which the quality of many

new democracies has been marred (Stokes 2001). Accordingly, sundry NGOs

and clusters of academics, while typically holding critical outlooks, acclaimed

the government’s anti-poverty programs (Albritton 2005: 170). And at

campaign rallies, political meetings, and in everyday village encounters, one

could regularly hear the refrain, ‘this is the first government ever to do

something for us’ (personal attendance at Thai Rak Thai campaign events,

Bangkok, January-February 2005).

However, while demonstrating responsiveness to mass-level constituents,

Thaksin also accelerated his own corporate dealings. In doing this, he began

to lengthen his shadow over other categories of rent-seekers. Under the guise

of administrative reform, he increased the number of ministers in his cabinet,

but also narrowed their access to state largesse. He exerted greater control

too over departmental heads, shaking them from their bureaucratic scaffolding

by rotating them briskly across postings (Painter 2006: 26-48). Further, within

his own party, Thaksin began to push factional bosses to one side, symbolised

by the diminution of the Wang Nam Yen group (Chambers 2005: 513-14). And

while extending links to some provincial strongmen, we have seen that he

by-passed many others, leaving them to wither.

Having dampened competition over rent-seeking, Thaksin then used

state power to bolster his stakes in Shin Corp. For example, regulatory

authorities arranged quick approval for his conglomerate’s forming a new

budget airline, then granted it tax breaks and reductions in docking fees

(Kazmin 4 November 2006: 18). Shin Corp’s television channel, iTV, and Shin

Satellite’s iPSTAR project were also given tax exemptions by the Board of

Investment, saving the latter firm Bt16 billion (The Nation 30 March 2006). And

‘the jewel in the Shin Corp crown’, Advance Info Service, a provider of mobile

telephony, was released from government revenue-sharing requirements by

the state-owned Telephone Organisation of Thailand, saving an additional

Bt10 billion (Kazmin 4 November 2006: 18).


As his rapacity quickened, Thaksin manipulated institutions intended to

impose horizontal accountability. Compliance in the lower house was gained

by his dipping into corporate coffers, then advancing ‘salaries’ to Thai Rak Thai

parliamentarians. In this way, he secured legislation by which to limit foreign

ownership of local telecoms companies to 25 percent, blighting their chances

of finding international partners with whom to challenge Advance Info Service

(Montesano 2002: 96). Meanwhile, in the Senate, the non-partisanship of

which was to have been ensured by requirements that members eschew party

affiliations, many relatives and allies of Thai Rak Thai leaders worked their way

into the chamber, enabling Thakin to gain sway. Under these conditions,

critical media outlets came to denounce the Senate as ‘an assembly of slaves’

(Nelson 2005: 8.).

Thaksin thus gained influence too over the new watchdog agencies that

had been set up. As early as 2001, the Constitutional Court acquitted Thaksin

of charges over asset concealment, posing ‘an unmistakable setback to the

cause of political reform’ (Montesano 2002: 92). The Election Commission and

National Counter-Corruption Commission, in their various judgments,

appeared steadily to side with Thai Rak Thai. The Security and Exchange

Commission avoided investigation of Thaksin’s share market activities while in

office. The Anti-Money Laundering Office was nearly converted into his

executive instrument, duly acting on his orders to examine the affairs of

journalists who had criticised him (Mutebi 2003: 105). Most of the print media

was also brought to heel through state ownership, Thaksin family buy-outs,

staff dismissals, and numbing lawsuits over defamation, severely truncating

civil liberties. Even polling agencies were harassed after daring to disclose

slippages in the prime minister’s standing (ibid: 106).

Not stopping here, Thaksin turned his hand to the security forces,

hastening the promotions of his relatives and former cadet classmates in the

military and police commands. One of his cousins became army chief, while

another became permanent defence secretary. His brother-in-law rose over

some 14 more senior officers to become assistant chief of police (ibid: 108-9).

Thus, in diminishing the professionalism that Thailand’s security forces had

begun to acquire, Thaksin grew freer to embark on sundry campaigns.

Declaring a ‘war on social ills’, he ordered the police to take ‘extreme


measures’ against alleged drug traffickers in Bangkok in early 2003, producing

several thousand extra-judicial killings (Mutebi 2004: 79). He then widened this

approach into a ‘war on dark forces’, specifying new kinds of criminal

undertakings to be targeted. A ‘law enforcement model’ was also applied by

the military in the restive Malay provinces of the south, leading to the deaths of

hundreds of alleged insurgents and separatists (Albritton 2005: 169-70).

Thus, in trying to assess democracy’s quality during this period,

responsiveness can on some dimensions be regarded as high. Thaksin’s

populist programs—astutely researched and promoted, competently

implemented, and adequately funded—fulfilled to perhaps an unexpected

extent the campaign promises through which his government had gained its

mandate. But in terms of some additional indicators that might be collated

under the responsiveness heading, he at the same time eroded democracy’s

quality. His conflicts of interest diminished the rule of law. His suppression of

critical media outlets weakened political freedoms. And his campaigns against

alleged drug traffickers and southern insurgents grossly violated human rights.

However, Thaksin made even his contempt for formal procedures and liberties

integral to his responsiveness and personalist appeal. Early in his tenure, he

outlandishly depicted himself as a ‘Genghis Khan type of manager’ (The

Nation 8 January 2001, quoted in McCargo and Ukrist 2005: 109). He

dismissed media outlets and civil society organisations as irritants, hampering

his swift implementation of policies ‘for the people’ (ibid: 64). He ridiculed the

opposition, while rarely attending the National Assembly (Pasuk and Baker

2005: 66). And he denounced the Constitutional Court for having dared to hold

proceedings against him, arguing that ‘a mere handful of people should not

have the right to oust a politician elected by the masses’ (Bangkok Post: 6

August 2001). Indeed, while the court was in session, thousands of

demonstrators showed their agreement, gathering outside on his behalf. His

brutal campaign against alleged criminals and insurgents equally gained

approval, offering assurance to constituents over public safety and national

unity. Pasuk and Baker cite polls in which 70 to 80 per cent of respondents

‘backed the campaign’ against drug dealers (Pasuk and Baker 2005: 65).

Thaksin’s scorn thus seemed to resonate with many citizens at this juncture,


valuing the standing of institutions far less than the substantive delivery of

benefits.

It is a weakness in our sequential framework, then, that while many

citizens appeared acquiescent, even complicit in Thaksin’s diminution of

democracy’s quality, it sounds no clear alarm. In its selective scrutiny, it is

quietened by its assumption of benignity in mass-level and opposition activities.

Hence, in regarding quality as high when citizens are given the policies that

they want, the notion of responsiveness glosses over the possibilities of

citizens abetting executive abuses and corrupt practices. Indeed, some of

Thaksin’s popularity may even have lain in his very abasement of democratic

procedures, catering to the impatience of his constituents.

Our framework’s selective scrutiny, then, fails to register mass-level

behaviours that reinforce the executive abuses that erode democracy’s quality.

And it may be no more sensitive in decoding implications when social

movements and opposition parties, suddenly galvanised by grievances over

executive abuses, begin so fiercely to demand accountability that they test

democracy’s quality from a contrary vector of ‘over-participation’, perhaps even

amounting to anti-system behaviours. It is to this transformed dynamic—and

the difficulties in evaluating it—that we now turn.

Accountability: TRT under pressure In the final leg of his sequenced framework, Roberts contends that with a

mandate gained through elections, followed by a record of responsiveness

while in office, a government can further declare the quality of the democracy it

operates by making itself accountable through additional elections (Roberts

2005: 368-70). But while a neat progress, new problems in assessment appear.

We have seen that efforts to gauge the responsiveness of the Thai Rak Thai

government were distorted by the din of popular acclaim. And so too is our

evaluation of accountability made difficult, though now by many constituents

abandoning the government fitfully. And it is not just that they broke the

sequencing that extends from responsiveness to accountability, therein

clouding measurement. Rather, they did this by so fiercely expressing new

discontents that they further eroded democracy’s quality.


After completing its four-year term, the Thai Rak Thai government held

another election in January 2005. And its record of responsiveness enabled it

even to heighten its majorities. But later that year, while mass-level

constituents in the north and northeast of the country mostly remained loyal,

some in Bangkok grew restive, joining citizens in the south who had long been

alienated. Some of Thaksin’s erstwhile elite-level allies began also to defect.

Most notably, a media magnate, Sondhi Limthongkul, began to stir mass-level

grievances, reinterpreting Shin Corp’s steady expansion as corrupt. And thus,

Sondhi argued, because Thaksin had misused the state power ‘bestowed

upon him by the king based on the people’s election mandate’, power should

be returned to king ‘so that the people could decide anew’ (Nelson 2005: 4).

During early 2006, just as Sondhi’s appeals had begun to flag, the sale of

Thaksin’s conglomerate, Shin Corp, was announced. Briefly, more than

one-and-a-half million shares in Shin Corp were transferred to an offshore

holding company, then sold to Thaksin’s children for a nominal one baht each.

They were next day transferred to Temasek, a holding company owned by the

Singapore government, for nearly 50 baht per share. Not only was this the

biggest equities transaction ever in Thailand, but its capital gains remained tax

free, having gained a waiver from the bourse (See, Economist.com 26 January

2006).

Soon afterward, Sondhi and some other activists formed a new movement,

the People’s Alliance for Democracy (PAD) (Nelson 2006: 3). It was then

joined by Chamlong Srimaung, a former general and opposition leader who,

after galvanising mass protests against the military in 1992, had helped to

pave the way for Thaksin’s entry from business into politics. But it now

declaring his onetime protégé unfit for office, he summoned his followings to

unite with PAD in mounting direct action ‘until Thaksin had stepped down’ (ibid:

4).

As mass-level confrontation sharpened, some Thai Rak Thai ministers

and faction leaders also abandoned Thaksin. Discontents began to roil too

among business people, high-level bureaucrats, military officers, and members

of the king’s Privy Council. Though early in his tenure, Thaksin had

resuscitated many business firms brought low by the crisis, his more recent

financial policies had ‘taken particularly hard aim at the business families that


control the few remaining commercial banks’. Cleavages had thus set in

between ‘business-minded’ political elites associated with Thaksin and ‘old

money elites’ cast rudely aside (Crispin 2006c).

Thus, as mass-level protesters refused to disband and some elite-level

allies defected, Thaksin sought finally to break this cycle by dissolving

parliament, then calling another election for early April. But rather that

respecting electoral procedures, PAD leaders mobilized large crowds of

middle- and ‘lower-class’ people to surround Government House (ibid),

effectively halting executive functioning. They also gathered in front of the

Election Commission building, while blocking major thoroughfares, disrupting

transport and commerce. Their rhetoric grew rich with portrayals of Thaksin as

‘Satan’, ‘Hitler’, and a ‘dog’, and supplications for his ‘children [to] become

whores infected with venereal disease’ (The Nation 1 March 2006, quoted in

Nelson 2006: 6)

Next, the Democrats, joined in opposition by Chart Thai and a small

breakaway vehicle, Mahachon, announced that they would boycott the election,

an action quickly hailed by PAD. Democrat leaders had been divided over the

rightfulness of this strategy, however, with some of them fearing that their party

would be tarred as undermining democracy’s functioning (interviews, 24 April

2006). But those supporting the boycott prevailed, with Michael Nelson

speculating that it was too good a tactical opportunity for the party to miss.

With the constitution requiring that in constituencies where a single candidate

stood unopposed, he or she must win 20 percent of the popular vote in order

for the seat to be filled, many seats, especially in the south, might never be

filled so long as the boycott continued, hence preventing the National

Assembly from convening to form a new government. In this way, additional

pressure could be brought to bear, ‘helping get rid of Thaskin by

extra-parliamentary, non-electoral means’ (Nelson 2006: 12).

At this point, Thaksin tried to compromise. And despite the forceful

imagery he had fostered, precedents for such restraint had been set during the

previous year. For example, in mid-2005, with opposition parties gaining

traction amid allegations over corrupt dealings in the procurement of

equipment for Bangkok’s new airport, they mounted a no-confidence motion

against the transport minister, Suriya Jungrungreankit, serving also as leader


of one of Thai Rak Thai’s largest factions. Thaksin yielded, shuffling Suriya to a

lesser portfolio (Nelson 2005: 1). Later in the year, as a major

English-language daily, Bangkok Post, and the Thai-language Matichon

amplified their criticisms over Thaksin’s conflicts of interest, they were targeted

for takeover by an entertainment mogul, Paiboon Damrongchaitham, a

long-time associate of the prime minister. But if the Senate had generally been

uncritical of Thaksin, its committee on administration sharply denounced

Paiboon’s bid as ‘politically motivated’ (Surasak 16 September 2005). In this

way, islands of horizontal accountability began to resurface in the upper house

which, in resonating with resurgent civil society organisations, prompted

Paiboon to withdraw.

Thus, in now facing threats to boycott the April election, Thaksin

responded with additional concessions. He pledged to leave office if Thai Rak

Thai obtained less than 50 percent of voter support. And upon his party’s being

returned to power, he promised to form a ‘national government’, with a quota of

cabinet posts reserved for the opposition (The Nation 10 April 2006). These

concessions failed to sway the opposition parties, however, cognizant that

their electoral prospects were dim so long as Thaksin held office. They sought

to impose accountability in another way, then, reiterating their appeals for

voters to boycott—an action whose anti-system tenor is made plain by the

constitution’s designating voting as compulsory.

Challenged by boycott, abstentions, and large numbers of spoiled ballots,

Thai Rak Thai won only 56 percent of the eligible vote for party list seats, ‘a

considerable slip’ from its totals the year before (Crispin 2006d). Further, just

as the party had feared, many dozens of constituency seats were left unfilled.

Thaksin declared victory. But a day later, after meeting with the king, he

announced that he would refuse to lead the next government that formed. He

apologised to the voters who had supported him, named an interim caretaker

prime minister from Thai Rak Thai, then “took leave” from office.

As re-run elections for unfilled constituency seats commenced, however,

Thaksin next declared that he would remain head of his party while serving as

a backbencher (Nelson 2006: 13), arousing suspicions that with his vast

corporate wealth still permeating the country’s political life, he would linger in

the role of eminence grise. The opposition parties thus stepped up their


pressure, joining civil society organizations in mounting various legal actions.

Their hope was that the courts would nullify the election, the king would

exercise his ‘royal prerogative’ to name a new interim government, and a fresh

election would be ordered (Kasian 2006: 35-36).

At the same time, new demands for accountability had spread from

newspaper outlets, the National Assembly, and senate committees to other

institutions and agencies. In mid-March 2006, a media activist, Supinya

Klangnarong, along with several Bangkok Post reporters, was acquitted of

criminal defamation charges that had been filed some years earlier by Shin

Corp. Supinya had alleged that since Thaksin had taken office, Shin Corp’s

profits had increased nearly threefold, mainly through insider dealings. The

court ruled that as a publicly owned company, the conglomerate could, like any

public figure, be criticised so long as this served the national interest. In the

estimation of an important activist group, Southeast Asian Press Alliance, this

decision suggested that ‘the judiciary, at least at the criminal level, [was] acting

independently of the executive branch’ (Alampay, quoted in Crispin 2006a).

In addition, Thaksin was challenged in the Administrative Court over the

justness of his privatisation policies. Briefly, his government had sought to sell

a quarter of the publicly-owned Electricity Generating Authority of Thailand. A

social activist, however, Rosana Tositrakul, argued before the court that this

would weaken standards for public sector workers, while ceding unfair

advantages to Thaksin’s allies in business. The court found in Rosana’s favour,

the first time ever the judiciary had rebuffed Thaksin over a potential conflict of

interest (Crispin 2006b). At the same time, the speaker of the Senate, Suchon

Chaleekrua, long regarded as in league with Thaksin, issued an extraordinary

public apology for the performance of the upper house, acknowledging that in

exercising oversight, ‘we may not have done enough to keep the people

happy’ (Bangkok Post 22 March 2006). Another prominent senator, Kaewsan

Atiphoti, called openly for Thaksin’s impeachment.

But if Thaksin responded with restraint, the forces arrayed against him

threatened to push harder. In late February, the deputy chief of the Internal

Security Operations Command, ‘a key figure in Class 7 of the Chulachomklao

Royal Military Academy’, warned of a coup through which to end the turmoil

(Wassana 27 February 2006). Barely a week later, the national police


spokesman, General Archirawit Suphanaphesat, opined that the ‘crisis’ could

only be resolved by Thaksin’s resigning. These utterances were regarded as ‘a

rare departure from the police force’s official impartiality’ (International Herald

Tribune 9 March 2006).

Finally, with the April election having deepened the impasse, the king

again intervened, declaring his repugnance over the way in which the contest

had been conducted, thereby pressing the courts to annul it (The Nation 26

April 2006). The Constitution Court obliged the king, prompting the Election

Commission to order a new election for later in the year. But as it appeared

that Thai Rak Thai would win this election too, the country’s ‘traditional elites’

began to denounce Thaksin even more forcefully.

Relations between Thaksin and the ‘monarchist, bureaucratic, and military

establishment’ had been strained ever since his winning the prime ministership

in 2001 (Nelson [forthcoming]). With his ‘CEO’ approach to national leadership,

Thaksin had challenged the prerogatives of traditional elites (Rowley 2006).

And through his populist appeals, he had steadily encroached on these elites’

rural-based constituencies. In confronting Thaksin, however, they did not dwell

on conflicting social interests, but focused closely instead on his erosion of

democracy’s quality. Early on, a royalist former prime minister, Anand

Panyarachun, had warned of the ‘danger caused by people with dictatorial

inclinations [who used] new means of suppressing democracy’ (Matichon 8

October 2001: 2, quoted in Nelson 2007 [forthcoming]). Later, Prem

Tinsulanonda, a former army chief and prime minister, now the president of the

king’s Privy Council, echoed complaints made by the king over Thaksin’s

‘double standards’, behaviours for which, he asserted, the prime minister could

be removed from office (The Nation 10 July 2005, quoted in ibid). After the

April 2006 election had been nullified, Thaksin responded that ‘a meritorious

person outside the constitution’ was trying to oust him, then pledged to ‘protect

democracy with my life’ (Bangkok Post 30 June 2006, quoted in ibid). Prem

then gave several addresses to military cadets, reminding them that their

loyalty must be to the king, not to transient prime ministers and ‘bad people full

of greed’. Thus, Nelson observes, ‘it is not surprising that Prem would be seen

as a major driving force behind the coup’ that followed (ibid).


The military overturned the Thai Rak Thai government on 19 September

while Thaksin was overseas. The junta that took power christened itself initially

as the Council for the Reform of the Democratic System of Government with

the King as Head of State. And in justifying its action, it cited the Thaksin’s

‘rampant corruption [and] political interference in government agencies and

independent organizations’. It promised also to ‘restore the democratic

governmental system with a monarch as head of state to the Thai people as

soon as possible’ (CDRC, quoted in ibid). A day after the coup, the king

endorsed the council, with the army chief, General Sonthi Boonyaratglin, as its

head. Thus, the king seemed to disavow the advice he had earlier given PAD

that for him to depose an elected prime minister, then use his royal prerogative

to appoint a new one, was ‘undemocratic’ and ‘irrational’ (The Nation 27 April

2006).

Several months after the coup, though the military had installed a

nominally civilian government, large parts of the country remained under

martial law. And Thaksin was effectively kept in exile. Even so, General Sonthi

acknowledged that the auditor-general and investigative agencies were having

much difficulty in documenting Thaksin’s corrupt practices, disclosing that the

authorities ‘might get nowhere at all’ (Mydans 3 November 2006: 3).

Accordingly, many mystified citizens grew sceptical of the junta, especially as

its members claimed ‘enormous pay increases’ and ‘top spots on the boards of

state enterprises’ (South China Morning Post: 23 November 2006). Student

groups cautiously mounted small protests. At the same time, the king seemed

to withdraw, intoning during his 79th birthday address at the end of the year, ‘I

do not want to talk about politics now. I am bored with it’ (The Nation 5

December 2006).

Conclusions How well does our framework bear up in trying to gauge democracy’s

quality in contemporary Thailand? At one level, it makes assessments easily,

even some positive ones. In first earning a mandate by which to form a new

government, the Thai Rak Thai party, led by Thaksin Shinawatra, endeavoured

to discover the preferences of citizens, then devised a clearly aligned set of

campaign promises. At the same time, the party excluded some provincial


strongmen from its slate, replacing them with fresher, perhaps more

progressive cohorts of politicians. Further, after coming to power, the Thai Rak

Thai government fulfilled its pledges, demonstrating high levels of

responsiveness. And upon completing its first parliamentary term, the

government displayed accountability by calling another election, one through

which it enlarged its margins without any more seriously violating procedures

than in past contests.

However, if democracy’s quality was on these counts enhanced, it was in

other ways diminished. Though the Thai Rak Thai government revitalized big

business and aided mass-level constituents, Thaksin also used state power to

advance his own corporate dealings, generating acute conflicts of interest. He

then bypassed or subverted the parliament and watchdog agencies, warding

off horizontal accountability. He suppressed critical media outlets, severely

truncating civil liberties. And he unleashed a ferocious campaign against

alleged drug traffickers and southern insurgents, violating human rights.

Yet in trying to reconcile these contrary thrusts, while gauging

democracy’s quality more finely, our framework suffered from some of the

maladies enumerated at the start of this paper, namely, fuzzy classification,

ambiguous impacts, false readings, and selective scrutiny. Even more

fundamentally, while its sequenced categories of mandate, responsiveness,

and accountability may have been useful for organizing discrete fields of

measurement, the causal interconnectedness that was to charge the

framework with explanatory power was broken, denying us steady illumination.

By the terms of our lineal framework, where a government gains an electoral

mandate, then displays responsiveness afterward by fulfilling its campaign

promises, it should go from strength to strength, seamlessly demonstrating

accountability by winning re-election. Conversely, where a government fails to

fulfil its pledges, it rightly meets with electoral defeat. In these trajectories,

democracy is working properly, laying the foundations upon which quality can

be raised.

But what, then, are the implications for democracy’s quality when the

government’s responsiveness is so heartily embraced by most citizens that

executive abuses and corrupt practices are forgotten, enabling the government

to avoid serious accountability while en route to easy re-election? And what


does it mean when many of these same citizens, later spurning the

government whose responsiveness had gratified them, seek rigorously to

impose accountability, though not through elections, but instead by direct

action, disrupting executive functioning, commerce, and electoral contestation?

Our indicators and framework, in assuming the benignity of mass-level and

opposition activities, fail first to register the acquiescence of many citizens in

the government’s misdeeds, later to make sense of their anti-system

behaviours.

Thus, while so handsomely refreshing its mandate in early 2005, the Thai

Rak Thai government barely passed its self-designated test of accountability a

year later. And while it had earlier gained the support of a majority of citizens, it

was abruptly met afterward by street blockades and electoral boycott. Further,

this break in sequencing is explained less by new surges in executive abuses

and corrupt practices than a sharp, if partial shift in mass-level attitudes and

behaviours. It may be that under Thaksin, the government’s over-exertion in

first gaining a mandate, followed by over-performance in terms of

responsiveness, so beguiled social movements and cowed opposition parties

that the government was left to operate unchecked, giving free rein to

Thaksin’s conflicts of interest, as well as his government’s violations of civil

liberties and human rights. In this interpretation, stimulating citizens to

over-participation after Thaksin had eroded democracy’s quality required only

that his sale of corporate assets to a foreign entity highlight the hypocrisy of his

nationalist appeals, and that his tax avoidance make more glaring the

shoddiness of his business practices. A threshold was thus reached beyond

which the government was correctly tipped into opprobrium by Thaksin’s

personal recklessness.

But if Thaksin’s business practices were denounced now as corruption,

they seemed earlier to have been interpreted by many citizens as

demonstrating a savvy that would more generally restore the country’s

prosperity. We recall that his many earlier tax exemptions had raised few

hackles. And if his contempt for parliament and watchdog agencies was

viewed increasingly as pernicious, it had earlier been seen as necessary for

his rapid provision of populist programs. Indeed, even as his lustre faded,

Thaksin perpetuated, indeed strengthened responsiveness, finding ever more


intricate ways in which to deliver benefits. At the same time, he showed greater

restraint, submitting to various institutional checks. Thus, during his last year in

office, Thaksin accepted an important no-confidence motion in parliament, a

critical judgment by the Senate committee on administration, and independent

rulings by the Administrative Court and ordinary criminal courts.

The performance of the Thai Rak Thai government, then, more than that

of any of its predecessors in the country’s political record, was once

understood by citizens as responsiveness to be electorally rewarded. Later,

however without changing significantly, these perceptions were abruptly

reconfigured by rival elites as executive abuses and corrupt practices to be

punished, exploiting the plasticity and vulnerability to snowballing of

constituent outlooks. But more than merely holding the government

accountable by voting for opposition parties, a large minority of citizens

signalled their disregard for democracy’s quality through their blockades and

boycott.

To be sure, these changes in perceptions are most readily interpreted

through existing frameworks as popular reactions to Thaksin’s having eroded

democracy’s quality. By this logic, then, the quality of democracy lies

principally in the eye of the mass-level beholder. But in assuming the benignity

of social movements and opposition parties, then shifting their critical scrutiny

topside to the national leader and government, these frameworks may betray

another weakness. Specifically, they embrace as positive indicators the

activities of citizens who may, in their fitfulness and forcefulness, just as

seriously diminish the quality of democracy.

Two more points can be made. First, whatever our framework’s difficulties

in making assessments, it shows that democracy’s quality can be diminished

in ways that far from enabling it to persist, pave the way for breakdown. In

these circumstances, executive abuses and corrupt practices, rather than

encouraging forbearance among elites by sharing out patronage resources

and constituent support, so skew distributions that excluded elites re-energize

their constituents in ways that further erode democracy’s quality. Spiralling

downwards, quality can finally be so seriously depleted that this in itself forms

a pretext for authoritarian reversal.


Second, Thailand’s recent political record demonstrates that mass-level

constituents can be loosened from particular sets of social interests and

conflicts, whether forged through capitalist industrialization or other kinds of

structural pressures or historical processes. To contend that constituents

remain irretrievably tethered to such forces is grossly to undercount the

complex and multiple preferences that citizens possess. Thaksin’s executive

abuses and alleged corrupt practices, once asserted as evoking a shrewdness

that enabled him to revitalize metropolitan and village economies, and his

violations of civil liberties and human rights, indicative of the grit that enabled

him to ensure public safety and national unity, were tactically recast by rival

elites as immoral, helping transform much mass-level adoration into searing

discontents. Competing elites are thus presented a range of popular chords

with which they try to strike resonant appeals. And some of these interactions

may turn explicitly on matters of democracy’s quality.

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